"Okay," the trooper said, and waved them on.
The line of waiting cars was beginning to break up. The number of people turned back and the sour replies they had called as they passed those still in line explained it.
Another vehicle coming away from the flood area, fast. It had a cardboard sign with a red cross on it stuck in the windshield. A station wagon, full.
The trooper at the checkpoint paused to watch. The driver of the station wagon stopped by the trooper with the shotgun, spoke to him for a minute, nodded and slid into gear again. The trooper at the check point stared at the faces inside the station wagon, some drawn, some nervously exuberant, as it went past.
The trooper with the shotgun was walking down the road toward him. "Transients," he said. "They're getting them out."
The other trooper said hesitantly, "Did—did you ask—"
"Yeah. They haven't found anybody answering your wife's description, not that the driver knew about anyway. She'll be all right."
"Sure. Thanks." The trooper with the shotgun turned and walked back. His partner sighed and moved on to the car at the head of the line. It was stretched out of sight again.
"You want me to stop for any of this?"