by Mike Kraus
Sam came up softly behind him. “Hey, Dad. What should we do now?”
Tom lifted a set of keys and jangled them. “I found these laying on the floor on the way out. I think we should take Jerry’s mother’s car and get him to a hospital.”
Jerry sniffed and wiped the water and tears from his face. He blinked at Tom once and shook his head like a man coming out of a dream. “You can just take it.”
“What?”
“After you get me to the hospital. Take the Toyota. You two need to make it home.”
Tom shook his head. “You’ll need transportation, too .”
“I’ll figure out something.”
“Do you have any relatives around?”
Jerry gave a dejected shrug, all sense of hope and energy drained from his being. “Nope. No one.”
Tom grimaced at the young man’s pain. “Look, we’re not going to just leave you at the hospital and take your car. We’ll wait until you get patched up.”
“But that could take a lot of time,” Sam was nearly whispering. “Don’t we want to get home?”
Tom shushed her with a sharp look before. “We’d be happy to take you with us if you want.”
“I appreciate the offer.” Jerry shrugged, pained eyes staring at his house. “I don’t care either way. I just… I just want to get out of here now.”
Tom nodded. “Okay, let’s get moving. We’ll decide everything else later.”
It was an older Toyota pickup, not especially rugged or large, and Tom used the key to unlock the door and stuck his head inside. The vehicle had an old car smell topped off with a fruity air freshener, but it was spotless. Jerry started to clamber into the back, but Sam insisted he take the front passenger seat and he obliged with a half-hearted shrug.
“Hey, Sam,” Tom asked as he climbed in. “Can you watch me pull out and make sure I don’t hit something that will flatten the tires?”
“Sure.” Sam strode down the driveway and waited.
After Jerry climbed in, Tom started the engine. The Toyota sputtered to life, and he clipped his seatbelt on and adjusted his seat and mirrors. Reversing down the driveway, he kept Sam centered in his side mirror as she waved him back. Once in the street, he straightened the vehicle and gestured for her to come inside. Sam hopped in, shutting the door against the gray, hazy cold, and Tom put the Toyota in drive and eased ahead, turning his wipers and brights on and focusing on the road. Tom sighed. Despite the tragedy of discovering Jerry’s deceased mother, finding moving shelter once again was a huge relief.
He made it one block before his daughter leaned between the seats.
“Dad. Heat.”
“Right. Sorry about that.” His fingers adjusted the controls on the console and warm air blasted through the cabin. The window immediately fogged up, and he turned on the defrosters to clear it. Even though he’d angled the middle vents toward the back seat, Sam stayed leaning forward, eyes shut as her hair blew back.
“My face is so numb,” she said. “I can barely feel it.”
Tom put his hands up and wiggled his fingers in front of a vent, the warm air sting his cold skin. A minute later, his body responded to the heat by shaking off chill in several long shivers that coursed from his shoulders down through his back. Tom looked sidelong at Jerry to see him leaning against the window with his head in his hand, staring out at the storm, seemingly uninterested in the heat even though his teeth were still chattering.
“Hey, why don’t you guys take off your shoes and socks and dry your feet.”
“Good idea,” Sam said. She immediately shifted in her seat, put her feet up, and started untying her shoes. When Jerry didn’t move, Tom leaned closer.
“Hey, man. I know you’re hurting, but you should warm up your feet, okay? At least get them dried off.”
Wordlessly, Jerry bent forward and reached for his shoelaces with much less enthusiasm than Sam.
“Thanks. Maybe hang them over the vents when you get everything off.” Tom started to settle in but then remembered something. “Jerry, one more thing. Where’s the nearest hospital? Do you have one close?”
“There’s a small one in Virginia Beach.” His voice sounded muffled from his bent position.
“Perfect.”
