Sweetheart for the SEAL

by Alexis Abbott

  “Mommy! I’m scared!” Dakota cries out, clinging to me tightly.

  “I want my daddy!” Weston whimpers.

  Grant and Hailey both begin to cry, clearly traumatized by the storm. I can’t sit here any longer. We’re too close to the window. I hurriedly get to my feet and scoop Hailey up onto my left hip and Dakota onto my right, then gesture for the boys, who are slightly bigger and older, to follow me as I rush through the trembling townhouse to the most interior room: the bathroom.

  “Come on! Let’s go!” I command, leading them into the tiny bathroom and shutting the door. “Into the tub, all of you.”

  I cradle Dakota and Hailey against my chest as I hunker down in the bathtub, helping Weston and Grant climb over the side to sit down squished up next to us. I yank the shower curtain closed, as if that could possibly help protect us in some way, and start doing my best to comfort the little ones. But they’re all so terrified that they’re inconsolable, crying and shaking as they cling to me for dear life.

  I’m fighting tears of my own, wishing I had some better plan, some way of sparing these little angels from the trauma of the hurricane. I only hope we can ride it out safely here. But no sooner has this thought crossed my mind than another gigantic, earth-shattering blast of thunder rumbles through the house down to the very foundation...and all the lights go out.

  Duncan

  Adrenaline surges through my body as the clap of thunder shatters the air around me, a bolt of lightning bigger than anything I’ve ever seen crackling onto the telephone pole just a few feet ahead of me off to the left side of the road. I slam on the brakes and skid to try to avoid the falling power lines. Sparks flare up all around the road as the power goes out in what I imagine must be half of the town, if not more.

  My ears are still ringing from the thunderclap by the time my SUV comes to a halt. I hear static on the radio, and now there’s a pole in the middle of the road. The last thing the radio told me was that Bruno has been upgraded to a cat-5.

  This is insane. Part of me wonders if I’m dreaming, and this is some kind of worst-case-scenario nightmare playing out in front of my eyes. Over the past few minutes, I’ve passed a handful of cars flying by me way faster than they should be going in a situation like this, all desperate to evacuate as fast as possible. The skies are nearly black now, casting such a strange lighting over everything that doesn’t help the feeling of everything being surreal.

  I’ve seen bad storms before. Hell, I’ve lived through monsoons with nothing but the gear on my back to deal with them. But I’ve never seen anything like this. Worse, the town is obviously nowhere near ready to deal with a catastrophe of this magnitude. Under reporting disasters costs lives more often than people realize, and the more time I spend driving through this nightmare, the more I'm realizing that might just be what I'm dealing with today.

  I feel my training starting to kick in. Regardless of whether or not I'm on leave, I'm still a SEAL. If there's anyone equipped to handle a situation like this, it's me. And if I weren't on my way to pick up a girl who might just be in danger, I'd be going door to door right now, making sure the people have or are in the process of evacuating.

  I take a deep breath and look to the road. The wires are strewn across it haphazardly, but it isn't safe to handle them right now. I turn my SUV and pull off the road, onto the sandy grass and toward someone's yard. The place has no garage and no cars out front, so I can only imagine the occupants already left. At least, that's what I have to tell myself to feel okay just pulling around their backyard to get around the wreckage in the road.

  Luck isn't on my side today, though. As soon as I get around the house, I see that the damage is already starting. Someone's trampoline has been blown into the yard, leaning against shattered windows on the back porch. There are also large branches lying around, which tell me it's only a matter of time before I start seeing entire trees in the same state.

  Instead of awkwardly trying to drive this thing around what I see to be a smashed fence on the side of the yard, I pull through to the neighborhood on the opposite side. I'll take my chances in the suburbs instead of hoping that was the only piece of electrified debris lying in the main road that stretches up and down the Outer Banks.

  The neighborhood I drive into isn't in a much better state, though. I pull out onto the narrow streets to see several garbage cans strewn around, all apparently full to bursting when the wind dealt with them. Figures something like this would happen on garbage day.

