Mom always warned me about living close to the sea, and in my work I’d certainly seen the ravages increasing ocean levels and monster storms had caused. But I didn’t think the house was too close until September brought Hurricane Jennifer. A category four at landfall, it slammed into North Carolina like a fury and rolled through New Jacksonville, Greenville, and only fell back down to the level of a storm as it approached Virginia. Over a hundred miles south of landfall I was left with broken windows and fences, and a weeks worth of digging to remove sand from the deck and driveway.
As the season rolled on I watched every new developing storm with more concern. I voiced it to June-Ann and Danny. ‘Oh,’ June-Ann said, ‘they get bad, but we’re one of the best prepared states on the coast. The causeway just along from you, that was built after the thirty-five season-‘ ‘thirty-six’ Danny corrected. ‘Right, thirty-six, to make sure there was less than a mile between any exit off the spit you’re on.’
‘There’s plenty routes off.’
‘Not in a storm. This whole section floods. You must have seen it when there’s been a storm.’
‘I thought that was mostly from run-off.’
‘Well,’ Danny said, ‘Some might be. But most of it is water coming in from the ocean. And it floods right along, turns it into a canal as near as dammit. Look, yes, hurricanes are a worry. So’s everything in life. Just be prepared, and be aware.’
Two months later waves pushed water up the roadway and I wondered why I’d ignored mom’s advice, but was glad I’d heeded Danny’s. High tide would be worse. I pressed ‘Start’ and the freshly charged motors responded. ‘Thank you, mom,’ I whispered, blessing her obsessive maintenance and upgrading of the truck. I looked at my two go-bags. The one with night-clothes, medical records, and clothes for a new-born, and the other with emergency rations, water-purification tablets, copies of insurance and deeds, fire-starters, emergency blankets, and a tightly wound roll of twenty, fifty, and hundred dollar notes.
Jennifer had been bad, Martin was shaping to be worse and, when the lighting settled overhead, I decided coming back would be better than sitting it out. My thumping heart and the water rolling down from the main road suggested I was too late. The kicking in my belly could mean the same, or maybe baby was reacting to my stress.
The truck started with a jerkiness I was unused too, the motors applying power too quickly on the watery surface.
I turned from my drive and drove with the water, letting the wind assist my forward motion. A half mile away the causeway ran inland on a rising gradient and I turned onto it, starting the climb up to the edge of a bluff which was a popular lover’s spot.
Now, running sideways to the weather, wind shifted the car and I fought to keep it close to the near side of the road, keeping as much space between me and the far edge as possible. The wipers struggled to clear water from the windscreen, lightning flashed purple overhead.
With the causeway’s end near a flash of lightning illuminated a surge of water which seemed to fill my side-window. Some freak of wind, waves, and topography running up the gully Danny had pointed out to me a few months ago. I pressed the accelerator harder, aimed at the edge of the road closest to the wave, and hoped to withstand the coming assault.
More lightning came. Flashes of incandescent brilliance made the dark, wet, world, glow purple. The wave grew, a wall of roiling froth. Panic gripped my heart as it began to fall towards the roadway. The sound of a hundred thousand cannons exploded the air while all around was suffused in shades of incandescent purple which left flashes in my eyes even as the world turned black. The back end of the truck scrabbled sideways as if punched by a monstrous fist but I but kept my foot hard down and we stayed on the roadway as the water collapsed away.
I kept the motors revved hard until I was high up the bluff, beyond where the waves could reach. The storm still raged, though the epicentre was moving. Lightning still flashed, but heading north.
I turned the motors off. The demands placed on the batteries had drained over half the charge in only a few miles. But they’d done the job. I watched the storm, feeling adrenaline leach away, reclined the seat a little and exhausted, fell asleep.
I awoke to a sunshine. The storm had changed the shoreline, it seemed to go out further. I stretched, and baby kicked.
My cell phone failed to pick up a signal, so maybe not everything had survived. I started the motor and turned the radio on, seeking the local oldies station which played mother’s favourite music. I caught it on the news.
‘…Iran has admitted shooting the Boeing down…’. I stared at the console as the newsreader relayed a story from before I was born. Iran was now Persia, had been for over twenty years, since the old regime fell. Shooting down a Ukrainian plane half full of Iranians and Canadians is the textbook catalyst which led to the change.
I pressed for another station, hearing about the Dow jumping, about MAGA and Democratic primaries, about England and Wales re-joining the EU.
My heart thumped in my chest. Memories from childhood loomed larger than last nights wave. Mother told me of sitting watching the grey sea, listening to the news of a world gone mad, and feeling me in her belly while she thanked the safety provided by her truck.
My belly jumped. A kick as strong as I’d yet been given. My bladder screamed.
I peed in the lee of the truck, listening to radio from a world from before I was born. The news finished and ads played. They were a medley of goods, services, and suppliers some of which I still used, others which were long gone.
Then the music started. It was oldies, but they were my oldies. Here they were played as new, recently released. My mom’s favorite track came on. She played it all the time, had me play it at her funeral. She told me she’s listened to it so much I responded to it while still in her belly.
The chorus started. My belly kicked, like my baby was dancing.
A police cruiser went past. I was still listening to the radio when it came back an hour later. This time it pulled up next to me. The officer climbed out. I rolled the window down and look at him, recognising the youthful face but unable to place it.
‘Are you okay ma’am? Noticed you here earlier. You aren’t out of charge are you? I believe these trucks can empty out a bit on the quick side.’
‘I’m fine, officer, thanks. Just resting up a bit.’
‘Mind if I have a look round? I’ve only seen them on the internet and in mags.’
‘Really? Because I’ve been driving round here for months. No, feel free, have a look.’
‘Hmm, I must have missed you. How does it drive?’ He was running a hand along the edge where the wing turned onto the hood.
‘Nice and smooth. Mom had the motors upgraded and I’ve kept it serviced.’
There was a crackle from his radio. ‘Danny, you there.’ I looked at him as he reached to his shoulder and keyed the radio. ‘Danny here.’ ‘Gotta call from your mother. June-Ann’s looking for you.’ My heart began to beat right up in my mouth, a solid thump which reverberated round my ribs, through my lungs, inside my ears. ‘She okay?’ A worried frown formed on his brow. ‘Is George okay?’ ‘All I got is a message that you should go to the hospital, Chief says you’re fine to take off.’
Danny looked at me, concern in his eyes, his head already at the hospital with June-Ann. ‘Ma’am, if you’re sure you’re okay I’ll leave you be.’ He turned and sprinted for his cruiser before I could have said anything.
Part One Here
Part Two Here
Part Three Here
Part Four Here
Part Six on Saturday
text by stuartcturnbull picture by AberrantRealities via Pixabay
