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Chapter 53
Tuesday, August 30, 2005
K plus fourteen hours
Right after midnight,
the first of the FEMA DMAT(1) teams arrived to set up operations
in the New Orleans Arena, the "small Dome" next to
the Superdome. During the night, special needs patients would
be transferred out of the chaotic larger stadium to the relative
comfort of the home of the New Orleans Hornets NBA basketball
franchise. The floodwaters had not reached Downtown yet.
~*~*~
The staff at Tulane
Medical Center now knew they were in enormous trouble. The waters
were rising and would soon kill the generators. They had to evacuate
patients, and they had no way to do it by land. So the staff
and the corporate parent, HCA, came up with an audacious plan
- they would evacuate by air. What made it bold and daring was
the fact that TMC had no heliport. They would make one.
The maintenance
people spent most of the early hours of Tuesday morning removing
the light poles from the top of the five-floor high parking garage.
They had to work quickly, because corporate was contacting Acadian
Ambulance and other providers of MEDIVAC helicopters, arranging
for pickups. The first copter was due to arrive at sunup.
HCA wasn't the only
private corporation to shine during the crisis. Countless trucks
from major retailers, such as Wal-Mart and Home Depot, were already
on the way to the region filled with food, building supplies,
and medicines. Most importantly, they brought water - thousands
of cases of water - to be given away to the people of Louisiana
and Mississippi.
Banks across the
region immediately waved all fees for their ATMs, a policy that
would remain in effect for months. Utility crews were on the
job as soon as the winds receded enough for safe operations to
begin the laborious process of rebuilding the electrical and
communication network in the central Gulf States. Airlines stood
ready to fly back into New Orleans to help in the evacuation.
There were two groups
not coming - the American Red Cross and the Salvation
Army. Not that they didn't want to. The Red Cross had set up
shelters in cities outside the affected area, and the Salvation
Army was ready to move into the stricken city. However, they
were forbidden by the Governor's Office of Homeland Security
and Emergency Preparedness the night before to enter New Orleans.
The reason given was that the governor's office was concerned
over the levee breaches and wanted to get people out of the Crescent
City. If either charity moved in, it might encourage people to
stay. So the state had decided to force the matter by not permitting
the establishment of relief centers in the stricken city or in
the other parishes of the South Shore, such as St. Bernard, Plaquemines,
or Jefferson.
So it was, as tens
of thousands of people were stranded at the Superdome, the Convention
Center, and on highway overpasses all over the state's largest
city, America's two greatest charities - organizations specially
designed to help refugees - were ordered by the State of Louisiana
to stay out.(2)
~*~*~
K plus twenty
hours
By now, it was painfully
obvious that the City of New Orleans was going underwater. The
flood had reached Downtown. People streamed out of the affected
areas all night.
At the Superdome,
Buford joined other officers, leaning over the railing of the
plaza and down at the street in the dawn's early light. Where
it had been bone-dry, it was now covered by two to three feet
of water.
"Shit,"
breathed one of the officers, "the levees did break."
"Katrina's
killed us," groaned Buford. "That fuckin' bitch has
killed the city."
The top officer
in command, a major, brought everyone back to the problem at
hand. "How much time do we have before the water drowns
the generators?" Told it was dependant on how fast the waters
rose, he continued, "Okay, people, let's work the problem.
Sooner or later we're going to lose power. Without those generators,
we have no lights, no toilets, no running water - nothing. We've
got thousands of refugees to take care of, and more coming every
minute.
"Brief your
people and prepare for the worst - food and drink will be MREs
and canned water. Conditions are going to deteriorate. It could
take days to get these people out of here. Tempers are going
to get short. Get ready. There will be no riots on my watch -
is that clear?"
The officers nodded.
"Get going.
I'm going to try to raise Baton Rouge again and advise them as
to our situation. Dismissed."
The men returned
inside as dawn broke over a dying city.
~*~*~
The rays of the
rising sun woke up Chuck Bingley. Stumbling out of bed and into
the bathroom, he discovered to his relief that the water was
back on, although the pressure was low. He dressed quickly and
went downstairs to eat breakfast.