  Despite the debris everywhere, my SUV manages to hold its own as I wade through the neighborhood. I start thinking about what route to take, since the main road isn't my best option. As I'm thinking about that, though, some sudden movement from one of the houses gets my attention. It's a woman, waving her arms and clearly trying to flag me down as I drive by slowly. I'm suspicious at first, but then I recognize the face— it's a woman named Anne, someone who was in my graduating class. She was always a tough woman back then, always head of whatever sports team she joined up with, and she joined as many as she could.

  If there was anyone who would feel safe running up to a potentially dangerous stranger in an unfamiliar car in the middle of a storm, it was probably her. That didn't make the look on her face when I rolled the window down any less priceless.

  “Holy shit, Duncan?!” she blurts, eyes wide.

  “Little windy to be out for a walk, isn't it?” I joke. I've always found that dumb jokes take the sting out of dire situations like this.

  “Shut the fuck up,” she says, laughing despite herself. “What the hell are you doing out here? Did the military send you as part of the evacuation plan?”

  “I wish I could say so,” I reply, frowning. “I'm on leave. Might have been on the last flight in before they started redirecting them. What the hell is all this? Why weren't people prepared?”

  “This is unheard of!” she blurts. “It was supposed to be just a regular storm, not the fucking apocalypse! Nobody was expecting this, not even the news. I ran out here thinking you were a tourist heading back to the mainland. I was about to try to get a ride back with you.”

  “Where's your car?”

  “My husband has it. He works on the other side of the bridge, and it got closed before he had a chance to get over here. Traffic on the mainland is swamped with people trying to get to their stranded relatives, apparently. You're not heading back that way, are you? Don't take this the wrong way, but a Marine or whatever you are is probably the best kind of person to get a ride from in a storm like this.”

  I could correct her, but that will have to wait wait.

  “Actually, I was headed the opposite direction,” I say. “Do you know if Crystal is out and safe?”

  “Ahhh, so that's why you're here,” she says, putting her hands on her hips. “Should have known not even the military could keep you two apart, Romeo. Hate to be the bearer of bad news, but the roads further down toward her house are closed. There are power lines down and someone's boat in the middle of the road.”

  “Shit!” I think for a moment, frowning. “Wait, she runs a daycare, doesn't she?” Or at least there’s a daycare operating out of her home address, according to the phone book. “Are there still kids down there?”

  “We don't keep in touch these days, but it's the middle of a week day,” she says, confirming my fears. If the roads closed down this fast, then a lot of parents probably didn't have a chance to get their kids home safely. That also means that Crystal is definitely still down there, through roads that a car can't pass through. My mind races. I need to get to Crystal, but I can't just let people in need stay behind when I could help them, either.

  “Her place is normally another five minute drive from here, isn’t it?”

  “That sounds right,” she answers.

  “Take my car,” I say, and she stares at me, stunned.

  “Like...just take it? What do you mean?”

  “Take my car and drive it to the Coast Guard blockade on the brid
ge,” I say firmly, my plan coming together in my head. “I can't get where I need to go by car, anyway. I'll go on foot and use Crystal’s car to get the kids when I get there. I'm not going to leave you stranded here, but I can't just turn around and abandon Crystal either.”

  She opens her mouth to protest, but another thunderclap overhead makes her jump.

  “Fine, fine— is this your car?”

  “Rental, so don't worry about damage. I'd be surprised if you can make it back to the bridge without a little wear and tear,” I add with a smirk.

  “Smartass,” she says as I get out of the car with my single backpack to let her climb into the driver’s seat. “Are you sure about this?”

  “Am I the type to second guess myself?”

  “Fair,” she sighs. “Take care of Crystal, okay?”

  “Avoid the main road and stay safe,” I say, patting the hood of the car. She nods, pulls off, and I watch her disappear around the same yard I cut across to get here. Now, it's just me, my backpack, and all the distance between here and Crystal.

