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“Drone. Really.” The man glanced up the hill at Shaw’s Winnebago and then back, saying, “One thing I need to say up front. I heard you do this for money. Public Safety’s a small office and our budget—”

“No charge. I’m volunteering.”

“Really? Well, appreciated, sir.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Oh, word of warning. See that woman there, coming this way, the blonde. Donotcross her or get on her bad side. There’ll be hell to pay. I don’t use the ‘B’ word but with her, fits like a glove.”

Shaw gave a shrug. “I think I can handle it.”

The mayor’s expression was priceless when she walked up and threw her arms around him.

“You two know each other?” he whispered.

Shaw said, “We do. She’s my kid sister.”

7.

In the command post, the canvas sides fluttering, the top aclatter with raindrops, Colter explained to Tolifson and Officer TC McGuire that he had been visiting his mother, along with Dorion and Eduardo Gutiérrez, who’d just finished up at a conference in the Bay Area. His sister had heard of the collapse from her employees and she and her coworker hurried here. Colter did not add that he probably would have come earlier but Dorion didn’t learn of the SUV washing into the river until she’d arrived. As soon as she’d heard she’d texted theNeed helpmessage.

Tolifson looked like he wanted to make up for the B-word faux pas but couldn’t find an entrée. He needn’t have worried. Colter wasn’t going to dime him out and he—like all the Shaw siblings—was not inclined to hold grudges.

Never waste time on revenge.

As the firefighters and other town employees were spreading the word about evacuation door-to-door, there was a meeting in the command post of the strategists: Hanlon Tolifson, the mayor/police chief, TC McGuire, Colter, Dorion and a short, sturdy blond woman officer. Debi Starr was not young—thirties—but clearly a newcomer to law enforcement. An apprentice, or intern, Colter could tell, fromthe way Tolifson and McGuire spoke to her—and from her agreeable nodding and scurrying off to do what she’d been assigned.

Efficient assistants ruled the world.

Ed Gutiérrez was presently on the ground, among the crew marshalling the evacuees. His wife and children were flying in from the East Coast tomorrow for some time hiking in the Sierra Nevadas, which were at their most beautiful this time of June, weather allowing. Well, that had been the plan. Now? Who knew?

Dorion said, “We’ve got the Army Corps of Engineers en route. Standard procedure is sandbagging. Let’s hope they’re bringing plenty.” She nodded to the crest of the levee over which tens of thousands of gallons were pouring every minute.

Colter found it curious that while the feds were sending the army engineers, there were no county or state responders. He asked about it, and Dorion muttered, “California Water Resources responds to floods. One of its main missions. But there’s a wrinkle.”

Her dark expression matched that of Tolifson’s and McGuire’s. The mayor explained that those resources had gone exclusively to the city of Fort Pleasant, the Olechu County seat. The supervisor himself, Prescott Moore, had been approached directly, and though he had personal and professional reasons to shift resources to Hinowah, he had declined to do so.

Tolifson said, “They’re treating us like the runt of the litter. We’re on our own. I don’t know why. The river’s wider in Fort Pleasant. Flooding’ll be gradual. Damage, sure, but no loss of life.”

Dorion nodded to the town and then glanced at her brother. “Evac’s moving slowly. Lot of remainers.” The word for those who because of obstinance, denial, laziness or political leaning were not inclined to do what the authorities told them to. Convincing people to leave their homes was one of the most difficult tasks of disaster response, Dorion had told Colter. Barring a massive wall of wildfire flames speeding toward your house at twenty miles per hour, when flight was the only option, owners vastly preferred to stay and fightto protect their homes, however improbable the odds of success. Family photographs and souvenirs and heirlooms? People just don’t want to give them up. She had once asked Colter to guess the number one thing in a house that kept people from evacuation in a forest fire.

When he said he had no idea, she’d answered, “Fish. You can get your dogs and cats into a car, you can grab a hamster cage. But aquariums you have to leave behind.”

Looking thoughtful, Tolifson sighed and said, “The family? In the Suburban. Hate to say it but, I mean, wouldn’t you think they’d be, you know, gone by now?”

“No,” Colter said. “Not at all.”

“But…” The mayor cast a glance toward the river.

“Late-model cars and SUVs are all sealed pretty well for sound and temperature. What’s the riverbed?”

“Dirt,” Starr said.

“Good. Now it’s mud. A natural sealant. A six-thousand-pound vehicle, with passengers, would settle into the bed fast and that’d seal most of the bottom vents and intakes. There’ll still be water coming in. No vehicle’s watertight. But the air pressure and window and door seals will keep most of the air inside. If they have anything else they can seal it with, that’d be a plus.”

“How long until they run out of air?” the mayor asked.

“The issue isn’t running out of air,” Colter said. “It’s running out ofoxygen.”

“Aren’t they the same?” Tolifson asked.

“No. Air is a mix of nitrogen, oxygen, CO2, argon, neon and hydrogen. It’s theproportionof those gases that’s critical. What we breathe is mostly nitrogen and 21 percent oxygen. CO2is only 0.03 to 0.05 percent. Exhaled air has a big jump in carbon dioxide—to about 4 percent. The oxygen in a closed space decreases while the carbon dioxide goes up. Suffocation isn’t lack of air. It’s poisoning by CO2. When it hits 8 to 10 percent, you die.”