...After they both were uncuffed and released, a luckily delayed boarding progressed without further incident and the plane took off. It was a three-hour flight to Denver, short layover, then they’d change planes and it would take another couple of hours to DFW. From there Red Star would meet them on the ground and point them to Louisiana. Brooke had done her work through the local Red Star chapter and she had been assured they would be deployed as a team. She was seated next to Danny and couldn’t sleep.

“You up?” she said and nudged him in the ribs.

“I am now.”

“You think everyone’s alright?”

“Jimmy’s into this. Josh is glad to be away from home. Rowan is out. Tony is a little nervous, he’s wondering if he’ll have a job when he gets back.”

“Will he?”

“Hard to say with Geoff Fuqewe. Anyway, Ty is a rock, he’ll be fine. Fred is on the phone, brought his work with him.”

“Surprised he came.”

“Trust me, he’s a man you want around. Sam is too busy already with logistics not to be fine.”

“That guy is frigging sharp.”

“Been so for thirty years.”

“And Little Princess?”

“What is it between you two?”

“She has a crush on you and she thinks that you listen to me, that I don’t like her and that I made you drop her. Mark my words, that skinny blonde will bide her time and pounce again. When she does, it won’t be so easy to get out of it.”

“Who knows if I’ll want to get out of it?”

“Janine’s a child.”

“Not all that much younger than Noelle, and you liked her.”

“The decade between them constitutes more than years. I liked Noelle because she was good for you. Maybe perfect.”

“Perfect? You mean she’s a nymphomaniacal, but loyal, college cheerleader whose deaf and blind father owns a chain of high end liquor stores situated on the shores of the Chesapeake?”

“Pig.”

Danny snorted. “ Also apparently perfectly good for a no pants party with Eugene Hoare.”

“No way,” gasped Brooke.

“Way.”

“That sock puppet?”

“The very same.”

“Even you rate higher than he does.”

“Oh thanks… after all she put out about integrity, faith, candor, love, blah, blah, blah. What a hypocrite, what a whore, dumb cow, hosebag…”

“You forgot brazen hussy or that she’s ‘fast’.”

“Those too.”

“Finished?”

“No. Badly educated middlebrow goo goo. Pathetic trollopy swine. Hope she rots in hell.”

“You’re not over her then?”

“Not even close.”

“Can we get off the subject of Miss Bayshaw for a minute? The subject du jour is Miss Villiers and her feelings for you that, as your closest confidante and guardian angel, I know you won’t take advantage of anymore, even in extremis.”

“She’s not my type and I am not her’s. We both knew that when it was going on.”

“I heard that exchange between you and her earlier on the bus.”

“You’re bluffing. You were asleep.”

“By the saints, I’m never that asleep. She’s probably spying on us at this moment and would bite me I she thought I was talking about her.”

Janine heard that and tried to look more convincingly asleep.

“Now c’mon…”

“We’ll see. She’ll be fine as long as she’s close to you.”

“Need her close, she’s my right arm.”

“She’s more interested in another appendage.”

Danny made the football time-out sign, “Too much information. Next question.”



Denver was spent getting from one end of the airport to the other in time to catch their connecting flight. They landed at DFW around noon and groggily deplaned.

“Listen up,” said Sam, “I’ll go and find the American Red Star people. You guys stay put.”

“Roger that,” said Danny.

“Will you stop with all the John Wayne talk?” said Brooke, “We get it. You’re having fun.” Janine laughed at that.

“Roger that ma’am,” said Danny.

“Wilco and out,” seconded Sam.

“Have you five by five,” said Jimmy.

Brooke wondered how long it would take them to lose their boyish bonhomie in the face of the extant reality.

Sam returned with an attractive tall blonde college girl decked out in a geeky American Red Star Emergency Services red vest and a lanyard sporting at least four different ID badges.