  Five minutes in a car along mostly straight roads is still a healthy distance on foot, especially in this weather. Hot, humid wind buffets me as I trudge across yards, relying on my memory to get me through the town and neighborhoods I remember so clearly. I hear sirens in the distance, both north and south. Car alarms go off, and I hear a beat of one every now and then.

  I'm surprised not to run into as many people on the rest of the trek south. Occasionally, I pass a small family packing things into a car in a hurry and pulling away, but none of them bother me. I'm six and a half feet of muscle wandering around on foot in a hurricane that's about to land— simple common sense tells most people not to bother me. I wouldn't turn anyone away, but I don't mind getting ignored. The sooner I can get to Crystal, the better.

  But fate doesn't let me off that easy. After clearing the first neighborhood, rain starts to patter against my skin, and I realize that the first band of Hurricane Bruno is making landfall.

  I pass by an opening in the buildings to get a view of the main road, and I see men in uniform by large jeeps with equipment. It must be the Coast Guard. I don't want to engage with them right now, but I make a mental note of where they are on the road. They'll be the closest point of contact.

  I take out a windbreaker in my bag and pull it over my shoulders. It won't keep all the rain out, but it's better than just my t-shirt. At least it isn't freezing cold.

  I finally make it to the outskirts of the neighborhood where I know Crystal’s home is, moving along the outskirts, and the closer I get to the shore, I realize why everything looks slightly off.

  Floods. We're used to floods here on this narrow island chain, but not to the point that we can handle flash floods on such short notice like this. It's only going to get worse from here on out, too.

  The wind is getting harder. Much harder. The rain is already slanted, but within a few minutes, it’s a full-on horizontal downpour that whips me as I try to hike across yards that are starting to squelch underfoot with the rising water. My heart starts pounding in my chest, not because I’m worried about my own safety, but because I keep thinking about how high the water might be by the time I reach Crystal and try to get out of here.

  The wind nearly blows me off my feet as I enter the neighborhood proper and start wandering down the streets, following the house numbers. She’s around here somewhere close, I know that much. I didn’t exactly get a chance to memorize the route, but I know the area well. I used to ride my bike over every inch of the place when I was a kid.

  But when I finally do reach the house numbers that are close to where Crystal’s should be, my heart sinks. My eyes pan over to a series of townhouses, and I feel building dread as I count the numbers on them...until the colossal tree lying horizontally in front of them blocks the numbers from view.

  “Fuck,” I curse under my breath, and I take off in a sprint across the road toward the townhouse. There are more trees around here than you might expect, and while none of them are especially huge for trees, a fallen tree can still do a hell of a lot of damage. It doesn’t take much to cave a roof in.

  I reach the tree and try to pull on it, but it’s too heavy from where I am. I start looking up and down the row of townhouses until I find a spot that looks like I can wedge myself into it. I climb over the trunk and put my back against the wall of one of the houses, planting my feet firmly on the trunk. All at once, I make my body’s muscles work together to push, channeling every ounce of strength I have.

  Inch by inch, the tree starts to budge. It has some traction in the dirt, but I don’t care. I’m full of adrenaline and know that Crystal is trapped in there, along with anyone else who got locked in by the tree.

  Finally, there’s enough room for me to get to the door of Crystal’s house. My mind races with horrible images, thinking that she could be unconscious inside, or that a power surge is starting a fire. They’re irrational thoughts, but that doesn’t matter to me right now. I try the door handle, but it doesn’t budge.

  Locked.

  I knock, and wait, but there’s nothing. If she is in there, she probably can’t hear me over the storm. I slam my fists harder on the door, but still nothing. I can’t access any other entrances, and this is the only way to get in.

  But I’m not about to let that stop me. Looking around, I find a thick branch on the tree that looks sturdy, but it’s already half broken off from the trunk. I brace myself, then bring up my leg and kick the thing hard. I hear it crack, but it doesn’t give just yet. Another three hard kicks, and the trunk as thick as my leg comes loose. I rush over to it and break off the twigs around it, and just like that, I have a portable battering ram in my hands.

