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Chapter 52
Sunday, August 29, 2005
K plus eight hours
The inhabitants
of the Johnson household relaxed in the front room, after having
undergone a harrowing ten hours, listening to the wind and rain
beat against the walls as they tried to get the radio to work.
Unfortunately, the batteries gave out in the mid-morning, so
the only sounds were the slowly dying winds. It was quiet enough
for the last couple of hours for Kaywanda to nap against Scott
while Mrs. Johnson rested in her easy chair. The room was warm,
but not unpleasantly so. A movement disturbed K's catnap.
"Don't move,"
she mumbled, eyes resolutely closed.
Scott's hand returned
to her shoulder. "It's gettin' dark, K. I just wanna take
a quick look outside."
"Okay,"
she said as he slowed disentangled himself from her. Kaywanda
fell full on the couch, half listening to her boyfriend as he
moved towards the door.
"Shit!"
Kaywanda opened
her eyes. "What's wrong, baby?"
"There's a
hell of a lot of water in the street. Come see."
Groaning, she got
up and joined Scott, standing in the open doorway. The flowing
water caused her to become fully awake. "Scott! I've never
seen it this high!"
A trash can floated
by. Scott turned to her. "Is it just me, or is the water
flowing against the wind?"
Mrs. Johnson called
out from her chair, "What's up, babygirl? Whatcha lookin'
at?"
Kaywanda ran over
to her, eyes wide in fear. "Momma, come quick! We got trouble!"
Kaywanda half-dragged her mother to the door.
"Lord Almighty!"
Mrs. Johnson cried. "The water's rising!"
Scott's face was
pale. "It's risen an inch just since I've been standin'
here."
Kaywanda grasped
his arm. "Oh, god! One of the levees must have broken! We've
got to get outta here!"
"But…but,
it's already too high for the car…" Scott protested.
"Then we'll
walk!"
Mrs. Johnson fell
back. "Walk in that? I can't do that! I can't swim! I'll
drown!"
Scott got a hold
of his emotions. "Don't worry, Miz Johnson, K an' I'll help
you."
"No. No, I'm
not going…"
"MOMMA!"
Kaywanda screamed. "We're leavin' NOW, goddammit!"
She pulled her mother into the bedroom. "Get what you need
- your medicines, money, stuff like that. We can't carry much.
Only the important stuff, okay?" Satisfied that Mrs. Johnson
understood, Kaywanda left and gathered her own belongings from
her room. Scott was throwing gear out of a duffle.
"Here - we'll
put everything into this bag."
"Good idea."
Kaywanda and Scott repacked the duffle, before returning to Mrs.
Johnson's room and added her belongings to the bag.
The trio stood in
the living room, thinking about what else to bring.
"Let's see…"
Scott was reviewing, "money, checkbooks, wallets, medicines,
personal items, cell phones…"
"My Bible!"
cried Mrs. Johnson.
Kaywanda dashed
to retrieve it. As she returned, Scott was packing his iPod.
Zipping up the bag, Scott looked Kaywanda in the eye.
"Okay,"
she said, "let's go."
The late afternoon
sun was hazy behind the remaining clouds as the group set out.
The thigh-high water was brown, with a slight smell of the sea.
They could feel it push against them as they walked in the middle
of what used to be the street, but was now a canal. Scott and
Kaywanda were on either side of Mrs. Johnson, helping her along,
the duffle slung against Scott's back.
"Where do we
go?" asked Scott.
Kaywanda thought
for a moment, trying to get her bearings. "Downtown's high
land. It's…uhh…that-a-way," she pointed. They
moved off in that direction.
The journey was
a nightmare. New Orleans was not a level city, and as they walked
on, the water's depth varied, from knee-deep to up past their
waists. They had to walk slowly and carefully, so as not to trip
over some unseen obstacle. The smell of the water changed, as
sewers and underground tanks added their contents to the deluge.
Mrs. Johnson wanted to stop and quit several times, but once
the party caught up with other refugees, she stopped complaining.
They all sloshed towards what they hoped was the French Quarter
and safety.
Looting was widespread,
as victims sought food and criminals collected electronics. Mrs.
Johnson was scared, and Kaywanda was disgusted, and hopes rose
as they came across a NOPD officer. To their astonishment, instead
of stopping the looting, he was engaging in it.
Scott looked over
at his girlfriend. "K, we're on our own."
