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NEW AUTHORS SHOWCASE

 

25-04-08

6M

p3

The Hurricane Drift

By

Pamela Lane

Chapter Nine

 

It was about ten o’clock that evening that the sound of heavy rain, drumming on the plywood shuttering nailed up at the window, woke Gater. It came on suddenly, first entering his sleep and causing him to dream, then jolting him back to consciousness in a second. He felt the flutter of adrenaline in the pit of his stomach as he jumped up off the couch and shook Gill awake.

“Hey, Rob! Wake up! D’ya hear that?  Listen to that rain! It’s torrential!”

“OK! OK! I’m listening” said Gill, not so alert yet.

“Sounds like we’re in the rain-bands already”

“OK! So what did you expect, sunshine and showers. You’re a Goddam weatherman!”

“Oh, very funny!”

For about two hours, while the two men had been fitfully sleeping, the muffled sound of rain and rising wind could be heard deep in the background, but had not disturbed them, only hovering on the edge of their consciousness. Now as each squall came over, rain could be heard beating on the shutters, starting and stopping suddenly like turning on and off a tap. Before each band of rain arrived the wind gusted and rushed against the house, every gust a little stronger than the one before. A sound of intense rattling a bit like hailstones drew Gater to look out of the front door to see what was causing the noise. It was no longer raining, but a particularly vicious gust had eddied round a clump of palm trees, just outside their window, clattering the fronds against one another, crackling, like stones on a tin roof. Meanwhile Gill was watching the figures coming in from their anemometer down on the beach post. It was registering seventy mile an hour gusts, with an average of around sixty to sixty five.

“Hey, Jeff. Come and look at these numbers. The gauge seems to be working OK” Jeff hurried through to take a look. There was a digital display at the bottom of the screen, showing large red figures, under a line graph, which was fluctuating erratically. “The winds aren’t that bad at the moment, but there sure is a lot of turbulence out there. We could be catching the ragged edges of the storm, as she’s so big”

“And it looks as though the gearing device is coping well with the sudden changes in wind speed. These are ideal conditions to test it, and it’s looking good.”

Gater turned on the TV and flicked around the channels until he found a station that was covering the hurricane. He turned up the sound. A reporter with his hood up was shouting into his mike as he was buffeted by the wind. He was yelling that everyone who hadn’t already left the area around Merritt Island should stay put, as it was now too dangerous for people to travel. Anyone still remaining in the region up to the Oak Hill area will need to head for the nearest shelter.

“Hey, Rob, did you hear that?”

“I did”

“Don’t you think that it’s getting a bit close?  Just how far away is Oak Hill?”

“Only about twenty miles or so, I should say”

“God! is that all! Let’s take another look at the satellite image.”

On the TV this time they pulled up the Atlantic chart on the split screen while still listening to the studio reports, and the luckless reporter, shoulder-charging the gale while he hollered his report. “She’s pretty close to the coast now!” He said. “Hurricane Phoebe, Still a Category Three. The residents of this part of Florida can do no more....” Gill turned the sound down a little so they could concentrate. Anything important was coming through on the text line at the bottom of the screen. The picture of hurricane Phoebe showed her leading edge creeping closer to the shore, and still looking on course for the Merritt Island area.

“Well it looks as though we’ll be OK here, and after all, we are supposed to be house-sitting” said Gater.

“Yeah. I guess so. We’ll keep an eye on things though.” He turned the volume back up, in case anything might catch their attention. “I don’t think our friend will be able to stay out there for much longer” said Gill nodding at the screen.

“Well, that’s pretty obvious. You’d have to be stupid to want to go out there...” said Gater but trailed off when he turned round and saw Gill slipping his arms through the sleeves of a waterproof coat. “What do you think you’re doing? Have the crazy people’s society decided to go for their annual walk?”

“Hey, chill out a tad, Jeff,  old buddy. It’s not as bad as it sounds out there just yet, and I haven’t come all this way to hide in a dark room with the TV on. Might as well be in Colorado. Get your cagoule, you’re coming too. And a flashlight We’ll need that down by the beach.”

“Well, hey, I can see your point, But are you sure it’s OK to go out? We’re just about as exposed here as we could get”

“Oh, we’ll be OK. That’s why we came here ain’t it? Just keep a look out for debris. Did you know that a single straw can pierce a solid tree-trunk if the winds are strong enough.”

“I knew that already. So why are you so sure it’s OK to go out”

“Because the winds aren’t that powerful yet, but look out for shed-roofs, flying billboards, that kinda thing, and you’ll be fine!”

Gater laughed “Guess I’ll just have to take your word for it Rob. We must be mad, both of us - is this normal to do this for a living?”

“Guess if you’re a storm-chaser it is” said Gill. There wasn’t much to say to that. Gater put on his cagoule and fixed the hood tightly.

“I’ve got the flashlight.” he said “And we could go and check out the kit I set up, to see if it’s still holding up and secure”

“Great idea. You ready?”

