Storm Rising

by Sara Driscoll

  As Brian came toward them, Scott Park’s tall, lanky form separated from the group, his droopy-eyed bloodhound, Theo, on a leash at his side.

  “Sorry if I’m late,” Meg explained. “I got held up dropping off Todd.” She looked over to the cops and National Guard soldiers in khaki fatigues clumped in a group down the street. “They’re still getting organized?”

  “Yes.” Scott gave Theo a hand signal and the dog immediately sat beside him. “I’ve been eavesdropping a bit to get a feel for what’s going on. They’re mapping out search routes to cover the most ground with the few boats they have, in the shortest period of time. It’s worth it to let them get that straightened out. They’ve brought in Zodiacs to do door-to-door searches. That’s where they’ll need us.”

  “Is it bad?”

  “Follow me. Theo, come.” Scott skirted the cluster of people and headed for the water twenty feet away—the encroaching ocean where it was not supposed to be. The street’s single yellow dividing line dove into murky seawater as the surface angled down toward the original sea level. Houses sank into the water until, in the distance, only rooftops showed.

  Meg whistled. “This is our search area?”

  “Yeah. It’s an inlet open to the ocean and split by a peninsula”—Scott pointed out toward where the black smoke roiled darker and in a widening plume—“into two lakes, Rudee and Wesley.”

  “This area was already wide-open to the water coming in,” Brian said. “The storm surge didn’t need to cross dry land to get here, so nothing slowed it down.”

  “Same with the surrounding coastline,” Scott said. “We’re only about a half mile from the beach.”

  “Do they have an idea of the size of the combined storm tide?” Meg asked. “I know it would have been dark in the middle of the night and likely no power at that point.”

  “Apparently some of the people who didn’t leave hunkered down in their beachfront apartments. The hotels on the beach closed and evacuated to avoid any risk of lawsuits. But the people who owned apartments made their own decisions. Some of the people who stayed took videos. Based on those visuals, the storm tide is estimated at about forty-five feet.”

  “My God,” Meg breathed. “That’s even higher than forecast.”

  “That kind of thing must be impossible to guess for all areas. It would depend on wind and tides and the shape of the seabed leading up to land. Anyway, some of these hotshots were live-streaming video to Facebook and YouTube as long as they had a data connection on their phones, so that gave the National Hurricane Center at the NOAA all the data it needed.”

  “Speaking of which, I’m surprised that I’m still connected,” Meg said. “I thought we’d be on satellite phones already.”

  “Depends on where the cell tower is. Parts of town definitely don’t have reception. Luckily some still do, so we’ve had some calls for help this morning, and some maydays were called in last night before they lost reception. Local first esponse has a full list, and the National Guard has the list of everyone in this neighborhood. We’ll check everything, but we know some places move up the list.” Scott paused momentarily, as if weighing something. “I saw one of those videos.”

  When he didn’t continue, Brian prompted him. “And . . . ?”

  “Some people thought it might be fun to stand on their balconies to watch the storm. They couldn’t see the wall of water coming toward them in the dark. First they’re there, then they’re gone.”

  “God Almighty. Who would be that stupid?” Brian ran a hand through his hair in agitation, setting it on end. “Did they not listen to any of the warnings over the past few days?”

  “Some might not have been able to get out for various reasons. But some people think it just can’t happen to them,” Meg said simply. Her days on K-9 patrol with the Richmond, Virginia, PD had taught her many things, and that was one of them. “They don’t think the typical warnings apply to them. They often learn they’re wrong, the hard way.”

  “These people certainly did.” Scott looked out across the water. The rain had stopped and the wind had died considerably, but there was still a stiff breeze whipping up small whitecaps across the flooded inlet. “Those are some of the people we’re going to find. There’s no way they survived being swept off a fourth-story balcony.”

  “Yeah.” Brian knelt down and ruffled Lacey’s thick fur. “The dogs are going to have a hard day. The bodies are going to be so fresh, they’re going to smell mostly like live victims.” He kept his voice light and cheerful despite his words, so none of the dogs would understand the seriousness of the situation. “My money is on finding more vics dead than alive.”