~*~*~
Things were not
going well for G-Daddy, not at all. Wickham had sat and waited
until the winds had died down before driving his black Camero
to where he suspected the rival gang hid their supplies. The
sight of the guard was both rewarding and disappointing. It proved
his intelligence was accurate, but it made his task more difficult.
He hoped he brought enough ammo for his Glock.
So, he sat low in
the car for hours, waiting until sundown before beginning his
assault. A couple of blocks away, he knew he couldn't be seen.
And aggressiveness was always the advantage in attack, as he
recalled from the incident in the Gulf so many months ago. All
he needed was the cover of darkness.
He must have napped,
because he didn't know he was in trouble until his feet were
wet. Wickham woke up in time to find water in the passenger compartment
of his car. Cursing, he jumped out into the flood, shocked at
how fast the water was rising. He jumped back in and tried the
ignition, desperate to save his trusty steed, but it was too
late. The storm had drowned his car.
There was nothing
to do but walk back to his crib; the assault was pointless without
a getaway vehicle. And the way the water was rising, nothing
less than a boat would work.
G-Daddy was wading
through the stink towards his house when he came across a group
of people. Most of them were black, but there was one white Goth
dude with a hot-looking chocolate babe helping an old lady. The
babe's momma, maybe? The nose-ring wearing man waved at him.
"Hey, dude!
Is that the way downtown?"
G-Daddy didn't have
time for this. "Fuck if I know."
Goth Boy shifted
the duffle bag on his shoulder, and Wickham wondered if there
was something worthwhile in it. But, there were seven of them
and one of him, so he dismissed the thought of taking the bag.
The white guy was
still talking. "Come with us, man. The city's flooding."
Wickham blinked.
Flooding? Did the levees go?
The pretty girl
grabbed the guy's arm. "Uhh, Scott, let's just go…"
Wickham scowled.
He wouldn't mind a little jungle fever with Miss Hottie there.
"In a sec,
K. C'mon, mister - you can help," Goth Boy said as he approached
him. Wickham decided to end things right then and there and raised
his shirt, displaying the Glock in his waistband.
"Fuck off,
loser. You go your way, an' I'll go mine."
The guy backed off,
his hands raised and his eyes wide open. "Sure, man, sure.
It's cool." Wickham stood his ground as the group moved
off rapidly.
The city's flooding? His mind wrestled with the implications.
Might this be the way to re-establish his empire? By staying
while the competition fled? Or was he just shitting himself?
He couldn't make
up his mind. There was only one thing to do - secure his merchandise,
and then think. After some blow, of course.
Wickham continued
his trek to his house.
~*~*~
Several blocks later,
the group found dry land. They didn't tarry, as the constant
current during the walk was proof they were only ahead of the
water, not out of it. Besides, they wanted to get as far away
as possible from the spiky-haired nut with the gun. They found
themselves close to Esplanade, and they held a short council
to decide their destination.
"Do we go to
the Dome?" Scott asked.
"No, man,"
responded one of the people they had met along the way. "I
heard it was full-up."
"Then, where..?"
"I'm going
to the Convention Center myself. They got to have stuff there."
The others agreed.
"Whatcha think,
K?" Scott asked.
Kaywanda was tired
and confused. "It sounds good, Scott. Let's go with them."
~*~*~
The National Guard
was not one to sit on their hands. The higher ups in Baton Rouge
may have screwed things up by positioning them at Jackson Barracks,
and they might be trapped and their trucks underwater, but they
would not wait for orders or rescue. There were civilians out
there, dammit, that needed their help, and the Guard had boats
chained up somewhere.
The troops found
some bolt cutters. The Louisiana Army National Guard had become
a navy.
~*~*~
The National Guard
wasn't the only group of First Responders flooded. NOPD Third
District stayed at its post on Moss Street, between the Fair
Grounds and City Park, for as long as they could before the floodwaters
drove them out. Captain Fitzwilliam found himself on a boat heading
Downtown. Of the eight NOPD district offices, only two - the
Second in Uptown and the Eighth in the French Quarter- did not
suffer flooding. Communications breakdowns cut the Second off
completely, and the First refused to abandon their headquarters,
even though it had water in it. The NOPD was scrambling to recover
and regroup.
~*~*~
Carrie found the
Louisiana Office of Homeland Security in complete chaos. Communications
had utterly failed, so everyone was responding to rumors spawned
on the radio and TV. Things were great; things weren't great.
The city had dodged the Big One; the city was doomed. Rioting
and looting had broken out at the Dome.
The last rumor was
the worst, because that was where John was.
