The Elephant Mountains by Scott Ely

Orleans as a bartender.
    â€œWhen they closed the bar, I should’ve gotten out,” he said. “But I thought I’d just hole up in my apartment. It’s on the third floor. I wasn’t counting on those new levees breaking. That damn Corps of Engineers can’t build a levee that’ll hold.”
    Stephen decided they would head west through the swamps and flooded farmland toward Baton Rouge and high ground. If they were lucky, they would find Interstate 12 and follow it to Baton Rouge. There he would find out for sure if New Orleans had been completely abandoned. Perhaps his mother was in Baton Rouge.
    With Byron in the bow to look for debris, he took a seat in the passenger’s seat in front of Angela, the Saiga across his legs. He was glad he had stowed the other weapons away. And he would insist that Angela and he would pull watches and let Byron sleep. Angela would wake him if Byron got up. The first dry ground they came to he was going to drop him off and tell him goodbye.
    He set a westerly course by the sun. Sometimes they ran through flooded towns and sometimes through swamps. Late in the afternoon Angela guided the boat up into some flooded timber. Somewhere out to the west was Interstate 55, but he would not be surprised if it was completely underwater. Stephen realized it was going to be hard to find Baton Rouge unless they went all the way to the levee on the Mississippi and followed it down to the city.
    Byron insisted on being the cook for their supper of beans and rice.
    As he cooked, he began to talk about New Orleans, how everything was underwater. Angela told him Stephen’s mother was staying and about the security company who was guarding her house, protecting valuable paintings and furniture.
    â€œShe’ll really appreciate having you home,” Byron said. “Maybe she’s there. Maybe she’s not. Who’s to say how high the water is. We can go take a look. I know the way. I guess if I can escape from New Orleans then I can help you get back in. If I can’t get you there, I’ll get you to Natchez or Baton Rouge. I know Natchez ain’t flooded. If it is we need to be on the lookout for Mr. Noah.”
    â€œI can get myself home,” Stephen said.
    He suspected Byron was trying to take over. Perhaps he expected a reward from Stephen’s mother.
    â€œI know you can,” Bryon said.
    â€œHe fixed the motor on this boat,” Angela said.
    â€œHe’s a smart boy, all right,” Bryon said.
    After they ate, Stephen took the first watch, sitting in the driver’s seat with the Saiga across his legs. Angela was under the mosquito netting and Byron, who said he was not sleepy, sat in the bow. Pretty soon they could hear the sound of Angela snoring.
    â€œShe’s your girlfriend?” Byron asked. “I know she’s not your sister from the way you look at her.”
    â€œWhat way is that?” he said.
    â€œNot the way you’d look at your sister.”
    He told him how he picked her up in the flooded town.
    â€œYou got a big heart, boy,” Byron said. “A big heart.”
    Byron asked how old he was, and he lied and told him he was sixteen. He considered telling him about the men he had killed so Byron would be wary of him. But he feared it would sound like a boy’s bragging. Better to let Byron underestimate him.
    Then Byron spent considerable time telling him about all the women he had had in New Orleans.
    â€œA different one every weekend,” he said. “I’ll bet you just tear it up with them high school girls.”
    Stephen shrugged.
    â€œI do okay,” he said.
    Now Byron had maneuvered him into lying and that made him uncomfortable. The next thing he knew Byron would be pressing him to provide details.
    Byron laughed quietly.
    â€œI bet you do,” he said.
    But then he was back to bragging about his exploits with women.
    Stephen wanted to tell him he did not see how