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Chapter 49
Sunday, August 28, 2005
K minus nineteen hours
Emma and Abe had
been fighting the traffic along I-10 since they left at eight
that morning on their 350-mile trek to Houston. Now, seven hours
later, they were between Lafayette and Lake Charles, a trip that
should have been made in three, coming up to a town named Iowa,
Louisiana.
"Iowa?"
snorted Abe.
"Umm…I
think it's pronounced 'eye-oh-way,' not 'eye-oh-wah,' Papa."
"'Eye-oh-way?'
What's the matter - the shmendricks can't pronounce the
name of their own town?"
"Take it easy,
Papa."
"I HAVE been
taking it easy! Can't they move this traffic any faster?"
Traffic had been
bumper-to-bumper since they left New Orleans. The Contraflow
helped, but it ended at Laplace. Still, they were able to move
between twenty to thirty miles an hour until they came to a standstill
in Baton Rouge. It took hours to get across the Mississippi.
Traffic got bad again outside of Lafayette. Now, ten miles out
of Lake Charles, it was tightening up once more, and they had
over 150 miles to go.
"Oy gevalt!"
Abe cried, the brake lights on the SUV directly in front of them
shining again. The low afternoon sun shining directly in their
faces only added to the aggravation.
"Papa, please!
This is hard enough without your bitching!"
Abe turned to her.
"I'm sorry, Princess, but you know how much I hate traffic."
Emma had to admit
to herself that Abe had been on his best behavior, at least at
the beginning of the trip. But by the time they got to Lafayette,
his patience had reached an end. She couldn't blame him; hers
was at a fraying point, as well.
"Do you need
to go to the bathroom?"
"No, I'm fine."
"Really, I
can stop at Iowa."
"No, I've been
taking it easy with the water. I'm good for a while. Unless…"
"We'll keep
going." Emma really didn't want to stop. For one reason,
she was in the left hand lane. She would have to fight to get
into the right lane to exit. The second reason was she wasn't
looking forward to trying to get back onto the interstate later.
"I'm sorry
I'm so useless."
"You are not
useless, Papa."
"I can't help
you out with the driving, can I? What do you call that?"
"I call it
'my turn.' You did all the driving when Irene and I were young,
now I get to return the favor."
"And I call
it being old and useless!"
Emma bit her lip
while Abe continued to grumble. She was tired, but she couldn't
admit that to her father. For an instant, outside of Lafayette,
she had thought about cutting the drive short and asking for
refuge at Chris' parents. She dismissed the thought almost immediately,
however, unwilling to just show up unannounced at someone's doorstep.
Perhaps that had been a mistake.
"Emma, do we
have any antacids?"
She glanced at Abe
out of the corner of her eye, noticing that a light sheen of
perspiration coated his forehead. "I think I've got something
in my purse. What's wrong? Are you warm? Is your stomach upset?"
"Heartburn,"
he grumbled as he dug in the handbag.
"You see?"
Emma scolded. "You see what getting upset does for you?
It's given you indigestion."
He grunted as he
popped a couple of tablets into his mouth.
"If you're
not careful, you could give yourself a case of acid-reflux,"
she continued. "You have to learn to relax. Let it all go.
Center yourself…"
"AARRGG!!"
Abe cried.
"Papa? PAPA?
PAPA, WHAT IS IT!?" Abe thrashed in his seat, arms clutching
at his chest. His face white and lips blue, he gasped for air.
"G-God...help
me…" he gasped.
"PAPA!!"
Immediately Emma
assumed a heart attack. She whipped her head around, looking
for a break in the traffic. She had to get Abe to a hospital
- now. She leaned on the horn opened her window and screamed,
"Let me in! Let me in!" at the other cars. Of course,
they couldn't hear her.
"Papa…Papa,
how are you!?"
An ashen Abe had
slumped back against his seat, as still as death.
"NOOO!!"
Emma jerked the wheel to the left and floored the accelerator.
She drove down the inward half-shoulder of the interstate, one
hand blowing the horn. For the next two minutes she dashed along,
dust flying. Emma had almost reached another small bridge, where
the shoulder was not wide enough for her to pass on the left,
when she heard the wail of a siren. One glance at the rear view
mirror showed a Louisiana State Trooper directly behind her,
light bar flashing.