  “I agree.” Meg smoothed a hand over Hawk’s head and looked back out over the water. She was about to speak, when movement caught her eye and she froze. Across the inlet, the roofs of houses marched out of the water, but farther inland were homes that had escaped the floodwaters. “Guys, am I seeing flames over there in that neighborhood?”

  Shrugging out of her pack, Meg pulled her binoculars out of a pocket and trained them across the water, focusing quickly. At first all she saw was water, then swiveling slightly, she found clusters of houses, battered by the storms. And behind them danced the menacing tones of red and orange. “Damn, that is fire. A lot of it.” She turned and took a few short steps back to the crowd. “Hey!” The group turned to stare at her. “Someone may have already given the alarm, but there’s a mother of a fire starting across the inlet.” It only took seconds for radios to come out to report the fire.

  Meg turned back to Brian and Scott, who stood staring across the water at the flames, now noticeably brighter.

  “Those houses were just soaked in a hurricane,” Brian said. “How can they possibly burn like that?”

  “You thought a transformer blew, that likely started it,” Meg reasoned.

  Scott tipped a flattened hand over his eyes to cut some of the glare coming from behind the lightening clouds. “Gas lines could have ruptured, ripped out by shifting tree roots, or by houses themselves moving on their foundations.”

  “I’ll bet some of them on the water got ripped right off their footings. Add in a few ruptured residential natural gas lines and it’s a bad setup. But not our problem. We need to focus on what we can do, not what we can’t.” Meg turned toward the boats pulled up to the roadway as a temporary boat launch. “We need to find whoever we can.” She looked over her shoulder at the National Guard soldiers. The group was breaking up and several men in fatigues walked toward them.

  A tall man with short salt-and-pepper hair held out his hand first to Scott, then Meg, and finally Brian. “I’m Sergeant Hunt. I’ll be coordinating the marine search from this launch point. Are you and your dogs ready to move out?”

  “Sure are,” Brian said. “How are we working this?”

  “We’ll send a pilot and two soldiers out with each of your teams in a Zodiac. Each pilot has his search instructions and the lists of any reported calls for help. We’ll split up and cover this area as best we can. We’re going to be spread a little thin, at least at the beginning, but these first hours are our best chance of finding anyone alive.”

  “Let’s get moving then.” Meg looked down at Hawk, all bright eyes and wagging tail. “Ready, buddy? Let’s go find them.”

  CHAPTER 5

  No Way Out: In cases of major flooding, the recommended practice is to “shelter” on the roof to avoid being trapped in the attic.

  Saturday, July 22, 8:11 AM

  Shadowlawn neighborhood

  Virginia Beach, Virginia

  The boat slid through the inlet, bobbing slightly with the current. Hawk was now free of his work boots and vest; he was an excellent swimmer, but needed the freedom to move safely through the water. He stood in the prow of the boat, head high, eyes focused and nose working constantly, his front paws propped on the rim of the inflated bow, reminding Meg of an old-fashioned nautical figurehead. She sat directly behind him, one hand resting lightly on hi
s back so she could sense his alertness while she scanned the surroundings, looking for any sign of movement.

  It was surprisingly quiet after the roar and fury of last night’s storm. Now it was just the sound of the breeze skimming the water, ruffling tiny waves. Otherwise, the only sound was the quiet purr of the outboard motor throttled down to allow rescuers to hear any cries for help. Meg found the lack of ambient noise unsettling, and it took a moment to put her finger on why: There was a complete absence of wildlife, specifically the usual chorus of birds. Under normal circumstancs, the seashore was rife with the squawks and shrieks of ocean birds. Now, the steadily lightening sky was empty and the air was unnaturally still.

  A chill of foreboding skimmed an icy finger down Meg’s spine.

  The two National Guard soldiers—Privates First Class Charles and MacDougall—sat on opposite sides at the back of the boat, Charles scanning the surrounding houses while MacDougall piloted the Zodiac.

