It’s rough going gathering speed, but soon I have my truck gliding along at a steady fifteen, waves breaking to either side of my grill. As we approach the next turn, Mike, who’s been keeping a close eye on the odometer, raises a hand. It’s my signal to slow. Two hundred yards up the road, a yellow-painted post brings me to a stop. At its side is a sign, the arrow on it pointing left. Houston – 40 miles.
“Forty miles?”
“Don’t worry. We’ll be there soon.”
“But forty goddamn miles? I can barely get going fifteen! That’s another three hours!”
Again Mike shushes me, and again his judgment proves correct. Once we’ve made the turn, it’s less than a mile before the land begins to rise. Another ten minutes and we’re ascending a hill back to terra firma. Even better, when we come back down the other side of the hill, we find ourselves driving along a thin strip of raised land perhaps made specifically for this purpose, the surface of the road feet above the level of the flood.
“Huh,” I say. The others burst out laughing.
I hit the gas, my eyes locked on the road, which Mike has assured me is straight, the needle of the odometer rising steadily in my peripheral. Thirty. Thirty-five. Forty. I hold her at forty for some time, ticking off the miles as they go. Thirty-seven. Thirty-six. Thirty-five.
For nearly thirty miles it stays this way, the clock and the odometer our only markers of time. Everything else is the same: we four unmoving; the steady rain; the impenetrable blackness expanding endlessly in all directions.
When our luck finally does give out, it happens all at once, the raised strip falling right back down into the water in a matter of meters. I bring the truck to an abrupt halt, the four of us jerking forward in our seats as we let out a collective grunt. Behind us, the boat swerves and nearly jackknifes, the metal hitch crying out as it’s strained to its limit. Thankfully, the water is only up to the bumper, and as we bottom out the boat snaps back into position, my engine roaring as the wheels catch and we go churning forward.
It’s clear we’re edging closer to the epicenter of the storm. The water is thickening by the minute with debris; several times I have to stop the truck so we can hop out and pull whatever it is out of the way. Luckily, no tree or branch is so large that the four of us can’t move it.
Deeper and deeper into the storm we drive, the wind lashing at us with such anger it’s a trial keeping our nose pointed straight. The boat is swinging from side to side, free-floating though it’s still tied down to the trailer.
After we’ve moved about ten trees, the next time we’re stopped, it’s not due to a natural obstruction but to a lone man standing in the center of the flooded road. So quickly does he appear out of the darkness that I have only an instant to brake, the grill of my truck coming to a stop inches away from his hunched, shivering frame.
“What the hell is this guy thinking? He could have gotten killed!”
The man is wearing a long, green rain slicker and looks like he’s been outside since the storm started. For a moment, he peers at us from underneath his hood with cold, defeated eyes. He then wades over to my window, his every shuffled step dripping with exhaustion. My first thought is to keep going once he’s out of the way, but something in his look has me roll down the window instead.
“Hi!” I shout over the roar of the wind.
The man says nothing as he looks around the inside of the cab, his gaze lingering first on Tim, then Mike, then Aaron before finally turning back to me.
“Hi…” the man murmurs. “I…”
“Do you need help?” Mike asks before I can say anything. “Is everything okay?”
The man shakes his head. “N-no,” he stammers. “No, it’s not.”
“What is it?”
“The house,” he mu\mbles. He seems dazed, punch-drunk, lost. “It…it got flooded. My wife…my daughter…”
“Are they okay? Where are they?” Mike demands. He’s leaned over me, his hand over mine on the steering wheel as if he can read my thoughts and knows that my foot is itching to press down on the pedal.
No, he’s right. You have to help this man.
The man takes a deep breath and then looks back over his shoulder.
“They’re still inside,” he says. “The second floor. Please. We need help.”
Mike looks at me; I look at Mike. Together, we turn and look at Aaron and Tim in the backseat. We all know what we have to do.
“You go,” Mike says quietly, his hand patting mine. “We’ll stay.”
“But we have to help him…”
“And we will,” Mike continues with a gentle smile. “Aaron and I will stay behind. You and Tim continue on to Shannon. We’ll meet up when it’s all over. What do you think, boys? Sound good?”
Tim and Aaron nod. Outside the window, the man has been watching silently, his every breath laced with despair.
“Are there more of you?” Mike shouts to the man. “Are there more people that need help?”
The man nods.
“Alright! Then here’s what we’re going to do!” Mike shouts over the roaring storm. “You go get your wife and daughter! We’ll get the boat off the back and when you return we’ll take you to safety!”
Mumbling his agreement, the man slinks back into the darkness. As soon as he’s out of sight, the four of us unbuckle our seats belt and take hold our door handles. As one, we suck in a fortifying breath before flinging open the truck doors and climbing out into the maelstrom.
“Holy shit!”
If I had thought the wind strong from inside the truck, it’s nothing compared to the furious driving force that nearly throws me back into the cab the moment I step out.
Now this is a hurricane!, I think as I force the door closed behind me. Wow! Was Shannon really stranded somewhere in this? There was not a moment to spare then. Not even the strongest man in the world would be able to survive unprotected for long in this hellscape.
Don’t think like that. You just gotta keep moving.
The gusts are so powerful I have to walk nearly bent in two to reach the back of the truck, my fingers searching for whatever handhold they can find to help pull me forward. The others too are struggling mightily, the swirling water around our knees threatening with every step to drag us down into its depths. It’s such difficult going that the man returns just as we’re getting the boat unhooked from the trailer. Thankfully, the water is deep enough that once we have the straps loosened, we’re able to slide it right off into the water.
As Mike and Aaron hold the boat in place, the man watching wordlessly, Tim and I collect what we’ll need for our mission from the toolbox in the bed of my truck. Sledgehammer in one hand, sheathed hunting knife in the other, I climb into the boat, nearly slipping as my feet find the bottom covered in two inches of rainwater.
“Don’t worry!” Mike shouts as I give the engine cord a yank. Three more pulls and she sputters to life. “You and Tim are going to find her just fine. Aaron and I will stay here with the truck and get these people out. As soon as you find her, you come back to right here, understand?”
“Got it!”
Pulling back the sleeve of his rain jacket, Mike taps the dial of his waterproof watch. “It’s 9:45! If I don’t hear from you by two a.m. I’m going to call the coast guard! Got it?”