For an instant,
Emma considered ignoring the trooper, before remembering they
had radios. He can call for help! With that thought, Emma
pulled off the shoulder into the median before coming to a stop.
Throwing the car
into park, she turned to her father, trying to see if he was
still breathing.
"DRIVER IN
THE CAR! SIT UP STRAIGHT! TURN OFF YOUR ENGINE, AND PLACE YOUR
HANDS ON THE WHEEL!"
Emma lowered her
window instead. "HELP! MY FATHER'S HAD A HEART ATTACK! CALL
FOR AN AMBULANCE! QUICK!"
In her side view
mirror, she could see the trooper in his flat-brimmed hat slowly
approach her car, one hand on his unclamped service pistol. "KEEP
YOUR HANDS WHERE I CAN SEE THEM!"
Emma calmed her
rising panic and forced herself to obey the commands. A moment
later he was beside her window. "Shut off the engine, please!
Slowly!" he commanded her.
Emma shakily did
as she was told. "My…my father… I think he's had
a heart attack! Please help us!"
"All right,
ma'am, take it easy. Now, I want you to get out of the car."
"But my father…!"
"Out of the
car - please!" he demanded.
Emma unbuckled her
seat belt and opened the door. Quelling her tears and growing
anger, she slowly climbed out, her hands in plan view.
The trooper gestured,
"Ma'am, please, sit down right here in front of the car."
At her wild look, he added, "It's for your safety. The sooner
you comply with my requests, the sooner I can check on your father."
Emma sat down in
the dry, dusty grass, manicured fists clenched hard to her knees,
stomach roiling in fury and fear. Once the trooper was satisfied,
he carefully peered in, one eye on her. Emma could hear him trying
to talk to Abe. A moment later, the trooper was squatting beside
her, his gun now secured.
"Ma'am, may
I have your name, please?" His voice was now gentle, instead
of the bark of command.
"Emma Katz.
That's my father, Abe Weinberg. We're from New Orleans, evacuating
from the hurricane."
He pulled out a
notebook. "Does your father have any history of heart disease?"
"He had a triple
by-pass six years ago. How is he?"
"He's breathing,
but he's unconscious. I'm going to call this in." He stood
up.
"Can I go to
him?"
The trooper hesitated.
"All right. But don't move him."
"Can I start
the car to run the air conditioning?"
"Not yet. Wait
until I get back." He trotted back to his cruiser, lights
still flashing, as Emma opened the passenger-side door. The sight
of her dear, strong, funny, proud father, once the most important
man in her life, lying helplessly on the fully-reclined passenger
seat of her car, skin pale and damp, fighting for his life, almost
completely undid her.
"Oh, Papa,"
she sobbed. "Please…please hold on, Papa. Help is coming."
She kissed and caressed her father's clammy face, murmuring in
his ear, until the trooper returned.
"Ma'am, there's
an EMT on the way now. They'll be here as soon as they can."
He put a hand on her shoulder. "Why don't you turn on the
ignition so we can get the AC running?"
~*~*~
It seemed like forever,
but the EMTs finally arrived - within ten minutes, claimed the
trooper - along with a half-dozen other police cars. By the time
Emma had the presence of mind to call George, the paramedics
had already begun to work on Abe; Emma offered her cell phone
to them.
"My husband's
on the line. He's a heart surgeon at Tulane," she explained
when the technician demurred. No one commented on the irony of
his absence.
The paramedic took
the cell, and after a couple of questions, began speaking to
George in earnest as she and her partner worked on Abe. The trooper
took Emma over to the side and continued to gather information
from her. She knew that he was keeping her occupied, and she
allowed him to do it. Minutes later, the female paramedic returned
to her.
"We have your
father stabilized. Vitals are acceptable for now. We're calling
in a MEDIVAC. Here's your husband, ma'am."
The trooper left
to organize the landing zone while Emma spoke to George. "Honey?
How's Papa doing?"
"It's hard
to say. The EMTs have everything well in hand. They're flying
him out?"
"Yes. They're
calling in the helicopter now."
"Okay. How
are you doing?"
"Tired. Scared.
Oh, I wish you were here!"
"I wish
I was, too, babe. I'm sorry…"
"No! Don't
be! I shouldn't have said that. I'm sorry. You have to be at
the hospital, I know."
