The North Face of the Heart - Dolores Redondo Page 0,201
the structure.
Angry shouts in the crowd brought her out of her reverie. The people had been waiting for hours, and only six buses had departed that morning, all for Baton Rouge. Thousands waited to be transported, to be taken anywhere at all.
Ten buses drove up at about six o’clock in the evening. People roused themselves, got up, and pushed toward the loading area, pressing the dense crowd already there against the barriers the National Guard had installed. Heated arguments broke out as people disputed places in line. The soldiers guarding the buses watched blank faced and didn’t intervene.
Amaia had asked around, only to find that no log or register had been kept. It was impossible to determine the whereabouts of any individual. So much for Dupree’s request, and she was beginning to lose hope for herself and Charbou. “It’ll be days before we get out of here!” She was dismayed by the spectacle, the sluggish arrivals and departures of clearly inadequate numbers of buses, the understandable anger of those left standing.
Charbou lit up, looking into the distance at a uniformed police officer talking with the soldiers. “I know that cop. Wait here.” He dashed off toward the far end of the plaza, not waiting for a reply.
He came back right away, grabbed Amaia’s hand, and pulled her to the far end of the access road. “These buses are going to Houston,” he explained. “They’re more or less shifting refugees from the Superdome to the Astrodome in Houston. My friend says we should go around to the back. They’re giving priority to the most vulnerable—the sick, the elderly, and families with children. Once they get a bus almost full, I can get you on board. People will get mad when they realize you weren’t in line. Don’t say a thing. Just put your head down and climb in. Don’t engage with anybody.”
She stopped short and dropped his hand. He took a few more steps, carried by his own inertia, then came back to her.
“But what about you?” Amaia demanded, even though she knew the answer. She’d seen it in his eyes that morning when they were splashing toward the Superdome.
Charbou had helped a man wading along the street with two tiny children in his arms and a small boy walking beside him. A woman behind them stumbled and fell headlong into the water. When Charbou helped her up, Amaia saw that she looked like Oceanetta. Charbou was shaken by the resemblance.
“She’ll be fine,” he’d told Amaia, referring to his aunt. “Old girl’s tough as nails and resourceful.” He’d marked his words with a decisive nod, but Amaia knew he was boiling with anger, deeply affected by what was happening to his city.
Charbou surveyed the chaos reigning at the Superdome plaza. “I can’t leave, Amaia.”
“But . . .”
“It won’t be easy to get you on a bus. Wrangling two seats would be practically impossible.”
“That’s not the reason,” she contradicted him.
“No,” he admitted. “It’s not just that. I swore to protect my city, and now bastards are shooting at innocent people and thousands are still trapped. Right there in the Superdome, men have been beaten to death. NOLA is going to pieces. If I get on a bus, I’ll be a rat abandoning a sinking ship.”
She reached out and covered his mouth with her hand. He kissed her fingers and then took her hand between his. “I got to stay. This is my home. I’m a New Orleans cop, and I can’t leave my people defenseless. And you got no time to lose. The only way you’ll ever catch him is by getting there ahead of him. We don’t know if that’s even possible, but you have to try.”
She nodded, understanding.
“Go. Track him down. Take him out.”
“Like a bloodhound?” she suggested, trying to make light of it.
“You’re no bloodhound. You’re my supercop.”
They went around the rear of the bus, where the police officer was waiting. He beckoned to them.
Two armed soldiers were posted at the rear door as another pair worked their way down the waiting line, choosing priority evacuees. One approached Bobby and Nana. He saw Bobby was holding her up. “Is that your mama?”
Bobby nodded.
“You two get on the bus.”
A chorus of protest broke out. The soldier ignored it and continued down the line.
Bobby staggered forward carrying Nana. At the bus door, another soldier gestured toward a pile where people had abandoned the bundles and plastic bags they’d dragged across the city for days.