Riding the Storm Read Free Page A

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 forehead and opened the door. The cleansing scent of ozone filledhis nostrils as he inhaled a deep, recharging breath and mentally prepared himself for the anything and everything Mitch had warned them about.
    He circled to the back of the Suburban and met Mitch, who’d opened the doors to start unloading supplies. A splash of rain hit the bill of Nate’s cap and dampened his cheek. The light shower seemed deceptively gentle. “Looks like things are pretty dry around here. I imagine a heavy rain could lead to some flooding?”
    Mitch nodded, balancing three crates against his stocky chest. “The Agua Dulce River flows south of town, straight into the Gulf, so we might get some back-flow from the storm surge. Plus, we’ve got a web of lakes, creek beds and man-made irrigation ditches crisscrossing the farmland and ranches west of here. I’m expecting a few road washouts, especially in the countryside.”
    “Is there high ground we should direct people to?”
    “These are the flat, Texas coastal plains. High ground around here is the back of a horse or a rooftop.”
    Nate was beginning to understand Mitch’s skepticism about Corpus Christi sending its evacuees to Turning Point. He grabbed three more crates and followed the chief inside, past the front office and dispatch room. Things weren’t improving. Both rooms stood dark and empty. Where was Mitch’s crew? This had to be the craziest disaster preparedness setup he’d ever seen.
    Mitch flipped on a light switch as they entered