Anywhere But Here

Jake cursed, mashing the accelerator to the floor, gaining enough momentum to bring in some much needed relief through the open side vents. Mid-July in the Tropics caused every pore of his body to excrete liquid heat. Seeping out of him like a slow moving molasses; sweat soaked his tee shirt with blotches under his armpits and salty beads from his soaked bandana dripped unto his face stinging his eyes. The only thing feeling sweet to him at that moment was a pocket full of cash and the open road ahead.

Jake didn't have a particular destination. He didn't know or care how far he'd get before breaking down; as long as he made the Florida/Georgia border by midnight he'd be safe. What lay ahead didn't frightened him, but what he left behind. Maybe I'm just getting old, he thought. An overwhelming feeling, that this one was going to be different, spurred him to trust his instincts. After all, he hadn't survived a war, countless affairs with married women, and a few close brushes with the Law without listening to his inner voice.

He headed north on the Interstate, pulling a thirty-two foot Airstream behind an old Ford Bronco. The truck kept backfiring every few miles from the strain of the load. Jake tightened his grip on the steering wheel and sang along with the radio, tapping a nervous beat with his thumbs. He knew all the cry-in-your-beer songs by heart. They reminded him of the cost of being human”-of battles lost and won”-and kept his mind off the demon breathing down his neck.

He'd been through Big Ones before and managed to ride them out, taking refuge at local shelters or under some bridge along the highway. Not this time. Best get clear outta Dodge.

He noticed the highway getting unusually crowded and the radio interrupted its broadcast with the latest advisory: "The National Hurricane Center is reporting the storm is increasing intensity as it begins to approach the warmer waters of the Gulf Stream. In the last twelve hours we have upgraded this hurricane to a Category 3. The storm has intensified more rapidly than previously expected, and the center-eye wall is now a classical symmetrical shape with feeder bands extending out in all directions for more than 500 miles.

Jake noted a clearly defined edge to the forecaster's voice warning that a 300 mile margin of error was possible. Some computer models suggested the projected path of the storm would take a sharp northerly turn after making landfall. Other models had the storm plowing across the Florida peninsular and coming out in the Gulf of Mexico making a gradual turn northward and threatening the Florida panhandle as it re-intensified into a strong Category 4 or possibly a Category 5. If the expected dip in the jet stream doesn't lift we could all be in for one hell of a ride.

Jake took a deep breath trying to calm himself, he heard it all before, with every season getting worse than the last and still despite all their modern technology and fancy gizmos, one simple fact remained constant¦nobody really ever knows exactly where these monsters are going.

The air was thick with humidity and fear as prayers shot up like arrows toward the heavens. People prayed all across the eastern seaboard as far north as the Carolinas and especially on Florida's West Coast from Naples northward to Tampa and the Panhandle. Nobody appeared to be out of the line of fire, and everyone repeated the same tired prayer: Anywhere but here, Dear Lord, anywhere but here. Jake knew the most ardent agnostics and even a few self-proclaimed atheists to bend a knee in times like these.

Of course, Jake knew that someone somewhere would have to feel this Monsters wrath. It had been him last time around. He hoped his house would remain standing, when Hurricane Andrew blew through. In the aftermath, he'd felt lucky to be alive even though he'd lost everything, including pieces of his sanity.

Survivors have their own priorities--compromises they make to feel comfortable inside their own skins--welcoming relief when learning they've dodged the bullet, sometimes forgetting about the poor soul down the road, facing the nightmare you survived the day before. Jake had wished the beast on to others with his 'Anywhere But Here prayer' often enough to be callus to guilt. He had to wonder if this current storm had been prayed his way as some sort of atonement.

He pulled off the Interstate into a rest stop to re-evaluate his game plan. Just hours before he thought he was moving out of harms way by moving North , but the latest forecast confirmed his gut feeling that this one was going to be different¦really different.

This damn thing wants to finish me off I can feel it! But I'm gonna die with a full belly if it gets me. Gotta conserve my strength and not panic. He popped open the glove compartment grabbing a sandwich and chips he'd wrapped in foil before leaving then remembered he left the soda in the cooler inside the Airstream. The old tin can on wheels had served him well over the years and now she just might prove to be his lifeline or his coffin, he mused as he jumped out of the truck.

