Page 32 of Hurricane Irene

“We’re privileged Luke. I don’t just mean to be here at Belle Fleur. To have the life we live. The wives we love. We are privileged to have been a witness to miracles we cannot explain. If I were to die tomorrow, I have no right to complain about the life I’ve been given. I won’t be that arrogant.”

Luke just stared at them and then nodded.

“You’re right. We live as we always have. One day at a time.”

“Perfect,” smiled Eric. “Now, let’s go speak with our friends at FEMA. We may have a present arriving for them soon.”

“I’m not sure they’ll see it as a present but I can assure you that others will. Cam and I spoke with Grant. He’s hired an entire team to rebuilt the homes of those affected by the hurricane. Unsavory contractors will be clawing at jobs, leaving people in worse shape than they are now,” said Hex. Cam nodded with a sly grin.

“Then let’s form a board. A sort of review board. Any contractor wanting to do work in the area has to be approved by Grant first, then backgrounds done by us. They’ll learn quickly to not fuck around with our people.”

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Outside, a block away, the four men entered their SUV and waited. By morning, the three members of Pelican would have to choose between running to an airport and heading toward their fate south of New Orleans.

By sunrise, Calder’s black sport utility vehicle was east of Beaumont, carrying three people who had not slept and trusted one another less with every mile. Interstate 10 drew them toward Louisiana beneath a sky that had brightened without becoming friendly. Far ahead, past flooded exits and emergency detours, FEMA waited at Belle Fleur Medical Center with questions Pelican Insurance had been ordered to answer in person.

Two vehicles behind them, Joseph drove with one hand resting lightly on the wheel. Nathan sat beside him with a tablet open across his knees. Kiel and Travis occupied the rear seat amid coffee cups, camera cases, and the evidence taken from Pelican Insurance.

“They look rested,” Travis said.

“They look embalmed,” Kiel said.

“That is rested for insurance executives,” Nathan said.

Inside the black vehicle, Calder drove too fast for the traffic and too slowly for his temper. Voss sat in the passenger seat with a folder of FEMA notices balanced against the dashboard. Lenora occupied the rear seat, reading every page as if she expected the language to rearrange itself into an escape.

“They cannot compel us to sit in a hospital corridor and explain contracts to people who refuse to read them,” Calder said.

“They already compelled us,” Lenora said. “That is why we are driving east instead of flying west.”

Voss unfolded the FEMA letter again. The paper trembled slightly in the air from the vents.

“We are driving east because you said commercial flights created records,” Voss said.

The first tire failed west of Lake Charles with a violent report that snapped every head toward the right side of the vehicle. Calder fought the steering wheel and dragged the SUV onto the shoulder while traffic tore past in a hot metallic rush.

For three seconds, nobody spoke. The engine idled unevenly. Gravel clicked beneath the chassis.

“You hit something,” Voss said.

“I hit the road,” Calder said. “It is generally considered part of driving.”

Lenora leaned forward between the seats.

“The tires were serviced last week. Unless one of you substituted the cheapest available rubber after billing the agency for premium replacements.”

Two hundred yards back, Joseph eased onto a service lane screened by a row of parked freight trailers. Through binoculars, Kiel watched Calder wrench the spare tire from beneath the cargo floor while Voss offered advice from the shade.

“Voss has found his specialty,” Kiel said.

“Supervising labor he cannot perform?” Travis asked.

“That and standing where the shade is,” Kiel said.

Calder completed the change with grease on his cuffs and rage in the set of his jaw. The ruined tire showed no obvious answer, only a wound in the sidewall and a smear of road dirt. He stared at it as if it had betrayed him personally.

They rejoined the highway thirty-one minutes behind Calder’s schedule. The delay itself was small. The silence it produced was not. Voss kept opening the FEMA folder, checking the same pages, and closing it with increasing care.