Page 4 of Hurricane Irene

“No, ma’am,” they all said in unison.

They heard the slapping steps of someone running and turned to see Stormy and AJ.

“What now?” asked Luke.

“Weather service just reported that she’s changed direction. She’s coming right toward the mouth of the Mississippi and she’s big. Gone from a category three to a four. We have to move.”

“We are moving,” said Luke. Stormy shook her head, staring at him.

“No, Luke. I think we need evacuate the area.”

“It’s too late,” said Ghost. “I-10 is completely at a standstill. We wouldn’t get out of New Orleans. We have to buckle down here.”

“But,” said Gaspar staring at the younger men. “We can suggest to others that they get the hell out of Dodge. At the very least, they can try to move west while they can.”

“Already did that,” said Mike lifting his head from sand pile. “We sent an emergency broadcast to all the residents in our database. If they don’t have a radio, television, or cell phone, it won’t reach them.”

“Well, that covers about a third of the bayou folks,” said Antoine. “We know many of them don’t have phones or televisions. Radios? Yes. But they might not be listening.”

“It’s too late now,” said Nine. “We’re not risking our lives to warn people and get caught out there. We fill the bags, take them where they’re most needed and if folks are home, we’ll warn them again.”

“That’s all I can ask of y’all,” said Irene. “There’s gonna be a mess to clean up after this.” She turned and started to walk toward the northern gardens.

“Mama? Where are you going?” asked Gabriel.

“To pray baby. To pray.”

The storm came at them like a thousand freight trains at once. The sound of it was deafening and terrifying. The teams were huddled in the Sugar Lodge, not enough beds for their expanding population.

The men took the floors in sleeping bags, while the women and children shared the cots.

“I guess this is our next project,” said Ham. “We need to build bunk beds, maybe three beds high. If we do that, we’ll have more than enough for now. Plus the cots, we’d be okay for a few years.”

“I agree,” said Gator. “This is fine for a few days but any longer than that and we’ll all go stir crazy.”

“We could put on a third floor,” said Cowboy.

“No,” said Grant. “More floors equals more possibilities of collapse and damage. Higher in this instance isn’t exactly better. This building is certified for up to two-hundred mile per hour winds. If we expand, we expand out, not up. But even then we’d be screwing with a historical building.”

“That makes sense,” nodded Kev. “I’ve been in a lot of fucking storms. Sand storms, tornadoes, floods, blizzards that’ll freeze your balls off. But this? This is beyond my horrible imagination.”

They stood near the windows just watching as four-hundred-year-old live oaks bent, groaning with a desire to hold on but unsure if they could. They couldn’t see the ground. It was completely covered with water.

The old Sugar Lodge was on twelve-foot pylons, raised when it was built. Now, it held modern amenities and safety features, including generators to keep the lights on and air-conditioning.

Grant had done the impossible and created a raised enclosure for the animals on the island sanctuary. A raised, ten-foot platform allowed the animals who were not used to the wind and water to find safety and security in their own little tree house.

“How much longer?” asked Sadie, cuddling into Ham’s side. He kissed her temple, hugging her tightly.

“At least another few hours,” he said. “We just need to relax and let mother nature be her pissed off self.”

“Don’t you be talkin’ about Mother Nature, Hamish,” said Mama Irene. “That’s a powerful amount of magic and we don’t need her against us.”

The others nodded, not daring to laugh or discount Mama Irene’s statement. Standing at the window Rowe moved closer and closer.

“Rowe, don’t stand too close to the windows. They’re bullet- and shatter-proof but we don’t want to test that,” said Grant.

“No. I know,” he said frowning. “What is that?”