Tom found his way back to the main road and headed north, moving slowly, pushing on through the residential neighborhoods, weaving between trashcans and pieces of housing in the road. There wasn’t a shoulder to drive on, but the front yards lay flat on both sides of him, and he navigated swampy lawns to bypass poles and other debris that were too big to drive over. One downed pole came with a tangle of wires lying in the street and he angled right into a driveway, knocking over a mailbox to get past the mess. When the mailbox wouldn’t immediately fall, Tom gunned the engine and smashed over it, the cement base grinding along the truck’s underside before he could straighten it out in a slosh of tires.
“Whoa,” Sam said, clinging to Jerry’s seat. “We almost got stuck.”
“I didn’t know if those wires were live,” he said. “If there’s power running through them, they could pack a pretty big punch.”
“Could they have hurt us?”
“Absolutely. Us or the car.”
By the time he reached a commercial area, it was 3:27, and the storm had largely let up. They sky still loomed ominous and gray and a light rain fell, but the wind had tapered off considerably, revealing the devastation that lay thick around them. Entire sections of homes had washed out as seawater picked apart the structures piece-by-piece, while bedding and bits of furniture drifted in ponds of brine. Three-family condominiums sat stripped of their roofing, their shingles and parts of gutters floating in backyard pools.
Cars and minivans parked in driveways were covered in debris, windows shattered, shells dented. A copse of privacy trees had come down on top of a condo, the massive back deck on the south side collapsing under the weight of fallen oaks and pines, limbs having smashed through the windowpanes and knocking down entire sections. A swath of three single-story bungalows had washed out and merged into an impossible pile of wood and mangled materials and any palm trees still standing were wilted and bent.
They passed a seafood takeout restaurant on their left, the big red shrimp sign hanging off and slapping back against the storefront. The beach shops and lots were filled with ocean overflow, lakes of brackish water holding slewed vehicles half-buried in wet sand. Tom ticked off insurance costs in his head but lost track after a few blocks – just the area they were in would constitute millions, and overall, it would undoubtedly be in the multiple billions of dollars.
They stopped at a T-shaped junction in the road. Across from them, a six-story condominium complex stood against the gray backdrop of clouds. A large swath of its roof had blown forward and hung over the front of the building like a man with a flipped toupee. The right side of the structure had partially collapsed, the topmost balconies slouching as the wind whistled through them and two telephone poles had blown over and lay across the street, their wires twisted and jumbled. Tom turned the truck into the Sandridge Market parking lot, coming out on the other side to reenter the road.
“Should we take a left here or keep skirting the beach?”
“The hospital is farther north.” Jerry glanced toward the ocean. “It’s up to you.”
“There’s still flooding along the beaches,” Tom continued, “but I don’t think we’re in direct danger anymore. I think staying straight will get us there faster.” No one argued, so he took a quick right and then an immediate left, joining the beachfront road approaching Virginia Beach. After another thirty minutes of silence, left alone in his thoughts, Tom turned to them. “You guys want to put your shoes and socks back on?”
Sam plucked hers from a pair of rear vents and put them on. “Toasty,” she smiled. Then she frowned as she held up a shoe. “My sneakers are still a little soggy.” With his injury, Jerry struggled to put on a single sock, so Sam leaned in between the seats and helped him
get it on.
“Thanks,” the young man mumbled.
“No problem.” She wrapped her arm around his shoulders and gave him a squeeze. “That’s what friends are for.”
Jerry smiled as she collapsed back in her seat, his eyes curious and darting in all directions. “Where to now?”
“I see lights coming up,” Tom said. “I think they were the ones we spotted way back there.”
“And people, too,” Sam pointed out. “Do you think we can pull in and talk to someone? Maybe they’re even open.”
Tom looked around. A seafood restaurant sat off to the right, its busted windows glowing like the face of a Jack-o’-lantern. The siding had been stripped away to reveal the underlying insulation, and rubbish lay strewn across the parking lot. Two trucks sat out front and shadows shifted inside, indicating someone was there. A beach supply store squatted off to the right with a single car in the lot, the back half of the building fully collapsed beneath the weight of a tall light pole.
