Bug Man Suspense 3-in-1 Bundle (30 page)

Nick leaned back and let J.T. slip off onto the sidewalk. “You've got legs,” he said. “Time to use them.”

They pushed forward until they reached the stadium and went inside, eventually finding their way onto the playing field itself. They looked up; the arena looked like a half-empty salad bowl. The same debris that covered every square foot of pavement outside was scattered across every section of the stands.

“Look at this place,” Jerry said. “Who's in charge here?”

“Don't expect anybody to raise their hand,” Nick said. “C'mon—over there.”

Two National Guardsmen in full combat gear stood near the goalposts in the Saints' end zone. They were armed to the teeth, with formidable-looking M16s slung from shoulder straps and angled at the ground. Nick almost laughed; he knew it was just a show of force, a vague reminder to troublemakers that law and order still existed in some parts of America and might even return to New Orleans one day.
It won't be today
, Nick thought; if this crowd got nasty, they could overwhelm two soldiers in seconds.

Nick pulled out his credentials and held them up as he approached the first Guardsman—a healthy thing to do when approaching an armed man in a crowd.

“Afternoon,” he said. “Aren't you guys hot in all that gear?”

The Guardsman studied his credentials before responding. “We're dying. What can I do for you gentlemen?”

“You can help us find somebody.”

The Guardsman rolled his eyes. “He'd better be twenty feet tall, or you'll never find him around here. Who you looking for?”

“This boy's dad.”

“Good luck. There's no power, so there's no public-address system. The JumboTron is down; so are the scoreboards. There's no way to get a message out around here; you'll just have to look for him.”

“Anybody got a megaphone?”

“Our people do; we're using them to organize food distribution and get people to the buses. There's no way they'll let you use one just to look for somebody—half the people here would want to use one.”

“I'm with a federal agency,” Nick said. “Maybe I could pull rank.”

The Guardsman grinned. “Friend—you've got no rank around here. And if you don't mind a suggestion: I wouldn't tell anybody I'm with a federal agency right about now.”

Nick pointed to the binoculars hanging around the Guardsman's neck. “Mind if we borrow those? You're not using them standing here.”

“I suppose not,” he said, lifting the leather strap from around his neck and looping it over the boy's. “You know how to use these, son?”

“Sure,” J.T. said, beaming.

“He's a smart guy,” Nick said. “He knows everything.”

J.T. immediately turned and ran toward a stairway that headed up into the stands.

“Whoa!” Nick called after him. “Where you going?”

“Up top,” the boy said, pointing to the bleachers. “Can't see from down here.”

Nick shook his head. “I'd better go after him—I'd hate to get separated here. That's all I need right now:
two
lost people.” He turned to Jerry. “Do me a favor, will you? The father's name is Bastien Walker. Make a loop around the sidewalk and yell his name—see if you get any takers. Try the main concourse and mezzanine too.”

“You think he'll hear me over all this noise?”

“It's the best we've got, Jerry. You're a good baritone; breathe from the diaphragm—project. The kid's got the eyes, but you've got the voice; if anybody can do it, you can.”

“What about you?”

“I'll stick with J.T. We'll go up top and look for faces in the crowd. We'll meet you back here in one hour, okay?”

“What do you think the odds are of us finding this guy?”

Nick looked at the Guardsman. “How many people do you have here?”

“About thirty thousand, last count.”

“There you go,” Nick said. “One in thirty thousand—about the same odds as your getting married.”

“Thanks. I'm a bundle of hope.”

Nick started for the stairs. “One hour, Jerry—right here.”

Outside the Superdome, another man waded ashore. He bent down and picked up a discarded black ball cap with the logo of the New Orleans Saints.

28

“Bastien Walker!” Jerry shouted. “I'm looking for Bastien Walker!”

He waited, but again heard no response. He looked from side to side, searching for any pair of eyes attempting to make eye contact, but there were none. He was starting to feel a little silly; what was the point? In a normal setting, the very fact that he was shouting would have turned at least a few heads, but not here. He heard a dozen other voices shouting someone else's name with even more volume and more urgency, and no one was paying any attention to them either. These people were immune; they had lived with the roar of the crowd for so long that a single voice no longer stood out—even a shouting voice. What were the chances of finding the boy's father this way? He'd almost have to stumble over the man, and what were the odds of that?

Still, he'd promised Nick he would try.

Jerry finished his search of the sidewalk without success and decided to try inside instead. That's where he would be if he were the man—even without air-conditioning it was better than standing in the brutal Louisiana sun. He headed into the main concourse and was just about to call out the man's name again when someone poked him on the shoulder from behind.

He turned to see a man about his own height in a black cap with a gold fleur-de-lis logo.

“Are you with the government?” the man demanded.

“Well . . . sort of,” Jerry said.

“I want to know who's responsible for this.”

“For what, exactly?”

“For what? For all
this
. I been here since Sunday night—that's a week ago tomorrow. ‘Head for the Superdome,' they told me, ‘they got everything there.' Only there was no food and almost no water—they forgot to mention that. ‘You'll be safe there,' they said—except the hurricane ripped the roof right off the place and rain came pouring in. Then the power went out—no electricity. Then the johns overflowed—no bathrooms. Still no food, still no water, and every day they tell us, ‘Trucks are on the way! Buses any minute to take you all out of here!' I saw my first truck day before yesterday—it took four days to get here, and it didn't have but a handful of supplies!”