Dark ominous clouds above his head, pushing north, unnerved him. It was beginning to rain and in the distance, the rumble of thunder drowned out the sounds of the Diesel Dans barreling down the highway. The wind moaned, gathering speed along with his heartbeat. For the first time since starting this journey, he was having second thoughts about going it alone. Comfortable with his own company, not the kind of man to be shaken easily, he was finding his confidence thinning. Each crackling thunderbolt reminded him just how lonely it could be, facing a storm alone.

He fought Andrew off alone in the dark and lived to tell about it, but this one gave him a sick feeling at the pit of his stomach since first rolling across the coast of Africa, thousands of miles away. Before it became a named storm, he'd felt this baby had it in for him. Crazy as it sounded, something told him to run, so he did. Here, at a middle-of-nowhere rest stop on the Interstate, with a devil thing chasing him down, he took it damn personal. He was beginning to feel that no matter what direction he went, it would be the wrong one.

Jake got mad and decided he wasn't going to run anymore¦come hell or high wind¦this was his last stand. At the south end of the rest stop, he saw a woman struggling with a jack trying to change a tire on her car. He thought it odd she was alone on the road at a time like this. He hesitated at first. Minding his own business had worked well for him in the past. The last thing in the world he needed now was playing nursemaid to some damsel in distress, or worse--be accused of accosting a helpless woman. But when he saw the jack slip and the woman stomp the ground with her dainty red pumps, kick the car, and cry, Jake headed in her direction. He knew the level of his fear and could easily imagine how scared the stranded woman felt. He approached the bottled blonde who sported a half moon tattoo on her ankle. A startled frightened look appeared on her mascara-smudged face.

"Looks like you could use a little help, Jake said.

"Listen Mister, if you come any closer I'm going to cut you up with this here knife, I don't take no shit from nobody you understand me.

"Whoa, little Lady! Take it easy. I was just tryin' to help. You don't want it, that's fine. I'm not looking for trouble. Though it sure enough seems to be hunting me out. Jake started backing away without taking his eyes off the woman, his hands held high in the air palms open to show he meant no harm.

He felt like kicking himself, realizing the poor thing was shaking from fright, just trying to put up a good front. Jake admired the fact she hadn't screamed hysterically or tried to run, standing her ground instead, determined to face any attack head-on. A gutsy broad. I shouldn't have come up on her like that. The wind picked up. Rain pelted his face and he turned away to run back to his truck as she called out.

"Hey, waited a minute, you just can't leave me here like this.

Jake looked back. "Well lady it's like this, I ain't coming back over there as long as you're holding that blade in your hand.

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry. You just scared the hell out of me. Please, come back.

Already soaked to the bone, Jake shrugged and complied, driven more by curiosity than sympathy this time. The woman, like him, appeared to have nothing much left to lose. That interested him.

"Let's try this again, he said as he made it to her car. "My name's Jake, Jake McDonald, and I was really only trying to help. I'm not some kind of pervert, got it?

"I'm Rosie.

"Let's take a closer look, Jake said as he bent down then got underneath the car and saw the tie rods let go and the rear axle was fried.

"Well Rosie, looks like a spare tire isn't gonna fix your problem.

"Damn car. She didn't bother asking why.

"Is there somebody you want to call, a tow truck or something? Jake asked.

"A tow truck is going to cost more than the cars worth and the phone booth is broken, I don't have a cell phone.

"Why?

"Why what?

"Why don't you have a cell phone?

"Cause I don't like the damn things.

Good answer, Jake thought. He didn't like them either.

"Jake, why are we standing in the rain talking about cell phones? She reach into the back of the car and pulled out a large paisley colored bag. Its gaping top revealed bundled clothes that had just been jammed hurriedly in. "Let's go.

"Go where, Rosie?

"Anywhere but here, she answered.

"Sounds familiar, Jake said. He grabbed her bag flung it over his shoulder and starting sprinting toward his truck with Rosie following. The wind came in at a steady clip, with occasional forty to fifty mile-an-hour gusts buffeting them into each other as they ran. Rosie grabbed Jake's coat, laughing at the dangerous absurdity of the situation.

