the bar. “Jimmy, I could use a shot of tequila.”
Tina glared daggers at the assistant and then huddled with her girls.
I am pretty sure this has never happened before. Hara breathed in, out. If nothing else, the event would make an interesting story. That is, if someone could get the lights back on.
She still had cell service, though, and her data.
Googling “Boston power outage,” she came across a live stream from a local news station. “Boston is experiencing record flooding in the North End and the downtown waterfront. With a now-twelve-foot high tide in the harbor, and over four inches of rain in the last two hours, we are experiencing a three-foot storm surge.”
Others clustered around her. She turned it up.
“Higher than expected winds and floodwaters have caused sporadic power outages around the city, and the waters have reached the Rose Kennedy Greenway, a rarity in Boston. The Aquarium T stop is closed due to high water and several buildings have been compromised along Atlantic Avenue and Commercial Street, with significant water intrusions. Causeway Street, near the arena, is closed. The police are urging residents to shelter in place and stay off the roads.
“Stay tuned. We’ll be back with more on what is quickly becoming the storm of the century.”
“Jesus.” Tina frowned. “That’s why the power is out? The flooding is right here!”
The WAGs were agitated all over again.
Hara, on the other hand, immediately felt the tight grip of terror loosen, her cognitive powers gelling back into shape. She had proof now. No zombies, no men with guns. Flooding was slow; she had time to think and deal with it. Not to mention, every time the news stations at home used the term “storm of the century,” the hyperbole was laughable. She was sure it was the same in Boston.
One of the women kicked off her high heels, picked them up along with her purse. “I gotta get my driver. We outta here. Who’s with me? I’ve got room.” Barefoot, the player’s girlfriend moved quickly to the door and down the stairs. Others followed. Most of them kept on their shoes.
What should she do?
There was another short, high-pitched squeal overhead. “Okay, folks…” A well-modulated, car-salesman voice rolled out of the speaker system, replacing the squeaky, stressed-out announcer from moments before. “We’re going to have to call it a night. We are calling the game as it stands.”
“Boooo. Boooo. Booooooo.”
“The Fishers organization apologizes, but this is for your own safety. We are being asked to evacuate the building. As you leave, be aware there are rising floodwaters on neighboring streets between us and the harbor. It is in everybody’s best interest to vacate the premises quickly but calmly. Calmly! Please follow the exit signs. Check the website for compensation tomorrow. Drive carefully, folks.”
Hara gathered up her notes and her jacket. She longingly eyed the bottles of liquor behind the bar, but Madeline was chatting with the bartender, and much of the room had cleared out. Better to slide out, unnoticed. She’d call Naomi from downstairs.
In the stairwell, the backup lights were out in some places, only dim flickers in others. Hara’s flashlight phone app provided plenty of light to see the stairs in front of her, but seemed to make the darkness at the back of the deep shadows move with her. She could hear others in the private stairwell, below and above her, yet she had an overpowering sense of isolation, felt surrounded by danger. She forced herself to keep moving. The skin on the back of her neck crawled. Every scary movie she’d ever watched had prepared her for this moment; she checked behind her every other second, sure that Chucky or the girl from The Ring were inching up on her. She wanted to conquer the dark stairwell with bravery, like in the Langston Hughes poem, but symbolic courage and persistence were a hell of a lot easier than facing literal terror. She almost peed her pants when someone opened a door a few floors up. She could hear heavy footsteps on the stairs above her.
Despite going down instead of up, she was sweaty and twitchy by the time she reached the double doors on the bottom level.
Two security guards let her out but Hara immediately wished she could turn tail and go back upstairs. The barely lit causeway, jammed with thousands of ticket holders trying to exit the arena at the same time, smelled like an overcrowded zoo. The scene was chaos.
Namaste, namaste, namaste, she chanted in