Nobody knew who
was in charge. The state said the governor was; FEMA said they
were. But, where was FEMA? Except for Brown and his personal
staff, the rest of the federal response was scattered all over
the place or still at the pre-positioning areas, waiting to move
in.
How to move in was a major question. The
state knew the I-10 Bridge between New Orleans and Slidell was
gone. But reports from the Causeway Commission were confusing.
Was the Causeway smashed or not? Was the longest bridge in the
world destroyed, or did it survive with only minor damage? Other
bridges needed to be inspected, and that was why all bridges
south of Baton Rouge were closed except to emergency vehicles.
The reports from
New Orleans, such as they were, became increasingly desperate.
The state had to assume there was at least water overtopping
of the levees. But had they been totally breeched? If so, how
many? No one could say for sure.
Besides, St. Bernard
was surely gone, and Plaquemines was almost as bad. What about
Terrebonne, Lafourche, and St. Mary? The North Shore? Reports
were incomplete and there was nothing on the news.
~*~*~
It was weird, standing
outside, barbequing a steak on the gas grill while there was
a tree in his daughter's window. Chuck didn't want the food in
the fridge to go bad, so he decided to eat the cold stuff first
and save the canned food in the pantry for later. He was going
to need it.
Chuck knew he was
in trouble. Once the rain stopped for good, he tried and failed
to walk out again. Between the water and the fallen trees, he
was trapped but good. His little chain saw was no match for all
that timber. And if it was this bad on his little street, how
much worse were the highways? St. Tammany loved its trees, but
that love had come back to bite them in the ass.
In the gathering
darkness, he realized that he had traveled back in time. Twenty-four
hours ago, he was secure in the 21st century. Now, one Katrina
later, he had lost one hundred years of technological advancement.
No electrical power, no TV, no phones, no Internet, and with
the roads blocked, no cars. Only his little-bitty generator kept
the refrigerator going, but how long would that last? Running
constantly, less than two more days. There was no way all this
stuff would be cleared out by then.
The steak done,
Chuck shut off the gas to the grill - natural gas was the only
utility still working. He'd have hot water, because he had gas
water heaters. That is, if he had water pressure. It had come
and gone all day, and Chuck realized that power to the water
towers was cut. They had generators, but if the workers couldn't
get to the generators to start them or get diesel to fuel them,
Chuck wouldn't have water.
No showers for
ol' Chuckie. Best save the water for the toilets - and don't
flush them until I really need to.
Chuck ate his meal
and drank his beer, the darkness of his house interrupted by
the candles placed about the room. It would be romantic, if Jane
was there and the world hadn't just come to an end.
He was both glad
and sad that Jane wasn't there. He was thankful she and the kids
didn't have to share his misery, but he missed them dearly. And
he desperately wanted to call them - to let then know he was
safe. But for the time being, that was impossible. He was left
alone to his thoughts in the silence.
He couldn't believe
how quiet it was. If he turned off the radio, all Chuck could
hear were the bugs, broken up by the soft hum of distant generators.
And it was dark
- really dark. He hadn't realized how used he had become to the
street lights at the corner. Now there was nothing except starlight.
Without a flashlight, he was blind.
Chuck finished his
meal and blew out the candle. There was nothing else to do but
go to sleep.
Was this how
it was back in the day, before power and radio and all that?
People on the farm just lived their lives according to the sun
- rising with the sunrise and sleeping when it got dark?
It was something
to think about. Something more interesting than worrying about
how to get out of this disaster.
~*~*~
In Baton Rouge,
the power was still out, so the only information available was
from the radio. WWL-870 AM had evacuated from the city following
the station's destruction and was now operating out of the state's
capital in a borrowed broadcast booth. Fortunately, the tower
and transmitter were unscathed, so the 50,000 watt signal continued
to cover the Gulf South. The lack of news about the North Shore
was so galling to Jane Bingley that she stayed away from the
radio and kept the children occupied.
On the outskirts
of the area, things weren't so bad, but they were incredibly
frustrating. All that the Breauxes could do was watch the confusing
news coverage. Joy that the city was spared a direct hit gave
way to concern, and then finally horror, as reports of flooding
kept coming in. The local news channels knew nothing, and the
national outfits were inconclusive. All they talked about was
Downtown, or the Quarter, except for the odd report from coastal
Mississippi.
Worse was the collapse
of the telephone system. Even as far away as Lafayette, service
on land-lines and cells was spotty. Chris couldn't check on work,
and Mari couldn't reach her mother.
