BOOK EXCERPTS

CHAPTER 1 (EXCERPT)

BACKGROUND TREMOR

Andy knew the Sump best through the soles of his boots.
The mud softened in the same spots, planks creaked underfoot, the Décarie River scraped against the concrete, snagging debris below.
The boards sagged under a woman carrying a basket of wire traps, then sprang back.
Smoke from barrel fires hung low in damp air. Lanterns moved under the overpasses when the wind found them. People crossed the low ground, testing each step before committing weight, leaning toward the patches that stayed firm.
After enough seasons, a man could place himself without lifting his head.
Near the trench, the river slid between the old concrete walls, brown water slipping past half-sunk cars and clumps of reeds rooted in built-up sludge.
On the bank below, a crawfish pot bubbled over, hissing as broth dripped onto the coals.
Three paths converged in churned clay at the crossing. A man with a sack over one shoulder shifted sideways when the sludge took more of his left boot than his right.
Two children crossed a firmer stretch near the rebar stakes until one slipped and caught herself.
A dull ache settled at the back of Andy’s head. He slowed beside a narrow walkway of planks stretched over a dark patch of water between the tarp-covered stalls.
A tremor came through the earth without warning.
Pressure rose through the boards into his arches, low and heavy enough that his knees locked. Water in a shallow oil pan shivered.
He turned east, toward the trench edge.
He knew the safe paths by habit: the raised ridge beside a collapsed curb, the edge of an old slab half-buried in mud, the dark patches that passed for firm until they seized your heel.
Behind the market, the lanterns dwindled, and the sleeping quarter began.
A woman split boiled crawfish with her thumbs and dropped the shells into a dented pail.
Another pulse hit, shorter and closer.
A few heads lifted, one after another, while people checked each other’s faces.
A boy dropped his eyes to his boots, then to the river.
Someone near a fire barrel stopped stirring a pot.
A child laughed once, then went quiet.
A puddle that usually lay still was trembling, ripples crossing without anything touching it, spreading from the east before they flattened at the far edge. He stepped away from it. The overpass above cut the sky into dark bands.
Smoke drifted sideways through the concrete shadows, carrying the sour river, boiled shell, wet fabric, and the sharp scent of freshly turned mud.
Somewhere out in the trench, a trap chain rattled, too far to see. Closer, a hammer thudded against wood, someone working by feel in the dim light.
A quake drove up through the mud, close enough to push back against Andy’s feet.
A dog stopped with its head tilted, a growl building deep in its throat.
Andy’s pace changed.
The eastern edge of the Sump had no fixed boundary beside the Décarie Trench itself. The low ground blurred into sleeping tarps, stacked salvage, half-built frames, the mud going soft where the settlement frayed.
Andy passed the stump, pale wood rising high enough above the bog to stay dry, worn smooth at the top by boots and weather.
A week ago, Renée had stood on the stump, her coat pulled tight, looking east, watching the water work through the concrete channels below, chin lifted, eyes narrowed.
“You ever notice how places warn you before they change?” she’d said.
Once, he had joked that she could sense the earth thinking.
A temblor jolted under his feet.
Andy stopped.
East.
The trench disappeared beneath the overpasses, swallowed by river haze.
A man carrying a bundle of poles paused near him.
“You feel that?” The man waited another second, then walked on.
Andy started walking faster.
I need to find Renée.
The path narrowed between two tarp frames, then opened onto broken pavement where the mud thinned over buried concrete.
He took it.
Ahead, low shapes hunched under patched tarps. Some people were bedding down. Others sat on overturned buckets with bowls in their hands, eating in the half-darkness.
The basin went still. Trap chains stopped rattling. Even the dog had gone silent.
The tremor that followed hit hard enough to rattle a bucket onto its side. A spoon froze halfway to a mouth. Somebody swore under their breath.
Beyond the overpasses, birds burst upward from the dark in a single rising wave.
Andy stepped off the broken pavement and into wet clay.