"Still,
I feel awful I can't be there to help. Look, hon, you best go
now. Call me the minute you get to the hospital."
"I will."
"Hold on!
Where are they taking him?"
She asked the paramedic.
"Lake Charles Memorial Hospital."
"Okay. I'll
put in a call to the emergency room. Talk to you later. I love
you, Emma."
"I love you,
too."
"Abe's in
great hands, honey. Don't you worry, okay? Bye."
Emma pocketed her
phone, praying her husband was right.
~*~*~
The MEDIVAC helicopter
was there within minutes, and as soon as the blades stopped moving,
the paramedics moved Abe, secured on a stretcher, into the aircraft.
"I have to
go with him," Emma told the trooper.
"Afraid not,
Mrs. Katz. Only the patient and the crew. Don't worry - we'll
get you to the hospital."
Emma watched the
copter take off and fly into the western sun. She then looked
at the traffic jam inching its way towards Lake Charles. "How
are we going to get through that?" she asked the trooper.
He grunted. "We
don't. We head east." As Emma looked at him, he smiled.
"There's an exit a couple of miles from here. We know a
few back ways into Lake Charles. You just follow us. We'll get
you to Memorial in no time."
Emma got in her
car and buckled in for the longest, most miserable shortcut of
her life, so far.
~*~*~
K minus eighteen
hours
Contraflow had been
in operation for twenty-four hours, and for all the agitation
that the drivers experienced, 18,000 vehicles had moved through
the system each hour. Eighty percent of the population of the
city had gone, a feat many experts said was impossible.
However, an estimated
100,000 people remained in the region, most of them in New Orleans.
~*~*~
By the time Emma
reached Lake Charles Memorial Hospital, she knew George's phone
call had gotten through. Never had she been treated so well by
hospital staff. Everyone was kindness and consideration. She
was personally escorted to Abe's bed in the ICU.
Emma's heart was
in her throat as she approached her father. Tubes and sensors
snaked everywhere. She could barely see his face behind the oxygen
mask. Lighted panels flickered, and everywhere was a low hum
of equipment and the murmur of staff in the background.
"Oh, Papa…"
her voice cracked behind her crumbling façade. She was
given permission to sit next to him, and she held Abe's cool
hand as she did so.
Oh, merciful
God, she prayed, please
watch over us, and deliver my father from this illness. She
pulled out the small book of Psalms she had found in the hospital
chapel and let the words comfort them both as she waited for
the doctor.
Moments later, a
doctor summoned her outside and began to give her a prognosis.
She held up her hand, asking that she call her husband first.
Minutes later, the physician was giving a detailed report to
George and Emma.
"…So,
to recap, Mr. Weinberg has suffered an acute myocardial infarction,"
he concluded. "We won't know the total damage until we've
had a chance to completely stabilize him for an MRI. We might
have to do a coronary angiography, as well. Then we can look
to treatment. The ECG(1) is not that great, but it's steady for
now. We'll continue with a course of MONA(2) until then. Yes?…Thank
you, doctor. We'll keep you briefed. Watch yourself over there…
Right. Here's your wife. Good luck." The doctor handed the
cell phone back to Emma.
"George?"
"He knows
his stuff, Em. Abe's in good hands. Look, there's nothing else
to do right now. You need to get some rest. Is there a place
to crash?"
Emma repeated George's
question to the attending physician. "There's a couch in
the doctors' lounge. I'll take you to it as soon as you're finished."
After Emma told
George of the offer, they spent a little time talking about the
car and her sister Irene in Maryland. He said he would update
his in-laws, and asked, "Do you know anybody in Lake
Charles?"
"No, I don't.
Do you?"
"No. Damn,
let me think…"
"George, how's
the weather there?"
"No rain,
yet. The mayor's just ordered a curfew. We've been pretty busy
around here. Just to be on the safe side, we're moving the emergency
room, the pharmacy, and the food service from the first floor.
And we just got some patients from the Superdome. We're hunkered
down nice and tight."
"When does
it hit? I haven't seen a report in hours."
"Mid-morning
tomorrow. Still calling for between Slidell and Waveland."
Emma bit her lip.
"Be careful."
"I will.
Get some rest."
"You get some
rest, too - you hear me?"