  It was a neighborhood of mixed homes. Most were bungalow style, or low, rambling, split-levels, but a few were two-story dwellings where the water had receded to nearly the first floor at this point. Even those houses had clearly been overcome by the storm surge as evidenced by sea debris scattered over rooftops.

  So far, they’d found nothing, but many of the houses had been underwater to their rooflines. They’d moved the boat in close enough for Hawk to leap out onto the roof to search for any human scents, but they’d found nothing, living or dead.

  Meg turned to the commanding officer, who sat just in front of his men. “Corporal Smythe, do we have any idea how many obeyed the evacuation order? Or maybe, more specifically, how many did not?”

  “Overwhelmingly, most got out. We were called in early and helped folks get packed and out of town, or at least farther inland. But some just wouldn’t go. I wasn’t in this area, I was north of here, but I ran into quite a few who weren’t going to leave. I had some luck leveraging some into going.” From under the brim of his camouflage-patterned cap, he gave her a grimace of bared teeth. “I wasn’t above using a little emotional blackmail to do it either.”

  “Really? How did you manage that?”

  “The ones I could talk into leaving had someone or something other than themselves to save. A few had kids, but most of those were already smart enough to be gone or well on their way. Others had pets, and I’d use Sure, maybe you can swim when the floodwaters come, but how are you going to feel when Rover or Fluffy drowns right in front of you?” His eyes went to slits. “It wasn’t nice, or fair—”

  “But it got the job done,” Meg finished. “And that’s all that matters. Now those owners, and Rover and Fluffy, will survive and will realize you helped them make the right choice. On top of that, you helped them get out of what could be a pretty hefty fine and a misdemeanor charge.”

  “They didn’t see it that way at the time, but hopefully some do now.” Smythe raised his head from his list and maps and scanned his surroundings. “Damn.” He pulled out his phone, checked their GPS location.

  “What?”

  “That house there.” He pointed at the shallow roof of a bungalow coming up on their right. Water lapped over its eaves, but a ripped and tattered American flag protruded into the air from an angled flagpole at one end of the house. “Private MacDougall, get us over there. We had a mayday call from there last night. An older couple who didn’t leave because the wife is bedridden with end-stage cancer. Water was pouring in through their doors and flooding the basement.” His eyes were flat as he took in the little of the house that remained above water. “They didn’t make it to the roof, so unless they managed to get to an attic that stayed dry, I don’t see this ending well. I doubt that design has much in the way of attic space.”

  “We’ll check it out,” Meg said. “Get us close enough that Hawk and I can jump off.”

  A little maneuvering and the front edge of the inflatable craft scraped against shingles over what was likely the front door.

  “Hawk, out.” Meg sent her dog onto the roof with a hand signal to reinforce the command. Then she climbed out herself, setting her boots carefully on the slanted surface. “Hawk, find them.”

  Hawk scented the air before trotting up and over the peak of the roof. As Meg followed, she heard Smythe’s command to push off and follow them around to the back of the house.

  Meg climbed carefully up the slope and then over the peak that ran the length of the roof. She stopped as soon as she saw Hawk. He was sitting beside a skylight that broke the roofline to let light into the house below.

  Sitting. He’s alerting on a positive scent.

  “Hawk has something,” she called.

  “Nearly there,” Smythe called back just as the Zodiac rounded the edge of the house.

  Meg crouched down beside Hawk. “Good boy.” She fished in a pocket and pulled out a small jerky treat. She held it out on her palm as he stared at her, unmoving, until given the command. “Okay, Hawk. Take it.”

  With one damp swipe of lips and tongue he swept her palm clean. The treat was gone in seconds.

  “I swear you don’t even taste them.” She ruffled his fur and then leaned over the skylight.

  The house below was dark, surrounded by floodwaters, the skylight providing the only light filtering into the gloom. Bending down a little more, she could see the skylight was hinged on the upward edge and latched on the lower. Slipping her fingers under the edge, she tugged hard, but the frame didn’t budge. She swiveled around to find the soldiers just climbing out of the Zodiac. “Have you got a pry bar? Or maybe a hammer?”

