For nearly twenty minutes I try to get through to someone, anyone, my calls alternating between emergency services and Kyle and even other friends who live in the area, most of whom I know are already evacuated. But as any betting man might have predicted, not one call works. The last of the phone lines are out.
I give up finally when the water reaches the lip of the counter. Darkness has come in full now, the world so black it’s like I’m buried several miles beneath the surface of the earth. As I feel the cold water lapping at the bottom of my thighs, I shine the flashlight around the open heart of the trailer. The couch is completely submerged now, along with all the other furniture scattered about.
Is this what being on the Titanic was like? Inch by inch watching yourself be pulled into the ocean?
A crash louder than anything I’ve yet heard snatches me from my thoughts. Gasping, I spin towards the sound, my gasp rising into a heartbroken cry as my flashlight falls upon a scene of utter destruction. The roof of the trailer has collapsed from what looks like halfway down the hall all the way back to my bedroom. What once had been pristine living quarters is now a tangled mess of wood and metal and wires and fluffy, pink insulation.
“Oh my god…”
I had to get out of here. Now. There was no more time. If I stayed any longer, there was a good chance the next time the roof gave out, it would be right on top of me.
Gathering my valuables into my lap, I look down at all the things I’ve spent half the day collecting. I know already I won’t be able to take most of it along. More imperative than anything now was giving myself my best chance of survival.
I don’t have much time to make my choice. Not a minute after I’ve started parsing through the bags the trailer itself gives out a groan and I feel the entire structure shift on its foundation. The blood rushing to my ears, I grab the most important bag, stick my cellphone inside of it, and with fingers trembling so badly it’s like I have Parkinson’s, place this bag in a small knapsack that I sling over my shoulder.
There’s no time to tarry. Flipping over onto my knees, I lower my legs into the water, the current so strong it takes every ounce of muscle I have to keep myself from being swept away. My toes searching for the bottom, I finally find it with a sigh of relief. I lower myself down; the water is up to my bellybutton.
One hand clutching the edge of the counter, I turn and lean against the current and drag my foot forward several inches. I can already tell it's going to be slow going getting across the living room.
More than once on my way to the back door something scrape against my legs; whenever this happens, I near jump out of my skin. The first few times I’m able to calm myself by recognizing the objects as inanimate, but when I feel something much softer and much more alive squiggle between my thigh, I just about collapse in fright.
Snakes. There have to be snakes in here. And alligators. Maybe even shar—
Nope. Not the time to be thinking like that. Get to the door.
Thank goodness my flashlight is waterproof and has a wrist strap. The current is so strong, I need both hands to help me get there. Finally though I do arrive, roaring in triumph as I pull myself through the frame, though I have to draw back immediately because a sizeable branch has decided now's a good time to come barreling into the house. As it forces itself through the too-small frame, the trailer once more shifts on its feet.
Go. You have to go now. Don’t wait! Go!, my gut tells me as I step back into the doorway. Still, I can’t help but hesitate as I look out into the angry, black maw of the storm. It’s so dark and the rain is so thick I can’t see more than five inches in front of my face.
But the darkness is dispelled the very next instant as lightning strikes so close that it makes my hair stand on end. The wind is whipping furiously around me, the snapping and falling of branches and trees echoing through the woods like popping corn.
I look back into the house, one hand clutching the door frame as the other turns the flashlight upon the living room all but unrecognizable now.
Goodbye, I murmur. Goodbye.
Turning back to endless world of water before me, I take a deep breath, readjust the pack on my back, and double-check that the flashlight’s strap is secure around my wrist. Satisfied, I lower myself to the top step of the stoop. I have the flashlight held as steady as I can manage upon the fallen oak, its ribcage of branches the only thing I can reliably make out in the night. Reaching it will be the first checkpoint; I know eventually I’ll need to find something to climb. But it’s a good start to what's going to be a very long night. Letting out one lungful of air, I draw another as I step down to the next step.
Okay, we can do this, Shannon. We can do this. Just keep going. Somewhere out there safety awaits.
I hope.
12.
Kyle
Like all trips that start off with a measure of excitement, the first fifty miles pass in a flash. I’m driving so fast and my heart is thumping so quickly that my mind has no time to process what’s happening. All it can muster are a few meager reassurances that I send out silently with the wild hope they’ll somehow reach Shannon.
Don’t worry, baby. I’m coming for you. Just hang in there. Four hours. That’s all I need. Just four hours.
The others are quiet too, their focus like mine on the unerringly straight highway that stretches endlessly southward. I’m pushing my truck as fast as it can handle; the boat is heavy and I have to keep my foot practically pressed to the floorboard just to go the speed limit.
After the first fifty miles, the tough part begins. As my breathing normalizes and the adrenaline drips from my veins, Dallas' presence a mere smear of light on the back horizon, time slows to a crawl.
“Two hundred miles,” Tim reads from a sign. I’ve got the speedometer pushing past seventy-five and am weaving through the little traffic there is. Most is heading the other way, the northbound lanes clogged with people fleeing the storm.
“At this rate,” Aaron says, “we’ll be there in no time.”
I respond by pressing my foot harder, the speedometer edging closer to three digits. Even if I can keep this speed up, it's still two and a half hours to Houston. At least Shannon lived on the north side. I doubted I’d be able to make it through the city itself. Hell, if the water got too high, we still might have to stop early and take the boat. Which meant it could still be seven or eight—”
“You know,” Aaron goes on, thankfully cutting me off. “I sure wish I'd thought to bring some food. I’m starving.”
“Really?” Mike snorts from his place in the front passenger seat. “You just ate. I literally just watched you swallow an entire chicken.”
“I can’t help it. It’s all this excitement! It really works up an appetite. After we pick up Shannon, let’s stop for some grub. How do y'all feel about burgers?”
“Ooh, or pizza!”
“Wings sound good too.”
“Let’s do wings and burgers and pizza.”
“And beer. Never forget the beer.”
The boys are doing their best to sound and act as normal as possible, which I appreciate, though it’s impossible for me to join in their banter. Shannon, Shannon, Shannon is all I’m thinking. My chest is knotted with worry; I can hardly breathe.