Her Name Will Be Faith

by Christopher Nicole

  “Hi, son,” Michael said. “How was the operation?”

  “Not so bad, Dad.”

  “And is all going well, now?”

  “Pretty good. Mom says we may be able to go down… oh, I guess we won’t, after all.” He looked at his mother.

  “We’ll have to see,” Jo told him.

  “Yeah. Where are you now, Dad?”

  “In the Royal Bermuda Yacht Club. We’re going to stock the boat this afternoon and leave at dusk.”

  “Leaving? Where are you going?”

  “We’re coming home,” Michael told him. “We don’t want to be here when Faith arrives.”

  “Heck… are you sure you can make it?”

  “Sure I’m sure. If necessary we’ll motor; we’re taking on extra fuel. Oh, sure, we’ll be home in about three days. We’ll beat that storm. Tell your mother I’ll call her from sea tomorrow, and that she’d better have an update on the Eleuthera situation for me by then. Got it?”

  “I’ll tell her, Dad. Have a good trip.”

  “Looking forward to it,” Michael said.

  “Give me that.” Jo took the phone away from her son. “Listen, you should stay in Bermuda until the storm is past.”

  “Stay here? You have got to be crazy. This island is totally exposed. I told the boy, we’ll be home long before that hurricane gets here; it’s travelling north-east, we’ll be heading north-west, and we’ll have a 48-hour start. What I want is the earliest possible news from Eleuthera. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  The phone went dead.

  Jo replaced the receiver and looked at her son.

  “Mom,” Owen Michael asked. “Why did he sound mad at you?”

  “Because he is mad at me, I guess.”

  “But why?”

  Jo rumpled his hair. “Grown-ups are always getting mad at each other, Owen Michael. You enjoy being young while you can.”

  The phone rang again, and again she grabbed it.

  “Hi,” Richard said.

  “Oh, thank God,” Jo gasped.

  “I’ve been trying to reach you for the past five minutes.”

  “I had Michael on the phone. Richard… is there any news?”

  “Nothing as yet. But listen… I spoke to Mark just before the news program. It was one of his buddies reported the northern turn and the present position, but he’s out again this afternoon to make another check. I asked him to take a close look at Dolphin Point when he’s done. He’ll tell us what’s happened.”

  “Oh, thank God, Richard. Thank God!” But, she wondered, did she really want to find out?

  The Bahamas — 4.00 pm

  “That system just seems to get bigger and bigger every time we look at it,” Landry remarked.

  “It does get bigger every time we look at it,” Mark agreed.

  They had emerged from the clouds and climbed to twenty thousand feet, yet virtually as far as the eye could see beneath them to the north was white and black, swirling, looking just as menacing as it was possible for a weather system to be. Even at their height there was the occasional buffet of wind spiraling out of the eye.

  “Take those co-ordinates, Mac,” Mark told his navigator, “and send them back to Coral Gables.” He was without Eisener on this trip; the doctor was in constant demand to appear on television screens throughout the eastern states. “I think we can confirm that she’s still on track.”

  The co-ordinates were pushed in front of him. “She seems to be slowing up again, though,” Mackenzie said.

  “Yeah. That’ll make everybody real happy. Okay, gang, let’s take a look at Eleuthera.”

  He put the aircraft into a steep turn, and they raced to the south. Below them the clouds started to break up, and as they sank into them they could see patches of white-streaked blue water. Now the buffeting increased, but it was mild compared with what they had experienced earlier that afternoon when they had flown into the eye.

  “Land,” Landry commented.

  “The Abacos.” Mackenzie had returned to the flight deck after sending off the message. “They don’t look too bad.”

  The amphibian had sunk lower yet, and was now flying at 5000 feet. Below them the seas were still tumbling, but the settlements they passed over looked reasonably intact, although they saw several boats washed ashore, and one or two lying sunk in the clear water.

