Page 17 of Hurricane Irene

“We’ll explain tomorrow to the hypothermic widow.” Nobody acknowledged either man.

At 1626 hours, Ghost lifted one fist. The engines dropped to idle. Nothing moved except the rain stippling the water. Then, beneath a patch of water hyacinth, came a faint knocking—wood against metal, pause, wood against metal. It stopped when Nine turned toward it. They waited. Ten seconds. Fifteen. Eric murmured.

“If that’s another propane tank, I’m shooting it.” The knocking resumed, weaker. Thirty yards away, nearly hidden by reeds, a small boat sat caught in the crown of a fallen willow. The hull was half swamped. A gray tarp covered the bow. For one breath it looked flat and empty. Then a hand crawled from beneath it, still wrapped around the handle of a saucepan.

Elise Darden was seventy-six and unimpressed by the rescue.

“Engine quit,” she said while Magnus checked her pulse. “Then the rain quit. Everything around here’s developed poor work habits.” Her lips were blue with cold. She had tied herself to the bench with clothesline to keep from sliding into the water. Baptiste cut the line.

“You boys took long enough,” she added. Cade looked at the saucepan. “We followed the dinner bell.”

“Then you’re late for supper.” Luke wrapped her in blankets and radioed the last name accounted for. The reply came back through static, jubilant and brief. Behind it, nearly lost in the hiss, thunder cracked close enough to shake water from the willow leaves.

The return took longer than the search. Loaded boats sat low, and the routes that had opened with the rising water began to shift as it drained.

Team 7’s passage between the barges had closed. They doubled back behind Luke, following compass bearings through a flooded stand of oak.

Team 2 guided them past the school.

Team 4 picked up a drifting red cooler because Mrs. Bellamy insisted it was hers. It was not.

“It is now,” Carl said, and nobody had the energy to argue maritime law.

At 1715 hours, Team 6’s engine alarm screamed. HG shut it down and smoke lifted from beneath the cowling. Jean found reeds packed around the intake and a braided rope melted near the shaft. The current carried them sideways toward a row of submerged pilings whose broken tops surfaced one by one like teeth.

Team 5 came alongside, fenders squealing between the hulls, and took them in tow. The first piling missed the stern by inches. The second scraped beneath them. Irish stared at the dead motor.

“I said nice things about you all day.” Hoot wiped rain from his face.

“That was your first mistake,” said HG. Behind him, the parrot called from another boat.

“Damn fool,” with the timing of a professional.

The last boats reached the staging bank at 1758 hours, more than ten hours after launch. Men stepped into mud and lifted children, dogs, cages, medicine bags, the injured, and Mrs. Bellamy’s illegally acquired cooler onto dry ground. Medics moved fast. Names were checked once, then again. Fuel tanks were counted. Radios went silent one by one. Beyond the lights, the bayou was already erasing the paths they had made through it.

Luke stood at the edge of the bank with the wet list in his hand. Every name had a line through it. But there were more not on the known list.

Behind him, generators started and vehicle doors slammed. The parrot shouted at them.

“Watch the prop,” he called to a paramedic carrying blankets, then added, “Damn fool,” when the man nearly slipped.

Eric came up beside Luke and looked southwest, where lightning moved soundlessly inside the clouds.

“Three days,” Eric said. “That’s all the time we have before the next big rains begin.” Luke folded the list and put it inside his jacket.

“Then we go again tomorrow.” Out in the darkness, something struck metal three times, paused, and struck three times more. Both men listened.

“Debris,” Eric said. Luke watched the black water.

“Sure it is.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

The men were so exhausted it was all they could do just to shower and change into dry clothing. Doc, Gabi, Cruz, Riley, and Suzette checked their hands and feet, looking for any possible signs of trench foot or unknown cuts. They were all given replacement fluids, a hot meal of beef stew and warm bread and immediately went to bed.

“Luke? I’m sorry to interrupt you when you’re about to sleep,” said Ryan, “but there are three evacuees in the clinic that are nearly panicked because of what they’re being told by their insurance providers. I know nothing about insurance. Who should I send?” Jean sat up groaning.

“I’ll go,” he said shaking his head. “See if Marie and Lia will come with me. We all know enough to be dangerous.”