Bug Man Suspense 3-in-1 Bundle (29 page)

“What are you talking about?”

“I asked you why you came along tonight, and that's what you told me. Who are you kidding? You knew what you were getting yourself into.”

“You think I
wanted
to sit in a boat full of dead rats?”

“I think you wanted to get out of that stuffy little office before all your arteries hardened. I think you wanted to get out of people's heads and into the real world for a change. I think you wanted what the rest of us want—to feel like you're alive while you still can.”

“I think you're nuts.”

“Take responsibility for your choices, Beth—that's what I always do.”

“Get out of the car,” she said angrily.

Nick got out and closed the door—then he leaned in the window and smiled. “You broke the rules,” he said. “You were out all night. You defied the orders of a federal agent. You broke curfew. You broke the law. You're a bad girl now, Dr. Woodbridge—welcome to the club.”

27

Saturday, September 3

“Somebody
shot
at you? Are you sure?”

“Gee, let me think,” Nick said. “I heard a gun fire, and then a bullet whizzed by my head—yeah, I'm pretty sure. Give me a break, Jerry, I know when somebody's shooting at me.”

“Did you get a look at him?”

“It was pitch black. Some guy followed Beth and me out into the bayous last night. He identified himself as a federal agent and ordered us to come out; when we refused, he opened fire.”

“You were with Beth? Are you sure she didn't shoot at you?”

“Very funny, Jerry.”

“What were you two doing out in the bayous?”

“Long story. The point is, somebody took a shot at me, and I wanted you to know.”

“This is bad,” Jerry said. “You're usually on the job at least a week before somebody wants to kill you. Do you think the guy was really a fed?”

“That's not their usual way of doing business,” Nick said. “I made somebody mad, that's for sure.”

“You make everybody mad, but they don't usually try to shoot you for it. Are you planning to report this to somebody?”

“Yeah, how about that LaTourneau guy? I'll ask him to check it out in his spare time. Half the cops in the city are off-duty and the other half are working overtime; there's nobody to report it to. Besides, who's going to pay any attention to one random shooting? There are guns all over the city right now.”

“At least tell Denny. He should know.”

Nick didn't reply.

Jerry rolled his eyes. “You weren't supposed to be out there, were you?”

“Let's just say that, given the current status of my relationship with Denny, it might be best not to mention it right now.”

“So what are you going to do?”

“I'm going to keep looking at bodies, that's what. Somebody's upset with me, and it's not because I'm helping out with the rescue efforts. I've been told three times now not to recover bodies, and somebody just let me know they're serious about it. I want to know who they are—and I want to know why.” He looked at Jerry. “All kidding aside—we're working together, so I thought you should know. I don't expect anybody to try anything out here in broad daylight, but let's keep our eyes out; keep that head down on that enormous body of yours.”

“Yeah, thanks.”

Suddenly J.T. stamped his foot on the center bench and pointed across the water. “Over there!” he shouted. “Down the end of this street and go left.”

Nick squinted but as usual saw nothing. He called up to Jerry: “Do you see anything?”

“I never do,” Jerry said. “Trust the kid—he's never wrong.”

Nick took the boat down a long row of houses and swung around into a wide-open area, where they found a collection of coffins of various shapes and colors tightly roped together and floating half-submerged like a raft of logs.

“The kid's amazing,” Jerry said. “He can spot bodies inside coffins.”

“What're they doin' here?” J.T. asked.

“They came up out of the graveyards,” Nick said. “There's air inside the coffins—that's what makes them float.”

“Like the refrigerators.”

“That's right—like the refrigerators. Looks like somebody's collecting the coffins and storing them here until the water goes down. I guess they'll eventually have to figure out who they are and where they came from and bury them all over again.”

“What a headache,” Jerry said.

“Yeah, the fun never stops around here.”

They heard the sound of another engine now; Nick spotted the boat and waved it down. This time it was a FEMA Urban Search and Rescue Team.

“Afternoon!” Nick shouted over the engine. “We're with DMORT up in St. Gabriel. We're looking for—”

“—my father,” J.T. called out. “Have you seen him?”

The crew looked at the boy, then at one another.

“The boy's searching for his dad,” Nick explained. “They got separated in the storm. We've been looking for him ever since.”

“Have you tried the Superdome yet?”

“Not yet.”

“That's where I'd look—that's where most everybody went after the storm. I hear they finally got buses through; they're lined up to take people to the Astrodome in Houston. They hauled five thousand off on Thursday; they say the whole place could be empty in a day or two. If you're gonna look there, you'd better do it soon.”

“Thanks. By the way, we're looking for bodies. Spread the word, will you? When you pass other boats, tell them the guy with the glasses is the man to call.”

“How do they contact you?”

“Any word on when cell phones might be working again?”

“Sorry, haven't heard a thing.”

“Well, I'm out here every day; just tell them to wave me down.”

“Will do. You fellas have a good day; be careful out here.”

“Yeah, you too.”

They watched as the powerful FEMA boat roared away.

Nick looked at his watch. “It's about one o'clock, and we don't have any bodies to look at right now. I suppose we could keep cruising around and hope that old Hawkeye here finds us some more, but I think this might be a good time to visit the Superdome.” He looked at J.T. and smiled. “What do you say?”

The boy just shrugged. Nick was a little surprised at his lack of enthusiasm. Maybe he knew that their chance of finding one man among thousands was slim; maybe he was afraid that Nick was trying to dump him off again. It didn't matter; if there was a chance of finding the boy's father at the Superdome, Nick wanted to try. He kept remembering Beth's words from the night before:
People depend on you
. Yesterday he was in no hurry to be rid of the kid, but that was yesterday; last night someone had tried to kill him, and he knew he owed it to the boy to get him back to his father and out of harm's way.