"I will.
Call me if there's any change. Love you."
~*~*~
K minus sixteen
hours
John Waguespack
left his car parked on one of the higher levels of the Jean Lafitte
parking structure after watching Security lock up the building,
and walked the quarter-mile to his condo. He had wanted to hang
around longer, but the head of the team assured him they had
everything well in hand. The guards were planning to withdraw
inland by midnight.
So, with nothing
else to do, Waguespack called Las Vegas to give a status report
and hoofed it back to his place. Gulfport was nearly deserted;
only a few hardy souls were planning to defy the warnings to
leave and stay in their homes. Waguespack doubted the wisdom
of doing that. Unlike his condo, most of the homes on the Mississippi
Gulf Coast were one-story slab houses.
But his place -
now that was different. Built of brick and situated across the
road from the beach, the place had survived the greatest of all
hurricanes, Camille - or so he was told. Of course, the place
was on the eastern side of Gulfport, almost in Biloxi, and for
all its power, Camille was a small storm. Still, Waguespack's
place was on the third floor, so even if the storm surge was
big enough to cross US 90, he should stay high and dry. He had
stocked up with canned food, water, and scotch, so he figured
he was set.
He wasn't prepared
for the surprise that awaited him at his doorstep.
"Lucy?"
"Hey there,
John!" Lucy Steele waved from her position, sitting cross-legged
on his doormat, a small duffle bag next to her, wearing jeans
and a sleeveless blouse. "I heard you were having a hurricane
party, so I thought I'd join you!"
"I'm not having
a party. I'm just keeping an eye on the casino." He helped
her up to her feet, which placed Lucy between him and the door.
Lucy leered as she
wound her arms around his neck. "Then we'll make it a party.
You got some stuff?"
Waguespack thought
about his cocaine supplies. "Yeah, a little."
"No problem,
I brought some of my own." Her hands drifted down to his
crotch. "As long as you bring this, we'll have a good time.
So, open up the door and let a girl in."
Waguespack mentally
shrugged. It would be pretty boring waiting for the storm to
come. If there was one thing Lucy was good for, it was for passing
time interestingly. He smiled as he unlocked the door and opened
it.
"After you."
Lucy picked up her
bag and walked into the condo, wiggling her ass at Waguespack.
Accepting the challenge, he swatted her on the butt, which earned
a giggle from her. He grinned as he locked the door behind him.
~*~*~
William let himself
into Elizabeth's Metairie apartment, carrying a Styrofoam ice
chest. He moved straight to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator
to empty it, his second such task of the day. It was important
to empty the fridge when evacuating. It would stay cool for some
time if the power went out, but it wouldn't protect the food
inside forever. Eventfully, the milk, butter, eggs, vegetables
and leftovers would spoil, and there was no cleaner on the planet
that would ever remove the stench from the inside of the appliance.
Will put the eggs,
dairy products, produce, and uncooked chicken in the ice chest,
then turned his attention to the freezer. He debated taking the
half-eaten carton of chocolate swirl ice cream, but decided to
err on the side of bringing too much rather than not enough.
He dumped about half of the ice from the ice maker on top of
the food, the rest in the sink. He threw out all of the leftovers
and opened condiment jars. He left the diet drinks and water
bottles. The sealed boxes and bags of frozen food were put into
plastic bags he brought with him. They would stay cold for the
short drive to Pemberley.
Once both the refrigerator
and freezer were empty, he unplugged the appliance and propped
the doors open. A lot of folks forgot that little detail, to
their later dismay. A refrigerator could still grow mold if it
were left closed, due to the moisture on the inside. He carried
the ice chest to his car, placing it next to the one from his
condo. It took two more trips to pack the rest of the food in
the trunk and toss the bags of abandoned food into the dumpster,
already full from others doing the same.
Will quickly returned
to the apartment one last time, using his cell phone to call
his fiancée.
"Hey, babe,
I'm at your place. I've got the fridge emptied. Do you want anything?"
"Oh…no,
I've got all my personal stuff here. Don't worry about it. It's
only going to be for a couple of days."
"How 'bout
if I grab your jewelry box?"
"If it's
no trouble. Just get yourself home."
"On my way,"
Will said as he walked into her bedroom.
"How's the
traffic?"