As the gas was working,
he brewed coffee in an old percolator he found in back of the
cabinet and fired up the generator as he considered his options.
By the time he poured his first cup, he knew that planning was
useless until he determined the extent of the blockage on the
streets and roads. Having used up the last of the milk the day
before, he ate a bowl of Cheerios dry. He then put on a ball
cap and went outside.
The sight awaiting
him was amazing. For one thing, it was hard to tell where the
street was. With the fallen trees and leaves, it looked like
a primeval forest in sections. At least the storm water had drained
away. Chuck had to climb over the trunks lying on the road as
he moved towards the highway.
If anything, the
damage there was more extensive than he'd thought. Massive trees
were down everywhere. Power poles were shattered, their cables
hanging uselessly. Some of his neighbors had two or more trees
on their houses. There was little sign of life, except for the
humming of generators. Chuck became more depressed as he moved
forward. Logic told him it had to be this bad all over St. Tammany.
How long would it take for the roads to be cleared? How long
would it be before he could get out? When would he see his family
again?
"Hello!"
The sound of the
greeting pulled Chuck out of his musings. One of his neighbors
was waving from his open garage door. What was his name? Prechter
- that's it! Chuck climbed over a tree trunk, joined Mr.
Prechter, and shared survival stories.
"Got a chain
saw?" Prechter asked him.
"Umm…yeah,
sure." Chuck owned a small fifteen-inch model that he used
to clear brush.
"Good. I'm
supposed to meet up with some of the others in an hour and start
clearing all this crap. Be a long time before the parish can
get to us. Can you join us? We gotta take care of ourselves now."
Chuck looked back
at the street in disbelief. The pines Katrina blew down were
massive - some of the trunks were five feet in diameter or more.
"How the hell are we going to do that with a few chain saws?"
Prechter pointed
up the street. "One of the guys is a contractor, and he's
got a bobcat and some other heavy equipment."
Hope flared in Chuck's
chest. "All right, I'll go get my gear, and I'll be back
in a little while."
~*~*~
K plus twenty-two
hours
At 0800 CDT, with
the center of the system located at 35.6 N by 88.0 W, the National
Weather Service determined that the monster had weakened so much
it was no longer a tropical storm. With winds of only thirty-five
miles per hour, it was just a large mass of thunderstorms. Katrina
was almost gone, and the scientists would follow it until no
remnant remained.
In its wake, hundreds
of people had died. All that remained in the coastal areas was
to recover the bodies, clean up the debris, and add up the cost.
Except in New Orleans.
The dying had just begun.
~*~*~
The first helicopter
landed at the make-shift pad on the top of the Tulane Hospital
parking garage at eight a.m. Everyone held their breath, hoping
the structure could take the weight. George and the others relaxed
as it was apparent that the plan was going to work. As soon as
they could, staffers moved the first of the critical patients
into the waiting aircraft. A few minutes later, the MEDIVAC gently
lifted off and headed towards the airport.
This was no panicked
evacuation. Once it had been decided to fly the patients out,
HCA had been burning the phone lines finding receiving hospitals,
mostly in the HCA system. The law said a patient could not be
discharged unless a receiving medical facility was identified,
and HCA was going to do everything by the book. They were
not going to lose track of any of their patients if they could
help it. The helicopters would refuel at Louis Armstrong Airport
before continuing to the receiving hospitals.
George worked to
make sure the proper identification and papers went with each
patient. The most difficult were the children. They had to make
sure they couldn't be misplaced. Paper and tags could be lost,
and George and the staff wanted to make sure the young patients
in their charge would not be misplaced in the chaos, so they
wrote with indelible markers on their arms or backs the children's
names and that they belonged to TMC. Parents' names and addresses
were useless - those addresses might be under ten feet of water.
Within a few minutes,
the second helicopter arrived.
~*~*~
Chris pulled out
of the Breaux driveway at eight o'clock on his way to Jackson.