  South of Abaco was the twenty-mile wide northeast Providence

  Channel, deep water, in which the white-topped waves could be seen as the aircraft dropped to 3000 feet. And by now North Eleuthera was in sight. Mark turned to the left, to pass down the eastern, Atlantic side of the island, heard a low whistle from Landry as they looked down on Palm Island, the roofs torn off, the collapsed buildings, the fallen post office aerial, the wrecked boats and overturned vehicles… but there were people down there too, working at clearing the damage; one or two waved at the plane. Palm Island was some forty feet or so above normal water level, and the town was on the bay side — it had obviously escaped the worst of the surge.

  Mark waggled his wings and went on. His chart told him he was over Dolphin Point, thrusting out into the Atlantic, the waves surging at the narrow entrance into the sound, and smashing on the rocks. The Point was quite heavily wooded with pines, and coconuts by the shore, and he looked at what might have been a gigantic lawn cut by an equally gigantic motor mower; there were scattered trees everywhere. He also looked at an island, for it had been entirely cut off from the mainland by a torrent of water, which was still pouring across from the sea into the sound. There was no sign of habitation at all.

  “Lucky nobody lived there,” Landry commented.

  “Somebody did,” Mark said quietly, his heart lurching. His glide down had carried him ten miles south of the Point, and now he banked again, over the airstrip — which had turned into a lake.

  “Holy shitting Moses!” Mackenzie commented.

  They looked down on Whaletown, or what was left of it. The settlement seemed to have divided into two parts; a wall of raging sea had burst through from the Atlantic side, just as at the Point, carrying everything in its path into the calm waters of the bight enclosed by the curve of Eleuthera. The shattered remains of houses and cars could be seen in the shallows, and as the plane dipped lower yet, floating bodies could also be discerned. But there were also people on the land, waving to attract their attention.

  “Tell Sparky to call Nassau,” Mark snapped. “Tell them there is a major emergency at Whaletown and that Palm Island will also need assistance. Relay that message to Key West as well. They’d better send some medical supplies just as fast as they can. But they have to use seaplanes or amphibians — the airstrip is out of action.” He flew lower yet, waggled his wings again to reassure the people that help was on its way, and then turned back to the north and west.

  Now they were only a thousand feet up, following the remains of the road. Dolphin Point was cut off twice, for the bridge connecting it to the mainland had also collapsed. Lower and lower Mark dropped the plane, peering down into the wrecked foliage beneath him.

  “Hey,” Landry snapped. “There’s someone there.”

  “Eh?” They were out over the bay. Mark put the plane into another steep turn, dropping now to 200 feet and throttling back.

  “There!” Landry pointed.

  Something white was being waved, a few hundred yards north of where the water had broken through. Mark turned again, studying the bay now; since the eye had passed through, the wind had begun blowing from the opposite direction, west, which meant that the bulk of Eleuthera had been between it and the sound, and the seas in there had gone right down, although it was by no means calm. “Check the chart,” he told Mackenzie. “What kind of depths can we expect?”

  “Eight to ten feet on average. But… Christ, you’re not thinking of putting her down? There are sandbanks all over the place.”

  “And you’ve no clearance,” Landry pointed out, deciding against reminding his skipper that he would also be
breaking every rule in the book.

  “Fuck that,” Mark said. “How long do you think one or two people stranded there are going to survive? The help is gonna go to places like Whaletown first. And I have an idea those folks are Americans. You guys with me?”

  Landry and Mackenzie looked at each other. “You’re the skipper,” they said together — even though all their careers were at risk should he pile up.

  “Okay,” Mark said. “Let’s dummy it first time.”

  He took the amphibian down almost to water level while they studied the changing colours beneath them. “That, looks best,” Landry decided. “Nearly unbroken green for a good half mile.”

  “Kind of narrow,” Mackenzie objected.

  “It’s the best we have,” Mark said. “Get your belt on.”

  He turned the plane yet again, and now definitely set her down. Into the wind, she almost skimmed the few remaining trees on Dolphin Point, then the floats touched the water, sending huge spumes of spray away to either side, and the hull bumped again and again on the shallow waves. But he held her on the narrow ribbon of green water — there were patches of white to either side — and she came to rest, rising and falling on the gentle swell. Mark turned her, and motored back as close to the Point as he dared, then closed the throttles. “Get that anchor down,” he told Landry, “and let’s prepare the boat.”