"Pretty clear
so far. Everybody who's leaving must have left already. I ought
to make it home in fifteen or twenty minutes after I leave."
"Be careful."
"I will. Love
you."
Will put away his
BlackBerry and beheld Lizzy's jewelry box, still guarded by her
Riptide beanie. "Well, buddy," he chuckled at the doll,
"I guess you come with me." He put both under his arm
and left the apartment, locking the door behind him.
As he placed the
items in the back seat of his BMW next to his photo album, he
noticed an apartment door cracked open nearby, a dim face in
the shadows watching him. Oh, great. Miss Crazy Cat Lady is
checking me out, wondering if she should call the sheriff's office.
He straightened up and called out, "I'm Lizzy Boudreaux's
boyfriend, bringing a couple items to her. If you're not evacuating,
can you keep an eye on her place?"
An elderly woman
grumbled, "All right."
Will pulled out
his business card holder. "Do you want the number where
we're staying?"
He could just make
out her shaking head. "Don't need it. I figure a thief don't
drive a fancy car." She turned away from the door, and Will
could hear her say, "Get away from the door. The dogs'll
get you if you get outside."
Will hesitated before
leaving. "Ma'am, do you have any way of getting out? Can
I call someone?"
The woman returned,
holding a cat. "I ain't leaving." A second cat looked
at him from between her legs. Will now smelled the odor of cat
boxes that needed emptying.
"Here, take
my card if you change your…"
By then she had
shut the door.
Will impulsively
stuck his business card in the door jam. He then returned to
his car and pulled out of the parking lot. As he had told Lizzy,
traffic was almost non-existent. As he headed west on I-10, he
noted a convoy of National Guard trucks heading the other way.
Soon he crossed the Mississippi River via the I-310 Hale Boggs
Bridge, turned on LA 18, and was at the front gates of Pemberley
Plantation.
Lizzy and Mrs. Reynolds
were waiting for him outside the kitchen door as he pulled into
the detached garage, the welcome from his fiancée properly
warmer than from his housekeeper. The three of them made quick
work of carrying the food and other items from Will's car, Lizzy
laughing as she pulled Riptide out of the trunk. Above their
heads, wisps of clouds were dashing across the sky from the north-northeast.
Food and luggage
put away and a quick dinner of hamburgers consumed, Will and
Lizzy cuddled on the couch, watching the storm coverage, while
Mrs. Reynolds retired to the guest bedroom she was to occupy
for the duration. The two said little, both feeling a need to
simply be in each other's company.
Will kissed the
hair on the top of her head. "I'm glad you talked me into
this. I like having you here."
"Does that
mean I was right?"
"Yes, you were."
She snuggled closer.
"Usually, I would be at my parents at a time like this,
helping put plywood over the windows. It feels a little funny
being somewhere else."
"Sorry about
that," Will said automatically, not the least bit sorry
Lizzy was in his arms.
"Oh, I'll get
used to it. After all, this will be my home someday."
"Hopefully,
we won't have to go through this too often."
Just then, the cable
blipped.
"Wind must
be moving the satellite dishes at the cable company," Will
said.
"What happens
if we lose cable TV?"
"I'll switch
over to my Direct TV dish."
"Won't the
winds affect it?"
"Yeah, but
I can reset it easy."
Lizzy sat up. "I'm
going to call my folks and then go to bed. Tomorrow's going to
be a stressful day."
"Good idea."
Will moved over to the windows that lined the den and triggered
the switch that lowered the hurricane shutters. Pemberley was
as ready as it was ever going to be.
~*~*~
K minus fifteen
hours
The law of entropy
works for spinning tops as well as hurricanes. The internal pressure
of the beast rose only a hair, to 905 mb, but it was enough to
cut the maximum winds by twelve miles per hour. Still, she was
a dangerous creature at 161 mph. But there was a sliver of hope
that she would continue to weaken.
What scientists
didn't know was that the slight pressure rise wasn't necessarily
a good thing.
~*~*~
Emma had been catnapping
on the doctors' lounge sofa for a couple of hours when she heard
the door open. She peaked out of one eye to get the biggest surprise
of her life.
"Cathy?"
Cathy Tilney closed
the door behind her and moved toward Emma. "My god, Em.
How are you doing?"