It had been over twenty-four hours since they last heard from
Mrs. Dashwood, and both Mari and Chris were worried. There was
absolutely no word as to conditions in Mississippi. While the
decision to drive to Mississippi was easily made, convincing
Mari to stay behind was not. She insisted on coming along and
the two of then fell into the first argument of their married
life. Eventually, Mari capitulated and agreed that it was best
Chris drive alone and light, in case he needed to transport her
mother and sister back to Lafayette.
Chris felt no sense
of victory over winning the argument, and he promised himself
that he would not throw his weight around again once the initial
emergency was over. We'll work together later, he swore, it's
just that things are so bad now we can't take unnecessary chances.
He now hoped, as
he drove through the city to the interstate, that Mari's comment
that driving all the way from Lafayette to Jackson was the very
definition of taking unnecessary chances did not prove to be
a prophecy.
~*~*~
K plus twenty-four
hours
The Dome may have
been surrounded by water, but that didn't stop helicopters from
using the landing pad on top of the parking structure. And it
was an important helicopter that landed at 1000 CDT, one day
after Katrina's landfall. Under heavy security, the Governor
of the State of Louisiana arrived, accompanied by the state's
two US senators and FEMA Director Brown.
The dignitaries
were briefed as to conditions in the structure, as more refugees
streamed into it. Governor Blanco declared that she would have
buses there the next day. They left without meeting with the
Mayor of the City of New Orleans.
~*~*~
Except for a few
news outlets, the media in general had blown the Hurricane Katrina
story. Rather than the Big Easy having dodged the Big One once
again, in reality America's most unique city was slipping under
the waters and thousands of her people were trapped.
The communications
breakdown affected the news media just as severely as it did
the government and the people on the ground. Nobody really
knew what was going on. The big picture was way too large for
a thirty-second sound bite to encapsulate. All the reporters
could see was what was right before their eyes.
Rumor had replaced
reliable information. No story was deemed too unbelievable not
to be believed. If a half-drowned alcoholic on Bourbon Street
claimed he saw a corpse floating up Canal Street, it went out
over the airwaves as "witnesses assert seeing hundreds of
bodies." If a cop said he heard from a friend that there
might have been gunfire in the Superdome, it was "Officials
report rioting and murder of children." Claims of rapes
and shootings and bombings were sent up the satellite link unfiltered
and unsubstantiated.
This affected the
government response. Contrary to snide asides made by self-righteous
correspondents, local, state, and federal government officials
were monitoring the media reports. That was part of the trouble.
With the near-breakdown in communications and command-and-control
in the city, the mayor and police chief took the reports as gospel
and repeated them, giving an official credence to the misinformation
that later the media would use in justifying their performance
during the crisis. Instead of rushing in personnel to help, officials
now had to wait for more and more security before moving in.
Worst of all was
the myopic obsession with the Lower Ninth Ward. The pictures
beamed all around the globe gave the impression that only the
poorest of the poor African Americans of New Orleans were suffering.
Certainly, the devastation in that neighborhood was almost total,
but it was bad almost everywhere in the city. The much larger,
affluent, and mostly-white Lakeview area was actually under deeper
water. The entire New Orleans East - half of the city - was flooded.
St. Bernard Parish was gone - simply gone. There were no reports
at all about Plaquemines or the West Bank or the North Shore.
As for Mississippi,
ground zero of the storm, the coverage was spotty and incomplete,
at best. Alabama was not mentioned at all.
How this contributed
to the wretchedness cannot be determined - nor underestimated.
~*~*~
Things were frustrating
as hell at Pemberley Plantation for the two techno-nerds. Even
with state of the art computers, satellite dishes, BlackBerries,
and high-def TVs, all powered by a natural gas generator, neither
William or Elizabeth knew just what exactly was going on. The
telephone system, both land-line and cellular, was out. The satellite
phone proved to be unreliable. Without cable, they couldn't send
an email.
"We might as
well be living in 1905," William griped. "There just
isn't any way of talking to anybody!"
Elizabeth wasn't
in any better mood, but she realized that there was a way of
proving she needed to be with Will. She crossed over to behind
the couch where Will was seated, and reaching over, put her arms
about him while kissing the top of his head.
