Secession: The Storm by Joe Nobody Page B

reversed.”
     
    We wouldn’t have fucked up so badly , Zach thought. And I seriously doubt you would have offered any help. But he didn’t say it.
     
    The commissioner interpreted the lack of response as the end of the conversation. Passing the letter back to Zach, he grunted with disdain and started to turn away.
     
    “Sir,” Zach stated with a firm tone that halted the retreat. Leaning in close to the man’s ear, he whispered, “My major said he will set up a roadblock and turn away every pickup, van, bus, bicycle, and pedestrian trying to cross into Texas from Louisiana - if we don’t determine a way to keep the criminals out. And I believe him, sir.”
     
    The commissioner’s eyebrows rose, his brow wrinkling in anger. Zach’s message, while obviously pissing him off, had struck a nerve. For a moment, the ranger thought the man might even order his arrest or deportation.
     
    “I see,” the commissioner finally whispered, much of his bluster fading. “And what would you suggest, young man?”
     
    “Let me get the lay of the land, sir. For a few days, let me see what’s happening in the streets and how the evacuation is being handled. I can voice any recommendations after I get a feel for what is going on.”
     
    The remaining anger dissipated from the head-policeman’s face at that point. Turning to Baines, he ordered, “Assign our new friend to one of the confiscation patrols. Let him see that what we’re facing up close and personal.”
     
    And then returning to Zach, he finished, “I’ll look forward to your recommendations, Ranger Bass.”
     

     
    Once again, Zach was given directions and a handwritten note of introduction. He found the NOPD sub-station thirty minutes later. It looked more like an Army base than a police operation.
     
    Camouflaged Humvees and patrol cars encircled what had been an elementary school before the storm. Zach didn’t have to ask about the real station – he’d driven by enough flooded-out structures to guess.
     
    Not only were military vehicles in abundance, so were soldiers. Clamping his badge in a clearly visible location on his belt, Zach exited the truck and began walking toward the main entrance.
     
    The place was bustling with activity; National Guardsmen, police officers, and men whose jackets were embroidered with the initials of just about every federal agency he’d ever heard of rushed here and there. Almost everyone was heavily armed, plenty of M16s, shotguns and other tactical weapons on display.
     
    He found the watch officer just inside the door. Ten minutes later, he was being introduced to a burly, barrel-chested NOPD sergeant named Roland “Butch” Ford. At well over 6 feet tall and sporting a closely cropped crew cut, the gent reminded Zach more of a Marine Corps drill instructor than a beat cop.
     
    “We can use all the help we can get,” the bleary-eyed, four-days-beyond-fatigued policeman commented. “We’re understaffed, patrolling three precincts with less manpower than what we’d normally have for one. Most of my guys haven’t slept for more than a couple of hours since the levees were breached.”
     
    “Looks like you’ve got a ton of guardsmen here. Are they taking any of the load?”
     
    “Some,” Ford replied, “but they’re not experienced in the finer points of law enforcement. Those guys help some with the search and rescue, but handling any manner of criminal activity is still on us. The lieutenant has taken to pairing us up, which helps if a gunfight breaks out.”
     
    “Have you seen a lot of that?”
     
    “Not in the last few days. At first, it was like living in a B-rated, Wild West movie, but currently we have the dry areas almost under control. And now with the mayor’s new order for mandatory evacuation, I expect we’ll see even less violence.”
     
    “How are you going to force them to leave?” Zach asked, trying to get a read on his new comrade’s attitude.
     
    “If we take their