An Angel On Her Shoulder

by Dan Alatorre

  The wind yanked the doorknob out of my hand and thrust open the door. Sparkles scurried backwards. The steady rush of the pre-hurricane winds had arrived. Strong, noisy, and unrelenting.

  Sparkles didn’t seem to want to go out now, but he couldn’t hold it until the storm passed. That could be days.

  I tried again. “Come on, big fella.”

  I heaved the door into the howling wind. Sparkles crouched and tucked his tail beneath him, slinking out.

  With some effort, I got the door closed. The gusts pushed and pulled on me, nearly knocking me over. The main feature of the looming hurricane was the constant high wind, with its incessant hum.

  Everyone has been in a storm. Everyone has heard the wind howl on a rainy night. What makes this stuff different is the continuity. It doesn’t stop. It’s like the sound you hear when you’re out for a walk and a car is coming, but it never dissipates. It doesn’t go away in the morning and it doesn’t go away when the rain stops. It goes away a week later when the big dark clouds of the hurricane come and rip everything to shreds.

  The yard was littered with limbs and leaves. One of the neighbor’s trees had already broken off in the wind and lay over part of the road.

  And in the tops of the trees, the nonstop noise of the wind.

  The rain had been coming in bands, but soon it would be coming nonstop—and heavy. That was often the worst part of a hurricane. Not that you would get swept up like The Wizard Of Oz, although that can happen, but days and days of soaking the ground make it turn into a muddy soup. Then when the high force winds really hit, even the largest of trees would lose their grip and fall right over.

  That had happened to us the last time a hurricane came through. The day after, it looked like we’d been battered by a series of tornadoes.

  And the strangest part of the hurricane, aside from watching day and night as it crept closer and closer, was the eye. After causing tornadoes all over as the hurricane worked its way across the state, when the eye of the storm crossed over you, the wind and rain stopped. Not always, but usually. That made the phenomenon all the more eerie.

  Afterwards—subsequent to mowing the lawn and picking up the big limbs—no one could tell that a hurricane been there. Not at our house, anyway. Some friends of ours weren’t so lucky.

  Sparkles was crouched by the door, ready to go back in. All this action was too much for him.

  I let us both back in, wiping the rain off my arms. “Don’t worry, pal. All the proper preparations happened months ago.”

  By now the forecasters would have a fairly good idea of where the storm was going and when it would get there. If they predicted it would hit Miami tomorrow morning and Tampa the following afternoon, it would. When things were this close, the forecasters were usually right.

  And that was the mixed blessing. Because if they had just said here it comes, everybody get out, that might actually work. Instead, a week out they’d show a cone. It could go to Jacksonville in the north of Florida or it could go to Miami in the south. If enough people in Miami and the Keys weren’t convinced it’d likely head their way, they wouldn’t start preparing. Then, if the storm changed paths, they’d get trapped. Five million people around the greater Miami area couldn’t all get on I-95 at the same time, and even if they could, most wouldn’t have filled up their cars enough to get to safety. There would be huge lines at every gas station between Key West and the Georgia state line.

  Then, the power would go out—as the winds in front of the hurricane knocked down power poles—and the folks in line for gas wouldn’t get any.

  The motorists, now hunkered down in their cars, would face the wrath of the 100 mile per hour winds and rain as they sat like ducks on the side of the road having debris heaved at them like rockets. Tree limbs become missiles. Roadside gravel becomes machine gun fire. And all the while, the constant drone of the howling wind.

  Others geniuses would decide to wait out the storm in their houses. They might end up flooded, stranded on their rooftops awaiting rescue. And almost none of them would have enough food and clean water for any of it.

  So, when a prior hurricane made us sit for three days in the brutal heat without power or cell phones, Mallory and I made up our minds to get a generator and some extra gas cans. A few sweat soaked days of muggy heat and humidity will do that to you. Inside, the house was hot and moist. There were no lights, but there was no air conditioning or fans, either. It was like standing in the bathroom while somebody took a shower. For days.

