Ron Benrey - Grits And Glory

Rafe nodded. “Everyone at the emergency command center expects the power to fail a few minutes after Gilda hits. The citizens of Glory should be prepared to spend Monday night in the dark.” He smiled. “Correction! Most of us should. The church, however, has an emergency generator that will switch on automatically. You’ll be a beacon of light for the rest of Glory.”

“That’s part of every church’s job description.”

Rafe uttered a soft grunt of agreement, then asked, “Are any volunteers still working in the church?”

“No,” Ann said. “They’re all gone. They hung the storm shutters early this morning and finished installing the plywood panels over our stained-glass windows about a half hour ago.” She made a vague gesture toward her own shuttered window. “It’s as dark as a tomb inside the sanctuary.”

“Tombs survive big hurricanes. Anyway, I’m glad the volunteers are finished.”

“Me, too,” Ann said, although she’d been sorry to see the eight men go. They hadn’t even taken time to say goodbye. Seconds after the hammering stopped, Ann heard eight engines rev. She understood completely. The volunteers had to protect their own homes from the approaching storm and then evacuate their families further inland, at least to Rocky Mount, perhaps to Winston-Salem.

“I see you’re wearing the miniature tactical police radio I gave you,” Rafe said.

Ann tugged at the two lanyards around her neck. She felt the small lozenge-shaped gizmo bounce against her chest. “I keep the radio you gave me next to my high-intensity flashlight.”

“Our emergency command center is part of police headquarters, less than three blocks from the church. Contact me if you need any help.”

Ann bit her tongue. She wanted to say, You can count on it. Instead, she said, “I won’t need any help. The church is fully battened down.”

The building became astonishingly silent after Rafe said his goodbyes and left. Ann could hear the quartz clock on her desk counting off the seconds. The ticking sound seemed louder than it ever had before, and somehow threatening.

“The church is one of the most solidly built structures in Glory,” she reminded herself again. “Gilda can huff, puff, and tear loose a few roof shingles, but the walls won’t fall down. And the church’s generator will keep the lights on all night.

You don’t have anything to worry about. So stop worrying. This isn’t going to be like last time. I’m much better prepared.

“We’ve got trouble,” Sean Miller said to the person he thought was seated right behind him. “I can’t find a safe place to park the broadcast van.” When he received no response, he looked around and saw that Carlo Vaughn had moved to the back of the van and was rummaging through the closet.

Sean ignored the rush of exasperation that made him want to throw something. “Carlo, please pay attention. I said that we don’t have a home for the van.”

“I heard you, but I have a more pressing problem to solve. I don’t know which of my waterproof rain suits to wear this afternoon. The yellow looks good on me, but I hate the oversized Storm Channel logo embroidered on the front and the back.”

“Then put on your red suit.”

“It pinches at the waist, and the hood is less flattering.”

“What about the navy-blue slicker?”

“Blue is too dark during a heavy storm. My torso disappears—I end up looking like someone removed my head from my body.”

“Don’t give me any ideas,” Sean muttered under his breath. Then he said, “Our only pressing problem right now is finding a parking place for the broadcast van. You’re scheduled to go live in less than an hour. I can’t set up the camera and the lights, start our generator, or get the satellite antenna working until we’re safely parked.”

Carlo returned to Sean’s cramped workstation. “I thought you planned to park behind the high school.”

Sean poked his index finger at the map of Glory he’d taped to the desktop. “That was okay before Gilda took direct aim at the town. The high school is located in a low spot that’s likely to flood.”

“You think so?”

“I know so.”

Carlo frowned. “What about that other parking spot we scouted this morning?”

“The local cops called me five minutes ago. The parking structure at Glory Regional Hospital is no longer available because the town is going to use it as a staging area for emergency vehicles.”

“It’s your job to bed down the van. I’m confident that you’ll find a solution,” Carlo said, heading back to the closet.

“I see one remaining possibility on the map—the parking lot next to Glory Community Church. It’s sizable and not likely to flood.”

“Problem solved! We’ll park at the church. I don’t understand why you’re making such a big deal about a simple decision.”

“The decision may be simple, but the church is private property and we don’t have permission to operate from their parking lot.”

“Then we’d better get over there and ask.”

“Gee, why didn’t I think of that?” Sean fought to keep his voice even. The cardinal rule of remote broadcasting was don’t upset the “talent” an hour before an upcoming broadcast.

“I don’t have any choice,” Carlo said glumly. “I’ll have to make do with the red jacket.”

“Poor baby!” Sean muttered.

“But it’s really too bad we don’t have a green rain jacket. I look great in green.”

Sean swallowed another sigh. “Let’s go visit the church.”

God, if you’re listening, please turn Carlo into a frog. He does look great in green.

Ann couldn’t see outside but she could hear the windblown rain drumming on the heavily shuttered windows and it was getting louder by the minute. She wished that she knew more about extreme weather. How could she estimate the amount of rain falling? How much wind did it take to peel shingles off the roof? What should she do if the lights failed inside the church?

Stop worrying about Gilda. Other people in Glory are in much greater danger than you are.

The sound of the church’s doorbell promptly switched her thoughts. Maybe someone wants to take refuge inside the church? Ann raced to front door. She had to push the brass handle with all of her strength to keep the stout wooden door ajar against the force of the wind. A yellow hood poked around the edge of the door.

“May we come in?” said a male voice.

“Of course. But I don’t dare let go of the door.”

“We’ll work the door. Stand back so you don’t get soaked. It’s like the bottom of Niagara Falls out here.”

Ann stepped sideways. Mr. Yellow Suit and a taller man dressed in a red rain slicker and pants slipped into the narthex and pulled the door shut. Ann recognized the red-suited man straight away when he tugged back his hood. Carlo Vaughn was the Storm Channel’s star weather reporter. She couldn’t help staring at him. The man was drop-dead gorgeous: a classic chiseled face, perfect features, lovely chestnut-colored hair that framed his brow, glowing dark brown eyes, and a smile that lit up the narthex.

“Good afternoon,” Mr. Yellow Suit said. “We’re from the Storm Channel.”

Ann responded to his greeting politely, then looked back at Carlo to take in more details: the powerful aura of self-assurance he projected…his brilliant, dazzling smile…the absence of a wedding ring on his third finger…

“My name is Carlo Vaughn.” Carlo’s voice oozed like warm syrup over a buttered waffle. He gave his name a slightly European pronunciation, hitting the second syllable rather than the first.

“Welcome to Glory Community Church,” she replied. “I’ve seen you on TV many times.”