The Elephant Mountains by Scott Ely Page B

one.”
    Stephen said nothing and pretended to be concerned with adjusting the sling on the Saiga.
    Byron crawled under the netting. After only a few minutes, he sat up and threw it off.
    â€œI ain’t sleepy.”
    â€œThen don’t sleep.”
    Stephen gripped the stock of the Saiga tightly and felt the reassuring weight of the magazine full of shells. He would not sleep until Byron slept.
    â€œI wish I had me a smoke,” Byron said.
    â€œYou could swim to New Orleans for one,” Stephen said.
    â€œI appreciate you pulling me out of that tree, but you’re being mighty unfriendly. I’m just trying to do my share.”
    â€œThe best thing you could do would be to go to sleep.”
    Byron sprayed more mosquito repellent about his head.
    â€œWant me to spray you?” he asked.
    â€œNo, thanks,” Stephen said.
    â€œYou been thinking about your mama?”
    Stephen said nothing.
    â€œShe’s got them mercenaries taking care of her,” Bryon continued. “Pretty lady and her mercenaries.”
    â€œHow do you know she’s pretty?” Stephen asked.
    â€œI expect she is. She ain’t an ugly woman, is she?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œSee, I was right. A boy like you should be paying more attention to what I say.”
    â€œI’ve been listening.”
    â€œI’ll bet yawl have a safe in that house.”
    â€œThere’s no safe. Just paintings and furniture. It doesn’t matter. It’s underwater.”
    â€œI’d have my money in gold. Wherever she is, she’s got mercenaries to guard her gold.”
    â€œShe has no gold.”
    Then for a long time Byron was silent as if he were actually contemplating having gold to put in a safe. He lay stretched out on the deck. Stephen wondered if he had dropped off to sleep. Stephen was having a hard time staying awake himself. But then Byron stirred and sat up again.
    Stephen had just about made up his mind not to sleep at all this night.
    â€œThese mosquitoes are not so bad,” Stephen said.
    â€œThey’re bad enough,” Byron said.
    He woke Angela for her watch. Byron yawned.
    â€œMaybe I am sleepy,” he said.
    He crawled back under the netting.
    Stephen gave Angela the Saiga.
    â€œI…,” she began.
    He expected she was going to tell him again that she knew nothing about guns.
    â€œJust hold it across your lap,” he whispered in her ear. “Keep your fingers off the trigger. He wakes up or starts to move around, you wake me. Don’t wait until he comes out from under that mosquito net.”
    She said she understood. He crawled under the netting.
    In the morning he found himself standing watch and listening to Byron talk about his life as a bartender. Angela was asleep under the netting. Stephen thought he had gotten enough sleep to get himself through the day.

    They were forced to move in a more northerly direction by a stiff current to the west that swept through an impenetrable tangle of underbrush. Logs and trash were caught up in the lower limbs of the trees. It was a dangerous place. He planned to get above the levee break and then, he hoped, with parts of the levee in sight, follow it down to Baton Rouge. There he would search for information about his mother. If it turned out she was still in New Orleans, they would go there. There was also no sign of Interstate 55. It seemed to him they had come far enough west to have crossed it.
    They had learned from the radio that Baton Rouge was untouched by the flood. The new levees there were holding. New Orleans had been abandoned.
    â€œYour mama is high and dry with her mercenaries someplace,” Byron had said. “Keeping them paintings dry. I’ll bet they ain’t used to guarding paintings. Won’t she be surprised when she sees you.”
    â€œI expect she will,” Stephen said.
    Up ahead he spotted the tops of pine trees through the cypresses. That meant high ground