There was a banging sound from the wall alongside them. Grateful for the recall, Mike signaled the others back round the corner, and they tumbled through the door to arrive beside Belle, both her hair and her kaftan blowing in the wind, and wielding a frying pan with which she had banged the wall.
“What the hell are you doing outside?” Lawson shouted at her.
“Neal is on the CB,” she bawled back. “They’re being flooded. And Meg’s having hysterics. He wants out.”
“Oh, Jesus,” Mike growled. He put his mouth to his daughter’s ear. “Okay, tell him we’re on our way.”
“So rain’s getting in. What the hell is a little water?” Dale demanded as they crouched in the shelter of the bedroom wing, looking down the hill.
“I told them we’d get them out of there if they called for help,” his father reminded him. “And now they’re calling for help, right?” In fact he was suddenly alarmed by something he had earlier considered a good thing — the Robsons’ house was at least fifteen feet lower than his own, so it didn’t have to be rain water that was causing the flood. “Let’s go.”
“Crawl,” Lawson told them. “Don’t attempt to stand.”
By staying on the bay side of the road, where the land sloped off to the west, they could obtain some shelter from the wind, and by keeping as close to the ground as possible they obtained even more. Mike was reminded of trying to stay alive in Korea, and in every way this was hardly less dangerous. Lightning was striking all around them, every few minutes a branch would come crashing down, while those that didn’t were whipping to and fro immediately above their heads. To cap it all was the thunder booming like a continuous artillery barrage from close at hand, and the rain which thudded into their bodies like so many bullets.
But they made progress, creeping along the grass verge of the road to the dip down to the Robsons, and there falling to their stomachs in consternation. Below them, the sea had already crossed the road. The full force of the waves was still being contained by the rocks, although the surge was so high that spray was being flung over the crowns of the tallest coconut trees. But the overspill of each wave, some two feet of water, was flowing across the road, round the Robsons’ house, and thence down the west side of the Point to the sea. Mike realized that quite apart from whatever might be happening at the neck, Dolphin Point was in danger of being cut in two right here, exactly where the Robsons’ house stood.
The others understood that too, and they didn’t have to be told to hurry. Lawson led the way, in his anxiety standing up, and promptly being knocked down by the next gust, which sent him rolling into the bushes before he came to a stop against a tree. Mike gazed after him in alarm, but Dale continued on his way, crawling, up to the flowing water, and then attempting to cross it. It swept him sideways, but down the Robsons’ drive, which resembled a fast running river, and up against the house.
“Oh, Christ!” Big Mike muttered, wondering if he was about to lose two-thirds of his family. But Lawson was sitting up, rubbing his head, and grinning ruefully at his own stupidity. A moment later they had joined Dale against the house; they were so wet anyway that the fact they were crouching in the middle of a stream hardly mattered. Cautiously they made their way round the house, and had almost reached the lee, when they were arrested by a huge ripping sound, as if a giant was tearing an enormous telephone book in two. Lawson recognized it, and looked up; Dale and Mike followed his example and watched the roof begin to peel back, like the lid being removed from a sardine can, while shingles tore off and scattered in the wind.
“Holy shit!” Mike screamed, and reached the door to bang on it. A moment later it was opened. Inside was dark, as even the candles had blown out; Neal’s generator must have failed only seconds after he had called for help — no doubt because the sea had reached the shed. Mike shone his flashlight into the interior, saw the floor covered in water, saw Meg lying on her face on the settee, a pillow over head, rocking back and forth in terror. Neal was by the door, white-faced and shaking.
“The roof…” he gasped.
Mike nodded. “Let’s get the hell out of here,” he shouted. The tearing noise was growing louder.
Lawson and Dale dashed inside and pulled Meg from the settee. “God!” she screamed. “God! We’re going to die. Oh, God, we’re going to die,” she sobbed.
“No way,” Lawson told her. “But we’re going to get wet.”
“Look out,” Dale shouted, and the roof finally went with a gigantic whoosh, shattering itself in the trees. Rain and wind and salt spray descended on the wrecked house, like playfully destructive giants. Furniture was picked up, whirled around, and then hurled against the walls. Glass shattered. The heavy dresser came crashing down. Even Meg’s screams were lost in the noise, as the humans were also thrown about by the spiraling wind, but she was clearly both screaming and sobbing as Mike and Dale dragged her, and themselves, to the door and out into the open. For the moment they were again sheltered by the walls, but that wasn’t going to last very long, Mike knew, as he heard a tremendous crash from the windward side. The house was being systematically demolished. He pointed up the slope towards his own house, and Dale nodded; the water around them was getting deeper by the moment.
It was slow going. Meg was too exhausted to fight any more, either her rescuers or the elements. She didn’t want to do anything but lie down with her hands over her head — and drown. Neal was hardly in better shape. And once they left the shelter of the wall they had to contend with both the wind and the water, nearly a foot deep and rising, increasing in force all the time. Slowly and painfully they half pushed and half dragged the Robsons up the slope, gaining some protection from the trees, yet knowing that at any moment one might come down on top of them; the noise of uprooting trunks almost competed with the howl of the wind. Mike gave a gasp of relief when a lightning flash revealed that his house was still intact. But the same flash showed him that water was swirling around the generator shed. His heart seemed to skip a beat. Here he was, rescuing his best friends — but what was he taking them to? If the water continued to rise… he panted in fear, and self-reproach, that he had exposed his family to this, gave a moan of temporary relief as the door opened to his bang, and Babs and Belle were there to help them inside.