  I get myself ready at the front door, and after counting to three in my head, I bring the thing down on the handle. The door shakes, but it doesn’t give. I have to get in there. I can’t let Crystal and the children stay here while the world falls apart outside, because they’ll soon be taken with it.

  I bring my little ram down again, and again, and again, all with that one thought burning in my mind:

  Get to Crystal.

  Crystal

  We are all still huddled up together in the bathtub, the four small children clinging to me like I’m the last remaining life preserver after a shipwreck. It is still completely dark in the house. I can hardly see beyond a few feet in front of me, and even when the lights flicker every now and then, it’s not enough to help much. This is possibly the worst imaginable situation for it to be dark like this, because it’s not just me here—I am surrounded by four kids, all of whom suffer from a fear of the dark in varying degrees.

  Grant is in full meltdown mode. He has a flair for the dramatic, which can be good or bad depending on the situation. I often refer to him as Mr. Moody, because when he’s sad, he’s devastated, and when he’s happy, he’s on cloud nine. More than once, his father has dropped him off at the start of the day with a quiet warning about whatever state of mind his theatrical son happens to be in.

  I truly believe this kid has displayed the full range of possible human emotions all in the same day before. He’s being raised by a workaholic father and a mom who travels out of town for work all the time, jetsetting between the east and west coast nearly every week. His parents do everything they can to stay close by and give Grant as much stability and normalcy as possible, and they make damn decent money between their respective lucrative careers.

  Even though he’s just a little kid, Grant is already a world traveler. His parents don’t just take mini staycations to the nearby shore when they have time off. Nope. Not good enough. They fly out to Cancun, Dublin, London, Paris, Mykonos— all over the world. And they take little Grant along with them most of the time. This kid has a passport book with enough stamps to rival a seasoned adult traveler. As a result, he can speak a little bit of a lot of different languages, and he’s got a shockingly mature view of the world.

  But that doesn’
t keep him from being afraid of the new and unknown. Immersion therapy can only go so far. He just simply has an excitable personality, and sometimes that means he gets very freaked out. In fact, right now, poor Grant is whimpering and softly crying, his chubby little hands gripping my own larger hand tightly.

  I give him a little squeeze of reassurance, not that it will do much good in the face of a big, scary storm like this one. I have a feeling he can sense my fear, too, and that doesn’t make this any easier. But I can’t help it: I am scared. For my sake, of course, but mostly for the sake of these tiny humans in my care.

  Weston is handling it much more calmly, even though I can feel him trembling. He is doing his best to be strong, I can tell. He’s always been that way, ever since he started out at my daycare a couple years ago. Despite the fact that he’s small and skinny for his age and he wears a pair of tiny, surprisingly thick glasses, he’s my little stoic.

  Weston rarely cries or gets overwhelmed by events, but even when he does, he keeps the drama to a minimum. His mother and father are a social worker and a psychiatrist at a mental hospital, respectively. Both high-stress, high-demand jobs. And yet they are the most pleasant, beatific pair I have ever met in my life. They never seem to get overly upset or worried about much of anything, which I greatly admire, as a woman who sometimes cries when I watch an especially heartwarming Christmas commercial.

  I can only imagine that Weston gets his even-keeled temperament from his peaceful parents. His genetics must be pretty damn solid, psychologically. His ability to stay relatively chilled-out under duress definitely more than makes up for his unfortunate crappy vision if you ask me.

  It’s a real breeze caring for a child who rarely cries and never throws a tantrum. Even when he was Hailey’s age, he was like a small, well-adjusted grown-up. One time a couple weeks ago we even managed to carry on a strangely mature conversation about paying bills and filing taxes. Sure, he didn’t have a whole lot of information to bring to the table on that, considering the fact that he is, indeed, five years old. But he nodded along and seemed to genuinely retain the excruciatingly boring tips I gave him.