Section 26

Phil watched the news channels for updates on the storms, meteorological and political. Both were informative. Every TV station and major network sent the least senior reporters to the coast to stand as best they could in the wind and surf to report on the wind and surf. He supposed it was some sort of ritual hazing all new talking heads had to survive. The studio on-air anchors were probably taking bets on how far they would roll when they were blown over. Several caught big air to the mock amazement of the comfortably safe talking heads

Natural disaster veterans, aka senior reporters, got sent into war zones. No small number reported from Colombia. Smoke billowing in the background, they appeared quite heroic, keeping the public informed at dramatic personal risk and all, but could have learned more calling the pizza delivery guy on K Street.

Those identified as combatants were all cartel connected and singing with the Choir Eternal. The teams faded unseen into the scenery leaving nothing behind except destruction.

The various spokespeople in DC claimed ignorance and promised to investigate the demise of the major drug smuggling rings. Few tears were shed.

Some at the top of the heap knew more than the hired experts and decided silence was a good thing, career-wise. In time, the whole affair would be just another chapter in the file. The national attention span would focus on the next Hollywood scandal or the next mind-numbing fluff.

Phil found himself sandwiched between April and Marcie on one side and May and Sherry on the other.

“Kinda strange becoming an urban legend, ain’t it?” April said.

“Yeah. This whole mess will devolve into rumor and mystery. Wonder who will get the heat from the conspiracy theorists?” May whispered, not from fear, but so she wouldn’t miss the news. “Who gets the credit?”

“It will never enter their little world that something good happened.” Phil sighed, “Only that someone did something without their knowledge and consent.”

“You can always leak an anonymous email or two and whip them all into a misdirected frenzy.” Sherry suggested. “That would be fun.”

“It should include the Illuminati and Aliens Among Us. Hint at cover-ups in high places. The World Banking Commission and Area 51 are always good. The more things are denied, the more they are believed. Nothing works better than unnamed sources.” Marcie was on a roll. “I can get a bestseller out of this. ‘The Burning Coca Fields: Who Really Lit The Torch?’ by Sue DiNem.”

“First, you’ll need a better pen name. Maybe Dr. Kersey can help.” Phil suggested. “Perhaps ‘Amanda B. Fogged’?”

“Be sure you have blurry pictures of the Martian landscape, satellite images of Pamlico Sound and fleets of black helicopters stolen from the secret Air Force files in the Pentagon.” May insisted. “Gives it that New World Order flavor, a hit with paranoid lunatics the world over.”

“Sane paranoids are smart enough to hide and keep quiet.” April added. “When they’re out to get ya, be hard to find. Not like us.”

“Kinda hard to hide this mob.” Phil groused, “The news is repeating itself. Anyone care for a movie?”

“Like ‘Cape Fear’, ‘Key Largo’ and ‘The Poseidon Adventure’?” Zina called from across the room. Someone hit her with a pillow. “Glad I didn’t say ‘Waterworld’.” More pillows.

“Comedienne. I vote for ‘Casablanca’ or ‘Bedazzled’. Sara and Sally, meet me in the kitchen. We have to make precision tea. Time to get the last vaccine dosages out of the way.”

They brewed exactly 101 ounces of tea, added the contents of one vial, mixed thoroughly and measured it out as Dr. Florrie directed. Actually, they made a lot of tea, but used the recommended amount for the medicine. The rest they saved for supper, which seemed like a better idea than the movie.

The blonde twins shoved Phil out, replacing him with Willy and Polly. “Go do something useful. We got supper.” Sally said. “Find Damsel Beverly. See how those folks are doing.”

“Good idea.” He shot a quick selfie with his sisters (after they put shirts on). Bev Clement, on speed dial, received the picture immediately. Even more immediately, Bev called back. Phil turned his phone camera off before he answered. “Y’all put on a sundress or something. This is Beverly on the phone. You know she will want to see all her friends. At least cover your titties. I don’t want to have to explain to her mom.”

“Hi Princess. Get the photo? Just calling to see if you stayed rescued.” Camera back on, but aimed away from the dressing girls.

“Hi Capi. Phil. I have a room full of my BFFs who want to meet you. Say ‘Hello’ to my hero, Captain Phil Swenson.”

“Oh, he’s cute.” “Hi Captain.” “Did he rescue all those girls?” “He can rescue me any time.” “Can I have his number?”

“No you may not! He’s my hero. Get your own.” Beverly giggled, very pleased her rescuer proved he really existed. “Have you saved any other girls since Saturday?”

“We have been kinda booked solid the last day or so. Lanie’s cousin washed up Friday and warned about more bad guys. We made the bad guys disappear. She came all the way from Annapolis where her Mom is a spy and investigator and her Dad is a Navy Captain who teaches maritime law at the Naval Academy.”

“But wait! There’s more!” Shouted Traci in the background.

“Did they disappear like the guys at the high school?” Bev’s friends were wide eyed.

“Even quicker. Then we went for a plain old boat ride and wound up rescuing six more girls when even worse guys killed their foster parents and left them in the boat. Two of them might be related to Willy and Karen.”

“You have been busy, Captain Phil.” Bev said in awe. “Saving Damsels in Distress is a full time job.”

Melody took the phone. “That ain’t all, Bev. Marcie found the murderers on the radar and we chased them out to sea. Nick and his pilot, Lisa, got wounded when the terrorists shot their helicopter with a rocket. That made Phil really mad. He ordered us to start shooting at the bad guys’ boat while he got close enough for Sherry to fire a bomb.”

