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“Oh. That’s rough.”

It was.

But irrelevant.

As she gazed over the levee, Olsen glowered. “Don’t care how rare floods are around here. Whoever built the levee should’ve done a better job. They could’ve spent another week and added six extra feet. If so, we wouldn’t be here. But they never talk to us until afterward, do they?”

When Tolifson took a call, Olsen said to Dorion, “Let’s walk.”

The women climbed the incline to the north side of Route 13, where Dorion’s brother’s camper sat. Olsen examined the waterfall coursing over the levee. “I’ve ordered sand and bags. We’ll need a lot of them. Starting there.” She pointed to the far end of the levee, where the pickup truck sat. “I’ll need a half dozen volunteers for the bagging detail.”

“Hate to pull them off evac but I agree.”

“How’s that going? Evacuation?” She looked over the line of traffic.

“Too many remainers. They see a pretty waterfall. Let’s take selfies.”

“Always the way, isn’t it?” She placed a call and said, “ETA ofthe sand?…No. Sooner. Now…And Hydroseal? Okay…Yeah, the three of us. But there’s a civilian disaster response person here. She knows what she’s about.”

Dorion was the more extroverted of the siblings, the first to question, the first to push back when she had doubts, even when she was young. Oddly, though, compliments unsettled her.

After disconnecting, Olsen said, “My corporals’ll supervise the sandbag op and place the bags themselves. I don’t want civilians at risk.” She glanced at Dorion once more. “So you do what I do, only you get paid a lot more.”

“But you can retire after twenty years.”

A laugh. “Retire? And then what? Play pickleball and bake cupcakes on a YouTube channel?”

So true…

The sergeant added, “But doesn’t matter who writes your paycheck, right? It’s a pretty good gig.”

“None better.” Dorion was tempted to tell the woman about the survival training of the Shaw children’s youth. About their father too. There was certainly something of a drill sergeant in Ashton Shaw. Maybe the noncom standing beside her had had a similar upbringing. But that was a conversation for another time.

“What’s that you mentioned, Hydroseal?” Dorion asked.

“Amazing stuff. Underwater-drying sealant. Like the undercoat car dealers’re always trying to sell you. Onlythisworks. We’ll pour it along the interior face of the levee. That’ll slow the erosion a fair amount.”

“I know underwater polymers work on wood and concrete.” A nod toward the levee. “But dirt too?”

“The way we apply it, yes.”

“That’s good to know. I’ll have to look into it.”

“Give me your email and I can get you the details.”

Dorion recited her contact information and the officer put it intoher phone. “I’ll get one of my men underwater to check out the weakest spots and mark them. Where’re the evacuees going?”

“A college on high ground about a mile or so from here. I’ve got Safeway delivering water and a dozen fast-food places doing their thing. Sporting-goods chains providing tents and a porta-potty outfit bringing in two dozen. A mobile hospital too, and I’ve alerted all the local medical ops they may be seeing patients and better prepare for blunt trauma, electrical shock and water in lungs. Eye injuries too.”

One of the biggest problems in flooding was damage to eyes and mucus membranes from chemical substances released from service stations, car repair shops and other industrial operations in the flood’s path.

“A portable morgue too. Refrigerated.”

Olsen was nodding. “You are one on-top-of-it woman. Usually I fly solo in disasters. Good to have a partner.” She gave another warm smile.

They returned to Tolifson, who was still on his phone, and Debi Starr, looking over the map. The officer glanced up and she said, “Mr. Martinez called in. He got to Fort Pleasant. He didn’t see any sign of the SUV or the family. He’s turning around and going north to meet Mr. Shaw.”

Dorion squinted into the wind. “We need a half dozen volunteers for sandbag duty. Working with Sergeant Olsen here. Could you track some down?”