Back at the room, Judy had joined Maggie, and the girls were comparing notes about the previous night’s ordeal.
“So was that Armando?” Maggie asked.
I nodded. “Unfortunately, the situation looks pretty grim for the next few days.”
After sharing our conversation with Armando, Judy stepped right in.
Before joining the Kansas City Police Department, she had been an M.P. in the military and served two tours in Iraq. She was the only one of us that had survival training.
“Food and water,” she said. “Let’s take inventory and see what we have.”
Maggie had packed some protein food bars for snacks on the plane and Ox had some candy bars. That was the extent of our food supply.
Each condo unit had a small refrigerator with a mini-bar that held two bottles of water, several cans of soft drinks and several cans of beer. In addition, there were two more bottles of water next to the coffee pot.
I was dying for a hot cup of joe, but with no electricity, that just wasn’t going to happen.
“Water’s the most important,” Judy said. “If push comes to shove, a person can survive for days without food, but not without water.”
Then it hit me.
“Do you guys still have the key card to your ocean front unit?”
Ox dug around in his pocket and pulled out the plastic card.
“When you were evacuated, did you clean out the mini bar?”
“Nope. We were just glad to get out of there with our suitcases.”
“Then I’d say it’s time for a road trip.”
Once again, we picked our way through the debris to our original building. It was a much newer building, but it wasn’t nearly as substantial as our solid concrete fortress.
Our rooms had been on the third floor of that building as well. As we climbed the stairs, we noted that pretty much every ceiling had collapsed.
Since there was no electricity, I was hoping that the key card would still work. I slipped the key card in the slot and thankfully, the little green light appeared. The lock evidently had a battery backup.
Pushing the door opened, I was appalled by the destruction. Water was still dripping into every corner of the unit and the ceiling had collapsed on the bed. Had we not been evacuated to the older building, we very well might not have survived the night.
Heading to the mini bar, I wrapped the four bottles of water and four bottles of soda in a towel and met Ox in the hall.
On the way out, I noticed that the door to another suite was standing open a crack, but my arms were full, so we just headed back to our rooms.
With eight bottles of water and eight cans of soda each, we felt pretty comfortable with our supply of liquid.
It hadn’t taken long to turn two law-abiding citizens into scavengers.
None of the four of us were beer drinkers, but I figured Matt and Heather might be. I gathered up our cans of brew and knocked on their door.
Matt had found a broom and was busy sweeping water from their floor onto the balcony.
He was delighted with the suds and offered to lend us his broom when he was finished. Little did I realize that small exchange was just the beginning of the cooperation that would help a group of people who had been thrown together by a common tragedy, survive the next three days.
While waiting for the broom, Maggie said, “I think we may have another problem. I flushed the toilet and it didn’t fill up with water.”
Sure enough, the toilet was dry as a bone. I tried the faucets, but they were dry as well.
Then it hit me. If the resort’s water supply was from a well, it would require an electric pump to bring the water into a pressurized holding tank. No electricity --- no water.
Ox and Judy had discovered the same problem.
After a quick pow wow, we decided that if we were going to flush, we’d have to haul water, and the only water readily available was the ocean and the murky pool in the courtyard. We opted for the pool since it was much closer to our unit.
Our next chore was to find something large enough to haul the water.
Heading back down the stairs, I spotted what looked like the bottom half of a three gallon gas can in the parking lot debris.
It was about a hundred yard walk from our units, down the hall, down three flights of stairs, through the devastated reception area and on to the pool.
Filling the plastic container, I headed back to the room. By the time I got there, about a third of the brackish water had splashed out on my shirt and I was pooped. I poured what was left in the tank and flushed. Not much happened. It was obvious that it was going to take at least two trips to the pool to fill the tank for a successful flush.
After two more trips, I was totally exhausted and passed the gas can to Ox.
He was almost in worse shape than I was after his two trips to the pool.
When the tanks were full, we gathered for another pow wow. If we were going to survive, we had to formulate some potty ground rules.
In order to keep the flushes to a minimum, we adopted two policies. One involved tissue, the other content.
When women tinkle, they dab and pat dry with a big wad of tissue. Men, on the other hand, just shake the dew off the daisy.
In order to do their part, the girls agreed that after patting dry, they would deposit their tissue in a trash bag.
Our second guideline came from Judy’s military days. When water was an issue, her squad adhered to the following rule:
If it’s yellow, let it mellow.
If it’s brown, flush it down.
It was all pretty gross, but when you’re in survival mode, you do what you gotta do.
About that time, Matt stuck his head in the door and offered us his broom.
The floor of the condo was grouted tile. I swept and swept, getting most of the standing water either out into the hall or onto the balcony, but there just wasn’t any way to get the water out of the grout grooves. We were stuck with a soggy floor until the rest evaporated.
Compounding the problem was the sand. The liquid that had flooded the unit wasn’t just rainwater --- the hurricane winds had lifted the sand from the beach and whipped it through the air becoming a gritty muck that had seeped in under our doors.