  Outside, it was raining and wet, and the mosquitoes were everywhere. Mud got all over the place from all the rain, and nothing got dry. We couldn’t sleep because we were too hot, and we couldn’t stay awake because we were too exhausted. It was the very definition of miserable—and tempers flare quickly under such conditions, even when you’re wiped out.

  You’ll survive, but you won’t be very happy.

  After three days of that, the power at a friend’s house came back on. It took a few more days for the electric crews to get to us, but since our friends had power, they lent us their generator.

  Electricity. Our frozen food would be saved, and we could run a fan and our portable camping TV. We could have a cold drink.

  But the best—the absolute best—was the A/C. I took an old window air conditioning unit out of the garage and stuck it in our bedroom window. That night, after sweating for most of a week on the couches downstairs, the two of us slept in our bed, in chilly air-conditioned comfort. The bedroom air was cool and dry, and the mattress felt like a cloud. Like giving a man who’d just walked out of the desert an ice cream come. It was heaven.

  From then on, we kept three days of canned food and water for everyone in the house, including Sparkles, and bought a small generator. With our gas grill and three propane tanks, and smaller stuff, like flashlights, batteries and candles, we were ready for whatever nature threw at us from then on.

  We could also be mobile and self-sufficient, if we needed to evacuate.

  As I grabbed a dish towel to dry Sparkles off, the morning TV news anchors prattled on about pressure systems and fronts.

  All I saw was the big cone of the hurricane projected path. It swallowed Tampa in its center.

  It was coming for us or it would pass very close by. Either way, it was time to make some decisions.

  Chapter 35

  “Have you lost your mind?!”

  Mallory stood in the middle of the kitchen, her hands on her hips. You could say she was somewhat resistant to the suggestion of leaving our home in the middle of a hurricane.

  “It’s a good idea.” I said, rubbing my eyes. “We can get on the road before everybody else, go to Atlanta, and rest easy. We can ride it out from a nice safe hotel room in Georgia.”

  “With all we—” She turned and grabbed the remote, turning up the volume on Sophie’s cartoon and obscuring our conversation. “With everything that’s been happening to us, you want us to drive through a hurricane and expose ourselves that way?”

  “No. We have a few days before the hurricane gets here, so we evacuate early—before everybody else in Tampa gets the same idea.”

  “But the governor hasn’t announced any evacuations yet.” Mallory put a hand to her forehead. “Voluntary things on the coast.”

  “And he may not order mandatory evacuations. If he doesn’t, we’ll be holed up in Atlanta in a nice hotel eating room service for no reason. But.” I took a deep breath and looked into her eyes. “If he says boo, three million people around the Tampa Bay area are gonna hit the highway at the same time. They’ll start wrecking into each other in the rain and high winds.”

  I watched her expression. She knew that part was true.

  “They’ll clog any northbound road until everything is bumper to bumper, and then that’s where we’ll be—stuck on an interstate that’s not moving, while who knows what comes for us.”

  Mallory shook her head. “Which is why we should stay. We have our generator, and you fill
ed all the gas cans, right?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “And I filled the freezer. We have what we need to ride this out, in a house that was built to do just that.”

  She was right. We built our house after hurricane Andrew, under the latest hurricane construction codes.

  I leaned on the counter, exhausted. “Honey, you are 100% right about all of that.”

  Her mouth fell open. “Then why . . . ”

  I peered at Sophie. She was wholly engaged in her cartoon. “Because of that.” I nodded at our daughter. “Because of her. I think this is the latest part of the next tragedy.”

  “What, a hurricane?” Mallory was incredulous. “They’re sending a hurricane after our daughter now?”

  “No. I don’t know. I don’t know how any of this works.” I sighed. “Probably not. But I didn’t think they’d send an old man in his truck to mow us down in the parking lot of a winery, either.”

  “That’s a pretty big difference. A man in a truck compared to a giant hurricane.”

  “It is.” I slouched onto the counter and folded my arms. “So, if they didn’t create the hurricane, maybe they nudged it in our direction.”