They made it to the north side of the rest stop and Jake threw her bag into the trailer. "Go in and change into some dry clothes, Rosie. I'll wait for you in the truck. Rosie stared at him, making Jake feel for a moment like she was looking into him, not at him. She smiled, then closed the door behind her.

Jake went into the cab, turned on the radio, and finished off the last of his sandwich, listening as another update came through, mixed with static. The National Hurricane Center reported the storm skirting the Eastern seaboard, upgrading it to a strong Category 4. Most likely reaching Category 5 at landfall. Eighteen to Twenty foot surges were expected. Inland flooding was certain.

After a few minutes, Rosie hopped into the cab. "Okay, let's go, Jake.

"No matter where we go, that damn Hurricane's likely to find us.

"What?

"That storm's predicted to hit Palm Beach County, maybe as far north as Savannah, Georgia. An advisory's out to stay in-doors or seek shelter, soon as possible. We're sitting smack dab in the middle of its path.

Rosie turned off the radio. "So, what are we going to do, just sit here?

"It's as good a place as any other on the highway.

"Jake, you act like this thing is coming just for you.

"I got that feeling.

"Well it just ain't gonna happen, Jake.

"Why not, Rosie.

"Because I ain't gonna let it happen.

"No?

"No. I've been inconvenienced enough. I need a ride after this thing blows over, Jake, so you are just going to have to survive.

Jake felt the impact of her steel-blue eyes, the determination of her spirit. She'd been around the block a few times, he reckoned. Skin, taut and weathered with laugh lines etched around her eyes and mouth, she possessed a genuine smile. The laugh that followed it was true as well. She struck him as a living testament to a life lived fully, fearlessly. Still beautiful, she'd made hard choices and lived by them. No make-up, polished nails, or diamond rings could make her more attractive to Jake than she was at that moment. So of course he gave in. "Where's your heart set on, Rosie?

"Find us a place where people don't ask fool questions¦where the morning air comes through an open window¦tangled in bird song¦where we can feel alive again, Jake. Like I said before anywhere but here.

Rosie took his hand. He smiled and drew it away after a moment to start the truck. The vehicle rumbled to life and pulled away from the rest stop.

"You know what, Rosie? I think I know just the place."

Jake ripped the knob off the radio and kept heading north, with the Bronco back firing and the trailer swaying all over the road. He sang a sweet Irish melody softly. Rosie laid her head back and closed her eyes. The next seventy five miles was rough going but they kept a steady course, the highway now abandon with not a soul in sight. Even Florida State troopers were pulled off the roads when wind speeds reached forty-nine miles an hour. Jake estimated a sustain wind speed of at least seventy or more as he glanced at the trees along the road bending in one northerly direction, which could only mean one thing¦ the hurricane was still on their tail.

Just how far back he didn't know and then he caught a glimpse of something from the corner of his eye. His line of vision obscured by the darkness and rain soaked windows.

"Rosie... wake up, he hollered.

"What is it Jake, she moaned groggily, rubbing her eyes and yawning at the same time.

"Look over to your three a clock and tell me what you see.

"Three a clock? She asked.

"Look over your shoulder to your right Rosie, clean the windshield off with your elbow and take a good hard look.

"What am I looking for.

"A dark cloud Rosie, one darker than the night surrounding it.

"Yea, I see something like that.

"Describe it to me, tell me what your seeing Jake demanded.

"It's wide at the top and more narrow in the middle with a pointy bottom... Oh! Shit Jake, is that what I think it is?

"What direction is it moving Rosie, is along side us, behind us or in front of us?

"I can't tell... it looks stationary, maybe along side us but at a distance and it appears to be getting larger, she screamed frantically.

"Don't worry Rosie it's probably nothing but another storm cloud moving in, but just to be on the safe side hold on and he threw the Bronco into third gear and floored the accelerator, the engine winding out sputtering then back firing before finally catching as Jake breathe a sigh of relief, white knuckles gripping the steering wheel trying to maintain control.