Fortunately, after Odile had passed, it left a stiff 30 mile-per-hour breeze in its wake. We discovered by opening the patio door and propping open the hall door, we had a decent cross breeze that cooled us off and helped with the evaporation process.
By this time, it was about 10:30, and we noticed people carrying Styrofoam take-out boxes from the back of the restaurant to their rooms.
“Looks like Armando came through as promised,” Ox said. “Let’s go grab some grub.”
A concrete path behind the restaurant led past the kitchen to a small room, maybe 12 X 20.
Two huge stainless steel serving containers were filled with scrambled eggs and potatoes. Beside them was a COFFEE POT! I almost wept for joy.
Earlier, I had heard the engine of a diesel generator fire up, and had seen an electrical cord running into the kitchen area. Thankfully, it had produced enough juice so the staff could prepare our breakfast.
With the exception of the scrawny sandwich that had been handed to us the night before, this was our first food since breakfast of the previous day. After our night from hell and potty duty all morning, this was probably one of the most satisfying meals I had ever eaten.
We noticed that other guests were loading up their containers and packing them off to their rooms. It was obvious we weren’t the only ones in survival mode.
On the way back to our room, we were approached by a slender guy who appeared to be in his fifties. He had a bandage on his head and looked like he had really been through the ringer.
He introduced himself as Gary, and shared with us that on the previous day, he had become ill at his home and fallen. He was transported to a local hospital and was there when Odile hit. The hospital had been pretty much des
troyed, so the patients had been evacuated to various resorts. Gary had wound up at Bel Air with no money, no wallet, no cell phone and only the clothes on his back.
He asked if we might have an extra shirt he could wear while he washed the t-shirt he was wearing. Since two of him would have fit in one of Ox’s shirts, I dug one of my aloha shirts out of my suitcase. Gary was a happy camper.
We returned to our rooms totally exhausted.
Deciding to stretch out and get some rest, I pulled the bed away from the wall where it would be in the direct path of the breeze that was still whipping through our unit.
I conked out right away, but when I awoke, I was immediately aware that something had changed. The refreshing breeze had disappeared and I found myself lying in a pool of sweat.
The ninety degree heat and stifling humidity had turned our room into a virtual steam bath.
I went out onto the balcony, hoping the air would be stirring just a bit, but it was not to be. The storm ravaged palm fronds lay limp under the blazing sun.
I could see the pool from our balcony and I had noticed others carrying flush water back to their rooms. Some were using their wastebaskets as water totes, and like me, wound up wearing much of the dark liquid as they padded along.
Then, a man appeared at the pool and he was carrying a FIVE GALLON BUCKET WITH A BAIL HANDLE!
He dipped the water and headed off to his room holding the bucket at his side, not spilling a single drop.
My first reaction was pure envy. I thought how much simpler my life would be if I possessed such a fine bucket.
My next reaction was a combination of awe and amusement when I realized how much my life had changed in less than twenty-four hours.
I had gone from living a life of luxury, wondering what to order from a fancy menu in an air-conditioned restaurant, to a sweaty survivor, wishing he could have a plastic bucket, all compliments of Hurricane Odile.
We had suddenly found ourselves without electricity, running water, sanitary facilities and cell phone service, things we had considered basic necessities just a few short hours ago, and at this moment, that simple bucket looked like a luxury to me.
I had also noticed small groups of people congregating, and I guessed they were exchanging bits of information about conditions outside the resort.
Maggie was still snoozing, so I left a note on the bed and headed out to see what I could learn.
The street outside the resort had been pretty much deserted earlier in the day. No doubt the roads were covered with debris and fallen power lines. Now, the sparse traffic was crawling along, and at one spot the water had to be at least eighteen inches deep.
I had to chuckle when I saw that and remembered the flood on our condo floor. The Internet site had called Cabo a ‘tropical desert’ with less than seven inches of rain a year. I was willing to bet we’d gotten more than that in one night.
I overheard one couple saying that they had ventured out but didn’t go very far. Pretty much everything was as bad or worse as our resort. Local folks had cleaned out the stores preparing for the hurricane and what was left had been carried away by looters, so there was really nothing out there to buy.
Another couple had heard the airport had been destroyed, but the Mexican military had taken it over, were clearing the runways and preparing for evacuation.
What little bits I heard confirmed my fears that we would be staying at the Bel Air for a while.
As I headed back to our room, I spotted a young guy with a bag of ice.
ICE!
I hadn’t had anything cold to drink in two days. With the power out and a ninety plus degree temperature, our water and soft drinks were tepid at best. I found warm Pepsi to be less than refreshing.
I have great difficulty swallowing lukewarm water, but I’d been doing it just to stay hydrated.
“Yo! Where did you get the ice?”
The kid pointed to one of those freezer things that you see outside convenience stores.
“Over there. There’s no electricity. It’s just melting. Might as well use it.”
That certainly made sense to me.
I opened the door and was hit with a blast of refreshingly cool air. There were maybe a half-dozen ten pound bags left, and the kid was right --- they were melting.