“There’s caution tape up everywhere,” Tom pointed out the strings of yellow blocking off the entrances. “They’re not open, so it’s probably just the owners salvaging what they can.”
“Oh,” Sam replied with disappointment.
“That’s okay,” he assured them. “The fact that people are coming back is a good sign.” He turned to Jerry. “How’s your head?”
“It’s still hurts a little, but it’s not raging like it was before.”
“Good. Do you know where the hospital is from here?”
“Let me see.” Jerry raised in his seat and gazed around. “Wow, it all looks so different. It’s hard to tell where we are.” His head swiveled, eyes scanning the destruction for something familiar. “Wait, I see where we are. Take a left and then another right. That'll get us over the inlet. After that, we’ll head inland a bit more.”
“Thanks,” Tom said.
They crossed a bridge spanning the inlet which was almost too flooded to cross, the waves slapping up the pillars and spraying over the sides, splashing their windshields with foam and brine. Once across, they drove through blocks of bungalows and condos, all of them victims of the ocean and winds.
“It’s like driving on another planet.” Tom marveled at the destruction.
“No kidding,” Jerry whispered. He seemed to have temporarily put aside his mother’s passing, the scale of the destruction around them taking his mind off of his immediate grief. They approached a large commercial square with upscale restaurants and delicatessens, a beach-themed shopping center sitting off to the right with a grocery store and pharmacy on the corner.
“What’s going on with those stores?” Sam called from the backseat.
Tom glanced back to see her peering out the right rear window, following her gaze to see what she was looking at. Trash and scraps of shingles had blown across the store lots, but he noticed at least six cars parked, skewed in their spaces as if someone had hastily pulled in without worrying about the lines. Flashlight beams bounced around behind the grocery store glass from deep inside the structure and Tom’s focus shifted to a gas station on the next corner where a group of people had gathered around the mini mart’s front entrance. The crowd was seven or eight strong, pushing and shoving each other, pointing and yelling at a man standing behind the shattered storefront who waved a long metal pole at them, feigning threats with wild eyes, shouting as if daring them to try and enter. The crowd pressed in and retreated in waves, seeming to test their own courage, their arms raised, fists swinging back and forth.
“They want to rob him.” Tom said as dread tickled his stomach. “They’re just bucking up the courage to do it.”
“Seeing which one of them wants to get bashed first,” Jerry added, observing the scene warily.
Tom craned his neck as they passed, staring as long as he could, secretly rooting for the store owner. At the last second, he turned his attention forward with a squeamish twist in his belly.
Sam moved across the seat and looked out the left-hand window. “There’s more looting over here. It’s everywhere.” A group of people carried armfuls of cans and snacks from another mini mart, waddling out to their vehicles, dropping packs of chips and peanuts on the wet concrete before dumping their hauls in the backs of trunks.
“Don’t stop,” Sam urged. “They look mean.”
“And desperate,” Jerry added.
“I’m not stopping,” Tom assured them, though he’d briefly considered going back to help the store owner before quashing the idea. He couldn’t risk throwing himself into a violent confrontation like that – it wasn’t anywhere close to the same as rescuing a cat off a roof.
“Ah! Shi—oot!” Tom slapped his palm against the steering wheel.
“What, Dad?” Sam exclaimed, leaning forward.
“I forgot the radio!” He slammed the power button, expecting to hear classic rock come blaring through the speakers, or even talk radio, but instead what greeted them was a man’s robotic drone as he recited a pre-recorded message.
“… evacuation is mandatory. All coastal residents are required to move inland. Carry only necessary items. If you do not have a vehicle, proceed to your nearest emergency shelter with one bag or suitcase per person. Warm clothing is strongly advised, especially for the young and elderly. Shelters are being erected farther inland where you will be safe from the rising waters. If you have loved ones who…”
Tom turned down the radio and stared ahead as the recording played in the background, blinking with apprehension as his predictions materialized right before his eyes.
“That sounds great,” Sam piped from the back. “They’ve got shelters setup farther inland. That means people are getting help. Everything will be okay.”