  The inflatable was thrust through the door, and the cord pulled; it burst into rubber. Landry had already unclipped the outboard, and passed it down to Mark, who was first in. “Okay, Bob,” he said. “Mac and I will go see. You and Sparky stay here.”

  The outboard chattered, he took the tiller, and they moved towards the shore.

  “What the hell is that?” Mackenzie asked as they entered the shallows.

  “Looks like an automobile,” Mark said, steering to avoid the upturned vehicle, which had been carried some thirty feet from the shore. “You’re damned right. A blue Buick. How the hell did it get there?” “The sea, I guess. And I’ll tell you something, Mac: I have an idea it’s gonna stay there.”

  “There’s someone!” Mackenzie pointed as they neared the beach, going dead slow now, for here there was all manner of debris, from house timbers to pieces of furniture, some with sharp enough edges to puncture even the thick rubber.

  Mark stared at the tree line, and the man who stood there, waving his shirt. He was a very young man, although haggard and drawn.

  “Thank God!” the man said. “Oh, thank God,” staggering down to meet them.

  The dinghy grounded, and Mark stepped into the shallow water with the painter to drag it clear. “You alone?”

  “No,” Dale said. “No, there are others.”

  “Where?”

  Dale gestured at the trees, and Mark followed him, Mackenzie at their heels. They looked to their right, at where the sea still flowed into the bay; there had been a house there once — they could still see part of the walls.

  They climbed a shallow slope, picking their way through tangled fallen trees and branches, gazed at the wreckage of another house. This one had stood up to the wind and sea better than the first, but was still virtually collapsed, two walls and the roof down, furniture scattered in every direction; a 24-foot Mako, its hull stoved in, rested in the centre of what had been the kitchen. Farther off, towards the head of what had once been a drive, a large generator rested on its side; there was no evidence that it had ever been enclosed in a shed.

  “Over here,” Dale said.

  Mark parted the bushes, and looked at the people, who were huddled in the shelter of the two remaining walls. He guessed they must have been there for more than twelve hours, and the rain had probably only cleared about four hours before. There was a middle-aged man, heavily built, but somehow shrunken by his experiences; another middle-aged man, much smaller, whose face was streaked with tragedy; a middle-aged woman, eyes red with weeping, clutching a little girl to her breast — the girl stared at Mark with enormous eyes; another middle-aged woman, who did not seem aware of his presence at all, just rocked back and forth, while tears streamed from her eyes; and there was a quite beautiful younger woman, wearing the remnants of a torn kaftan and nothing else, who also seemed oblivious of his presence — she wasn’t weeping, and her face was composed, but it was also utterly closed, as if the world outside her tortured mind had no meaning.

  “Can they move?” Mark asked Dale in a low voice.

  “I think so.”

  “Well, let’s get them down to the beach. We can be in Miami in half an hour. Say, I sure am glad that you all survived.”

  Dale’s shoulders sagged. “We didn’t all survive,” he said.

  Park Avenue — 6.30 pm

  Jo’s hands trembled as she picked up the phone; if the night had been bad, the long afternoon’s wait had been worse.

  “Jo?”

  For a moment she didn’t recognize his voice. “Dale?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Oh, Dale! Where are you?”

  “Miami.”

  “Oh, thank God for that. Tamsin…”

  “She’s okay. A bit shocked, I guess. I guess we all are.”

  Waves of relief made Jo quite dizzy; she felt sick with joy, had to force herself to speak rationally. “But you got out. Are the planes flying?” “No. We were brought out by a navy amphibian on weather patrol.”

  “Mark Hammond!” she shouted. “Oh, thank God for Mark. Dale, was there much damage?”

  He gave what might have been a bark of laughter. “Yeah. You could say that.”

  “Tell me!”

  “There’s nothing left, Jo.”

  Jo frowned at the phone. “What do you mean, nothing left?”

  “I mean, nothing.” Dale’s voice rose an octave, and she realized he was quite close to hysteria. “Every goddamned, fucking thing has been blown flat.”

