“Any idea how they’re faring at the hospital?” I asked.
“Nah. But they tend to have protocols in place for these kinds of situations and the injured.”
I nodded and shifted on the hard floor, cringing as the wind whistled through the rafters and shook the doors and windows. There was a loud crack as something hit the building, sending a shudder through the beams and floorboards. Several of us ducked our heads in response.
Char moved closer to me, one of her hands wrapping around my arm as she buried her head in my shoulder. I leaned into her, taking measured breaths in an attempt to keep calm, and almost laughed. We’d all been in far scarier situations.
As if reading my mind, Paulette on the other side of me muttered, “If I survived being shot at just to be killed by a little wind...”
But one could still die in a storm like this.
“How can such a pretty place be so terrifying?” I heard a voice whimper. My mind instantly went to another pretty place I’d once lived. A place others thought looked like a fairy tale, but they had no idea of the nightmares that were incurred there.
The door flew open, causing several people to shout out in surprise as a gust of wind and rain whipped through before the door banged closed again on its own. In response, three of the men carried several collapsed folding tables over and set them in front of it.
It lasted for hours, many of us growing weary and curling up on the floor, our bodies, covered in a film of sweat from the humidity, pressed together nonetheless, the closeness providing comfort.
It was nearly three in the afternoon when I woke from a fitful nap to several voices in discussion. They sounded strange until I realized the noise outside had stopped.
“Is it over?” someone asked.
“Seems to be,” someone else said before a small group of men hurried to the door, moved the tables, and pushed it open, a beam of sunlight stretching past them.
“Holy sh—” one of them said, his voice cutting off as though the surprise was too great to be able to finish the sentiment. The rest of us scrambled to our feet.
There was debris everywhere. A jeep overturned, canvas ripped and hanging from trees, clothes, dishes, tires, weapons. Anything and everything was scattered across the base.
“Our stuff,” one of the women said. A smattering of expletives from the rest of us followed as we hurried in the direction of our barracks. But when we got there, there wasn’t much left. The tent we’d called home the past few months was gone, its wood base cracked and splintered in several places. The bunks that were left were on their sides or in pieces, mattresses scattered or gone, and most of the footlockers were either overturned or missing.
I held my breath as I ran to where my bunk had stood only hours before, but was now a pile of metal, scattered on the floor.
“Do you see my duffel?” I asked, but no one answered and I scanned the mess around me, searching for my bag.
“Look!” a woman named Winnie shouted, pointing toward the river, which had risen at least two feet since the storm started.
On the bank were a few of the footlockers, shoes, and a bunch of other items. Other things could be seen floating away. Several of the women hurried across the bank, gathering everything they could find and placing it all on a piece of torn canvas in the center of the spot where our home had been.
“What are you looking for?” Char asked, her knapsack with the few precious dresses she’d shoved inside clutched to her chest.
“My duffel,” I said, lifting the edge of a wet mattress. “I thought I threw it on my bed.”
“It was in your locker,” she said.
“You’re sure?” I asked, scanning my surroundings.
“Yeah. I saw you take your wallet out of it and then put it in there.”
I patted my pajama pants pocket, feeling the small billfold my aunt had bought me before I left the States. I’d forgotten I’d grabbed it in the chaos.
I looked around me again, searching for my footlocker. There were palm fronds, blankets, sheets, and clothing strewn everywhere. I knelt, shifting the debris around me while Char helped.
“There,” she said, pointing to something at the edge of the wooden platform our tent had stood on.
The locker had been knocked over and swept along the floor where it had fallen to the dirt below. I jumped down and flipped it over, exhaling at the sight of the blue duffel still shoved inside its little cubby.
“Thank you,” I said to Char, who grinned and then immediately cried out as she bent down to pick up a red scrap of fabric coated in mud.
“Oh no,” she said, holding it up. “Just look at my dress!”
