The North Face of the Heart - Dolores Redondo Page 0,114
began handing out snacks and bottles of water to her fellow passengers. Her nephew watched, shaking his head in disbelief, proud but also worried that she’d have nothing left by the time she got to the hospital.
The two vessels parted ways, and Oceanetta turned to wave. At that exact moment she remembered why the name Dupree had seemed so familiar. She gasped, opened her eyes in alarm, and shouted to her nephew. He blew her a kiss and seemed to understand her despite the roar of the motors. Frightened, Oceanetta closed her hand as if catching her nephew’s affection out of the air, made a fist, covered it with her other hand, and drew it to her heart. Hoping her message would reach him, she mouthed one single word. Not a sound escaped her lips. The two craft tore off in different directions, but she thought she saw alarm in her nephew’s face. She prayed her eyes hadn’t deceived her.
They’d kept listening for any reports of serial gunshots. The only news was of single shots, mostly from people on rooftops trying to attract the attention of rescuers. Dupree decided it was time to find a place to hole up for the night. Navigating in circles was a waste of fuel, an increasingly precious commodity, and fruitless wandering would take a toll on their morale. Keeping his team out in the difficult conditions could not only sap them of their energy but also undermine their belief in the assignment. And all the devastation around them—the destroyed houses and ruined vehicles, the desperate cries for help from the rooftops—would overwhelm their sense of purpose.
The unceasing cries of distress brought Amaia to a boiling frustration. She checked for cell service every couple of minutes, but her phone showed no bars at all. She asked Johnson to see whether emails were still working.
“Our Internet service is via satellite, so in theory, it should still connect. Of course, if ground-level repeaters are out, the messages might be stuck in outboxes. The Internet is very slow, but it does seem to be functioning in some parts of the city. Write a message and try to send it. If we happen to connect with a service, it’ll go out. But there’s no guarantee we’ll be able to receive incoming emails.”
Amaia drafted a message to the AIA’s admin office, addressed to the personnel officer. She gave it to Dupree to review. It identified her as an FBI representative and requested information about the responsibilities of insurance adjustors, their access to personal data, and especially what kind of field assignments they handled for areas struck by disasters. She requested a list of the adjustors between fifty and sixty years of age who had three children. With his approval, she hit send.
What finally pushed Dupree to make a decision was an outburst from Charbou. The detective had remained stubbornly mute since they’d transferred his aunt to the launch. His dull eyes were fixed on the horizon, and he’d only responded in monosyllables. Churning slowly forward, they passed the floating corpse of a white cat just off their bow. Someone had tied a blue ribbon around its neck. And despite everything Charbou had seen that day, the dead white cat with its blue ribbon was the last straw.
He exhaled an enormous gust and turned to them in a rage. “We’re not going to catch him. It’s impossible! It’s taken us hours to get here from Jefferson, and in normal conditions we could have covered that distance in fifteen minutes. The Composer could be in Lakeview or Kenner! How long will it take us to get there? Half the damn highways that were open this morning are underwater now. And that’s not even counting the fallen trees, the downed power lines, the cars floating down the streets, or the shit we can’t even see, because it’s underwater!”
Dupree didn’t raise his voice, but he did bend forward, obliging the others to do the same to hear him over the racket of the outboard motor. “I think the Composer’s got the same problems we do. He’d need to have some sort of boat, and I don’t think he does. When he got to Jefferson, he could still wade, and we’re almost sure that’s what he did. Circumstances have changed for all of us. I think he’s going to choose victims in places where he can easily escape. He can’t take the risk of a rescue team turning up while he’s busy killing them.”