"Poor, poor
baby. None of your toys work."
Will twisted around.
"You think that's funny?"
"No. I think
your reaction to the current state of affairs is, though."
Lizzy pulled at Will's hand. "Come on, let's go outside."
A few minutes later the two were walking hand in hand along the
river levee.
"Damn, it's
high," Will watched the swiftly flowing muddy water.
Lizzy nodded. "Will,
what's that boat over there?" She pointed at a cabin cruiser
secured to a couple of pilings in the river.
"That's my
boat. We had her brought up from Venice before the storm."
He looked at it, considering.
"What are you
thinking about?" she asked.
Will explained his
surprising plan.
Lizzy looked at
the boat again. "They'll let you do that?"
"Only one way
to find out."
"When are you
going to try?"
"In a day or
two."
~*~*~
The mayor's office
was being bombarded with incomplete reports from all over. A
shell-shocked administration was fixated on four issues: the
levee breaks, the people in the Superdome, right at their doorstep,
tourists trapped in the hotels, and the looting throughout the
city.
There was one place
they couldn't see. The Convention Center was a dozen city blocks
away, but without modern communications, it may as well had been
on the dark side of the moon. One could not see it, or the people
milling inside the vast building, due to all the tall, modern
office buildings between Loyola Avenue and Convention Center
Boulevard. Literally, it was out-of-sight, out-of-mind.
An hour earlier,
Mayor Nagin reported that the initial efforts to sandbag the
17th Street Canal breech had failed. Now, after reviewing the
reports, he ordered a mandatory evacuation of the city. Which
was all well and good - but how were people supposed to get out?
~*~*~
K plus twenty-eight
hours
The casino industry
knew they had taken an enormous hit from Katrina. While assets
were important, most of the companies felt that their people
were invaluable. They were well-trained and loyal, and the companies
would be loyal to them. They promised to keep as many of the
staff as possible on salary until the facilities could be repaired
or replaced.
Conditions in New
Orleans weren't that bad. The big, land-based facility was deep
downtown on high land and was undamaged. While it would be awhile
before gambling resumed, the owners were making provisions to
help feed the first responders and the other emergency personnel
for the duration of the initial recovery.
But Mississippi
was bad - real bad. Damage ranged from missing roofs to missing
casinos. Some were washed ashore by the storm surge. Some simply
sank. Those were total losses. The industry did not want to pull
out of Mississippi - the market had proven too lucrative. But
there would have to be some changes made.
It just so happened
that the industry was meeting in Las Vegas for a long-planned
meeting. Discussions were held and a joint decision made. Twenty-eight
hours after the storm of the century came ashore, Mississippi
received an ultimatum - change the rules mandating floating casinos
on the Gulf Coast or the industry would leave.
~*~*~
"All right,
Irene, I'm ready. Give me your flight schedule," Emma said
as she sat across the kitchen table from Cathy in the Tilney's
Bayside home. "Okay…got it. We'll meet you at the baggage
claim tomorrow. All right... Don't worry about a hotel. We'll
take care of that from here." She glanced at Cathy, who
nodded her head. "No, I'm fine. I'll talk to George tonight.
It seems he can get through at night. No. Irene, I don't know
when he can get out. They've got to see to the patients first…
Right, I know. I'll see you tomorrow. All my love to Tyler. Bye."
"You okay?"
Cathy asked.
"No, not really,"
she admitted, "but it would be a lot worse if it weren't
for y'all."
Cathy patted her
hand. There really wasn't anything else to say.
~*~*~
Mayor Nagin made
his first visit to the Superdome over four hours after the governor.
His outlook was decidedly bleak, Captain Buford considered, especially
since he advised the officials to prepare to remain there for
another six days. He had thought the governor had been overly
optimistic earlier, and the mayor's advice was a definite downer.
Shit, we don't
have six days worth of MREs. What the hell are we supposed to
do?
