Page 27 of Trusted Instinct
Auralia wrinkled her nose.
“What?” Mohammed asked.
“Nothing. You do you. I hope it all works out the way you want it to.”
“Don’t play, Auralia,” Kamar scowled, “just say it.”
Doli leaned in. “The mud wrestling only happens as a single event to contend with if it were raining heavily here and only here. You seem to be forgetting that it’s raining on the mountain. All that water from up here,” Doli tightened the map so they could see a bigger surface area, “is flowing somewhere from two separate river systems. And this is a delta of land surrounded by the two.”
“Auralia just said that the river heights looked okay,” Kamara said.
“That’s a picture of now,” Auralia was patient with her explanation. If you didn’t know how to extrapolate data to possible outcomes, if you’d never been exposed to the possibilities, this was a lot to take in. Auralia got it. She still felt that way in war zones. “It has nothing to do with what we might contend with if the cars are in a mud pit, people are trapped, and hours of water accumulation change that calculus.” She flipped back to her maps app. “And I’ll add that there are two bridges that can take you to a main highway,” Auralia said. “Both bridges were flagged as needing immediate repairs because of their age and decrepitude.”
“Decrepitude?” Doli asked. “I like that word,decrepitude.” She turned toward the parking area. “What I don’t like is that we have to drive on them. They seemed fine to me. But I wasn’t dangling over the side assessing the rusted joints.”
“One of Cerberus Charlie K9s, Mojo, was over in Namibia, Africa, that was dry as a bone,” Auralia said. “Then a squall of some sort came through, and Mojo and his handler were on the roof of a building, sailing down the river, trying to survive. I will tell you here and now that the harrowing stories Levi tells about how he and his dog escaped that mess make me prefer a war zone. It’s bad when bombs are dropping, but they’re not dropping on every square inch. It’s luck of the draw rather than a clean sweep.”
“Tell me the truth, are you planning to confront Morrison?” Kamar asked, leaning forward.
“I’m here to hear what he has to say, and then I’ll research if that warrants further reporting.”
Kamar caught Mohammed’s gaze. “I vote we go. I can’t afford car repairs, and I don’t have the skills to stay safe in what they’re describing.”
“Good,” Mohammed finally released his hair and brought his hands down. “Yes. I vote this, too. We go.”
The men heaved themselves back to their feet and moved back to the spot they’d staked out.
“Good job running off the competition.” Doli teased.
“Come on.” Auralia turned to watch the International Associated Press crew gathering their things. “Sharing is caring. I said that, and it sounded sarcastic, but everything we were saying is accurate. When I strapped this bullet-resistant vest on this morning, I thought—”
“That you’d be dodging bullets?” Doli asked.
“No, that if someone were to try to punch me this time, it would be a huge surprise when they hit my ceramic plates.”
“No lie.” Doli pressed her hand against the solidity of the vest. “But I was thinking bullets. I always think of bullets when I’m pulling one of these over my head.” Doli turned and watched Kamar lifting a bag strap onto his shoulder. He raised a hand at the women, and they saluted him in return. “Yeah, he’s local beat. I don’t think he’d have a single clue how to get out of a flood, and worse, he’d feel obligated to report on the situation, which takes the attention away from survival. I’m glad they’re going.”
“As a goodwill gesture, we could send them some footage that we’re not using and notes from the speeches.”
“Good idea. And speaking of ideas, I really am curious whether Gator said anything about the vests. He’s never sent you anything like this before, has he?”
“Do you want my real impression?” Auralia raised her brows. “It might be a little woo-woo.”
“I’m up for some goosebumps.”
“For the last few days,” Auralia whispered. “I’ve had an earworm.”
Doli held up her hand, “Stop. Do not sing some jingle or half-lyric and get that in my head. I do not want.”
“It’s a phrase. ‘Whelp, looks like I dodged a bullet.’”
“Are you serious right now?” Doli held up her hand again. “Don’t say ‘deadly serious’ as your answer. I’m not cool with that, Auralia.”
“I …” Auralia shook her head. “What?”
“Nothing. Except I’ve noticed that when you sing a song over and over or repeat a phrase over and over, it comes true in the days that follow.”
“And those are words of wisdom, right?” Auralia asked.
