Claire DeWitt and the City of the Dead by Sara Gran

I say Hey Vic, I’m glad to see you okay, which I was. As bad as that place was, I was happy to see everyone who was there, ’cause I knew they were alive, at least. So I was happy to see him too.”
    â€œDid he say where he’d been?” I asked.
    Jackson thought before he answered. I liked this guy. He thought more in five minutes than most people did in a week.
    â€œNo,” he said. “No, he did not. At least not that I remember.” He looked at me and I thanked him and then he went on: “So I asked him if he was okay and he said yes, and he asked if I was okay, did I need anything, and I said no, thank you, because frankly I didn’t think he had anything. I mean, money’s no good if there’s nothing to buy. I didn’t understand people stealing TVs and things like that—I mean, you can’t eat ’em. All we needed was food and water, and there wasn’t any. Whole city cleaned out by then—restaurants, stores, everything. Kids went out, kids who knew how to steal, and they broke in to the stores and restaurants and got water and whatever else they could find and brought it back for the babies and the old folks. Some of those kids didn’t eat nothing themselves, not one bite. But that was all done by then. There were people’s houses but that’s not something I would do. Not going in someone’s house. Not at that particular point. Anyway. Vic asked if I was okay and I saidyes, and then he asked how I got there and I told him. He was acting real concerned, you know, like he cared. He asked where the water was coming from, what was going on and all that. I told him, as far as I knew, the water was everywhere. And he asked which levees had broke and I told him what I knew, which wasn’t much. Rumors were flyin’ all over. People were saying crazy things, like people eating dogs and babies and things like that. But some of the craziest things turned out to be true, like people on the rooftops in Lakeview and down in the Ninth Ward, and just about all of Arabi and Chalmette being all wiped out. So, you know, I told Vic that. I told him everything I knew. Then we shook hands and he was off. No, actually, he gave me some money first. I told him I didn’t need it. Nothing to buy. But he gave it anyway.”
    â€œSo when you saw Vic,” I said. “You’re sure it was Thursday?”
    â€œI am,” Jackson said.
    â€œHow are you so sure?” I said.
    He looked a little offended. “How you sure today’s Tuesday?” he asked.
    â€œTuesday?” I said. “Tuesday? Are you sure? Because I thought it was Wednesday.”
    â€œTuesday,” Jackson repeated with confidence.
    I looked around. A group of chubby tourists were about ten feet away, taking pictures of the Presbytere.
    â€œHEY,” I called out to them. “Hello.”
    They looked around with a little fear and located me as the source of the sound. That did not reassure them. I’d dressed in a hurry and I wasn’t at my visual best. I wore boots, jeans, two black sweaters, and a red vintage women’s overcoat with an ermine collar that probably should have been retired. I was also suffering from an unfortunate homemade haircut/bleach job that had involved pinking shears. I could see how it didn’t inspire confidence.
    â€œWhat’s the day,” I hollered to them. They looked at each other and then turned away. You know how it is in the city.Those fancy slickers could be up to anything with their trick questions and clever tongues.
    Jackson and I looked at each other and shook our heads. Tourists.
    â€œThe day,” I yelled at them. “That’s all I’m asking.”
    Finally one tall brave man in his fifties hollered back. “January ninth,” he called.
    â€œThanks. But I meant Tuesday or Wednesday,” I called out.
    â€œOh,” the man said. “Tuesday.” He gave me a smile full of