“Yeah, I’m ready, but strangely enough,” said Gater his hood rustling against his ears as he spoke,

“I had just been thinking that I could see more of what was actually going on by  watching the TV news! Intrepid reporters are staying outside as long as they dare, gasping against the wind and getting soaked to the skin. They look as though they’re where it’s at - although they might feel the same as I do for all I know. I was thinking that somehow being cocooned in the house I was missing out on what was happening.”

Somehow, it was like the experience seemed more real when it had been framed and served up by the media., when a natural or man-made disaster becomes a shared, or even a national event. Obviously, the advantage the media have in showing something like a natural disaster is that what they do is multi-faceted, whereas for any individual caught up in such an incident, their view is limited and personal.

“You see, we have no overview which we need to give any event some perspective.” he stopped, realizing that he had gone off on one.

“Better get your butt out there then” said Gill.

“Absolutely” said Gater. “Come on, lets go!”

 

Gill opened the front door, and both men stepped out into the roaring night. Rain pinged noisily onto Gater’s hood, and the warm wind drove into his legs stinging them with fine raindrops. He wished he’d put some waterproof trousers on, but it was too hot and he’d decided to manage without. He made sure he kept Gill in sight. Driving sheets of water and the buffeting wind kept his head down, his eyes fixed on the playing torch beam just a few feet ahead. it was useless to talk so they pressed on in silence towards the beach. Incredibly, as they got to the road they saw the headlights of a car light up the diagonal rain, and they had to stop to let it go past. Someone had obviously decided not to stick around.

Everywhere else looked deserted, but that could be because the scattered properties were boarded up and so it was impossible to tell if anyone was home. Gater felt the biscuit-crunch of wet sand under his boots telling him he had reached the edge of the beach. The ocean was now bearing down on them, where ragged-topped breakers towered over them. Low pressure had raised the water level out to sea and the gale force winds were driving in the waves which were now racing up the beach. The blackness out to sea was like staring into an abyss. The dull thud of each wave as it hit the sand reverberated round the shore; a big, round sound, thumping under their feet. Further out, but impossible to tell how far, the smack and splash of water hitting against rocks, hurled spray high into the air, only to be caught up by the gale, and lashed ashore.

For several minutes Gill walked along the beach, trying to find the post where the anemometer was stationed. Eventually he spotted it in the beam of the flashlight. He turned to Gater and waved the torch vigorously to get his attention. It was difficult to read anything with the rain and salt spray stinging their faces, but the instrument was working OK, and they could just make out the display. Red, digital figures were indicating eighty-four miles an hour. The mechanism hummed satisfyingly, and  Gater felt pleased that he’d secured it good and tight to the worn old post. The figures flickered constantly, but then began to rise steadily: eighty-nine, ninety-two, ninety-seven. Gater reached out for the post to brace himself as he felt the wind pushing him harder and harder. Gill, slightly off-balance, staggered, and went down, grabbing Gater’s cagoule in a vain effort to save himself

“You OK Rob?” said Gater, shouting the words which were blasted away almost before they reached his friend. Gill mouthed something that looked like OK as he pulled himself back up onto his feet again, it took all his strength, and he, too, leaned against the post for extra support. The wind was so strong that it was able to blow wet sand with considerable force, beating painfully against Gater’s legs. His cag was blown out as though it were inflated, catching the gale like a sail. He blinked against the driving rain, completely disoriented. The wind gathered in strength once more, it’s power seemed limitless.

“We have to get back!” Gill said leaning right next to Gater’s face to make himself heard. “Or we might not make it!” He shone the torch out to sea, so Gater could see the white tops of the breakers, now terrifyingly close, racing in towards them, driven in by the rising wind. The tide-line was now only feet away, much closer than either of them thought it would be, and it was imperative that they didn’t get caught in a big breaker, that could wash them out to sea. Neither of them liked to let go of the post, but when the wind lulled for a few moments they took their chance and fought their way back over the road towards the house. The wind was behind them now, making them lean back hard to avoid being propelled forward. They had an urge to run with it but knew that if they did they would be knocked over in a second. A scraping sound on the road made them look round. A large jagged tin roof was cart-wheeling down the highway just where they had been walking. Branches were flying everywhere and a torn plastic sheet  wrapped itself uncomfortably round Gater’s legs, making walking even more difficult. The wind noise in the overhead power lines was like the sound effects from a film, atmospheric and a bit menacing. Creaks and bangs echoed round in the dark, as flimsy, unprepared buildings tried to hold out against the onslaught

At last they reached the safety of the house, breathlessly pushing the door closed behind them. For a few moments the quiet seemed tangible, and the safety of the house seemed absolute. Soaked through, they dripped onto the hall floor, panting and exhausted. They peeled off their cags and removed their boots.

“I’ll fetch some towels, so we can get out of these wet clothes” said Gill

Gater nodded absently, but his attention was on the front door, which suddenly looked extremely fragile. It was the only glazed area of the house not to be boarded up and suddenly it seemed very vulnerable.

“That was worse than I thought it would be” said Gill...