  “The house?” She was still incredulous.

  “Yeah. The sea just came over the point.”

  “Oh, my God. The Robsons…?”

  “Even worse.”

  “But they’re all right?”

  “If you can call it that. Meg’s in hospital, under sedation. I reckon Neal should be there too.”

  “What about Babs and Dad?”

  “They’re not too good, either.”

  “But Tamsin’s okay. Can I speak with her?”

  “She’s been put straight to bed. I guess we’re all suffering from exposure. And shock. Listen, we’re coming up tomorrow morning. Can you meet us?”

  “Sure. I’ll let Marcia know, too. Oh, I can hardly wait.”

  “Yeah. Listen, bring two cars. We’ll have Belle with us.”

  “Oh, great. Yes, I’ll have Marcia bring her car as well. Lawson’s gone straight back to Nassau, is that it?”

  There was a short silence. Then Dale said, “Lawson didn’t make it.”

  “He…”

  Jo swallowed. “You mean…”

  “I mean he’s dead. Drowned.”

  “But how? I mean…”

  “He’s dead!” Dale shouted. “I don’t know how it happened. Nobody knows. One minute he was there, and the next he wasn’t. He must have fallen and been washed away by the sea. We just don’t know.”

  “Oh, God,” Jo said. “Oh, God. Then Belle…”

  “Yeah,” Dale said. “We’ll see you tomorrow.”

  The phone went dead, but it was several seconds before Jo replaced it.

  7.00 pm

  J. Calthrop White beamed at his telephone. “But that is great news, Mr Palmer. Great news! Monday, you say, that’s fine. Yes, sir, just fine. Say, any words from the boss?… Yeah, I guess he’ll be in touch as soon as communications are restored. I guess he had a little rain down there, eh? Haw, haw, haw. Anyway, you did it without him. My congratulations, Mr Palmer.” He replaced the phone, grinned at Kiley. “Palmer has Kohler’s picking up seventy-five per cent of that issue. Now that is a stockbroker. I’ll tell you, Kiley, I have been shitting blood this past
fortnight with that oaf Donnelly and his shitty son away, but by Christ their business runs better without them. Now you listen to me: I want our bid on the desk of the Licensing Authority in the UK first thing Monday morning. Get on to the bank and tell them we need a guarantee of $100 million, and that it’ll be supported by Kohler’s. Got me?”

  “Yes, sir, JC.” Kiley hesitated. “I have Connors outside.”

  “Well, send him in. Send him in.” White leaned back expansively, grinned at Richard as he came in. “Richard!” he said. “I saw your forecast. You really socked it to them. Yes, sir. Now everyone’s talking about this hurricane thing. What’s the latest word on it? Is it really as big as you said?”

  “She’s a big system, JC.”

  “Bigger than Gloria?”

  “She’s about the same strength as Gloria right now, but she covers a bigger area. And she could deepen further. In fact, I think she will; she’s still over warm water.”

  “And heading at us?”

  “No, sir. Thank God! She’s moving slowly north by east, which is presently taking her parallel with the coast, at a distance of about two hundred miles.”

  “Ah.” White looked somewhat disappointed that imminent and newsworthy catastrophe could not be expected. “But in your forecast you said she could still come ashore on the mainland.”

  “It’s a possibility.”

  “But you wouldn’t rate it more than that. You reckon there’s no real danger to the mainland.”

  “I didn’t say that, JC. We won’t be out of danger until that storm is past Newfoundland. She turned west once, she can do so again.”

  “It could present us with a tricky situation,” White mused. “As I say, this storm is causing a lot of comment, so much so I have half a mind to slot you in for another of your chats, slightly expanded, maybe, to talk about this storm in particular, and what it could do.”

  “What she already has done, JC, in the Bahamas.”

  “Yeah. But nobody cares what happens down there. It’s what could happen up here that people want to know about. But we have to be careful. If we start hollering wolf, and nothing happens, well… we lose viewers. There were adverse comments on your talks for that very reason, remember, about how you were trying to be sensational.”