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trucks from various fire departments surrounding them, an assortment of vehicles from FEMA and the National Guard — places aplenty for Sam to get out of the rain, have a hot drink, maybe find some dry clothes, and cool off far from Willy. Lights on tripods had been rigged around the periphery, which — given the comings and goings of strobe-equipped vehicles and the people milling about in electric-colored slickers — lent the entire scene the look of an alien landing site.
    Joe understood both sides — the impulse that made Willy dive in after a man who was now claiming Willy had hit him on purpose in the process; and Sam's maternal outrage. It spoke to the passion and decency of each of them, as far as Joe was concerned. One of the graces he'd valued during his career was that for as long as he could still show up at the office, he'd get to work with people whom he'd have happily selected as his own kids.
    Even if, on occasion, they were ready to kill each other.
    Lester Spinney ducked under the raised hatch door of the SUV that Willy and Joe were using as a rain tent.
    "All patched up?" he asked.
    "They take care of our two burglars-in-training?" Joe countered.
    Lester nodded. "Took 'em out back and executed 'em. Beat 'em to death — didn't want to waste bullets."
    Willy laughed as Joe just gave him a look.
    "Yeah, boss," Spinney conceded. "They're under lock and key. No trip to Springfield, though. You hear what happened to the last transport detail that headed that way? Got swept up in the river. Lost the EQ; damn near lost the crew."
    "Everyone okay?" Joe asked.
    "Wet and embarrassed, but fine. We're gonna hear a thousand stories like that before this is done. Guaranteed."
    "Got anything for us?" Willy asked, already getting restless and, Joe suspected, wanting some more time between now and when he and Sam reconvened at home.
    "Oh," Lester said, "Yeah. We've been called up north. It's a little vague, since communication is falling apart, but we should be able to make it. We're supposed to hitch a ride with some other folks on a Humvee to a spot somewhere in Newfane. They say we can still reach it, at least for now. You hear they're talking about evacuating the state EOC? The whole Waterbury complex flooded and it's threatening their computers and power."
    "You're full of good news," Joe told him. "What're we supposed to check out?"
    "That part's a little jumbled. The emergency coordinator in the area — don't ask me who or what — said he didn't have time to go into detail. Apparently, most of South Newfane is being washed into the Rock River and beyond. But he said first that he needed cops, and then that they should be detectives — he was specific. 'We got a missing person up here,' or something to that effect. Sorry I don't have more. I did ask."
    Willy was not in a mood to argue. "I'm in," he said, sliding out of the SUV's back.
    Joe addressed Spinney. "They need a full crew?"
    "Not our choice," Les responded. "The Hummer only has room for two more. Pretty packed as it is. This is more the incident commander's call than ours."
    Joe glanced at Willy. "You and me?"
    Willy gave him a crooked smile. "Me and anyone 'cept you-know-who."
     
    The drive north was made in darkness, the Humvee's roof, spot, and headlights all ablaze and, Joe thought, working as much against them as for them, the way the white light bounced off the prisms of a million falling raindrops. He imagined that from the air, they must have looked like a grounded cloud of fireflies, winding through the woods.
    It was slow going. They avoided the pavement, since it was prone to caving in. They also had to double back a couple of times, their information being dated by a critical few hours. Conversation was minimal; a few actually dozed off. It was cramped, uncomfortable, damp, and clammy because of the partially open windows. Nevertheless, they made headway.
    Where they ended up, hours after what would have been a twenty-minute drive — and