Bug Man Suspense 3-in-1 Bundle

by Tim Downs

  No one complained. Many of these people were veterans of several past DMORT deployments, yet here they were again. As any of them would tell you: It’s not about the money. Some of them were there for the adrenaline; they were used to weekends on call or sleepless nights in the ER, and they loved the demanding pace. Some simply loved their profession, and DMORT gave them a chance to do more in two weeks than they might in six months back home. Others, like Nick, were there to serve the living by doing what they loved most—studying the dead—and there was no better place than DMORT to do it.

  Nick loved the DPMU. Permanent city morgues were usually relegated to some isolated, subterranean corner of a crumbling municipal building, but the DPMU was always brand-spanking-new, bright and aboveground, and, once up and running, bustling with activity. The cavernous warehouse was divided into two major sections, the largest reserved for storage, office space, and casketing operations. The remainder of the warehouse housed a series of long carnival tents, some an ordinary canvas color, while others sported colorful striped canopies complete with scalloped trim. Each tent contained a different forensic station, and each station was further divided into separate postmortem bays to allow three or four forensic specialists to work simultaneously. Each man or woman worked a twelve-hour, seven-to-seven shift, ideally rotating out of the disaster site after two exhausting weeks of duty, though the tour of duty depended entirely on the nature and scope of the disaster—and every disaster was different.

  “This is the admitting area,” Denny began. “Whenever a body is admitted to the DPMU, a rigid protocol will be followed. The body will first be decontaminated with a chlorine solution, and then assigned a number, a folder, and a personal escort who will accompany it throughout its examination. The escort will not only ensure that proper procedures are followed, but he will also establish a chain of evidence in the event that any criminal activity is indicated.”

  Denny motioned the group into the first tent. “The first forensic station will focus on victim identification. Personal effects such as jewelry and watches will be collected and inventoried here. Fingerprints will be taken—if there are fingers still present and if the condition of the tissues allows it. One of our pathologists will then make a cursory examination, searching the body for scars, tattoos, or other identifying marks. In the absence of these, the body might be x-rayed or even autopsied to search for orthopedic devices or surgical implants. As some of you know, newer devices bear serial numbers that can be tracked through manufacturers’ records. In cases of severe decomposition, a forensic anthropologist will be called in to examine fragments of bone. This should allow us to at least determine age, sex, stature, and ethnicity.”

  A hand went up in the back. “Will every body be autopsied?”

  “Not necessarily,” Denny said. “DMORT autopsies have a different purpose than those conducted under normal circumstances. The goal of our procedure is simply to identify the victim, not to determine the cause of death. However, if foul play is indicated, the body will immediately be turned over to the jurisdictional coroner for a more thorough autopsy.”

  He moved the group forward into a second tent. “Next comes the dental examination station. Here, X-rays will be taken to check against existing dental records. The problem in New Orleans will be finding those existing dental records. For the old, the homeless, and the disabled, regular dental care tends to fall low on the priority list. For many of them there might be no records to find. And there’s another complication we might have to contend with: Dental records are very hard to locate when they’re underwater.”

  Denny motioned the group into the final tent. “At the final station, a DNA sample will be extracted from bone—which might still give us a viable sample even if the softer tissues have decomposed. The right tibia is the bone of choice; the sample will then be labeled, frozen, and stored for later identification.”

  Nick shook his head; it sounded so simple, but the reality was something else. Thanks to the media, DNA identification was familiar to everyone by now—but so much had been said in its favor that the public now expected almost magical results. Nick knew that in the real world, DNA identification was a long, slow, and expensive process. Nick and Jerry had both worked the 1996 crash of TWA Flight 800; all 230 victims were eventually identified through DNA, but the process took thirteen months.

  “Finally, when every station has completed its examination, the body along with its personal effects will be placed in a fresh body bag and returned to refrigeration await to formal identification. The body, once identified, will be referred to by name. Our newcomers will please take note of this—this is a personal touch that DMORT prides itself on. Once identified, the remains will hopefully be released to a waiting family. If no family can be located, then the body will be buried or cremated by DMORT itself. Are there any questions about our facility or procedures?”

  There were none.

  “In that case, this completes our tour of the DPMU. Please help yourselves to some water—do your best to stay hydrated.”

  The group now gathered in a large, open meeting area and spread out a bit to allow the stagnant air to circulate between them. The air-conditioning still wasn’t working, but at least the high warehouse roof allowed the heat to rise away from them. Along one side of the room was a table covered with water bottles; first in line were the sweat-soaked members of Region IX, who were forced to make the sudden transition from the bone-dry climate of Arizona or Nevada to the oppressive humidity of Louisiana.

  “Not a bad tour,” Nick said. “It was informative, it held my attention, and it kept moving. We’ve had better—I still like the ’99 Amtrak derailment best. Overall, I give it one thumbs-up.”

  “Thanks for the review,” Jerry said.

  “Let’s get the briefing started,” Denny called out. “As I said, I don’t want to keep you any longer than necessary—but I’ve got a few things that you all need to know.”

  4

  Nick and Jerry took seats in the back of the room, and Denny stepped in front of a small podium.