~*~*~
Chris had a tank
full of gas and made good time up US 90 through Lafayette to
I-49. The interstate took him to Alexandria, where he picked
up US 167. Normally, he would have struck out eastward on LA
28 to catch US 61 at Natchez, but he had no idea as to the conditions
there. By eleven, he was eastbound on I-20 out of Monroe, headed
for the Mississippi line. Things started slowing down by the
time he got to Vicksburg. While the traffic wasn't too bad, there
were enough trees down to slow things up occasionally, while
the crews worked hard on the side of the road. Some places looked
fine, while others were torn up - it seemed like a buzz-saw had
cut the pine trees off half-way up the trunks. He made it to
the Mississippi capital at about two in the afternoon, and finished
his three hundred mile journey a half-hour later.
The neighborhood
looked normal, except for the opened widows, a sure sign of power
outage. Sure enough, Mrs. Dashwood opened the door to her darkened
house to her new son-in-law.
"Chris! Oh,
honey, you didn't need to drive all the way up here!" she
cried as she hugged him. "Excuse me - I'm all sweaty."
"Had to come,"
he said as he hugged Margaret. "How long has the power been
out?"
"Over a day.
And we can't get through on the phones - land lines or cell -
to Louisiana. It keeps saying the circuits are busy."
"Yeah, we know.
We think the whole phone system in South Louisiana has collapsed."
"Oh, my god."
She looked at Chris. "What time did you leave this morning?"
"About eight."
"Did you have
anything to eat?" Receiving a negative response, she cried,
"Chris! Come into the kitchen so I can fix up something
for you."
"I don't want
to put you to any trouble."
"It's no trouble,"
Mrs. Dashwood assured him. "All the food will go bad anyway
if we don't eat it. Ham and cheese okay?"
~*~*~
The elevated intersection
of I-10 and I-610 sat right over the 17th Street Canal. While
it was high and dry, both highways were cut off heading east,
for they dropped down to ground level, and that was now under
several feet of water.
What was bad for
trucks was good for boats, and Louisiana Wildlife & Fisheries
agents used this place as their improvised boat launch and dock.
In their shallow-bottomed craft, they motored over the sunken
streets, looking for survivors. Ironically, a few of the city's
famous cemeteries were close by the intersection, and the very
tops of the above-ground tombs could be seen as they poked through
the dirty water.
A flotilla of watercraft
from the W&F, Coast Guard, LA National Guard, and boats commandeered
by the NOPD criss-crossed the deluge like mosquitoes across a
pond. Others, mostly volunteers, tried to join the effort, but
the bureaucratic nature of FEMA was troubled. The First Responders
had papers and orders - but citizens? Who was responsible for
them? Who was in charge?
FEMA was getting
very little leadership out of Baton Rouge. The governor's office
seemed paralyzed, and only FEMA Director Brown could short-circuit
calls up the time-consuming ladder to Washington, but he seemed
to be out of the loop, flying around with the governor.
FEMA reacted instinctively.
Until a proper chain of command was set up, volunteers were not
welcome.
~*~*~
As more and more
water flowed into the city, the engineers argued over the best
way to stop it. The large sandbags the military helicopters had
dropped didn't work, so they were making even bigger ones.
But some of the
experts said that flying sandbags in was a waste of time. Heavy
equipment needed to be brought in to deliver the tons of fill
need to do the job right.
That would take
too long, the others claimed.
The only point they
all agreed on was they needed help. The Corps and the equipment
from the Orleans Levee District that was not underwater were
already being used. So the team asked for assistance from their
neighbors. The West Jefferson Levee District responded immediately,
and the folks from the West Bank put all of their available assets
at New Orleans' disposal.
The word out of
East Jefferson would shock the officials. It was a flat refusal.
When challenged, East Jeff claimed a "lack of equipment."
East Jeff had made their decision clear - we're here for us,
and the hell with everyone else.
This would not be
the last instance of selfishness between government bodies.
~*~*~
Wickham sloshed
though the flood out of his neighborhood, but he wasn't evacuating.
He had way too much product and equipment in his crib to abandon
it. But he needed food.