~*~*~
K plus ten hours
By now, the monster
was well inland. Without the warm waters of the Gulf to sustain
her, she began to fall apart. Her highest winds were now below
sixty miles per hour. But she still had rain - tons of it. The
mortally wounded beast pelted northern Mississippi and the central
Southern states with inches of rain, and spawned hundreds of
tornados as she continued to move to the northwest. The rainwater
collected in the ditches and storm sewers, which flowed into
the rivers and bayous. They all flowed south, and so the floodwaters
headed right toward the already devastated counties of southern
Mississippi, right as the storm surge was receding. A new surge
was coming, this time from the north.
~*~*~
Most of the telephone
lines may have been down in the New Orleans region, but enough
information had filtered back to Baton Rouge to convince the
government that an unprecedented disaster was taking place eighty
miles away. Governor Blanco made many decisions that night, but
of them all, three would weigh heaviest in the days to come.
The first decision
was to get boats to the flooded streets of New Orleans. There
was no agency in Louisiana that owned more watercraft than the
Department of Wildlife & Fisheries. Charged with the responsibility
of managing and protecting Louisiana's abundant natural resources,
W&F was best known as the bane to hunters and fishers who
dared violate the states laws and regulations. W&F agents
were hard working and dedicated. Therefore, when the call went
out to the district offices for the staff to collect their boats
and rush to help in the search-and-rescue operations in the stricken
city, there was very little hesitation. Hundreds of agents responded,
and they would be instrumental in saving countless lives.
The second decision
was to get more help - a lot more help. The governor sent
a plea for additional aid to the federal government. She asked
for "everything you've got" from Washington. It was
not the decision to do so that would prove controversial - indeed,
such a request was expected by a Washington that was also becoming
aware of the scope of the catastrophe. The problem was the manner
of the request.
For good or for
ill, government is run by that peculiar category of humanity
know as bureaucrats. Owning all the usual virtues and
vices as the rest of civilization, they are particularly fond
of rules and regulations, for they satisfy their deep need for
order and predictably. They may say they wish to be of help to
their fellow citizens, and many truly mean to be, but their one
great fear is the loss of their job.
It is very hard
for a bureaucrat to lose a position, for the law is designed
to protect them. Except for elimination of positions by budget
cuts, the only other way of being fired is to not follow the
rules. As long as a government staffer put in their hours and
followed all policies and procedures, nothing could stop them
from collecting their government pension in twenty years. The
great nightmare of a bureaucrat is to be brought before a legislative
or congressional committee investigating mismanagement. It was
a direct route to being shuttled to counting moose in Alaska,
if not outright termination.
To be safe, a bureaucrat
does nothing if requests - be it help or records or something
out of the ordinary - are not in the proper form. Every "i"
must be dotted and each "t" must be crossed, or the
request is sent back for "clarification," if not filed
outright into the circular file cabinet beside the desk.
Governments are
well aware of this. That is why there are people on staff who
do nothing but review inter-governmental requests and reports,
making sure the local bureaucrats are speaking the same language
as the state or federal bureaucrats, and vice versa.
Therefore, when
Governor Blanco's panic-stricken cry for "everything you've
got" was received, it generated a great deal of sympathy,
but no action. Exactly what kind of "everything" was
Louisiana asking for, besides the additional help for debris
removal? At least that box was checked. How much aid or how many
personnel? Where should they bring it? Who would be responsible
for it? Must watch out for government waste, you know. Grants
or loans? Exactly, what is it that you want?
It would take days
to get answers out of Baton Rouge.
The third decision
would put people's lives at risk.
~*~*~
By this time, Emma
was in Cathy and Henry's living room in Bayside, Texas. She had
been spending her time talking to her sister and brother-in-law,
who were flying down the next day, when not watching the coverage.
Em was running on fumes; her grief over her father and her worry
over her husband combined to drain her reserves of energy. The
Tilneys did what they could, but only George's voice was of any
comfort to their guest.
They had gone to
bed, and Emma knew she should do the same, but she couldn't rest.
She sat on the couch in the den, hugging a pillow, numbly watching
the storm coverage with the sound muted on the TV. It took her
a moment to realize her cell phone was ringing.
She pounced on it.
"Hello!?"
"Emma? Emma,
can you hear me? It's George."
"GEORGE! Oh
my god, George! I've been so worried! How are you!?" Her
heart was going a mile a minute.
"I'm fine,
Em. We're all safe and fine."
