Page 6 of Against the Wind

Vance hooked a left, back toward the sound. According to the map in my head, the clinic where Gabi worked was three blocks east of here. Not that I was counting. There’d be time to head that way, eventually. Mission first.

The fire station was a tidy clapboard building on a corner. The main section rose two stories, with three bays that marchedacross the front. A taller wing that obviously housed living quarters sat at the far end, with multi-paned windows set at even intervals in the pale blue siding. The whole place was well maintained and inviting, as such spaces went. A crew was already at work installing hurricane shutters as we approached.

Good. Less prep work for us.

We ducked inside through the first open bay. It seemed men were everywhere, going over equipment, testing radios. Hurricane prep was already in full swing around here, which would make squeezing in any surveillance work trickier. But we’d see what we’d see.

A dark-haired guy broke away and headed toward us. “Can I help y’all?”

I extended a hand. “Petty Officer First Class Daniel LaRue of the Coast Guard. I’m here to meet with the fire chief about how we can best help with storm prep around here.”

“Chief Thompson’s off for a meeting with the chief of police, but I’m Captain Hoyt McNamara. It’s good to have y’all. The extra hands are much appreciated.”

As I introduced Peters, Vance, Rawlings, and Martinez, my gaze automatically sharpened on the man. I recognized his name. McNamara. This was Gabi’s brother-in-law. Did he know about me? About what had happened in New Orleans? His expression remained professionally neutral, so either Gabi hadn’t mentioned me, or he was better at hiding his thoughts than most. Either way, it seemed he wasn’t looking for the likes of me today. Not with everything else going on. In case he’d be more inclined to plant a fist in my face, I’d keep things on the down low until I knew more.

“You ever been through a hurricane before LaRue?” McNamara asked.

“Plenty. I’m a bayou boy, born and bred. I’m just recently posted to Nag’s Head, so this is my first Atlantic hurricane. Usedto them sweepin’ up from the Gulf, but I don’t expect it’s much different here than back home.”

I waited to see if that little detail sparked anything, but there wasn’t a flicker.

“Was that where you were before? Louisiana?”

“I’m actually most recently coming from a brief posting in Seattle.” The posting that was supposed to have made my career. “But before that, I worked Gulf Coast drug interdiction. Saw my share of storms there.”

“Seattle’s a long damned way from the South.”

I flashed a grin and let a little more bayou slip into my voice. “You ain’t wrong. I appreciate bein’ back in the South, where everybody understands that the default when you say ‘tea’ is sweet, iced, and they know how to make it proper.”

“Amen. How long do we have y’all?”

“For the duration. We’re set up to assist with evac coordination, facility security, and emergency communications.” I gestured to our gear. “Brought our own supplies, so we won’t tax your resources.”

“Appreciate that. I heard there’s already been two brawls at the market this morning. As if that last roll of TP is gonna save anybody from having their roof ripped off.”

“There’s something about weather panic that always makes people nuts about toilet paper, bread, and milk.” I flashed a wry smile. “You got family riding things out here on the island?” Careful, casual. Professional curiosity only.

“My wife’s pregnant with our third. She and the kids are riding things out with my parents here on Hatterwick, so I’m freed up to deal with things as needed.”

Nothing said about his sister-in-law. Was she evacuating? Staying? Working? The clinic was designated as essential services, according to our briefing. She’d likely be there throughthe storm. Not that I could ask without raising questions I wasn’t ready to answer.

Locking my curiosity away, I clapped my hands together. “Well, put us to work, Captain. The clock’s ticking.”

FIVE

GABI

“Good morning, islanders! This is Sam Lewis of WHAT radio, the official radio station of Hatterwick Island, with your storm update. Hurricane Hannah continues to churn in the Atlantic and is still projected to make landfall on the Outer Banks sometime tomorrow afternoon or evening, with the potential to be a Category 3 storm.”

With a sigh, I turned up the volume on my car radio as I backed out of my sister’s driveway and headed toward Sutter’s Ferry. The village was going to be a madhouse, with people fleeing like rats from a sinking ship.

“We want to remind all residents and tourists who plan to evacuate the island to please do so today. The last ferry departing Hatterwick will be at 3pm sharp. Evacuation is strongly recommended but not mandatory for all non-essential personnel.”

More people would stay than go. That was the way of things here. We were hardier than most storms, which was why our village had survived in some form or another more than a century.

On the radio, Sam continued, “For those staying on the island, sandbags are still available behind Town Hall until noonor whenever supplies run out. All residents should be finalizing storm preparations and have your emergency kits ready. Expect powerful winds, flooding rains, and storm surge up to fifteen feet in vulnerable areas. We’ll continue to keep you updated on Hurricane Hannah’s track and intensity as it approaches. Stay tuned to WHAT for all the latest storm news. Be safe out there, Hatterwick!”

For at least the dozenth time, I cursed the crap timing of Dr. Sibley’s vacation to Mexico. The idea of being the only doctor on-island for this made me nervous. Not that I wasn’t capable, but depending on how the storm went down, there might be greater need than I could manage as just one person. I was praying for the best and otherwise bracing myself for a total shit show.

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