  “Or they want to scare us.” She threw her hands up. “Make us run into the open where they can get us a little easier!”

  “Okay!” I pounded the counter. “I get it.” I glanced at Sophie and lowered my voice. “Maybe they want to attack under the distractions that the hurricane will cause. That might make things easier for them somehow.” I looked down, shaking my head. “But they are coming for us one way or the other.”

  Malory swallowed, kneading her hands together. “How do you know?”

  “Do you think they’ve quit?” I glared at her. “Can you lay your head on your pillow every night for the rest of your life and assume it's all over? Because I sure don't. They're coming for us. It's only a matter of time.”

  Mallory stood silent, the fear growing in her eyes.

  “This hurricane,” I said, “It gives them one more opportunity to try.”

  “Okay.” Her voice was a whisper. “So what do we do?”

  I took a deep breath and hugged my wife, pulling her close. “We draw them out. We move before they’re ready. Maybe take the attack to them somehow.”

  She turned and flung my hands off her. “This is crazy. You’re crazy!”

  The phone rang. It was a good excuse for a temporary cease fire. Mallory answered it, then looked away and held it out for me. It was Tyree.

  “I think we should get together, partner,” he said.

  “I agree.” I stepped to the hallway. “Where are you? Back in Melbourne?”

  “No, I stayed in town since our meeting. I’m in Tampa.”

  “Then come to the house.” I eyed Mallory and gave him the address. His presence would help a lot—for Mallory and for me. Tyree agreed to come over by dinnertime. That was perfect. “We’ll see you then. And Tyree?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Pack a bag.”

  “We going somewhere?” he asked.

  “Maybe.”

  I hung up the phone. Mallory had gone upstairs. I made sure Sophie had another cartoon to watch, then I went up to our bedroom. Mallory stood by the bed, her arms wrapped around herself, staring at the TV. Huge red bands swirled over Florida in the latest weather update.

  “Tyree’s coming over in a few hours,” I said.

  “Okay,” she said, not taking her eyes off the screen.

  “Look, let’s get prepared, either way. Maybe we’ll stay, maybe we’ll leave. But let’s pack up and get ready, whatever we decide. Okay?”

  Her eyes remained fixed on the TV.

  I sighed and turned, heading back downstairs. I had to put the propane tanks and gas cans in the back of my car and dig through our camping gear for our little propane stove. I paused at the bottom of the staircase, my hand on the banister, peeking into our bedroom.

  Mallory pulled some clothes and a suitcase out of the closet.

  I smiled and continued to the garage.

  The rain came down in bands, whipping through the oaks with the rushing wind. Even in the garage, I managed to get pretty wet while packing the car. The low roar of the unstopping wind was an irritating reminder of the coming hurricane.

  Hurricane winds are unlike any other sound a person will ever hear, and once they hear it, they’ll never forget it. TV stations always describe things like a Kansas tornado as sounding like a train. It’s like that when the hurricane is almost on top of you. But for days before that it’s the nonstop winds. They never fade at night. They never go away during the day. They serve as a ghoulish reminder that death is coming.

  Standing in my garage I could have sworn there was a long line of cars going down the street, the drone of many tires on asphalt making their way down our driveway—but there were no cars. It was just the wind, howling and battering its way through the tree tops, and it wouldn't go away until the hurricane passed.

  I slammed the tailgate shut. All I had left to do was put in the suitcases. I secretly hoped Mallory might have them all packed when I went back inside.

  A light flashed in my eyes. A brown sedan rolled up the driveway in the pouring rain. When it got closer, I could make out a face.

  Tyree.

  I glanced at the clock on the garage wall. Right on time.

  Chapter 36

  “Mr. Tyree.” Mallory extended her hand to our guest, but her rigid body indicated welcome wasn’t really on her mind. “Nice to finally meet you.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, too, ma’am.” Tyree nodded, shaking her hand and stepping into the house. “And—”

  “It’s just ‘Tyree,’ honey.” I said. “No ‘mister.’”