Emma sat straight
up. "Cathy! What are you doing here?"
"George called
us. He told us what was going on. I came to help…"
She was cut off by Emma jumping off the sofa to embrace her old
friend.
"Oh, I am so
happy to see you!" Emma said into Cathy's shoulder. "I
didn't know you lived in Lake Charles."
"We don't.
Henry and I live in Bayside, Texas."
Emma pulled back.
"Texas? How far away is that?"
"About two
hours, going eighty."
Emma gasped. "And
you came all this way? Oh, my god…" She burst into
tears. Cathy led her back to the couch, where they sat until
Emma could get control of her feelings. The two talked, first
about Abe's condition, and then how George had called the Tilney
household after he hung up with Emma. Cathy almost immediately
decided to drive to Lake Charles to support Emma, while Henry
made provisions to stay home from work the next day and watch
the kids.
Emma stared at Cathy,
holding her hands. "It's been so long. Six years. You look
great."
Cathy smiled. "So
do you, Em."
Emma wiped her eyes
with the palms of her hands. "Yeah, right - I must look
a fright."
"Oh, Em, after
what you've been through…" She paused and looked down.
"I'm sorry how we ended it back at school. Can you forgive
me?"
Emma hugged her
again. "Oh, that's all done and forgotten. I am SO happy
to see you. Tell me what you've been doing with yourself. How
many kids do you have?"
Cathy knew Emma
was trying to distract herself from what was going on in the
ICU. So she settled back and began five years worth of catching
up.
~*~*~
Amtrak, the concern
that ran the nation's passenger rail line, had trains in New
Orleans. There were people in New Orleans who may have wanted
to leave. Why not offer to use the empty cars to get people out?
It was a brilliant idea, because it was simple, like most brilliant
ideas. Perhaps too simple, because the city never responded to
numerous calls offering the trains for evacuation.
Why did New Orleans
ignore the offer? No one could say at the time or later. Perhaps
officials thought the trains would be overrun with refugees.
Or since there were no preparations for the people once they
got out - no shelters waiting for them in Jackson or Memphis
or Chicago or the other stops of the famous City of New Orleans
- officials were scared of bad press and lawsuits.
Hubris had set in,
after all. The Corps of Engineers had built the greatest series
of levees in the world. While the National Weather Service had
issued the direst of warnings, forecasting catastrophic damage,
and computer models had said it was possible, no one really
believed that the levees would fail.
For whatever reason,
two and a half hours after the mayor declared a dusk to dawn
curfew in the city, the last Amtrak train left New Orleans, mostly
empty.
~*~*~
K minus twelve
hours
John Buford was
exhausted. For over twelve hours, the Louisiana National Guard
and the NOPD had been working the endless line of refugees streaming
into the Superdome. Each had to be searched for weapons and contraband.
He noticed several young men, usually in long, starched white
t-shirts, turn away from the door and walk away, once they saw
the armed MPs and police standing guard outside. Gang bangers,
he thought. Good god, we don't need those kind in here.
At that moment in time, Buford dearly wished he had his trusty
M-16 securely strapped over his shoulder, rather than sitting
back at the armory in Baton Rouge. Why Baton Rouge sent most
of the LANG, including his company, to the Dome unarmed was a
question he couldn't answer.
Even with over five
hundred troops working, it took a long time to search ten thousand
people. The last couple of hours were the worst, as the first
rain bands swept over the city. But now, he could see the end
of the line. Another thirty minutes or so, and they could secure
the doors. And not a moment too soon - the wind and rain was
freshening every minute.
Buford glanced at
the confused mass of humanity milling around the hallways, as
the security people guided them into the seats of the area. The
aged and the infirmed had cots waiting for them on the field.
The Wildlife and Fisheries people had moved the very sick to
Tulane Medical Center four blocks away.
Suddenly there were
the loud sounds of yet another argument breaking out. People
were trying to set up their own space in the chaos, leading to
the usual disagreements. A mixed squad of troops and NOPD was
moving in to settle the situation. It was not the first incident,
and it certainly wasn't going to be the last.
Buford rubbed his
face. It was going to be a long night.
~*~*~
(1) - ECG: Electrocardiogram
(2) - MONA: morphine, oxygen, nitroglycerin (glyceryl trinitrate),
and aspirin.
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