Busted Flush

She looked chastened. I was being a jerk, but I needed the TV people to get the message out and it couldn’t be fluff bullshit. Harriet had been bad. She’d been a category four storm, but Isaiah was turning into a category five. And coming on top of Harriet, I didn’t know what kind of disaster we’d be dealing with.

The people of New Orleans needed to know the Committee was here to help them—that we weren’t trying to destroy their homes or drive them from the city.

“Uh, let’s start rolling and we’ll do pickups later,” the cameraman said.

“Susan Wright here with the Amazing Bubbles, Michelle Pond,” the anchor began. “She and other members of the Committee have been here in New Orleans since before hurricane Harriet hit. What is the Committee doing as hurricane Isaiah is bearing down on our already sodden city?”

Sodden city? Ye gods, I thought.

I started walking toward Earth Witch, Gardener, and Simoon. They scrambled to their feet and tried to dust themselves off. But I was glad they looked dirty. It showed they’d been working.

Zombies. God, I hate zombies.

I walked up the sagging wooden steps to Hoodoo Mama’s dilapidated house. The smell alone could have dropped a horse. It was drizzling, though, and that dampened some of the odor. There were a couple of moldy pigeons eyeballing me. Zombie pigeons. Ew.

I was still checking e-mail as I went up the steps. But there were no messages from Niobe or Drake. And I couldn’t stop thinking about the Nigeria job, either. I was worried about John, Brave Hawk, Toady, and Snowblind. I worried about Lama even though I wasn’t that close to him.

The usual “doormen” were in place, but they didn’t flinch as I approached. I guess Hoodoo Mama remembered me from our last meeting. There was no one else on the team available to try and get Hoodoo Mama and her people to evacuate for this storm. And I didn’t know why Holy Roller thought zombie girl liked me. She called me “fucker” just like she did everyone else.

The door opened. A shambling corpse looked at me with dead eyes. “Come in, Miss Thang,” it said. That was Hoodoo Mama talking.

“Thanks,” I muttered. I didn’t want to be rude, but I was pretty sure a chunk of this zombie’s arm was about to drop off in the hallway.

I was led into the living room, where Hoodoo Mama was ensconced on her makeshift throne. The room was populated by a variety of zombified creatures. Most couldn’t have been dead more than a few days. But they were all definitely less than fresh. The smell was awesome.

And they were all watching TV.

“What the fuck do you want?” Hoodoo Mama asked. She was a tiny thing, swimming in her oversized clothes. Her hair was dark brown with a bright red shock running through it. I knew models that would have killed for her creamy coffee-colored skin. But most of all, there was this feral quality to her that made her a little scary.

“I’m here to convince you to move your people out of New Orleans before Isaiah hits.”

She gave a short, bitter laugh. “You fuckers want me to bail again? I’ll tell you what I told you the last time—‘Fuck no.’”

I sighed. This was going pretty much how I had expected. “Look,” I said. “Harriet is going to seem like a cakewalk compared to what’s going to happen with Isaiah.”

“Yeah, you fuckers said something like that last time. We’re still here.”

I knew that besides the zombies, she had a bunch of nats living with her. I didn’t think she had any wild carders, but there were con artists, grifters, prostitutes, and French Quarter street performers hanging here with her. How many we had no way of knowing.

I put my hands on my hips and gave her my very best Team Leader look.

“The reason you’re all still here is because Earth Witch saved your hash and kept the levees from bursting. And the soil wasn’t completely saturated the way it is now.”

She shifted on her throne, looking a little less confident. “You been watching this American Hero shit?” she asked.

I stared at her for a moment, nonplussed.

“You know, that show you were on.”

“I know what you’re talking about,” I said testily. “What the hell does that have to do . . .”

One of the zombies got up and moved the TV so I could see it, too. The all-too-familiar theme was playing, and I saw they’d gone a little more upscale on the sets. Kandy Kane was tossing her “treats” out, and the other contestants were fighting one another to get them.

“She’s a bitch,” Hoodoo Mama said. “Why do they always have a bitch?”

The screen went to black, and then Holy Roller appeared. He started into his evacuation pitch, and I was pleased at how persuasive and caring he sounded.

“Damn, I don’t wanna hear any more of that,” Hoodoo Mama said. One of the zombies got up and turned the set off.

“Look,” I said. “I understand that you think everyone like me is full of shit.”