“Welcome to Dallas. I’m Leah and I’ll get you to Baton Rouge and our Headquarters at Cortana. Yes, I know what the acronym spells. You came from ARS, which is the organization back home. Here we’re the line troops and thus get the ‘Emergency Services’ tag. When you see people with ARS ID or ARS clothes, that means they’re veterans. All us disaster rookies, like you and me, are ARSES. Are we clear on that?”

The team slowly nodded like they cared.

“How many with you?”

“Eleven,” said Danny.

“Who are you?”

“Danny Weller.”

“He’s the Brownie Troop Leader,” said Janine.

“Weller’s Eleven,” said Leah.

“Danny and the Juniors,” countered Josh.

“Eleven Group,” said Danny.

“Can you all squeeze into a van?”

“No sweat,” answered Danny.

“Awesome. Follow me,” said the ARSES vixen. Rowan sped up and walked beside her. Danny and the rest were trading wiseass insults.

“You been there?” Rowan asked Leah.

“You go where they send you.”

“Heard what it’s like?”

“They’ll send you to either Disaster Assessment, going down to N.O…”

“N.O.?”

This one wasn’t quick, thought Leah, “New Orleans.”

“Disaster Assessment or what?” asked Rowan.

“Or put you at HQ at Cortana, at Belle Chase Airfield, have you at a staff shelter or at an evacuee shelter, wherever they need you.”

“Which is most needed?”

“If I get out of here, wanna go to DeRidder. Heard they got hit bad.”

“Could they send all of us there?”

“You’ll go wherever they want. I guess if they can use you all together then they’ll do it.”

Danny smelled Rowan on the hunt. Ten minutes in country and he’s pursuing skirts.

“Hey Cartland?” called Danny from three feet back.

“Yeah?”

“How’s the wife?” The ARSES girl let out a laugh.

“Fine,” he turned around and mouthed “S.O.B.”

“Okay,” she said as they got into the rental car office, “here’s where I turn you over to Avis. They’ll get you set up with wheels.”

“Thanks Leah,” said Danny.

“Good luck down there,” she said and left them signing for keys pondering, Can’t they send more interesting people like these? If not, this whole thing is going to get awfully earnest.



The drive down was uneventful, as everyone who wasn’t driving slept this time. They got into Baton Rouge and the Cortana HQ at 3pm.

The HQ was housed in a huge abandoned Wal-Mart and had a humungous parking lot to match. The spaces were full of every imaginable vehicle from Humvees to motorcycles to eighteen-wheelers. They found a spot across the street on the grass and got out, stretching the sleep away as they did.

Hundreds of people were coming in and out of the building; it reminded Danny of an Army Replacement Depot. Lots of movement, maybe for real, maybe not. They flashed the ID badges they had been issued by ARS Gering and walked into the lobby. Various overhead signs pointed to the proper line to stand in.

Brooke took the lead. She led them to ‘Inprocessing’ and, after a half hour, their turn came. She told them to hang back while she spoke to the Red Star volunteer.

“Name?” asked the man, who looked like a NARC at a junior high school.

“Brooke Asquith. We’re pre-processed.”

“We?”

“Eleven of us from Gering County, Pennsylvania.”

“Got nothing on that lady. We put you where we need you.”

“We want to stay together.”

“Depends on what skills you have.”

“We’ve got a lawyer, me…”

“Government liaison.”

“A television reporter…”

“Media and PR.”

“Our team Leader…”

“Shelter Management.”

“Hold on,” said Brooke, as she didn’t like the way this was going, “We were guaranteed, assured mind you, we could stay together. That’s one of the main reasons we came down.”

“See here Missy,” said the NARC, and the hackles on Brooke’s neck jumped to attention, “You are not a tour group and you and the In Crowd don’t get to pick what you do. The mission dictates where we send you. Or are you people too good to work with us lowlifes?”

Hackles stood down.

“Give me a moment,” she said to the admin volunteer, as she turned around and walked back to the group.

“Got all day lady,” he answered.

They met her with expectant stares. “Which one, good news or bad news?” she asked.

“Good news,” said Tony...