The first couple
of stores were completely cleaned out, but there was still some
stuff in the third. He loaded up a shopping cart with as much
canned spaghetti and fruit he could. He was pissed that all the
beer was gone, but he scored a couple bottles of wine. He also
grabbed a couple of plastic storage boxes.
During the return,
when the water got too high for the cart a block way from his
house, he transferred his booty to the boxes. As he had hoped,
they floated well enough for him to continue. Wickham figured
he had enough food to last a few more days. As for blow, he had
plenty.
He had a new plan
- to wait out the competition. Give 'em a couple days to pull
out, and he would collect their product. It made perfect sense
to his increasingly delusional mind.
~*~*~
It had been a long,
hot, hard day, but as he sat in Prechter's lawn chair, sipping
the best tasting beer of his life and watching the sun dip beneath
what was left of the trees, Chuck reflected that it had been
a very rewarding one as well. To his surprise, the neighborhood
crew had been able to clear all of the timber and wires covering
the streets, and still had time to open up any blocked driveways.
While they worked,
they learned that the firefighters down the road had been working
since mid-day yesterday to clear the main highway from Covington
to Bogalusa. They still had a ways to go, but at least the people
in Chuck's neighborhood could get to town. Already, people were
out, looking for supplies.
Chuck just finished
an on-the-job graduate course in the use of a chainsaw. With
a fifteen-inch blade, he was assigned to branches and small trees,
leaving the big trunks to the guys with eighteen-inch saws. He
learned that sharp chains and heavy equipment made all the difference
in the world. He learned how to maintain the tension on his chain,
and he had replaced it once. Which reminded him - he owed Prechter
a new chain.
He felt the distant
aches and pains that would make themselves better known tomorrow,
but he didn't care. Sitting in that chair, covered in sawdust
and sweat, Chuck felt like a man who had earned his stripes.
He missed his family acutely, but he was too tired to try to
drive to Baton Rouge today, now that he could get out. His plans
were an early shower, bed, and to try to drive out in the morning.
"You okay there,
Chuck? Need another cold one?" his host inquired.
He assured Prechter
that he didn't, before turning his attention to a sign Mrs. Prechter
was painting.
YOU LOOT - WE SHOOT
Chuck gestured to
it. "You think that's necessary?"
Prechter nodded.
"If there's one thing storms bring out, it's the looters.
I've had my .357 loaded since the storm and my shotgun, too.
I ain't taking any chances, and you shouldn't, either."
Chuck grinned as
he took a drink. "I don't know…" He would have
continued his thought but Prechter interrupted, gesturing at
the street.
Rolling slowly down
the street was a pick-up truck with four men - two in the cab
and two riding outside in the bed. They were looking at the houses
as they passed. Chuck lived in a small neighborhood and was familiar
with all the cars. He had never seen this truck before or its
occupants. There was no through street through the neighborhood,
either.
"Guests of
somebody?" Chuck suggested hopefully.
"Let's find
out." Prechter stood up, walked a few steps towards the
street, and called out, "Hey! How're you guys doing? How
did y'all make out?"
Instead of answering,
the driver hit the gas and the truck sped away.
"Mississippi
plates," Chuck observed, a chill going down his back. "You
don't think…?"
Prechter turned
to him. "In times like this, shoot first and ask questions
later, Chuck."
Chuck took a big
swallow of his beer, dearly wishing he owned a gun.
~*~*~
By ten o'clock,
the Guard estimated that 24,000 people had taken refuge in the
Superdome. Things were going downhill. Not only were there fifty
hungry, tired, angry, and frightened survivors for each security
person available, the water pressure had fallen so much that
the toilets had failed. They had enough food for the next few
days, but what would happen after that?
Meanwhile, a dozen
blocks away, thousands were trying to find a quiet corner in
the Convention Center to pass the steaming night.
~*~*~
"Hey, Lydia,
you ready yet?" Anne asked from the bathroom. "We gotta
get to the club in an hour."
Hearing no answer,
Anne went to find her roommate glued to the TV. "Honey,
we gotta go."
Lydia nervously
wrung her hands. "But Annie, I'm trying to find out what's
happened back home. The TV's only talkin' about New Orleans.
