Chapter 5
Hurricane Avalon made landfall at 2:47 AM with 185 mph winds and a 22-foot storm surge.
Mom and I were in the basement, wrapped in down comforters on the cot beds, listening to the world come apart above us.
The sound was unlike anything I could describe—a freight train, a jet engine, a living roar that didn't stop. The walls shook. The ceiling creaked. Somewhere above us, something heavy crashed and skidded across the roof.
Mom grabbed my hand. I grabbed hers.
We held on.
The power grid went down at 3:15 AM. Our generator kicked in three seconds later, filling the basement with its low, steady hum. The lights flickered once, then held.
"Generator's good," I said, trying to sound calm.
"Told you two was overkill," Mom said, but her hand was shaking.
"Overkill keeps us alive."
I flipped on the surveillance monitors. Our exterior cameras were already getting hammered by debris, but two of the eight were still transmitting.
Through sheets of horizontal rain, I could make out our steel shutters holding firm. The old oak tree in the front yard was bent almost horizontal. A section of fence had blown away entirely.
But the house was standing. Grandpa's cinder block and rebar were doing their job.
Then I switched to the feeds from Derek's beach house.
For a moment, I thought the cameras had died. The screen was almost entirely dark, with flickers of motion.
Then lightning flashed, and the living room camera caught a frozen frame that burned itself into my brain.
Water. Waist-deep, black, churning water filling the living room.
Megan was standing on the couch—the same couch she'd been lounging on yesterday—screaming. Her face was contorted with terror, mascara running down her cheeks.
Derek was wading toward the stairs, the water already at his chest. He was carrying nothing. Saving no one.
"Megan!" she screamed. "Derek, help me! I can't swim, you know I can't swim!"
He didn't turn around. He just kept wading, one arm pulling himself along the wall, heading for the second floor.
I felt Mom's grip tighten on my hand.
"He's doing it again," Mom whispered. "He's leaving her. Just like he left you."
Another flash of lightning. Megan had climbed onto the back of the couch, water lapping at her feet. She was sobbing, clutching her pregnant belly.
Something dark and heavy—a piece of furniture, maybe a bookshelf—floated past her and slammed into the wall.
Derek reached the stairs and pulled himself up without a single backward glance.
The kitchen camera was already underwater, giving us a murky, green-tinged view of cabinets and floating debris.
Then both feeds went to static.
Mom and I sat in silence, the only sound the generator's hum and the screaming wind above.
"Do you feel sorry for her?" Mom asked quietly.
I thought about it. Really thought about it.
Megan, who'd smiled at my face while sleeping with my husband. Who'd worn my bathrobe and put her feet on my table. Who'd let Derek choose her while I drowned.
"No," I said. "I don't."
Mom nodded. "Me neither."
She got up and walked to the kitchen area of the basement. "I'm making hot chocolate. You want marshmallows?"
"Extra marshmallows."
She smiled—a real smile, tired and fierce—and put the kettle on.
Outside, Hurricane Avalon raged. Trees snapped like matchsticks. The storm surge swallowed the coast. Entire neighborhoods disappeared under twenty feet of black water.
But in our basement, on our hill, two hundred feet above sea level, my mom and I sat in our matching pajamas, sipping hot chocolate with extra marshmallows.
The emergency radio crackled with updates. Thousands stranded. Rescue operations suspended until the storm passed. The governor declared a state of emergency. Military mobilization authorized.
"How long will it last?" Mom asked.
"The hurricane itself, about 36 hours. But the aftermath—flooding, no power, no supply chains—that'll go on for weeks. Maybe months."
Mom looked at our stocked shelves. Three months of food. Plenty of water. Generator fuel for six weeks.
"Then we wait," she said.
The wind howled like something dying. I pulled my blanket tighter and watched the static on the screen where Derek's house used to be.
Somewhere down there, in the dark water, the past was drowning all over again.
But this time, I was on high ground.
---
Mom and I were in the basement, wrapped in down comforters on the cot beds, listening to the world come apart above us.
The sound was unlike anything I could describe—a freight train, a jet engine, a living roar that didn't stop. The walls shook. The ceiling creaked. Somewhere above us, something heavy crashed and skidded across the roof.
Mom grabbed my hand. I grabbed hers.
We held on.
The power grid went down at 3:15 AM. Our generator kicked in three seconds later, filling the basement with its low, steady hum. The lights flickered once, then held.
"Generator's good," I said, trying to sound calm.
"Told you two was overkill," Mom said, but her hand was shaking.
"Overkill keeps us alive."
I flipped on the surveillance monitors. Our exterior cameras were already getting hammered by debris, but two of the eight were still transmitting.
Through sheets of horizontal rain, I could make out our steel shutters holding firm. The old oak tree in the front yard was bent almost horizontal. A section of fence had blown away entirely.
But the house was standing. Grandpa's cinder block and rebar were doing their job.
Then I switched to the feeds from Derek's beach house.
For a moment, I thought the cameras had died. The screen was almost entirely dark, with flickers of motion.
Then lightning flashed, and the living room camera caught a frozen frame that burned itself into my brain.
Water. Waist-deep, black, churning water filling the living room.
Megan was standing on the couch—the same couch she'd been lounging on yesterday—screaming. Her face was contorted with terror, mascara running down her cheeks.
Derek was wading toward the stairs, the water already at his chest. He was carrying nothing. Saving no one.
"Megan!" she screamed. "Derek, help me! I can't swim, you know I can't swim!"
He didn't turn around. He just kept wading, one arm pulling himself along the wall, heading for the second floor.
I felt Mom's grip tighten on my hand.
"He's doing it again," Mom whispered. "He's leaving her. Just like he left you."
Another flash of lightning. Megan had climbed onto the back of the couch, water lapping at her feet. She was sobbing, clutching her pregnant belly.
Something dark and heavy—a piece of furniture, maybe a bookshelf—floated past her and slammed into the wall.
Derek reached the stairs and pulled himself up without a single backward glance.
The kitchen camera was already underwater, giving us a murky, green-tinged view of cabinets and floating debris.
Then both feeds went to static.
Mom and I sat in silence, the only sound the generator's hum and the screaming wind above.
"Do you feel sorry for her?" Mom asked quietly.
I thought about it. Really thought about it.
Megan, who'd smiled at my face while sleeping with my husband. Who'd worn my bathrobe and put her feet on my table. Who'd let Derek choose her while I drowned.
"No," I said. "I don't."
Mom nodded. "Me neither."
She got up and walked to the kitchen area of the basement. "I'm making hot chocolate. You want marshmallows?"
"Extra marshmallows."
She smiled—a real smile, tired and fierce—and put the kettle on.
Outside, Hurricane Avalon raged. Trees snapped like matchsticks. The storm surge swallowed the coast. Entire neighborhoods disappeared under twenty feet of black water.
But in our basement, on our hill, two hundred feet above sea level, my mom and I sat in our matching pajamas, sipping hot chocolate with extra marshmallows.
The emergency radio crackled with updates. Thousands stranded. Rescue operations suspended until the storm passed. The governor declared a state of emergency. Military mobilization authorized.
"How long will it last?" Mom asked.
"The hurricane itself, about 36 hours. But the aftermath—flooding, no power, no supply chains—that'll go on for weeks. Maybe months."
Mom looked at our stocked shelves. Three months of food. Plenty of water. Generator fuel for six weeks.
"Then we wait," she said.
The wind howled like something dying. I pulled my blanket tighter and watched the static on the screen where Derek's house used to be.
Somewhere down there, in the dark water, the past was drowning all over again.
But this time, I was on high ground.
---