The man kept moving closer to Jerry; he was becoming more and more agitated.

“Sir, please keep your voice down,” Jerry said.

“Don't tell me to keep my voice down! People are dyin' here, man, don't you know that? We got old people, sick people; we got women and children. I want to know what you people are going to do about it.”

“Sir, I'm not in charge here.”

“You're with the government, aren't you?”

“Yes, but—”

“You can do something, can't you? We got people who need medicine. We got bodies pilin' up in the hallways.”

Jerry blinked. “What bodies?”

“Are you kidding? Don't you people know nothin'? We've had murders here, mister—we've had old folks dyin' in their sleep. The bodies started to stink—we had to haul them off to a back room just to keep people from getting sick.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Am I sure? I helped haul them there myself.”

“How many bodies are we talking about?”

“Who knows? Twenty, maybe thirty—we had to stack 'em up.”

Jerry looked at his watch; he still had a few minutes. “This back room you mentioned—can you take me there?”

“Sure, if you want. Follow me.”

The man led Jerry down a service corridor that grew darker as it went; there were doorways on either side that opened into pitch-black rooms. The man stopped at each doorway and poked his head inside, though Jerry couldn't imagine what he could see. Maybe he wasn't trying to see; maybe he was sniffing the air. Jerry did the same.

Finally, the man stepped aside and gestured to one of the rooms. “In here,” he said. “Watch your step.”

Jerry stepped past the man and into the darkness.

Suddenly, he felt a hand grip his chin and jerk his head back violently. He felt a body press up against his and a searing pain in his right side just below the rib cage—and then, strangely, all the lights went on. The light was brilliant, almost blinding—

And then it slowly faded into nothing.

29

Nick looked at his watch. It was almost 6:30—if they left right now, they would just have time to make it back before dark.

“Where's Jerry?” J.T. asked.

“I told you, I don't know.”

Nick and J.T. waited at the edge of the sidewalk where they had first waded ashore. It had been almost four hours since the two men had parted company, and there was no sign of Jerry anywhere. Nick kept reviewing their departure in his head: He was supposed to follow J.T. into the stands, and Jerry was supposed to circle the stadium to call out the father's name. “We'll meet you back here in one hour,” he told him—those were his exact words. “One hour—right here”; there was no room for confusion or doubt.

Jerry was now three hours overdue, and Nick had a very bad feeling.

Nick and J.T. had spent their hour searching the stands for any familiar face. J.T. had taken up position on the fifty-yard line in the final row of seats, planting his elbows on his knees to hold the binoculars steady while he scanned the crowd. He was delighted with his new toy; he spent as much time looking at the binoculars as through them, and Nick had to keep reminding him of the task at hand. At first they looked only for his father; then Nick suggested that they widen their search to include neighbors, friends, anyone who looked at all familiar who might have knowledge of the boy's dad. They found no one; after an hour of futile searching, they returned to the playing field to see if Jerry had had any better luck.

But Jerry wasn't there.

Nick told himself that the trip around the stadium could have taken longer than he estimated, especially considering the crowded conditions. And if conditions in the main concourse and mezzanine were no better, even more time might be necessary—another hour, maybe more. But that explanation didn't satisfy him; there was no reason that Jerry wouldn't at least check in to let Nick know his need for more time.

Nick considered every possible explanation he could think of: Jerry forgot, Jerry was detained—or maybe Jerry was spotted by FEMA officials and called away on some emergency duty. But that was too fantastic, and Nick knew in his heart that there be could only one reason that Jerry didn't come back.

Jerry couldn't come back.

They had waited two additional hours with the National Guardsmen. After that, they made their own circle of the sidewalk and still found no trace of Jerry. Nick thought about searching the concourse and mezzanine, but by then the knot in his gut was beginning to tighten, warning him away. He didn't want to risk taking the boy back into the building again, and he couldn't leave him behind. The safest place to be was outside, in plain view of everyone. They returned to the spot where they first came ashore, hoping against hope that Jerry might meet them there.

It didn't happen, and it was getting dark.

“What do I do with these?” J.T. asked, holding up the binoculars.

“They're yours,” Nick said.

“I can keep 'em?”

“Courtesy of your Uncle Sam. He wants you to have the best.”

Nick looked all around; he had no idea what to do next. He thought about reporting Jerry's absence, but who would he report it to? There were no authorities here, there was no chain of command. He could at least tell the two National Guardsmen, but what would they do? They wouldn't help search for him; they wouldn't be allowed to leave their post.

People depend on you
, Nick thought.

He looked down at J.T. and knew what he had to do: He had to get the boy out of here. He looked at the alley where the boat was hidden, growing darker by the minute; someone could be waiting for them there. He thought about the long trip back across all those flooded neighborhoods; he thought about how exposed they would be crossing the Industrial Canal. There could be danger almost anywhere, but Nick knew one thing was certain: If anything did happen to Jerry, it had happened to him here—they had to go.

He looked at the alley again.
The sooner the better
, he thought.
If anybody's waiting in that alley, better to face him while there's still some light to see.

“Come on,” he said to J.T. “We're getting out of here.”

“What about Jerry?”

“Don't worry about Jerry,” he said. “Jerry's a big boy—he can take care of himself.”