“Oh yeah, sure, but even if you believe that, keep in mind that they said ‘rising waters.’” Jerry shook his head. “That doesn’t sound like the end of the flooding.”
“And they said to dress warm,” Tom whispered at the grayness stretching before them. “It's happening.”
Chapter 9
Tom, Virginia Beach, Virginia
“Dad, you were right,” Sam said. “The cold...”
He’d tied the Atlantic Drift disruption to the chilling temperatures they were experiencing two together days ago, wanting his theory to be wrong. Yet, here it was, right in front of them, and when mixed with the general reactions of the populace and the oddly worded message on the radio, he couldn’t help but wonder what information was being kept from the citizens of the country.
He pursed his lips, gripped the wheel, and focused on what he could control. Getting Jerry medical attention and then transporting himself and Sam home were the big priorities and were his only focus at the moment, lest he allow himself to become too distracted by the forest to see the trees.
“Okay, let’s get to that hospital,” Tom said.
“Just keep going straight.” Jerry raised in his seat and peered ahead along with Tom. “We’ll take a left in another mile and a half.”
He drove them along a track of scenic Virginia Beach, the ocean-smothered sands oozing between the oceanside condos and resorts, brackish water carrying debris through the commercial district. Waves swept across US-60 and poured into Lake Holly on their left where the lake’s surface kicked up frothy waves. Cars sulked on the grassy shore and lay dumped in the lake, a pair of headlamps pointing up at the sky, cutting through the gloom. The hurricane had abated, but the ocean had claimed its ground and held it.
Jerry shook his head in awe as he stared out the window to his right. “Turtle Bay Resort is wrecked.”
Tom looked away from Lake Holly and took in the wind-beaten building. It was a massive structure, taking up the entire block and the tide had moved through the first floor with a strong ebb and flow, gutting its contents to leave swirling pools behind. Resorts and condos gave way to restaurants and bars, and those farther inland had suffered less damage than the beachfront ones. Miraculously, a few still looked operational, thou
gh feebly. The wind and rain had wiped storefronts clean and shaved shingles from roofs, but some owners appeared to be inside, lights glowing, a handful of cars in the lots.
The Toyota was the only vehicle on the road, a lonely car hugging the center lane to avoid the reaching grasp of waves that swept around their tires. A pair of power lines lay across their path once again and Tom angled right, planning on cutting through a patch of swampy grass to get by when Jerry shifted in his seat, pointing in the direction they were headed.
“There’s a wave coming up.”
Sam slid across the backseat. “Uh, Dad? He’s not kidding.”
“Yeah, I see it.” Tom watched the sea race through the parking lot, raising the six inches of brine to a foot or more as it gained momentum. It was thirty yards out, then twenty, then ten, its speed faster than any of them would have imagined.
“Hang on!” Tom angled hard into the rising swell as water smacked the truck’s side, rocking them on their shocks as it sprayed up over the roof. The floorboard shivered, and the steering wheel suddenly jerked loose, Tom grabbing it hard and whipping it back and forth, hitting the gas but still unable to control their movements.
“We’re sliding,” he murmured, glancing left as the wave pushed them toward the power lines. Desperately, he spun the wheel harder, pressing the gas until the wheels grabbed the concrete with a jolt and the Toyota rocketed forward, fishtailing past the potentially dangerous leads. Tom didn’t realize he’d been holding his breath and he let it out in a gush as he brought the truck under control, easing his speed down to ten miles an hour as they pulled out of the wave’s grasp.
“Jeez, Dad.” Sam deflated.
“Yeah, I know.” He wiped the sweat off his brow, scanning the deceptively dangerous road. "There's a reason you don't drive through moving water."
Shoulders unclenching, Tom settled back and noticed one or two vehicles on the road ahead of them, another handful cruising the store and restaurant lots, mostly where the flooding was low and the lights welcoming.
“Look at these geniuses.” Jerry nodded out the passenger window.