Home-Eating Hurricane: Honorable Mention, Speculative Memoir
"Home-Eating Hurricane" is the first chosen honorable mention for the Speculative Memoir category in our Climate Change Writing Contest! Isabelle writes about what it would be like if she, her family, and her entire community had to vacate their homes in order to survive a giant storm. This story shows how destructive hurricanes can be, not just based on their power, but by how they threaten stability.
By Isabelle Gallagher
Skye sat at the windowsill in dismay, noticing the large, heavy raindrops quickly flooding the street. Not far in the distance she could see that the “Plum Island” sign had fallen. As she watched her neighbors rapidly evacuate through the knee-high water, she could feel her heart thumping fast in her chest, so overwhelmingly that it felt like it was beating in her head. Skye felt something touch her shoulder. Scaring her, she jumped.
“I’m sorry, sweetie,” her dad said in the calmest voice he could hold, “but we have to go. Right now.” In agreement, she grabbed her emergency bag that had been packed up for months in preparation for a hurricane like this. Her dad grabbed his pre-packed bag as well and with that, they were out.
The bag was heavy on her back and her high rain boots made it difficult to walk. With each forceful gust of wind, her body swayed. Luckily, they were well prepared and had goggles to keep the rain out of their eyes. They only had a mile to walk before they would arrive at the highest point of the island where a bus would be to evacuate them over the bridge and onto the mainland. As they made their journey, Skye observed the destroyed houses, and the buildings that had fallen. She saw where she would have been graduating from this year, her old high school. Due to the long strike of hurricanes on the East Coast contributing to the climate emergency, it had been left in shambles weeks ago.
Skye and her father didn’t say much during the walk, as they were both trying to process the state of their hometown and the loss of community members. Many people accompanied them because they too were making the walk to the savior bus. Most people with young children had left weeks ago, but there were still cries coming from the arms of the few people who were sickly in denial that their homes would be destroyed.
Finally, they had made it to the highpoint. Already waiting there was a mass of around 50 people, all waiting for the next shuttle bus to return. As they approached, the pit in Skye’s stomach grew stronger, and an eerie feeling increased. The next bus arrived and most all the people who were there before them boarded. Skye and her dad would be able to get on the next bus, as long as everyone with children could fit too.
It wasn’t too long of a wait until the next bus pulled up. They all filed on, cramping as many people in as physically possible. She sat snuggly next to her dad, holding his hand, as another woman squished in next to her. The ride to the mainland was a short 10-minute drive, but due to the severe weather, it would take double the time. Along the way they passed two other busses that had crashed, leaving half the passengers injured or dead. The vehicle shook and slid every few minutes, resulting in synchronized yells by the community members occupying the rows. Getting over the land-connecting bridge was the most horrifying part for most of them, but they made it there safely.
The bus stopped when they reached the de-boarding spot. When Skye got off, she noticed that the hurricane was much less extreme there. Everyone filed into a large building as the shuttle drove off to retrieve more people from the island. There were enormous solar panels all over the perimeter of what used to be a business center. In recent months, it was turned into a natural disaster relief building. When she entered the doors, she was overwhelmed with the amount of people sitting along the walls. It was loud, babies and children were crying, people were yelling, and the overall chatter of people flooded the air. Strangely though, Skye felt safe. She was surrounded by familiar faces of people from her hometown who were all in the same situation as she and her father.
After the last bus arrived with the final group of people from Plum Island, everyone was divided into separate groups to be put on one of the eleven floors. Skye and her dad were appointed the 8th floor, room 3A, along with another family of 6. It was a fairly small room, but they all fit good enough. After everyone was assigned a room and the halls were cleared, nurses went around to each door offering medical attention. Fortunately, Skye, her father, and the other family in the room were all in good condition, besides being cold and wet.
Once all the floors were checked, and anyone who needed medical attention received proper resources, people with large rolling carts came around, handing out dry clothes and sleeping bags. Skye and her dad denied the offer, as they had both dry clothes and a sleeping bag ready for them in their backpacks. The other family in the room had been well prepared too. They all took turns changing into their dry clothes and laying out their sleeping bags like puzzle pieces.
The tension was lessening, and everything was calming down. An hour or so later, another volunteer went door to door offering non-perishable foods to each group. They were told that if they needed anything, that they should go down to the main floor where the rest of the volunteer nurses, chefs, greenhouse farmers, and emergency relief helpers would be. Everyone was exhausted, physically, and emotionally, and as the night went on, the building went quiet. Skye felt uneasy but knew they would take things one day at a time, that the whole community was there to help contribute to the well-being of one another. And with that, she fell asleep, still holding her dad’s hand.
Edited by Samantha Flaherty