  “Pry bar, yeah.” Charles bent low into the boat, rummaged for a moment, and then his hand shot into the air with the metal bar.

  “Bring it up.”

  After quickly dragging the boat a few feet up the roof to secure it, the men joined her. Smythe pulled out a flashlight and shone it down into the waters, but most of the light simply bounced off the glass. “Let’s get this open, Charles.”

  It only took a few moments to lever the skylight up and to push it open on hinges that audibly protested their rare usage.

  Water filled the house nearly to the ceiling of the room below.

  Meg scanned the walls enclosing the skylight. “There’s a good three feet here.” She knocked on the wall just inside the frame. “Think this is the attic? There’s even more space at the peak of the roof. Maybe they got up there.” Meg pounded harder. “Hello? Is anyone here?”

  Silence.

  “Maybe they got out?” MacDougall suggested.

  Meg glanced at her dog. Hawk’s gaze was trained on the open skylight and her heart sank. “And went where? The whole neighborhood is flooded. No, they’re here. Hawk tells us that.”

  “Corporal, let me go in.” Charles leaned into the gap and surveyed the water below. “There’s a couple of feet clear of the floodwater down below. I can go down on a cable and you can pull me back if I run into trouble. I was a lifeguard all through high school. I’m a very strong swimmer.”

  Smythe hesitated and Meg could read his opinion of the futile situation as if he’d voiced it. His gaze flicked out across the other houses as if feeling the press of the ticking clock.

  Charles dragged off his cap to reveal close-cropped blond hair and a face that looked even younger than what Meg guessed to be about twenty-five years. “Please, sir. We can’t take the chance they’re alive. They might not make it until the waters recede.”

  Smythe took a moment to stare into the house below before responding. “Lose the boots, but keep the life vest. Take the waterproof flashlight. Be safe, but be quick. There are others waiting.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Charles returned with a duffel bag containing the gear they needed, and the two privates quickly strapped into harnesses. Without a tie-down, MacDougall used himself as ballast, snapping the end of the cable to his own harness, and then handed the other end to Charles.

  “Hawk, here.” Meg stepped back several paces and waited
while Hawk joined her. With a single gesture, she had him sit, then joined the men. “Let me help. I can pitch in as counterbalance.”

  “Thanks.” Charles tossed her a pair of gloves. “Put those on so your hands don’t get burned by the rope.”

  Charles unlaced his boots and set them aside. Then he sat on the edge of the frame. “Ready?”

  Meg and Smythe gripped the rope and all three on the roof firmly planted their feet.

  “Two tugs on the rope means you need more slack. Three means pull you back in. Go,” ordered Smythe.

  Charles pushed off and then there was a splash below. “I’m in.” Charles’s voice was muffled, but his words were clear. The rope vibrated twice in their hands and they loosened off to give him more slack. “I’m going in farther.”

  The rope moved smoothly through their hands, occasionally going taut, followed by twin tugs. A minute ticked by. Then two.

  “I don’t like this.” Smythe’s words were strained between clenched teeth. “He could be running into trouble in there and we won’t know it.”

  “Give him a minute,” Meg murmured. “They’re there.”

  Three strong tugs jerked up the rope.

  “That’s it,” Smythe said. “Pull him back slowly.”

  When Charles got back under the skylight, they pulled him up the cable far enough that Smythe could grab the private’s forearm and haul him up to the roof. The younger man staggered slightly before catching his balance, then he sat down heavily.

  Meg didn’t need him to speak to know what he’d found. It was there in the pallor of his skin and the deep lines carved around his mouth.

  Smythe needed confirmation though. “Charles?”

  Charles automatically straightened in response to his commanding officer, squinting up into the sky after the dimness inside the house. “They’re gone. They couldn’t make it out.” His head dropped into hands that scrubbed over his face and hair. “They’re in the bedroom. On the bed. Holding each other. They died in each other’s arms.”