  “First of all, you’re probably wondering about sleeping arrangements. As you may have noticed, our facility is still under construction. There’s an unused elementary school nearby, and we also have an unfinished condo unit available to us; we’ll provide cots or air mattresses for many of you there. I’m afraid some of you will have to sleep in your cars at first—sorry about that. I should also mention another option: We have a few refrigerated tractor trailers outside, which will be used to transport bodies from New Orleans and then to store them again after processing. Some of them are FEMA trucks, but the good folks at Wal-Mart and Ben & Jerry’s were nice enough to donate a few too. The trucks sleep twenty-four each—or I should say, they’re each capable of transporting twenty-four bodies. Don’t worry, we promise not to keep the thermostat at 38 degrees.”

  The group laughed, but Jerry whispered, “It’s okay by me. I’ll take the air-conditioning.”

  Nick nodded. “Yeah, me too.”

  “As I said before, the DPMU will be a secured area beginning immediately. I’m sure you’ve all noticed that the compound is surrounded by fence and razor wire. A guard will be posted at the gate at all times, courtesy of the St. Gabriel Police Department. You’ll need your credentials to get in or out 24/7—so be sure to keep them with you.

  “As for meals, if you’ve been on a DMORT deployment before, then you’re familiar with our executive dining plan: The National Guard has been kind enough to provide us with their mouthwatering meals ready to eat. Just stop by our cafeteria, affectionately known as the ‘McDMORT Café,’ and see what you can find. Our menu features everything that can possibly be freeze-dried or crammed into a brown Mylar bag. If you get sick of the MREs, I’ve been told that at the St. Gabriel Truck Stop the crawfish omelet comes with hash browns and a biscuit. You might want to have your cholesterol checked at the end of your deployment.”

  “I love Meals Ready to Eat,” Jerry said.
“Especially the Chili with Macaroni.”

  “They definitely beat the NC State dining halls,” Nick said.

  The MREs were a constant source of derision for DMORT members, but Nick and Jerry never complained. They were both single men, and both found the MREs to be a big improvement over their usual fare of Tuna Surprise or take-out Chinese.

  “Now I want to say a few words about the situation facing us,” Denny segued, and the tone of his address began to change. “I see a lot of familiar faces out there; many of you have been with us before. Some of you were there after 9/11. You were with us at the DPMU in Hangar 7 at LaGuardia Airport, and you probably thought that was as bad as it gets—we all did. But I want you to know that we’ve never faced anything like this before. New Orleans represents what we call an ‘open system.’ In a situation like an airline crash—even in the case of the World Trade Center—we’ve usually got some kind of passenger manifest or occupant list to work against. Not in New Orleans; we have absolutely no idea how many people are still there or where they’re located. At other mass-casualty sites, the victims are usually confined to a limited area—say, a field or a building site. In New Orleans, the victims could be dispersed all over the city. That’s not going to make it easy for us.

  “You’re all probably wondering, ‘How bad could this get?’ The storm is still predicted to make landfall early this morning; what will happen when it does, nobody knows for sure. The National Weather Service issued this warning earlier today; let me read you a few excerpts: ‘Hurricane Katrina . . . A most powerful hurricane with unprecedented strength . . . Devastating damage expected . . . Most of the area will be uninhabitable for weeks . . . perhaps longer. At least one half of well-constructed homes will have roof and wall failure . . . leaving those homes severely damaged or destroyed. The majority of industrial buildings will become nonfunctional. Partial to complete wall and roof failure is expected. All wood-framed low-rising apartment buildings will be destroyed. Concrete-block low-rise apartments will sustain major damage . . . including some wall and roof failure. High-rise office and apartment buildings will sway dangerously . . . a few to the point of total collapse. All windows will blow out. Airborne debris will be widespread . . . and may include heavy items such as household appliances and even light vehicles . . . The blown debris will create additional destruction. Persons . . . pets . . . and livestock exposed to the winds will face certain death if struck. Power outages will last for weeks . . . as most power poles will be down and transformers destroyed. Water shortages will make human suffering incredible by modern standards.’”

  Denny stopped reading and looked at the group. From the back of the room, someone let out a low whistle.

  “Are there any predictions about casualties yet?” Nick asked.

  “There’s just no way to tell,” Denny replied. “All we can do is prepare for the worst. They estimate that about a million people have left the greater New Orleans area so far; nobody knows how many have chosen to remain behind. Mayor Nagin has opened up ten emergency shelters for them, including the New Orleans Superdome. I’ve been told that facility stocks thirty-six hours’ worth of food in reserve. The city is surrounded by water on three sides, and 70 percent of it is below sea level. Our DPMU is capable of processing 140 bodies a day for as long as we have to be here. We brought twenty-five thousand body bags with us; let’s just pray we take some home.”

  “What about the levees?” someone asked. “Are they expected to hold?”

  “The Army Corps of Engineers tells us that the levees were only designed to protect against a Category 3 hurricane. At the lowest points, the levees can only hold back a storm surge of about fourteen feet. Some say Katrina might double that; if that happens, the entire city will be underwater.”

  There was a pause, and then a lone voice spoke for everyone in the room: “The whole city?”