“We're not planning to leave you there,” Nick told him. “We're looking for your dad, that's all. If we find him, you go with him; if we don't find him, you stay with me—fair enough?”

J.T. grinned and nodded.

Nick looked at Jerry. “I'm just trying to keep my promise here. If his dad gets on a bus for Houston, there's no telling when we'll be able to find him. Are you okay with this?”

“Might as well try,” Jerry said. “Like the man said, it's now or never. So how do we get to the Superdome?”

“The same way we got to Charity Hospital—they're just a few blocks apart. That's the quickest way I know.”

Nick turned the boat around and headed back for the break in the Industrial Canal. From half a mile away they could already feel the heavy beating of helicopter blades. Lumbering Chinook helicopters formed a dotted line in the sky overhead, hoisting three-thousand-pound sandbags and dropping them into the breach one by one. The Army Corps of Engineers had been at this seemingly futile task for days now; at first, the bags had just disappeared into the water without a trace. But persistence was paying off, and the massive white sacks now protruded from the water like garbage bags at a landfill; the breach was slowly beginning to close from south to north.

“They're making progress here,” Nick said. “We may not be able to pass this way much longer.” He guided the boat through the remaining opening and out into the Industrial Canal.

They followed the same route they had before, through the Upper Ninth Ward and across the neighborhoods of Bywater, St. Claude, and St. Roch. Nick found that his memory was a poor guide; everything looked different in the light of day. At night the entire city blended together into a vast black landscape; now he could make out individual buildings and rooftops. The shingles looked newer here; gables had been repainted. This neighborhood looked better than the Lower Nine—but, then, they all did.

They could see the Superdome from blocks away; the sun, just past its zenith, reflected brightly off the mustard-yellow surface of its damaged roof. They stopped their boat a few blocks back and surveyed the area; the sidewalk surrounding the stadium was a teeming mass of lawn chairs, mattresses, garbage, and people.

They sat silently and watched.

“So how do we do this?” Jerry asked.

“Good question,” Nick replied. “We can't just sail up to the front door—that's a good way to lose a boat. Some of these people have been here for almost a week.” He searched the area and discovered a narrow alley just two blocks from the stadium. It was concealed by shadow from the afternoon sun, and Nick saw a way that he could approach the alley unseen. “We'll hide the boat in that alley,” he said. “We'll wade in from there.”

“Wade? In the water?”

“That's where most wading is done, Jerry.”

Jerry looked at the water and frowned. “Isn't there some other way?”

“We could use you as a raft and row ashore, but either way you'd get wet. Have you got any other ideas?”

He didn't.

Ten minutes later, the boat was chained securely to an alley downspout and the two men lowered themselves into the sickly green water. Nick's elbows just touched the surface.

“It's filthy,” Jerry complained. “It's hot too.”

“Let's not do any snorkeling then,” Nick said. “J.T., climb onto my back. You're a little short on clothing right now—let's keep you as dry as we can.” The boy leaned out of the boat and wrapped both arms tightly around Nick's neck. Nick hunched over, dragging J.T. out of the boat and onto his back. The boy was heavier than Nick had anticipated, and the sudden weight made him stumble forward.

“You got me?” J.T. asked.

“No problem,” Nick said. “Beth helped me train for this.”

They slowly waded down the alley and out into the street toward the stadium, carefully shuffling forward like men testing thin ice, keeping their center of gravity back in case they encountered underwater debris. The going was hard at first, but it got easier as they went; the water gradually grew shallower until they arrived dripping wet on the hopelessly congested sidewalk.

Nick half-expected the crowd to fall silent and part down the middle when they emerged from the water—after all, it was a pretty good entrance. It didn't happen; he had to push his way through the crowd, stepping over blankets and water bottles and shoving aside piles of garbage with the sides of his legs. He was wading through a sea of humanity and their refuse; compared to this, the water had been easy.

People were everywhere—thousands of them. Some sat calmly in lawn chairs, watching the chaos around them as if it were a passing parade. Others lay on mattresses peacefully asleep, as if some prankster had transported them here from a nearby hotel. The heat was oppressive in the heart of the crowd; no air could move between the people. Women fanned themselves; men stood shirtless and cussing; children wandered in their diapers or in nothing at all. People seemed to rotate from the center to the perimeter like bees in a hive, releasing the heat and taking their turn for the relief of a passing breeze.

Debris covered everything. Evacuees had come to the Superdome six days ago hauling whatever precious possessions they could carry, spreading them out around them and establishing little settlements. There were laundry baskets, boxes, pillows, houseplants, televisions—even framed paintings and upholstered chairs. None of it looked precious now; it was all in ruins, just part of the burden of staying alive.

The stench was almost overwhelming. Disposable diapers had been dropped everywhere, some not even folded; men and boys urinated in the street or against the stadium walls; the air reeked of sweat, and feces, and rotting food. The stench was nauseating, but somehow people seemed oblivious to it. Nick found it astonishing how quickly the human species grows dull—especially to itself.

The noise was nearly deafening, and the buses only made it worse. There were shouting and panic as families tried to stay together, calling out family names and searching frantically for wayward children. People gathered up remnants of their household possessions only to be turned back at the bus doors; there was room for people, but almost nothing else. Many ignored the buses altogether, either waiting for some better option or just paralyzed by the stupor that hopelessness can bring.