  A thin smile crept across her face. “Fine. Tyree. Will you be joining us for dinner?”

  I put my arm around my wife. “Mallory’s a heck of a cook.”

  Tyree grinned. “Sure. It would be my pleasure. We really should talk, though.”

  “After dinner.” Mallory nodded over to where Sophie was playing. “When little ears will be asleep.”

  “Got it.”

  I hung his rain jacket on the banister and headed to the kitchen. “Sorry we had to bring you out on a night like this.”

  “Well, yeah, it’s getting ugly out there. But I have my car, so I didn’t get too wet. Now, if I had been on my hog . . .”

  “Hog?” I pulled out a chair for myself. “You have a Harley?”

  “Yeah.” Tyree lowered himself into the seat across from me. “If I’d have been on that, well—let’s just say it isn’t exactly motorcycle weather out there.”

  “Softie.” I leaned forward, resting my folded arms on the table. “I thought any real Harley rider wouldn’t let a little thing like a hurricane stop him from a nice ride.”

  He and I laughed. Mallory handed me a bottle of wine and a corkscrew. I inserted the metal tip into the cork and went to work.

  “Well, you’re right,” Tyree said, smiling. “The bike would do it. That thing has some awesome road traction, even in heavy rain.”

  “I knew a guy who had a little trailer and a matching rain suit.” I popped the cork and handed the bottle back to my wife. “He could go out in the worst weather and never get wet.”

  “Oh, I have some of that stuff, but I prefer not taking those additional risks. You know, in an actual hurricane.”

  We laughed—again, just Tyree and me.

  “I prefer not riding a motorcycle at all,” Mallory said. “Harley Davidson or not, they aren’t safe. And Harleys are so loud. Why is that?”

  Tyree threw an arm over the back of the chair and faced her. “That’s just how some of the more obnoxious riders like it.”

  “I suppose yours is a quiet one, then? Good.” She handed each of us a glass of wine.

  “Uh, mine? Well . . .”

  I remembered Tyree said he didn’t drink.

  He kept the glass in his hand as he shrugged. “Mine is pr
etty loud. Really loud. Like it doesn’t have a muffler.” He grinned. “You'll know when you hear it.”

  I smiled, setting my glass down. “Everybody hears you coming, eh?”

  “I’m not a big fan of motorcycles, I guess.” Mallory leaned on the counter and sipped her wine. It was unlike her to be so challenging to a guest.

  “Aww.” I waved a hand at her. “I rode as a kid, on the bike trails behind our house and down at the park. Motorcycles aren’t dangerous.”

  “You rode?” Tyree turned to me, sliding his glass to the center of the table.

  “Oh, nothing like a Harley. We had little trail bikes. Kawasaki 100’s. We had a red one and a blue one. My brother eventually upgraded to a 300cc street bike.”

  “Nice. You don’t look the type.”

  “It was a long time ago.” I helped Mallory set a platter of meat on the table, rising to get glasses of ice water for everyone. “So, y’know, I have a little experience riding. But ours weren’t real loud, either. And they weren’t dangerous. It’s the maniacs riding them that are dangerous.”

  “I can attest to that!” Tyree said, chuckling.

  “This guy I knew, all his motorcycle stuff matched. The little pull-behind trailer, the rain suit, it was all painted to match the motorcycle. Sky Blue. Like baby blue. Here’s this big tough guy, riding his Harley, and all his stuff is baby blue. Not exactly a tough guy color, I don’t think.”

  I filled three glasses with ice water and poured a plastic princess cup of milk for Sophie, then returned to the table. “He was crazy, that guy.”

  Tyree nodded. “They get pretty intense, some of those riders . . .”

  “What about you?” I handed him a glass. “Are you that intense?”

  “Uh, I have a pull behind trailer and a rain suit . . .”

  “I knew it!” I slapped my knee, chuckling. “Sky blue?”

  “My bike’s red, thank you.” Tyree said. “And it doesn’t match the other stuff. The bike is red, the trailer is gray, and the rain suit is orange and black.”