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up.”
    “‘Description of Duties of the DMORT Mental Health Officer,’” she read. “‘(1) Monitors incident stress levels of all personnel and implements stress reduction measures as necessary. (2) Identifies appropriate assessments, interventions, prevention techniques, and counseling for early identification of personnel at risk of mental health and related problems.’ That pretty much says it all: My job is to help each of you assess your individual stress level and keep it at a manageable level.”
    “I came here for the stress,” Nick said. “Why can’t she mind her own business?”
    “Now, how will this happen? First of all, there are things you can do to help. I’m reading again from the Field Operations Guide: ‘Be responsible for your well-being and keep in touch with your family. It is important that you monitor and maintain yourself in areas such as: stress levels, medical fitness, physical fitness, proper hydration, proper foods, and regular bowel movements.’”
    “Freudians,” Nick said. “She’s been here for five minutes, and she’s already talking about bowel movements.”
    “Those are things that you can do,” she said. “What I can do is listen. As in all past DMORT deployments, each team member will be required to undergo an exit interview when his or her rotation is completed. But here in St. Gabriel, due to the extreme pressures we may all be forced to work under, I’ll also be conducting informal interviews along the way just to keep an eye out for unhealthy coping mechanisms. So if I ask you, ‘How are you doing?’ please don’t brush me off—because I really do care and I really want to know. Thank you.”
    She concluded to scattered applause. At this point the meeting broke up and people began to slowly rise and mingle. Nick just sat there, slumped down in his chair.
    “Terrific,” he grumbled. “A perfectly good disaster ruined.”

5
    “Talk to you later,” Nick said to Jerry. “I need to grab Denny before he gets away.”
    “Go easy on him,” Jerry said. “He’s got a big job this time.”
    Denny spotted Nick charging toward him, and he held up one hand as if to repel the advance. “Now, take it easy, Nick. I know you’re upset about this, but the decision has already been made.”
    “What fool made that decision?”
    “You know how the system works: DMORT is part of the National Disaster Medical System; NDMS is part of FEMA; FEMA is part of Homeland Security; and DHS is part of the president’s cabinet. So who made the decision? I don’t know—somebody a lot higher up than me. Don’t shoot the messenger, okay?”
    “If I did, they’d never recover your body.”
    “C’mon, Nick. Living people are sort of the priority, you know?”
    “No, they’re just one of the priorities. Look, I know we need to rescue the living—I’m okay with that—but we owe something to the dead too.”
    “Nick, let me fill you in on something: In case you haven’t noticed, this whole setup is a logistical nightmare. Everybody knows it’s going to be bad tomorrow, and everybody’s ready to help—the National Guard, the Coast Guard, the Department of Transportation—and those are just a few of the government agencies. We’ve got a hundred parties in the private sector waiting to pitch in too. And every agency’s got some grand contingency plan they worked out years ago, but nobody counted on anything quite like this. The problem is, nobody knows exactly who’s in charge.”
    “It should be FEMA,” Nick said.
    “It should be, yeah. And FEMA used to be a cabinet-level position, remember? That was before 9/11. They had the president’s ear back then; they had clear lines of authority. But after 9/11 they lost their cabinet seat, remember? They got shelved under Homeland Security, and now it isn’t clear who’s making the decisions. It’s tough to know where the orders are coming from, and it’s even harder to know who to complain to when the orders don’t