Here too it was utterly dark, save for an oil lamp Belle had lit, which guttered and threw weird shadows on the wall. And there was water on the floor, but this was fresh, rainwater driven under the shuttered doors by the force of the wind. Mike and Dale carried Meg to the nearest bed and laid her on it. “Oh, God,” she moaned, while water drained from her hair and clothes into the mattress. “Oh, God! We’re going to die. I know we’re going to die.”
Tamsin started to cry, and Babs sat beside her to comfort her.
Dale and Mike had forced the door shut and shot the bolts, and Mike could catch his breath. “Give Meg a shot of brandy, Belle,” he said. “Come to think of it, we’ll all have one.”
Belle poured.
“The house is gone,” Neal said, sitting down with his hands dangling between his knees. “Just like that.”
As if they hadn’t seen it go, Mike thought.
“Here, drink this,” Belle said. “It’ll make you feel better. Dad. Dale. Law…” Her voice suddenly stopped, as she peered into the gloom. “Where’s Lawson?”
“Eh?” Mike jerked his head. “He was just behind us.” He looked at his son. “Wasn’t he?”
“I don’t know,” Dale said. “I never saw him after that wind got into the house.”
“Lawson!” Belle gasped. “Lawson!” she screamed.
“For Christ’s sake, he’s just outside.” Big Mike wrestled with the door, and got it open, peered into the raging darkness. He felt sick. He knew Lawson wasn’t there.
“You left him behind!” Belle shrieked. “You left my husband behind!”
“He must have fallen,” Babs said reassuringly. “He’ll be all right. Lawson is indestructible.”
Mike lo
oked at Dale, who looked back. Anyone who had fallen and been unable to move in the vicinity of the Robsons’ house would have drowned by now.
“Indestructible,” Belle muttered. “He said so, by the bridge. But he’s out there, maybe hurt.” Her voice started to rise again. “I must go to him.”
She ran for the door, and her father caught her round the waist. “Don’t be a fool. You’ll be killed.”
“Lawson is out there!” she screamed at him.
“I’ll go see. I’ll get him,” Dale volunteered.
“No,” Babs snapped. “No way!”
“He’s my husband!” Belle snarled at her.
“And Dale is my son,” Babs snapped back.
“We have to try,” Big Mike said. “Come on, Dale.” He shuddered as he opened the door. The thought of facing the horror out there was nearly more than he could stand.
But even worse was the horror looming in the comparative safety of the building. His family was beginning to disintegrate. And the house too. Perhaps they were all going to die — not only Lawson.
Park Avenue — 12.00 noon
“Reports from the Bahamas,” said the NABS newsreader, “are uncertain at this time as to the full extent of the damage caused so far by Hurricane Faith. The capital, Nassau, seems to have escaped the worst of the storm, which passed more than 50 miles to the east of New Providence Island, although there has been considerable damage from the very heavy rainfall, and also the storm surge. It seems certain that Cat Island, Long Island, and the Exuma Cays have all suffered extensive damage as well. However, it is feared that the worst effects of the storm may have been felt on the large island of Eleuthera, as owing to the late alteration in Faith’s course the eye passed over the very center of the island, at about two o’clock this morning.”
“Oh, my God,” Jo whispered, sitting and staring at the screen. Owen Michael reached out and clutched her hand. Neither had done more than doze in their chairs all night, waiting desperately for news, which had never come.
“All contact has been lost with the northern half of Eleuthera,” the newsreader continued, “but it is estimated that in the vicinity of the eye the wind force touched 130 miles an hour, and the results could have been catastrophic. I have with me here our weatherman, Richard Connors. Good morning, Richard.”
“Good morning, Dave.” Richard, Jo knew, had been on duty all night, but he looked fresh and clean-shaven, if unusually serious.
“Now, Richard, first of all, can you tell the folks what sort of weather those people on North Eleuthera might have experienced, at the height of the storm?”
“As you’ve just heard, Dave, there would have been exceptionally heavy rain.” Richard spoke into the camera, looking directly at Jo. “Accompanied by almost continuous thunder and lightning.”
“How about the wind?”
“130 miles an hour,” Richard said. “That is enough wind, Dave, to blow a man off his feet, and then some. Enough to overturn any mobile home. Enough to blow or suck out any unshuttered window.”
“TV aerials?”
“Certainly lost.”
“What about the buildings themselves?”
“Solidly built and well-shuttered stone structures should have been all right,” Richard said. “I say shuttered, because once the wind with that kind of force gets inside any house, it can act like a tornado, and lift everything in there right out. The building really wants to have every single window and door on the windward side shuttered tight, and those to leeward ready to close the moment the eye passes through and the wind changes direction.”
“So you reckon that if the folks on Eleuthera knew what was coming at them, and took the proper precautions, they’d have been all right.”