I looked around, and seeing no one that might shoot me for scavenging, I grabbed a bag and headed home.
Ox and Judy were with Maggie when I proudly entered, carrying my trophy.
I remembered seeing photos of Indian braves returning to their tepees carrying the spoils of their hunt, and that’s exactly how I felt as I tossed the bag in the kitchen sink.
It made my day seeing Ox’s face light up.
We got pitchers out of the cabinet, filled them with ice and poured in the bottled water.
Minutes later, we were guzzling the chilled liquid, and for just a few moments, none of the hardships mattered. Such a simple thing that we had always taken for granted, had become one of the highlights of our day.
A bag of ice and a five gallon bucket with a bail --- our priorities had certainly changed.
After filling everything we could find with ice water, there was still about a third of a bag left. I knocked on Matt and Heather’s door, and what was left of my trophy was gladly accepted.
I shared with our little group what I had heard from the other folks and confirmed my fears that we would be hanging around the ravaged resort for a few more days.
With that in mind, we took another inventory of our supplies.
Our ice water binge had put a dent in our liquids.
Then, I remembered when we had gone back to our flooded oceanfront units to scavenge the mini bars, I had noticed that the door to another unit was open just a crack.
I grabbed Ox. “Time for another road trip.”
Thankfully, the entire floor of the damaged building was empty.
We made our way to my old room, and sure enough, the door to the room beside it was still cracked open.
I peeked inside, and like ours, it had been occupied until the evacuation. The bed was unmade and some trash was scattered about.
I had pulled our door shut as we left, but these folks obviously didn’t.
I looked and sure enough, their mini-bar was still fully stocked.
“Bingo!”
We cleaned it out, along with the two bottles of water by the coffee pot.
As we headed back to our rooms with our booty, I marveled, once again, how two officers of the law had been transformed by circumstances beyond their control, into scavengers and looters.
Survival, self-preservation and the protection of our loved ones are powerful forces, and I suppose none of us really understand what we are capable of doing until we find ourselves in that situation.
Moments after our return, we noticed folks packing Styrofoam from the kitchen back to their rooms. Evidently Armando’s crew had pieced together a second meal for us.
As we headed across the courtyard, we met Gary with his tray of food.
“Nice shirt,” I commented, as we passed.
He grinned and gave me a ‘thumbs-up.’
Our supper consisted of grilled fish and rice, and as with breakfast, that simple meal was as satisfying as any I had ever eaten.
I’ll be the first to admit that I’ve lived a sheltered life and never gone hungry or wondered where my next meal was coming from --- until now. Funny, how those of us who are blessed, go through life taking for granted the basic necessities, and don’t truly appreciate them until they’re gone.
After supper, we returned to our room, and had just settled into our deck chairs on the balcony, when Maggie muttered, “Oh, my God!”
“What?”
“Your dad, Willie, Mary, the Professor --- they must have heard about the hurricane and they don’t know whether we’re dead or alive. They must be going crazy.”
She was absolutely right. We had been so caught up in just surviving the ordeal, we hadn’t giv
en a thought to the folks back home --- not that it would have done any good. Our cell phone was dead, as was the resort phone, and based on what I’d heard from others, cell service was non-existent even if my phone was fully charged.
I made a mental note that one of my priorities for the next day was to get our phones charged so we would be ready, if and when, service was restored.
I had been dreading nightfall.
With the setting of the sun, we would be subjected to another twelve hours in utter darkness with only our little flashlight to penetrate the gloom.
As the light faded, I reflected on the past twenty-four hours.
We had spent a terrifying night in the eye of the storm and survived. We had spent the day in its aftermath, figuring out how to live without the conveniences we had become accustomed to in our normal lives.
On the one hand, it was satisfying, knowing we had been able to adapt to the hardships, but it was also a bit frightening, realizing that we were marooned in this foreign land, with no way to communicate with those we love, and at least for the moment, no foreseeable way to escape and return to our homes.
Home.
I thought about our cozy apartment back in Kansas City.
I thought about coming home from a satisfying day doing a job I love, pulling a hot tuna casserole from the oven and washing it down with a chilled glass of Arbor Mist.
I thought about curling up with my sweetie in front of the TV in our comfortable air-conditioned living room.
I wanted to be there, and I knew that if and when I got back, I would never take those simple pleasures of life for granted again.
CHAPTER 10
“Holy Crap!” John Williams muttered, as he and four friends gathered around the computer screen. “Look at the size of that thing!”
“That’s what my girlfriend said one night,” Jerry joked, trying to bring a bit of levity to the stressful situation.
“Will you get serious for once? My son and his wife are at the very tip of that peninsula and that monstrosity is going to hit them head on.”
“I’m sorry. I was just ---.”
“I know. I know. I’m just worried. They’re saying it’s a category 4 storm with winds up to 130 miles per hour. I was out in Kansas once when a tornado hit. It’s scary as hell.”
Lady Justice in the Eye of the Storm Page 7