They haven't said anything about Covington, or Chackbay, or nothing."
She bit her lip. "I tried to call, but I can't get through.
I don't know what's happened to my parents or any of my sisters."
Anne sat down and
took her into her arms. "I know, baby, but there's nothing
we can do from here in Vegas." She dried Lydia's eyes with
her hands. "Look, the only flooding they talked about is
in New Orleans, right? So, everybody else must be okay."
"But…but
Lizzy lives in Metairie, an' Mr. Will's place is in New Orleans."
"C'mon, baby,
Mr. Will can take care of himself and your sister, too. Worrying
about them ain't gonna do them any good."
Lydia smiled weakly.
"Yeah, you're right. Mr. Will's smart. He'll take care of
Lizzy."
Anne hugged her.
"'Course he will."
"Annie?"
Lydia said into her shoulder. "How's about we start a relief
fund at the club? You know, to help out."
Anne looked at her
lover with new-found respect. "Lyddie, that's a wonderful
idea. But we gotta get ready quick, so's we can talk to the manager."
Lydia smiled as
she jumped up from the couch. "Okay. I'll just be a couple
minutes!"
Anne watched Lydia
dash into the bedroom before she let her face fall. She said
what she did to her roommate to keep her spirits up, but it was
all bravado. She turned her attention and troubled thoughts to
the TV.
Oh Lyddie, I
hope Mr. Darcy's as smart as we think he is. I surely hope so.
~*~*~
Chris had been able
to talk to Mari a couple of times during the day. Because of
that, she knew that her mother and sister were safe and had refused
Chris' offer of evacuation to Lafayette. So she wasn't completely
out of her skin with worry about her new husband while he gallivanted
around two states. Just mostly anxious, and still irritated at
being left behind. Her relief was total as the familiar lights
of his truck lit up the windows of the Breaux house as he pulled
into the driveway. Mari had his door open just as he switched
off the engine.
"Miss me?"
he joked as she pulled at him.
"No,"
she lied as she led him inside the house, "but your mother
did."
He laughed as he
wrapped an arm around his wife. "Good. Glad to see that
some things haven't changed."
Her only answer
was to kiss him breathless. "So, how was it?"
His good cheer dissipated.
"Bad?"
He nodded. "I'll
tell you inside."
She bit her lip.
"Should I get you a beer?"
"Oh, yeah."
~*~*~
K plus thirty-seven
hours
It was eleven o'clock
at night, and George was assisting the last, most important patient
to be evacuated in a MEDIVAC helicopter. A young, heart-transplant
candidate needed to be flown to Lafayette and then by fixed-wing
aircraft to Houston's Texas Children's Hospital. It was the most
nerve-racking evacuation of the day, for the boy was kept alive
by a large cardiac-assist machine.
It took eleven Tulane
personnel to manhandle the wheeled machine up two flights of
stairs and across to the parking lot roof, all in pitch darkness.
The generators had failed at eight that evening. The patient
was kept alive by a nurse, operating a hand-pump mechanism, and
both nurse and boy soon joined the unwieldy machine on the improvised
helipad.
Headlights from
parked cars marked the landing area, and the pilot brought the
large craft right in. The teen-aged patient and his nurse were
loaded first, then the huge life-sustaining machine. At first,
George and the others were worried it wouldn't fit, but after
the wheels were removed, it slid right in. The copter took off
to the cheers of the staff standing by.
"Damn, George,
we did it!" cried one of George's fellow doctors as he slapped
him on the back. "Wait - what's that?"
The sound of gunfire
could be heard.
The other doctor
was shocked. "Shooting? Somebody's shooting at a
time like this!?"
George looked around
in the darkness. Tall hotels and office buildings were all around.
Were the shots coming from one of them? Were they in danger?
"Let's just
get inside," he suggested. "There won't be any more
flights until sunup, anyway."
~*~*~
(1) - DMAT - Disaster
Medical Assistance Teams
(2) - American Red Cross - http://www.redcross.org/faq/0,1096,0_682_4524,00.html#4524
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