“Well, that about wraps it up, sir.” The young officer shut his notebook and returned it to his front shirt pocket, offering a curt nod as thanks.

“Wait,” Marcus said. “Do you know anything? How did this happen? What’s the plan? My wife and two kids were inside–”

The policeman lifted his palm in a request for silence. “We have very little information so far. We won’t be able to share any details for a while, sir. I suggest you get checked out in the med tent,” he waved in the general direction of the pop-up tent city that had materialized in the last 20 minutes. “Wait for details there. We’ll be evacuating survivors before too long.”

An invisible hand seized Marcus’s chest. “No, I’m not going anywhere without my family.”

The officer had turned away but looked back with raised eyebrows. “Nothin’ you can do here, sir. You’d just get in the way. And there’s a hurricane coming fast.”

“What hurricane?” Marcus said, feeling the unseen hand squeeze tighter. 

“Flora and Gerald. You didn’t hear? They shifted and combined…merged, or whatever. Headed this way now.” His eyes shifted up to the horizon, and Marcus followed his gaze to the sea. The clouds were indeed growing and darkening. 

“When is it making landfall?” Marcus asked, but the officer was already striding away.

“Did he say hurricane?”

Marcus faced Sofia, who had come quietly to his side. Shit, he thought. “Yeah,” he laughed nervously. “When it rains, it pours, right?” He tried to recall everything he could remember about hurricanes but came up short. They didn’t deal with coastal storms back in their landlocked state of Illinois. He felt for his phone in his back pocket, but it wasn’t there.

“Do you still have your phone?” he asked Sofia, who shook her head.

Marcus dug deep into his memory, trying to think of recent news stories to give him a clue. He noticed a group of people not dressed for the beach. Some were police officers, but several wore waterproof jackets with bold white letters stamped on the back: FEMA. 

That was fast, he thought. Determined to tamp down his anxiety with more information, he made a beeline for the tight circle of officials.

“Excuse me?” he asked as he got closer. The group paused their discussion to identify the speaker. 

“Terri, can you handle this, please?” A short, thick man with a bushy brown mustache said to a tall woman with very short, straight brown hair and a serious, almost severe expression.

The woman in question shot a quick glare at her supervisor. She turned to meet Marcus, who sensed Sofia close behind him.

“If you have questions, sir, you need to go to the tents.” She pointed down the shoreline with a harried expression. 

“Please! It’s Terri, right?” begged Marcus. As he got closer, he realized she was tall and had to look up at her. “How bad is this hurricane? When is it supposed to hit? How strong is it? When can we move survivors out of the rubble?”

Terri held up both hands, one with a clipboard clamped between fingers and thumb. She sighed and then said, “It’s bad. Category 5. Expected wind speeds of 160 miles per hour. But that’s not our biggest concern. The storm surge is our countdown clock.”

Marcus gulped. “What’s that? Like a tidal wave?”

Terri, who looked like she was holding back an eye-roll, answered, “Somewhat. We’re looking at a 20-foot increase in sea level at this location.”

For the first time since they arrived, Marcus noticed the flatness of the beach. “But if it raises that much, and hits the wreckage…”

Terri raised her eyebrows in confirmation as understanding painted Marcus’ expression. Her own visage softened, and she placed a hand on his shoulder. “We’re going to do everything we can,” she said.

Marcus stood stock-still; feet planted in the sand. A rushing wind filled his ears as his brain worked through the logical outcome of a storm surge reaching the wreckage with people trapped inside.

“We have to go get them, Dad.” Sofia threw the blanket from her shoulders and marched toward the ruin that had buried her mother and siblings. 

“Wait!” Marcus shook his head, trying to get his bearings, and ran to catch up.

“I’m sooooo hungryyyyyyy mamaaaaaaaaa!”

Esme sighed. Nothing changes, she thought. Your kids will still ask for a snack even if a building falls around you.

“Why don’t you look for any food that fell near you, mijo,” she suggested. The familiar rustle of Matty’s movements sang through the space as he looked. 

The others trapped below her had quieted a little. They had all taken turns yelling out introductions. Tammy seemed the deepest, and she had no one else with her. A large section of metal rebar had her pinned on her stomach with her legs dangling over some ledge. She was on a solo self-care trip, and the irony was lost on no one. 

Next up were Carol and Mike, a couple from San Antonio, Texas. They came to Alabama to visit their daughter, who luckily wasn’t there when the building collapsed. Carol had a broken arm and dislocated shoulder but was otherwise free to move around the small space she sat in. Her husband had settled in the same spot by some minor miracle, although his left leg was crushed between two concrete blocks.

José was trapped somewhere on the same level as Matty, but off to the side. He proposed to his girlfriend the night before and didn’t know her whereabouts. He had trouble describing his injuries, but kept saying that he was “hurt all over.” His desolate sobs pierced the air now and then.

Isabella had fallen asleep somehow. Esme hoped it was sleep, not loss of consciousness from a head injury. She couldn’t do anything about it, and worrying wouldn’t solve the problem. Or so she kept telling herself. 

“Is Simon doing okay?” Esme asked.

Rustle, rustle, rustle. “Yeah, I think so,” Matty said. “He gave me a thumbs up.”

“Hey, guys?” a quiet voice called out. Tammy.

“Yes, Tammy?” Mike answered. 

“Is anyone else getting wet? Or feeling drips of water?”

Esme frowned. 

“Uh…not us,” Mike replied, concern painting his voice.

“Oh my God,” Carol murmured.

“Not me,” José called out. “When did that start?”

“Just now,” Tammy’s voice quivered. “I can feel water swirling around my feet and dripping on my legs.” 

Silence dominated the next few moments. Fear and helplessness rippled through the group. Separated by immovable concrete and debilitating injuries, they were ill-equipped to provide comfort or assistance to one another.

“What should I do?” Tammy cried.

No one answered for several moments. “Hang in there,” Carol said with weak optimism. “They’ll rescue us soon.” There was nothing to do but hope she was right.