"Thank God…thank
God…" she murmured before she remembered the reports.
"George, the TV says the city might be flooding. Do you
have any water in the hospital?"
"No. Flooding,
you say? Do they say how bad it is?"
"Not really,
but some say that one of the levees has failed or overtopped
or something."
"I hope
that's wrong. Ummm…look, Emma, I've only have a couple of
minutes. We're taking turns using this phone - it's the only
one working. Tell me how you're doing. How are you holding up?"
She gave him a quick
recap of what had happened since their last phone call, almost
eighteen hours before. How the local temple in Lake Charles was
seeing to all the details for Abe. That her family was flying
down to Houston the next day, and that the funeral would take
place on Wednesday. How she was spending the night with the Tilneys
in Bayside.
"Thank you,
baby, thank you for calling Henry and Cathy. They've been so
kind. I can't tell you what a comfort they've been."
She heard something
that sounded like a sob on the other end. "It should
have been me, Em. I should have been there for you. I should
have made you and Abe stay in the hotel. Maybe he would have…"
"No, baby,
no! Don't say that! I don't know why it happened, why Papa had
to go, but…but maybe it was his time. Please, George, don't
tear yourself up over this! Be strong! Be strong for yourself,
be strong for me. Save your people, and come home to me!"
"I will
- come hell or high water."
She snorted in pain
and humor, grateful he could still joke at a time like this.
"You're all that's important to me. You're the only thing
that's irreplaceable. I love you so much."
"I love
you, too." There
was a pause, and she could hear her husband talk to someone else.
"Emma, honey, my time's up. I've got to go. I'll call
again as soon as I can."
"Oh, George,
don't worry about that! Take care of your people so you can get
out of there."
"I can't
wait. Love you."
"I love you,
too." She hung up the cell and fell back into the cushions
of the couch, relived beyond measure. She was asleep within moments.
~*~*~
Will left Lizzy
and Mrs. Reynolds and retreated to his study to use his satellite
phone. Unlike the first three times, he got through to Houston.
"Leon? It's
Will."
"Hey, boss.
How're you doing?"
"We're okay.
No power, but we've got a generator. Lost a couple trees, but
no damage."
"We've been
trying to call, but we couldn't get through."
"Yeah, phones
are out all over. How's everything at your end?"
"All inbound
traffic has been rerouted to Houston or Miami. Once they get
to port - that's another problem. It's been hell trying to get
berths. Both ports are full. We're gonna lose big money, Will."
"Can't be helped.
That's why I stayed here. I'm going to try to reopen operations
at New Orleans soonest. Look, this satellite phone is unreliable.
Please stay in touch with me via email, okay?"
"Sure thing.
How come that fancy gadget ain't working? The storm can't bother
something in space, can it?"
"I don't know
for sure. Maybe the system is overloaded, seeing it's the only
thing that's working."
"Right,
that makes sense. Umm…any word about the West Bank?"
Will had expected
the question, since Leon's house was in Tall Timbers, off General
de Gaulle. "No, nothing. Hell, I'm in St. Charles, and I
don't know what going on a mile down the road."
"I hear
ya. Anything else?"
"No. I'm patched
into DGS via my dish. I can't send out emails, but I can receive
them. Follow the emergency plan. You guys are in charge until
they restore communications here. Don't worry about checking
with me - you know your stuff. Just do what needs to be done.
We'll clean up everything later."
~*~*~
K plus fourteen
hours
George Katz was
confused. "Water in the streets? I was outside at sundown,
and it was dry!"
"It isn't now.
Things just went to hell," his boss advised him.
"Damn, Emma
was right. We've got to move everything up from the ground floor
again."
"Right, but
we've got a bigger problem. We've got to get these patients out
of New Orleans."
"How do we
do that? High-water trucks like the Army has?"
"If we can
get them. We're talking to HCA now."
~*~*~
Kaywanda, Scott,
and Mrs. Johnson knew that while they were dry, they were still
in trouble. A crowd had grown around the Convention Center, even
though there was no food, water, or bathroom facilities. People
milled around or dozed, having nothing else to do.
Not all of the throng
was sheep. There were those, mostly young males, who didn't have
much respect for society's rules. They lived outside of the dominant
culture, and they respected only strength. If they wanted something,
they took it. People wanted lavatories. People wanted food and
water and shelter. These individuals weren't going to let a few
locked glass doors stand in their way.
By midnight, the
crowd had forced its way into the Convention Center.
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