Riding the storm - By Julie Miller Page 0,4
hide his scowl. No wonder Mitch had had to call Chief Egan for backup. This had to be the craziest, most haphazard, seat-of-the-pants rescue operation Nate had ever been a part of.
Dr. Amy Sherwood, a first-year E.R. resident at Courage Bay Hospital, raised her voice to be heard from the third seat. “Chief Kannon, perhaps you could tell us a little more about what to expect, weatherwise, with a hurricane.”
“I will if you call me Mitch.” He paused to turn on the wipers, clearing the condensing moisture from the windshield. “Damon is classified as a category four hurricane. If he hits Corpus Christi and the northern Gulf Shore like he’s supposed to, we’ll miss the brunt of the one hundred thirty to hundred fifty mile-per-hour winds.”
“Whoa!” Dana’s expletive said it all. “Maybe I don’t want to see a hurricane, after all.”
Mitch answered with a told-you-so shrug. “Generally August gets pretty hot and sticky around here. But if you noticed the chill in the air, that’s the barometric pressure dropping ahead of the storm.”
That explained the ache in Nate’s knee.
“Joy and rapture,” Dana groaned.
Amy knew what had triggered the sarcastic remark. “Ah, yes. The barometric pressure drops and pregnant women near their term go into labor. Remember the storm that hit Courage Bay a couple months back? We delivered three babies in the E.R. that night.”
Nate remembered it well. He’d brought in one of the mothers who’d gone into premature labor. Mitch’s white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel warned Nate that their temporary boss didn’t find Amy’s story amusing.
“I hope to hell you’re wrong about that,” the fire chief muttered.
Mitch turned onto a wide road aptly named Main Street. Though it was nearly deserted at this hour of the morning, the number of businesses—in brand-new buildings as well as remodeled historic structures from the early 1900s—indicated this was the town’s commercial hub. A few of the storefront windows had been boarded up, but more had been left uncovered in defiance of the hurricane.
Or, in spite of Mitch’s gloomy prediction, in the belief that Damon would stay true to his predicted course and blow past this sleepy little town.
They passed a tiny, stone-walled library and redbrick post office. Then Mitch pointed to a two-story, whitewashed building with a Closed sign hanging in the window. “That’s our clinic. Generally, our maternity cases go into Alice or Kingsville. Or, if there are complications, we fly them up to Corpus Christi. But I don’t have an ambulance or driver to spare to take anyone anywhere right now. And nobody’s flying north. Nobody’s flying anywhere once the heavy rains hit. So no babies, got it?”
“We’ll tell the mothers to cross their legs until the storm blows over, okay?” Even Mitch smiled at Dana’s ludicrous suggestion.
As they stopped at a crossroads near the center of town, Nate turned the conversation back to practical information about the hurricane. He was feeling more responsible by the minute for his team’s response. “When you say heavy rains, how much are we talking about?”
The light turned green and Mitch drove on toward the half brick, half vinyl-sided building with lettering that read Turning Point Fire Department. “Six to ten inches, on average, from the outer bands or leading edge of the storm. Sometimes thunderstorms or even tornadoes spin off inland along the storm’s track as well.”
Mitch pulled into the parking lot in front of the building. He pointed out the garage doors marking the three bays where Turning Point’s emergency vehicles were stored. “We’ve got one ambulance and two engines, all fully-equipped. But most of our volunteers use their own vehicles when responding to a call. I’ll make sure you’re partnered up with someone who knows the area. Or I’ll let you use the Suburban and give you directions if it’s here in town.”
Parking by the front door, Mitch killed the engine. The first ominous drop of water plopped onto the windshield with a portentous splash. All five of them stared at the tiny puddle for an endless moment.
The storm was on its way.
Nate wondered if he should trust the dull throb in his rebuilt leg the way Mitch seemed to trust his instincts. If that was the case, he had a feeling this was going to be one very long, very wet day.
The second raindrop hit. Then the third. Soon there were too many to count. Like an alarm bell, the sudden change in weather spurred the five travelers into action.
Nate adjusted the bill of his cap low on his