Page 38 of Into the Tempest

No, not blank.

He was ashen, grim.

“What is it?” I asked, walking over to him. Part of me dreaded asking. “Jeremiah?”

He looked up at me, startled, clearly having not heard me. He shook his head. “Uhh, there’s footage.” He swallowed. “And photos, starting to come out of the islands. In Indonesia, the Alor Archipelago. And Timor-Leste...” He blinked a few times. “Those tiny islands. They’re... they’re just no longer there. Jesus Christ, Tully. Look.”

He turned the screen toward me and it was... devastation.

The foundations of buildings left exposed, the buildings nowhere in sight. Palm trees and greenery, whole damn islands, looked like a giant lawn mower had decimated everything in its path.

Debris, destruction, flooded streets, vehicles sprinkled about like toys.

“Is there... is there a death toll?”

“Not yet, nothing official.” He put his hand to his mouth, his fingers trembling. “These poor people.”

“Hey,” I said, closing his laptop. “You’re not responsible for those places.”

“No. But I’m responsible for here, for the people here, Tully. And Cyclone Hazer that did that.” He pushed his laptop away. “It’s coming. Tonight. It starts tonight.”

I pulled him to his feet and wrapped him up in a hug as tight as I could. “You’re not responsible for the people, Jeremiah. You’re responsible for providing information and data, numerical facts, nothing more. What the authorities and emergency services do with that information is out of your hands. You did your part. When they asked you, you told them in no uncertain terms what to expect, and you told them to leave.”

“If they could leave,” he mumbled. “A lot of people don’t have the means. No transport, no money. All those Indigenous communities in remote areas. Their homes aren’t built—”

I pulled back and took hold of his face. “Stop. Stop, Jeremiah. Those who were at greatest risk have been evacuated. Those who choose to stay make that choice for themselves.”

“Like you. You shouldn’t be staying.”

I tried not to sigh. “I told you, I’m not leaving you.”

He pouted. “Tully.”

I squished his cheeks together and kissed his pouty lips. “Stop arguing with me, Doctor, and come and help me pack a bag.”

“Pack a bag?” His eyes scanned mine, panicked. “So youareleaving?”

As much as he said he wanted me to leave, he absolutely didnotwant me to go.

I rolled my eyes, and with the mother of all sighs, I took his hand and led him upstairs. “No. This is a ready bag. Clothes, towels, first aid, lube. You know, the essentials.”

He was quiet as we stuffed a duffel bag full.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“I should have thought of this.” He stopped, put his hand to his forehead, and sighed. “I didn’t even think about the cameras, and now this. I’m so unprepared.”

I squeezed his arm. “No you’re not. Your mind’s focused on other things.”

“It shouldn’t be. It should be focused on exactly this.” He stuffed a towel into the bag. “On you. I should have considered what you need and how to make sure you’re—”

“Jeremiah,” I said, my tone sharp and serious. His gaze shot to mine. “Stop overthinking it. This is your first cyclone.”

“Have you been through one before?”

“Well, no. We’ve had some come close, and most downgrade before they get here. None like this.”

“Exactly.”

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