He saw few people moving about, a good sign that most folks had fled. Helicopters and small planes buzzed about like menacing insects, so help was on the way. He passed a crew of Guardsmen clearing the road and stopped to chat with a sergeant. According to him, the northern end took the brunt of the storm. The Hilton was gutted. The body count was at eight and rising. The injured were being taken to Jacksonville. The bridge was now open to first responders, but the residents would be kept away for days.

At Mercer’s cottage, Larry found the front lawn covered with leaves, small branches, broken boards, and roofing shingles. He went inside and found no water damage, no leaks. The roof had held the place together nicely. On the deck facing the ocean he surveyed the cottage and was proud that his plywood sheets had protected all doors and windows. He would leave it boarded up for a few days. The boardwalk over the dunes was intact until the end, where the final platform and steps had been washed away by the surge. He looked up and down the beach and saw that both piers were gone. He sat on the boardwalk, hung his feet over the dunes, sipped a bottle of water, and watched the action. A mile away at a public beach a staging operation was getting organized. A Navy Seahawk chopper circled as another attempted to land on the beach. An amphibious landing craft approached from the sea. There were advantages to living close to the naval base in Jacksonville.

When he finished the bottle, he returned to the cottage, studying the roof as he walked. A few shingles were missing, but nothing major. Three houses down, the deck had been blown away and all windows were shattered.

He locked the cottage and returned to Fernando Street to head home. With no phone service there was nothing to report. He lived alone and had enough food and water for two weeks. He was relieved that he had been lucky. His home was not damaged. However, with no electricity conditions would not improve. He suspected that in a day or so he would be wishing he was in a nice, cool motel two hundred miles away.

Next time, he would probably evacuate with the sensible folks.

2.

The cleanup effort at Bob’s lasted less than an hour. After ripping out the first-floor carpets and hauling out the ruined rugs, the three were soaked with sweat and exhausted.

During a break, Bob said, “You know, I really should wait until the insurance adjuster takes a look. Don’t you think?”

Bruce quickly replied, “Great idea. He’ll hire a crew to clean up, right?”

“It’s in the policy,” Bob said. “I pay six thousand a year for supplemental flood insurance, so I’m covered.”

Nick said, “Here’s a better idea. Let’s load up the food, water, and booze and get out of here. Take it all back to Bruce’s and set up camp.”

Bob said, “But my car took five feet of water. It won’t start. I’ve already tried.”

Nick said, “Okay, but Nelson’s BMW is high and dry. He won’t be using it. I’ve got the keys in my pocket.”

“You took his keys?”

“Sure. They were on the kitchen counter. House keys too.”

“What if the cops come back to investigate?” Bruce asked.

“I doubt if they’ll be back this week, and they can get in if they want.”

“You want to steal his car?” Bob asked.

“No, I want to borrow it. Downtown is at least three miles away, and through a minefield. It’s a disaster, Bob, every dog for himself. Different rules apply. I say we raid Nelson’s fridge and pantry and take the good stuff. It’s just going to rot anyway.”

Bruce said, “I like it. We take the food, borrow the car, bring it back when the roads are clear. The cops are far too busy elsewhere.”

“What if they stop us?”

“For doing what? They won’t know we’re driving a dead man’s car.”

“All right, all right.”

In his upstairs guest room, Bob emptied two large plastic containers filled with old clothes. They loaded them with four thawing steaks and a chicken from his freezer, some cold cuts and cheese, eight bottles of beer, three bottles of bourbon, and two bottles of vodka. Bob locked his condo and they set off, lugging their loot.

Bob said, “If the cops see us they’ll start shooting.”

“Do you see any cops?”

“I don’t see anyone.”

Minutes later, they arrived back at Nelson’s, all three panting and even more exhausted. They entered through the rear patio so they would not be seen, though there was no one to see them. Bruce went to the garage and tried to open the overhead door. It wouldn’t budge until he found the manual bypass switch next to the motor. He and Nick grunted and pulled until the door was open. They quickly filled the trunk with canned goods and boxes of pasta from the pantry, bacon, eggs, and cheese from the fridge. The freezer was empty except for two steaks and two frozen pizzas. Gluten free. They took them, then made a generous haul from Nelson’ s bar. He liked good Scotch and they helped themselves to it, along with every other bottle they could grab. Luckily, they found an entire case of imported sparkling water.

Since Bruce knew more cops than Bob or Nick, he was chosen as the driver. Nick lifted the yellow crime scene tape and Bruce eased the car under it. They were in the street, their borrowed car packed with loot, and headed toward downtown, certain they would be stopped and arrested. The fifteen-minute drive took two hours as they weaved around fallen trees, got blocked at almost every turn, negotiated through police barriers, and waited at unnecessary checkpoints. They passed a few residents cleaning up, all dazed and tired. They passed a few other cars. The police and Guardsmen were busy, stressed, suspicious, and of little help. They were in rescue mode and had no time for curious sightseers. One helpful policeman saved them with directions that led to a gravel road along a marsh.