bone.
“What’s your real name, anyway?” she asked, encouraging him.
“I told you.”
“Katrina? No, I mean your real name.”
He smiled. “Bonner,” he said. “Bonner Rivette.”
“Okay, Bonner. Don’t you care about your own life? Don’t you think you’d better fly out of here before you get caught?”
He nodded his head.
“Why don’t you call my father? He can help.”
“Right.” He looked into his cupped palms like he was reading a book.
“I’m serious. He’s a lawyer. He can pull strings.”
“You talk like I’m crazy.”
She forced a laugh. “You and me, we had a fight. We’re sort of like brothers and sisters now. What are we supposed to do? Jump off the building? I want to live, too. Let’s get out of here together. He won’t call the police or anything. Not if I ask him not to. He’s got a car. You could probably have it. He’d do that in a minute to rescue me.”
Bonner cocked his head and looked into her eyes. He was reflecting upon the proposition.
Flowers took Tubby up for a flight in the Airodream early on Thursday morning. According to the radio, the National Guard might arrive today, but they saw no signs of it. Other helicopters buzzed around—one was a big orange Coast Guard bird that Tubby recognized as the distraction beating its props the last couple of years over Mardi Gras parades. Another was from a TV station. There was a black one, flying straight over the city on a serious mission, with homeland security stenciled on its side. He and Flowers, in their small noisy craft, buzzed over the famous break in the Seventeenth Street Canal levee, which they had heard about on the radio but which neither of them had seen.
It was about a hundred yards long, right up close to the lake, on the New Orleans side of a canal that ran about three miles. Its purpose was to drain street run-off into Lake Pontchartrain from a wide swath of the metropolitan area. It separated New Orleans from the adjoining parish. Its point of origin was way back around the Metairie Cemetery, and it was fed all the way by big pumping stations on both sides of the city line. Hurricane Katrina had filled the lake like the world’s biggest hot tub, and its waters had sloshed around in the canal long enough to find an unexpectedly soft dike. The break was about fifty feet from the back doors of a whole block of upper middle-class urbanites. The water lifted their swimming pools and decks out of the ground, uprooted their trees, and swept their houses across several streets. Then it engulfed another hundred thousand homes.
Down below Flowers and Tubby they could see men with hard hats milling about on the fringes of the breach, studying the problem. Water from the lake was still washing through.
“Wonder why they can’t just drop a few eighteen-wheelers into that breach until they get it plugged?” Flowers asked.
“Must not be in the plan,” Tubby offered.
“I doubt they ever had a plan.”
“Criminal stupidity,” Tubby muttered.
Roofs and chimneys poked through the flood like lilies in an endless pond.
“Lord have mercy,” Flowers said. “Look how far that water has spread.”
They clattered over to the New Orleans side of the breach. As far as their eyes could take them, the lake had reclaimed the city for itself.
“It goes on for miles,” Tubby said, looking at the isolated rooftops of whole neighborhoods he was quite familiar with, Lakeview, Lake Vista, Gentilly, Mid-City, Carrollton, Old Metairie.
“You see those people down there?” Flowers asked.
“You mean the engineer types? Yeah, I saw them and I wonder why they’re not up here with us dropping railroad cars full of sand into that hole. How dumb do you have to be…”
“No, I mean those people on the roofs.”
Tubby looked down, and indeed there were clusters of people on several roofs, right below where he guessed Fleur de Lis Avenue might have been. “You want to rescue them?” he asked.
“I don’t see
“What’s your real name, anyway?” she asked, encouraging him.
“I told you.”
“Katrina? No, I mean your real name.”
He smiled. “Bonner,” he said. “Bonner Rivette.”
“Okay, Bonner. Don’t you care about your own life? Don’t you think you’d better fly out of here before you get caught?”
He nodded his head.
“Why don’t you call my father? He can help.”
“Right.” He looked into his cupped palms like he was reading a book.
“I’m serious. He’s a lawyer. He can pull strings.”
“You talk like I’m crazy.”
She forced a laugh. “You and me, we had a fight. We’re sort of like brothers and sisters now. What are we supposed to do? Jump off the building? I want to live, too. Let’s get out of here together. He won’t call the police or anything. Not if I ask him not to. He’s got a car. You could probably have it. He’d do that in a minute to rescue me.”
Bonner cocked his head and looked into her eyes. He was reflecting upon the proposition.
Flowers took Tubby up for a flight in the Airodream early on Thursday morning. According to the radio, the National Guard might arrive today, but they saw no signs of it. Other helicopters buzzed around—one was a big orange Coast Guard bird that Tubby recognized as the distraction beating its props the last couple of years over Mardi Gras parades. Another was from a TV station. There was a black one, flying straight over the city on a serious mission, with homeland security stenciled on its side. He and Flowers, in their small noisy craft, buzzed over the famous break in the Seventeenth Street Canal levee, which they had heard about on the radio but which neither of them had seen.
It was about a hundred yards long, right up close to the lake, on the New Orleans side of a canal that ran about three miles. Its purpose was to drain street run-off into Lake Pontchartrain from a wide swath of the metropolitan area. It separated New Orleans from the adjoining parish. Its point of origin was way back around the Metairie Cemetery, and it was fed all the way by big pumping stations on both sides of the city line. Hurricane Katrina had filled the lake like the world’s biggest hot tub, and its waters had sloshed around in the canal long enough to find an unexpectedly soft dike. The break was about fifty feet from the back doors of a whole block of upper middle-class urbanites. The water lifted their swimming pools and decks out of the ground, uprooted their trees, and swept their houses across several streets. Then it engulfed another hundred thousand homes.
Down below Flowers and Tubby they could see men with hard hats milling about on the fringes of the breach, studying the problem. Water from the lake was still washing through.
“Wonder why they can’t just drop a few eighteen-wheelers into that breach until they get it plugged?” Flowers asked.
“Must not be in the plan,” Tubby offered.
“I doubt they ever had a plan.”
“Criminal stupidity,” Tubby muttered.
Roofs and chimneys poked through the flood like lilies in an endless pond.
“Lord have mercy,” Flowers said. “Look how far that water has spread.”
They clattered over to the New Orleans side of the breach. As far as their eyes could take them, the lake had reclaimed the city for itself.
“It goes on for miles,” Tubby said, looking at the isolated rooftops of whole neighborhoods he was quite familiar with, Lakeview, Lake Vista, Gentilly, Mid-City, Carrollton, Old Metairie.
“You see those people down there?” Flowers asked.
“You mean the engineer types? Yeah, I saw them and I wonder why they’re not up here with us dropping railroad cars full of sand into that hole. How dumb do you have to be…”
“No, I mean those people on the roofs.”
Tubby looked down, and indeed there were clusters of people on several roofs, right below where he guessed Fleur de Lis Avenue might have been. “You want to rescue them?” he asked.
“I don’t see
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