  “That’s what they tell us. If there is significant flooding in the city, then there are going to be casualties—a lot of them—and they’re not going to be easy to identify. It happens in every flood: People get separated from their identifying documents—wallets, purses, that sort of thing. Bodies get washed around by the currents, too, so we might not even know what neighborhood the victim came from.

  “What I’m trying to say is that we’re not really sure what we’re up against yet; the next twenty-four hours will tell. As always, DMORT will be functioning under the authority of FEMA and the Department of Homeland Security, and alongside local relief and law enforcement agencies. This is a team effort, everybody, and we play just one part. The first thing I want everybody to do is get a good night’s sleep—as good as you can, under the conditions. We’ll spend tomorrow getting the DPMU in shape; then, as soon as the storm has safely passed, all nonadministrative members will be transported to New Orleans to assist in rescue efforts. You are to report to the agency in charge of the rescue efforts in that area and follow their instructions. Are there any questions?”

  Nick frowned, then slowly raised his hand.

  “Yes. Nick.”

  “Did you say, ‘Assist in rescue efforts’? I assume you meant recovery efforts.”

  “No, you heard me right. If there is extensive flooding across the city, tens of thousands of people are expected to be trapped in their homes or on rooftops. As I said, this is a team effort; the decision has been made by FEMA to focus all available resources on rescuing the living first.”

  “Instead of recovering the dead?”

  “At first, yes. I think you’ll agree, Nick, that it’s a lot more important to rescue the living than it is to recover the dead.”

  “I’m not sure I do,” Nick said, rising to his feet.

  “Fasten your seat belts,” Jerry mumbled. “Here we go.”

  “We stopped for gas on the way down here,” Nick said. “A little station just north of Baton Rouge—some of you were with me.” He glanced around the room and a few heads nodded. “There was a line a mile long waiting for gas—it took us an hour to get through. While we were there, two men pulled up to a pump at the same time. They began to argue about who got there first. The argument got heated. I thought there was going to be a fight—until one of them pulled up his shirt and showed the other guy a gun.”

  Nick paused to allow the point to sink in.

  “That’s what stress does to your species, Denny. Those two men were on their way out of town—what about the people who stay behind? What sort of stress will they be under? Hunger, fatigue, competition for available resources—and I’d like to remind everyone that New Orleans holds the record for the highest murder rate ever recorded, and that’s without a hurricane. Human nature isn’t going to improve after a major disaster; it’s going to get worse—maybe a lot worse.”

  “What’s your point, Nick?”

  “You say we’re looking at a lot of casualties here. All I’m saying is that some of them won’t have died from natural causes—you can count on that. We owe something to those people too.”

  “So what are you suggesting?”

  “That we divide our resources. Surely at least a few of us could be assigned to the recovery of the dead.”

  Denny shook his head. “FEMA estimates that one out of four residents of New Orleans has no access to an automobile. There’s no way to estimate how many people have stayed behind—it could be in the hundreds of thousands. And if the city floods, there’s no telling how many people will be in need of rescue. Nobody knows if all the government agencies combined can handle it; that’s why FEMA wants all available personnel to focus on rescue first.”

  “Why was DMORT created?” Nick asked. “To help family members identify and recover the remains of their loved ones.”

  “Thanks, Nick, I’m familiar with the training manual.”

  “Murder victims have families too,” Nick said, “and they want more than that—they want the murderers brought to justice. That’s why the bodies can’t wait, Denny. This isn’t just about recovery; it’s about preser
ving forensic evidence. You said yourself that this is a unique situation; let’s not forget the problems posed by the water. Any pathologist here will tell you that a body decomposes much faster in water than it does on land—but in this case it’ll be even worse. The water will be hot, and it will be filled with who-knows-what: bacteria, toxins, sewage, chemicals, pesticides—just to name a few. If the city does flood, we’re going to have bodies floating in a toxic brew—”

  “Nick—”

  “—and it won’t just be a problem for visual identification. I’m talking about major decomposition of tissues, even degradation of DNA. Nothing will last long in that soup; by the time we get around to recovering bodies, there’ll be nothing left to find.”

  “Nick—”

  “We’re working against the clock here, Denny. This may be an open system, but time is the one thing that’s not open. In Somerset County we had all the time in the world to collect the remains from United 93. We had time to mark off the whole field, and walk the grid, but if we take that long here—”

  “First the living!” someone shouted from across the room.

  “That’s incredibly shortsighted,” Nick said. “How many of you have actually viewed a cadaver recovered in water? Let me tell you, it’s an evidential nightmare. The tissues soften; the fingers swell until the fingerprints disappear; the hair is lost; the face becomes bloated and unrecognizable—at some point even gender becomes difficult to distinguish. I’m talking about complete loss of forensic evidence: knife wounds, contusions, bullet tracks—all of it disappears. Are we really willing to let that happen?”

  The room began to stir; Denny gestured for everyone to quiet down. “Nick, if you want to talk more about this, then see me after the meeting. I’m sure the rest of the team would like to get some sleep. I’ve scheduled our next briefing for 7:00 a.m. I know, that’s awfully early—welcome to DMORT.