Page 145 of The Storm Boys Series Collection

He was quiet on the drive to his work. He was taking in all the boarded-up houses, all the sandbags. It was a comfort to know people were prepared, and I hoped he felt the same. “See? People are ready.”

He gave me a tight smile and a nod. “I hope so.”

I remembered the pictures of the islands north of us, how decimated they were, and how it was now coming for us. “I hope so too.”

We were a little late, getting to the bureau a fraction after six, but Doreen didn’t even seem to mind. She was more worried about what the radars showed and updating alerts now that daylight was breaking.

Though she did look at Jeremiah as he put the ready bag down, and how he stuffed the photo frame into the bag. “Clear skies up until around zero nine hundred,” she said. “Then we’ll start to see this band move in.” She pointed to the massive circular cloud mass heading straight toward us.

“Did you see the images out of Timor-Leste?” Jeremiah asked.

She nodded, her expression grim. “Yeah. I saw.” Then she whacked him on the arm, almost knocking him over. “Keep your chin up. There’s shit to get done today. I’ll be back around four. I’m guessin’ you’ll be keepin’ me company tonight.”

He nodded.

“Me too,” I said. “I’ll be here.”

“He won’t leave,” Jeremiah said. “Doreen, if you could perhaps talk some sense into him.”

She grinned at me and gave me a shoulder whack to match Jeremiah’s. “Good lad.”

Jeremiah sighed. “That’s the opposite of helpful, thank you.”

She collected Bruce, and with a slam of the door, she was gone.

I wasn’t about to get into another argument with him. Instead, I looked around at the old gear along the back shelves. “Can I use some of these?”

“You can take whatever you want.” He shrugged. “I don’t know of how much use any of it will be.”

Something on the control panel started to click and he sat himself down and began flipping switches and pressing buttons, which I was sure he’d be doing all day long. Then the phone started ringing, and he was talking to the Oceanic Administration, so I took what gear I needed, planted a kiss on the top of his head, whispered I’d be back soon, and left him to it.

I went back home and collected my storm gear from the garage and some of Jeremiah’s and began rigging up a camera housing unit. I screwed it into the wall on my balcony and faced the camera toward the ocean. I set up the old wind sensor and the analogue output barometer from the bureau, hoping they would be able to give us any kinds of readings—if they survived. I hooked it all up, made sure all feeds were recording, and locked up my balcony again.

In the garden that fronted the ocean, I installed the automatic weather station from the bureau. It was circa 1970s, I was sure, probably left behind after Cyclone Tracy. It was nothin’ like Jeremiah’s, the one that had been damaged at the bunker, but I anchored it the best I could with the pegs and a hammer. I’d already looked into buying him a new one, so if this one didn’t survive—and it wasn’t likely it would—it wasn’t the end of the world.

Jeremiah always had to be cautious with money, and I knew he’d worked hard to budget for all his equipment. But he was with me now, and I’d make damn sure he didn’t have to worry about money again. If he needed a new weather station, I’d get him the best that money could buy.

If we made it through this.

No. Don’t think like that. Everything’s gonna be fine.

Because, damn, the idea of anything happening to Jeremiah made my stomach sour.

I needed to focus.

Setting it all up took longer than I’d hoped, and I didn’t really have time to do much else. All my potted plants were inside, everything was as secure as it could be. If the windows exploded in or the roof came off, there was nothing I could do to stop it.

If my house was still standing at the end of this, I’d consider myself very lucky.

But at the end of the day, it wasn’t the house that was important.

Next stop was my parents’ house. Dad and Ellis were doin’ one final check of the docking yard and the offices so they weren’t there, but everyone else was. Zoe and her family, Rowan and his, and Mum, of course, was the epitome of grace under fire.

Rowan helped me install the old anemometer from the bureau at Mum and Dad’s. It was so old it measured in knots and miles. If it survived, I’d give it to a damn museum. He was clearly worried, and I was sure he appreciated the distraction. He’d never been one to show outward emotion, but he breathed an audible sigh of relief when Dad and Ellis got back.

Then the focus was all about keepin’ the kids entertained and getting the elderly neighbours organised, plus their one small dog and a cat in a cage, which was my cue to leave.

“I should get back,” I said.

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