Richard sighed. “I’m afraid there’s no guarantee of that, Dave. You see, wind doesn’t actually do the greatest damage in a hurricane, so long as it’s kept out. It’s the storm surge that takes lives and destroys property. For the folks on Eleuthera, everything will have depended on their height above sea level, and their distance from the sea. Unfortunately, as I understand it, it’s not possible to get very far from the sea on that island. With a storm which has been building for as long as Faith, and packing winds of 130 miles an hour, one can expect a storm surge of maybe 15 feet above normal, and that’s the surge I’m talking about. Close to the shore you’d have to add waves of maybe 30 or 40 feet on to that. Now, according to my map, there are considerable areas of Eleuthera which are only a few feet above sea level, much less 20 feet.”
“So what kind of conditions could people in those areas expect?”
“Those on the eastern, windward side of the island, or on exposed headlands, could expect to have seas like that breaking around their houses. Those on the leeward side would be better off, but could still expect to be flooded.”
“And would solidly built stone houses stand up to 20 foot waves?”
“I’m not an architect, Dave, but I don’t think any house, in Eleuthera or anywhere else, is built to withstand that kind of force. Even breakwaters, designed to keep out the sea, are sometimes breached by seas that big.”
“So you think the Nassau authorities are right to expect that there has been a major disaster up there.”
“I hope and pray not, Dave. But I think we have to brace ourselves for the worst.”
Owen Michael’s fingers were biting into Jo’s arm, and she freed herself and put her arm round his shoulders. Even though Richard had earlier warned her what he would have to say, each word had still thudded into her brain like a bullet.
“Now, Richard, latest reports indicate that the storm has turned north again after passing over Eleuthera. I don’t want to pre-empt your forecast, but can you tell us where she is now?”
“Sure.” Richard got up and walked to the wall map, which was already marked with an X. “She’s right there at this moment. The co-ordinates are 27 degrees 18 minutes North Latitude, and 77 degrees 3 minutes West Longitude. That puts her approximately 250 miles east of Melbourne, Florida, so you see she suddenly gathered speed after striking Eleuthera, and is in fact now travelling at more than 20 knots.”
“Is that good, or bad?”
“On the whole, good; it gives her less time to build any more.”
“So does she pose a threat to the mainland United States?”
“At this moment, no. There’s a gale warning up along the entire Florida and Georgia coasts, and the folks down there are getting some pretty strong winds. But they’re on the weaker side of the system. As long as Faith stays offshore to the east, they’re not going to suffer anything more than some beach erosion. The big winds and seas are out to the north-east of the center.”
“Well, that’s good news, anyway. So… any ideas where this lady is going next?” Dave asked.
“Well, she’s travelling just east of north at this minute, so I reckon the folks in Bermuda need to look out…”
“Oh, shit!” Owen Michael muttered. Jo did not admonish him.
“…but she was doing that before, and then suddenly made west. That could happen again.”
“You mean she could still come back and hit the States?”
“Dave, even if she maintains her present course, she will brush Cape Hatteras. I reckon we need to keep a close eye on her for the next couple of days.”
“And will she maintain her present force, do you think, or will she weaken as she hits the cooler waters of the North Atlantic?”
The camera suddenly zoomed in to Richard’s face as he stared into the lens; the director had obviously been briefed as to what the answer would be. “There are no cooler waters up here right this minute,” Richard said. “This is the hottest summer we’ve had in years, and the water temperatures are way above normal. As long as Faith is moving fast she should remain as she is, but she certainly won’t weaken — and if she slows down again, she could well build.”
“Build to what?”
“Right now she’s blowing around 140 miles an hour a
t the center. If she works up winds of more than 150 mph, Dave, the sky’s the limit. Faith is already a big, dangerous storm. She could become one of the biggest storms we’ve ever seen. There’s no way of telling yet. We just have to watch what she does, very carefully, over the next few days.”
“And we know that you’re going to do just that, on our behalf, Richard. Thank you. That was Richard Connors, our weather expert, warning us all to keep an eye on a certain lady named Faith. Now, finally…” Jo flicked the switch.
“Heck, Mom,” Owen Michael said. “Do you think Tamsin is all right? And Granpa and Granma?”
“I wish I knew. We must just…”
The phone buzzed. Jo leapt out of her chair and ran to it.
“What’s the news from Eleuthera?” Michael asked.
Her heart slowed with disappointment; she had really hoped, quite unreasonably, that it might be his father. “There is none. All communication has been cut.”
“That’s what they’re saying here too,” Michael agreed. “We’ll just have to assume they’re all right.”
“You know Tamsin is down there?”
“Of course I know Tamsin is down there. You sent her, remember?”
“With your parents.”
“That doesn’t alter the fact that the poor kid has had at the very least a traumatic experience, while you’ve been sitting on your ass in Manhattan.”
“If you just rang up to abuse me,” Jo said, “I suggest you get off the line. But perhaps, before you go, you might like a word with your son.”
“Hi, Dad,” Owen Michael said. He had been bewildered by what he had heard of the exchange, but there could be no doubt that he wanted to hear his father’s voice.
Her Name Will Be Faith Page 21