Jake knew it wasn't a storm cloud moving in on them, he'd just said that to keep Rosie as calm as possible. He didn't need to be dealing with hysteria at a time like this; he needed to keep his focus and wits about him. He knew from the last big one that along the perimeter of a Hurricanes eye wall there are numerous tornado vortexes spinning even faster than the storms strongest winds. This phenomenon accounted for many houses literally ripped from their foundations with every thing in it, leaving nothing but concrete slabs and the houses next to them being left relative intact with normal storm related damage such as damaged roofs and broken windows.

About 150 yards ahead of him Jake could barely make out an overpass slowly coming into view and race toward it. Instinctively he knew it was their only chance for survival providing some cover from the coming onslaught. If it caught them on open road they wouldn't even have a chance.

The Bronco began backfiring again protesting the strain and Jake didn't know how much more that old 350 engine could take muttering under his breath, Come on baby just this one last time, Come on...Keep it going. Another sudden burst of power came through bringing the engine back to life. Jake braked hard as they made it to the overpass, spinning the truck and the trailer into a 150 degree slide.

"Damn Jake where'd you learn to drive like that. Rosie yelled.

Jake didn't answer; he didn't have time for conversation. He jumped out of the truck trying to make it to the back to unhitch the trailer. But the force of the wind kept trying to push him back knocking him off his feet. He landed hard and rolled and with all the strength he could muster he got back up and leaned into the wind with his head down and his body hunched over, he fought for every inch finally making to the back of the truck. He struggled to unhitch the trailer, the slanting rain coming at him like bullets, stinging his face almost blinding his tired eyes. Jake understood that the wind and rain he was struggling against was nothing compared to the HELL that was coming.

Finally unhitching the trailer he noticed a four foot concrete overhang jutting out on the north side of the overpass, as he made his way back to the cab. It might have just enough clearance to back into it and if it doesn't I'll just have to force it in anyway I can. I always wanted a convertible anyway.

Jake hopped back in the truck miraculously still running.

"You're bleeding Jake, Rosie told him as he pulled the truck away from the trailer then began backing up trying to align the truck into the nook and felt grateful when he cleared the overhang with about 12 inches to spare.

"Now listen Rosie, I don't have time to worry about a little bleeding but I need you to listen to me carefully. I want you to stay buckled into your seat but at an angle and I'm going to lay my body over yours. I'll brace my feet against the door and hold on to the steering wheel and the back of the headrest. No matter what happens to me you need to promise that you'll hold on.

"You're scaring me Jake.

"Promise me Rosie.

"I promise.

They began to hear a rumble that just kept getting louder, then more like the roar of a fright train as the Bronco began shaking violently and there was a discernable drop in air pressure as all the windows shattered. A peculiar odor permeated the air like static electricity making it hard to breathe. They felt the truck rising from the ground, then the pounding started. The roof of the truck hit the overhang then came back down again. BAM BAM BAM over & over again and again, the relentless pounding continued until the roof began caving in. Jake looked up in time to see the trailer fly by in mid air being torn apart and sucked into a dark mass of whirling wind.

"Jake, Jake, Rosie screamed out crying and terrified.

"I'm still with you Rosie, just hang on... I'm not gonna let you go, it's gonna be alright, he said trying to assure her.

They held on to each other for what seemed to be an eternity until finally the roar and smell moved passed them and the pounding slowed to a stop. Jake and Rosie sat in the truck quietly just looking at each other with that kind of look. No one who had never been through something like that could ever understand.

"Most people would be dead now Jake.

"We aren't like most people Rosie.

"What do you mean? She asked.

"Well most people are hunkered down in their boarded up houses or in some shelter somewhere thinking that their safe. But you and I are out in the middle of nowhere on this highway with nothing left but each other now... aren't we.

"Maybe that's all we really need Jake.

Jake turned the key, the Bronco roared back to life along with his heart. He headed down the open road again. Rosie leaned her head against his shoulder. Tall southern pines crashed behind them as they followed their dreams into the night.

Once, he muttered, "I hear they don't have hurricanes in the Smokey Mountains.

"They have coyotes and bears instead, Rosie murmured softly, "maybe even beavers.

He grinned and sighed dramatically. "Always somethin' out to get you¦