Even at that time — last Wednesday, Aug. 31 — "There were bodies floating in the street, snakes and raccoons swimming. People on the balconies were yelling for help," Mixon said. "Julie was scared."

"We did hear a lot of gunfire. I had two pistols (that his friend brought), and I was very worried about our problem. I slept with a gun on the muddy floor at the door, and another guy slept at the other door with a gun."

At the Arabi School on Wednesday, Mixon began pushing open windows for ventilation. One wood-framed window broke in half, and the glass sliced his arm, severing tendons and an artery in his left arm. When a military truck sounded in the distance, Karen Mixon ran to it and waved it down. The men took Edward but didn't take anyone else in the life-threatening situation. He was bleeding badly as he was taken by a helicopter to three evacuation centers. One after another rejected him because of the severity of his wound.

Eventually, Mixon was taken to LSU Medical Center. Two surgeons about to leave stopped in their tracks and did emergency surgery. Afterward, he came to the Baton Rouge LDS stake center, a shelter, with his arm full of 27 staples and having the look of being wired together by a farmer with pliers.

In pain and exhausted, Mixon was beside himself with worry. He worried about Grandma and about his 6-year-old daughter. He worried about Grandma's medical situation. And that he had left them with a gun they didn't know how to use. He worried that his wife had used the gun, or hadn't used the gun.

As time passed without resolution and no word came on their rescue, a decision was made to retrieve them by helicopter. Others yielded their use of the machine because of the urgent nature of the rescue.

The helicopter pilot, grouchy from long days of flying, warned Mixon and this reporter that if we got into wet conditions at the pickup site, we would spend the night in St. Bernard.

"It is so toxic I don't want to endanger my family and crew," he said.

He knew about danger. He carried a pistol in a well-worn holster at his back.

"We're packin'," said a crew member.

A 12-gauge shotgun lay on the desk next to the telephone directory.

"I don't know what I am going to find," said Mixon. "I might find them all well, or I might find their bodies, or they might be gone. I don't know what I will find."

"I hear you," said a crew member.

"I just don't know," said Mixon, his voice growing husky.

A contingency plan was in place in case of moisture. Any mud and Mixon would stay and meet the chopper the following day with his family on the levee, high and all dry.

As the Huey pounded its way across the watery city, the pilot observed, "Every time I look real hard, I see a body."