“Jesus. Godspeed, then. You’re going to need it. Stay safe.”
We throw out a couple more pleasantries. When I hang up, Sebastian scoops me in his arms and spins me around.
“What did I tell you?” he says when he finally puts me down. “You’re so fucking brilliant.”
“I can’t believe I just talked to the head of theNational HurricaneCenter. Younger me would be freaking out. Hell …” I grin. I shake my head, the last six hours feeling like a dream. There’s renewed adrenaline in my blood. A fresh sense of purpose. “I’mfreaking out.”
We do another lap of the area, finding evacuation routes we might need. Sebastian gets recognized several times, and when we meet a young couple chasing their first hurricane, they stop for a conversation.
“You all inspired us,” the woman says, looking between us. “When I was a sophomore in college, I didn’t know what to study. Your videos came up on my social media, Quincy, and I went down a rabbit hole. I scrolled for hours, feeling like I was part of the storm with you. I saw what you were doing for women in the field, and it was the encouragement I needed to declare a major in meteorology. I graduated last year, and I’m working on my master’s now.”
“Wow. That’s wonderful to hear. Thank you for sharing that with me. If you ever need anything, shoot me an email. I’ll do what I can to help,” I say. “Please be careful out here. This system isn’t like what you see on television.”
With a smile and a wave, she and her partner disappear down the road, their rain boots kicking up the small puddles forming on the concrete.
“Someone is a superstar,” Sebastian says.
“I’m not. I’m just me, and I’m trying to share my love with everyone else.”
“You’re doing a good job, sweetheart.” A kiss to the top of my head. A hand at the small of my back. “You’re so worthy,” he says, and my heart skips a beat.
The sun goes down, and conditions deteriorate rapidly. A heavy line of squally storms works its way off the ocean, leaving me drenched while I set up my equipment so I can capture as much footage asI can. It takes a set of bungee cords to attach my camera to a tree, with Sebastian adding his GoPro on top, and I’m hoping everything will be intact come morning.
Room prepared and with nothing left to do, we head out into the storm with headlamps and flashlights. Sebastian takes off in a sprint to make it to the alcove we’re using as a shelter-in-place location for the first part of the night and I follow behind him. It’s drier under the tin awning, but we’ve positioned ourselves in the middle of a wind tunnel. Each gust howls like the gods are at war with each other.
“Good call on doing a time-lapse video,” he yells over the noise. It sounds as if rocks are landing on the roof above us, and I keep waiting for it to bend in two. “That’s going to make for some great footage.”
The tree to our left sways, buckling under the weight of saturated limbs. The base wobbles. The trunk starts to tip sideways before snapping in half, crashing to the ground.
“How long until the eye reaches land?” I ask.
“A couple hours.” A small shack a hundred yards away loses its windows. The glass splinters, flying in the air. “It’s already getting bad out here.”
In poetic timing, a street sign lands on the wall just inches away from where we are standing. I jump at the crash of metal on concrete. Sebastian’s arms instinctively wrap around me, protecting my head.
“You can really see the difference between a Category 5 and a Category 1,” I yell, not sure he can hear me. I can’t even hear myself think. “This is nothing like when we chased Claudia.”
“I’m not sure I want to go through this twice.” He cups my cheeks, stopping to kiss me. His tongue swipes over my bottom lip, wet and warm and reassuring. “Sorry,” he says, sheepish. “Kissing you in the rain has been on my bucket list for a while.”
“Is that the only reason you wanted to tag along? So we could make out?”
“Please, Monroe. I’m a professional.” He skims his hand along the hem of my tank top, the material sticking to my skin. “But it might have been some added motivation.”
Above us, the awning creaks and groans. A screw pops loose, falling to the ground next to my foot. I look up, awestruck when the roof rips off and subjects us to the unforgiving elements. A dark sky. Torrential rain. Even more intense wind. It’s like a jet engine is in front of us, and I yelp when I lose my footing.
“Shit.” I grip Sebastian’s arms to keep myself upright. A gutter goes flying past us, missing his head by mere inches. “Where do we go now?”
“There’s a parking garage next door,” he yells. “We can try to get there.”
“Okay.” I nod, watching the entire roof of the two-story house across the street fly away. Shingles litter the ground. The foundation looks as if it’s caving in, and my hand flies to my mouth when the top floor collapses. “Sebastian. Look.God.I hope no one is inside. Or if they are, they’re somewhere safe.”
Whenever a hurricane nears, the same question is always asked:Why didn’t they evacuate? They had the time. They knew what was coming.
The longer I do this, the more I understand.
It’s easy to judge from thousands of miles away, but when you’re faced with life and death, the thought of leaving behind possessions and memories and a home you’ve spent your life building is heartbreaking. Some have medical devices or mobility issues. Some are stubborn. They’d rather die than give up something they love more than anything in the world, and choosing to stay must be the hardest decision they’ll ever have to make.
I wipe away the tear rolling down my cheek and sniff. Sebastian takes my hand in his and holds tight.
