Читать книгу No Ordinary Heroes: - Demaree Inglese - Страница 10

As I drove away from the Correctional Center, I used my cell phone to call the St. Tammany Parish Jail, where I held a second job as medical director. The smaller facility was forty-five miles north, close to Lake Pontchartrain, which put it at considerable risk. The staff there had a well-thought-out hurricane plan, and with only one building to cover, preparations were proceeding on schedule.

Next I contacted Sam Gore, the doctor who had overseen Carl Davis’s treatment in the infirmary. Not surprised by the patient’s death, his matter-of-fact tone masked the sympathy he felt for all those in his care. “Did you tell his mother?”

“No, his family probably left town,” I explained.

“That’s what the sane people are doing,” Sam quipped. “Lisa and the kids are already gone. I’ve got some last-minute things to take care of, but I’ll see you soon.”

Sam and I had been friends since our residency at Keesler Air Force Base in Biloxi, Mississippi, a dozen years ago. Later we were stationed together again at Andrews AFB, near Washington, D.C. I grew used to his unflappability; he addressed all situations—good and bad—with the same unemotional detachment. He didn’t shout. He didn’t raise his voice. In fact, there was little about Sam that made him stand out in a crowd. About five-foot-ten and average weight, he looked like the best friend of the main character in a TV sitcom. His most prominent physical characteristic, a dark brown cowlick, stuck up just like Harry Potter’s. But his mental toughness, and our many years together, had taught me to rely on him without question. I would do anything for close friends and colleagues. And I expected them to respond the same way. True to form, Sam had readily agreed to work throughout the storm.

When Sam hung up, I dialed Gary French at his house, a quarter mile from Lake Pontchartrain. I’d known him for years, too, ever since he had been my medical student at the Andrews AFB hospital. When I became medical director at the New Orleans jail, Sam and Gary were the first doctors I recruited.

If Sam was stoic, Gary was not. Thirty-five and five-foot-nine, he had the sturdy build of an ex–high school wrestler and the disposition of a born pessimist. During the buildup to a crisis, Gary always appeared frantic, but when hell broke loose, he was focused, steady, and got the job done. When I had asked him to work during the storm, he’d balked at the idea of staying in the city during a category 5 hurricane. However, despite his reluctance, I wasn’t worried. He always came through.

“Made up your mind yet?” I asked when Gary answered his phone.

“I’ll be at the jail.”

I smiled. “The hurricane wouldn’t be the same without you.”

“I know I’m going to regret this,” Gary muttered, then added, “At least Allen’s gone. He took the dogs to stay with his family in Arkansas.”

I was glad that Sam’s family and Gary’s roommate had already evacuated. The normally bustling city streets were empty of traffic, virtually deserted. Obviously everyone had headed to the interstate, and even with contraflow in effect—using all the lanes to send cars out of New Orleans—traffic on the highway would be bumper to bumper.

“Do you have food and water?” I asked Gary.

“I bought supplies three days ago, but I haven’t done anything to hurricane-proof the house. And I don’t know what to do with my car.” A nervous tremor crept into Gary’s voice. “What are you doing with yours?”

I hadn’t decided yet. My normal way of dealing with those kinds of decisions was to logically work out a plan, then, at the last moment, go with my gut. I told Gary to be at my house at two. I’d have figured something out by then.

I hung up and turned onto my street. Barely a breeze ruffled the neighborhood’s majestic oaks or disturbed the lush, carefully tended landscaping around Greek Revival and Victorian mansions. What would happen to those gardens, I wondered, in 150-mile-an-hour winds?

I pushed that thought to the back of my mind, when I realized that though I had taken a different route home, I still had not seen a single open store or gas station.