Marcia Talley - Without a Grave

She smiled, bowed slightly, and wafted off in a cloud of ylang-ylang and patchouli.

After Gabriele had retreated to her sanctuary, Molly and I helped the staff move the outdoor furniture inside. We turned patio tables upside down, nested chairs and placed them on top, then used the tables to barricade the double doors leading out to the patio bar.

Two of the canvas loungers we saved for ourselves, dragging them to a corner of the club room near the gas log fireplace where Molly and I had set up camp. ‘This feels like Girl Scouts,’ Molly said as she unfolded the lounger, adjusted the back and spread her blanket on top. ‘Maybe we should sing “White Coral Bells.”’

I arranged my lounger next to hers, retrieved a paperback novel and a flashlight from my duffle, then slid the bag underneath my chair. ‘I vote for “Do Your Ears Hang Low.” Can you believe they still sing that in Scouts? My granddaughter, Chloe, was driving me nuts with it not too long ago.’

I tossed the paperback on the lounger, sat down, and arranged my rolled-up sleeping bag behind my back like a pillow. I wriggled in, testing for comfort. ‘This should do nicely,’ I said, plumping up the bag with my fist, ‘but it’d be nicer if I were wearing a bathing suit sitting by the side of the pool.

‘Where is everybody?’ I asked after a moment.

Molly shrugged. ‘“If you build it, they will come.” Gator went off to fetch Justice. I saw him a while back building a cave underneath a table. And Alice Mueller seems to have gone off to hire a decorator to spruce up her little spot behind the bar.’ She frowned. ‘Which brings up an interesting point. What happened to all the booze? Those shelves behind the bar used to be lousy with it.’

‘They make good projectiles. Wouldn’t want to be killed by a flying bottle of Jack Daniels. You’d never live it down in North Carolina.’

Molly chuckled. ‘There’s Gator, now,’ she said, pointing.

We watched as Gator shook the folds out of a blue tarp and held it over one of the shuttered windows while a staffer secured the tarp to the wall with generous lengths of duct tape. One done, they moved on to the next window. Taking it down would be hell on the wallpaper, I thought.

‘What’s Gator done with Justice?’ I asked. ‘I thought pets weren’t allowed in shelters.’

Molly chuckled. ‘Everybody breaks that rule.’ She pointed. ‘Justice is under the table. You can just see his nose.’

‘I thought there’d be more refugees by now.’

‘There’s hours to go yet,’ Molly said. ‘But we’ve got some powerboaters in the corner over there. They put blankets down to reserve the spot, then went off to get their stuff together.’ She grinned. ‘I hope it’s beer. Ever been confined with a bunch of stink potters when the liquor runs out?’

I laughed. ‘Not pretty.’

‘The sailors will be the last to show,’ Molly continued. ‘They’re down at the marina now, checking their anchors, adjusting their lines, and swearing up and down they’re going to ride out the storm on their boats. But, they’ll change their minds at the last minute, come staggering in, wet and wild, just as we’re about to bar the door.’

‘Except for Gator, I don’t see any of the locals, Molly.’

‘You really expect to?’

I thought about that for a moment. Right. After fighting Mueller’s development tooth and nail, if I were a local, I wouldn’t be caught dead under the rubble here either. I’d be up at the All-Age School settling in with my friends and my family. And the food would be better, too.

I reached in my duffle and pulled out a bottle of Myers Rum. ‘Recreational beverage.’

Molly pressed her hands together. ‘You are a love!’

I popped a can of pineapple juice, filled a plastic cup to the halfway point, added a glug-glug of rum, and handed the cup to Molly. She took a sip and melted into the cushions. ‘Ummm. You think of everything.’

‘Just conserving our water.’ I mixed an identical drink for myself and leaned back against my makeshift pillow to sip at it and wait.

I had closed my eyes and drifted off when my handheld radio crackled. ‘Scarlett, Scarlett, this is Rhett. Come in.’

My eyes flew open. Paul? What the hell?

I sat up so quickly that my head swam. I reached under my makeshift cot and dragged out my duffle, pawing through it looking for my radio which continued to say, ‘Scarlett, Scarlett, this is Rhett.’

Next to me, Molly struggled to sit. ‘Paul’s in radio range?’

‘Evidently.’ I finally found the radio in an outside pocket of the duffle where I’d put it so it’d be easy to find.

‘Scarlett…’

I mashed my thumb down on the talk button, stepping on his transmission. ‘Rhett, this is Scarlett. Over.’

‘Hannah, this is Paul. I’m with Henry Allen. We’re in his plane and we’re coming in for a landing.’

‘What? In this weather? Are you out of your freaking mind?’

‘Don’t argue with me now. We’re just north of Scotland and should be touching down on Hawksbill shortly. The crosswind’s pretty stiff, but Henry’s confident we can make it. Out.’

I tucked the radio into the pocket of my shorts. ‘Where’s Gator?’

‘Hannah, you’re not going out…’

‘Of course I am! What if he crashes? Oh my God! Gator!’

The wind blew hot, churning the water of Poinciana Cove into white froth like Armageddon.

I stood next to Gator on the muddy banks of the runway, panting after my hundred-yard dash, desperately scanning the sky, hoping for a glimpse of the bright-yellow speck that would be Henry’s Savage Cub. To the northwest, cirrus clouds were strewn like spun cotton across the blue sky, but dark clouds had settled over Man-O-War to the south, building layer upon layer of gray.

‘Can they land in all this wind?’ I shouted to Gator.

‘Henry’s done it before!’

Wind whipped noisily over my ears, but still I heard it, the drone of an engine, steady and strong. ‘There they are!’ I yelled as the plane came into view.

The Cub headed straight for the runway, flaps down, wings dipping right, then left. With its chrome yellow struts and black trim, the Cub reminded me of a giant bee. It lifted, then dipped, lifted then dipped; with each dip my heart thudded against my ribs. ‘Come on, come on!’

I watched, fingers tightly crossed as the Cub closed the gap between us. I could see Henry now, struggling with the control stick as the plane slipped right on a sudden gust of wind. Henry won, and the little plane steered straight for the runway again. The big tires skimmed the water, sending up rooster tails. It skipped, bounced, then touched down lightly at the end of the runway.

My arms shot up, and I started to cheer, but the cheer caught in my throat. As I watched in horror, another gust seized the Cub by a wing, spun it, flipped it, and sent it sliding sideways into the cove.

I ran forward, flat out, with Gator pounding right behind. We reached the end of the runway in time to see the plane, with Henry and Paul still in it, settle back in ten feet of water with a gurgle and a sigh, its wing lying broken on the starboard side. The propeller still spun.

‘The door’s on the port side,’ I yelled. ‘Help me get them out!’

I splashed into a sea as warm as bathwater. When it got to my waist, I started to swim, reaching the plane in a dozen strokes as the wind and the tide bore me out. Through a curtain of rain I could see Henry in the pilot’s seat, struggling with his seat belt.

When had it started to rain? The drops fell faster, splattering coldly on my face as I hung on to the fuselage and worked my way around to the port side. A wave broke full on my face and I swallowed a mouthful of salt water. Coughing, I braced my feet on the wheel support, grabbed one of the struts and pulled myself up until I was standing on it, trusting it would bear my weight. In the single seat behind Henry, Paul slumped. Blood oozed from a cut on his temple.