“Hi Bev. Zina here. Sherry blew them to bits. We plucked Nick and Lisa from the water. Lisa had a hole in her chest so Phil had to do major surgery on the deck of the ‘Devil’s Darling’ to save her life. Sherry and your hero patched Nick up before the Coast Guard flew them to the hospital.”

A different voice from Bev’s side. “Hi Zina. I’m Leigh, Bev’s next-door neighbor. This is all true? Wow. I thought summer camp was exciting. I learned to paddle a canoe. Beverly is hanging out with Superman and the Ninjas.”

“Then it got really weird.” SuLing said as she grabbed the phone. “The terrorists put some dangerous germs in the water and infected all of us. Phil’s Dad sent the cure to us and the shot-down guys at the hospital. Now we are quarantined on the island with a giant hurricane coming in”

“Will you be OK? The weather girl keeps saying the storm is very strong and people should evacuate inland. What will you do?”

Phil regained control. “The house is real sturdy and we have enough food and fuel to hold out for a week or so. I guess we’ll get by.” He had an idea. “Sweety, find a place called Cedar Island on the map sort of northeast of Beaufort. We are north and east, across the sound from there. Look for us on the weather reports. It’s the hole in Cape Lookout National Seashore.”

“Mom says we have to come to dinner. We’re having a sleepover and she ordered Chinese. Normal moms would get pizza for ten-year-olds. Not mine. We’re supposed to learn how to use chopsticks. I’ll starve.”

“You’ll live, Princess. We have to make supper, too. Give my regards to your parents and the Wilkins. Be safe, Bev. I’ll think of you every time I use my fork and spoon.”

“That’s just mean.” He could hear the other girls laughing in the Clement’s house. “Seriously, Captain Phil, you take care of the others. See you soon. Bye.”

Joanne cornered him as he entered the radio room. “Do you really think we’ll be safe? Sheriff Overman and the police are telling the people having hurricane parties to write their social security numbers on their arms with permanent ink. ‘It will make it easier to identify your bodies.’ The Sheriff told the reporter he couldn’t force anyone to leave, but if they got in trouble, he wouldn’t be able to respond.”

“There are always a few who haven’t been in a strong storm. They think the half million they paid for the pretty beach house equals durability. They overpaid for the location, not the quality. Discovering that 150 mph winds and 15 foot storm surges trump their money is a hard and mostly fatal lesson.” He shrugged. “We paid for brute strength, and a lot more besides. Steel, concrete and anodized heavy gauge aluminum trump pressure treated wood.”

Phil hugged the nervous teenager. “I’m more worried about the ‘Darling’. If the anchor holds, it will be OK. If not, she crashes on the shore. We can’t do anything but wait. The dock and beach shelter are probably history.”

He looked into her moist eyes. “We can buy more toys. We can buy all the toys. But it won’t mean anything if the family isn’t safe. We’re all going to be OK, better than OK.”

Joanne cheered up a little. “But we might have to swim to the bus, if it doesn’t wash away.”

“I’ll call Hardcastle. He owes us a favor or three.” On that note, the two returned to the living area. The girls not involved in cooking were crowded around the TV.

“It’s still way offshore, but Myrtle Beach is getting pounded. Wilmington and Southport are taking major damage now and it will get worse. The Marines moved rotary and fixed wing craft to Seymour Johnson and Pope. Camp Lejeune is closed to all traffic except evacuees; Cherry Point and Havelock are buckled down tight.” Marcie reported. “NOAA says landfall around 7:00 AM at Lookout Light, plus or minus ten miles.”

Phil frowned. “How bad?”

“Eyewall winds at 140. Solid Category 4, pressure still dropping.” She shook her head. “It’s going to be pretty ugly before the night is over.”

“Is that an oxymoron, pretty ugly?” April snarked. “Or the literally figurative words of an English major with mad radio skillz?”

May giggled, “You might have a future as a weathergirl dressed like that. The ‘Naked News’ is hiring.”

Zina, in a most dignified voice, said, “That’s the latest from the conflict in the Bolivian forests. And for the local weather, our poet laureate, the lovely and talented, Redheaded-American Marcie Patterson.”

Her dislike of stereotypes of any sort was well known in the group.

The topless redhead, getting into the silliness, straightening her 5-foot tall body, announced. “Thank you tall dark and graceful. Reporting on the scene from Swenson’s Island, at the epicenter of the hurricane, t’was a dark and stormy night; the rain fell in torrents, except at occasional intervals, when it was checked by a violent gust of wind which swept up the streets.”

“And that’s all the best of times and worst of times we have this evening, folks. Tune in at 6:00 AM, tomorrow for the Bulwer-Lytton Topless News, the Twin Tittie City ratings leader.” Zina turned on the heat. “I am Zina Ladysmith, your incredibly smart and beautiful token African-American news anchor with SuLing MacDonald, our obligatory, yet equally smart, attractive and dangerous Asian-American beauty at the sports desk, coming to you and for our station master, signing off until we wake up. Swenson News Service out.”

These girls could improv with the best. And look better doing it than any.

“We interrupt this dead air to introduce out psychic media critics and fact checkers, Bonnie and Connie.” Nancy mocked the breathless tones of the network program interrupters.

In remarkable unison or alternating sentences, the naked brunette twins began the impromptu review.

“We think the ratings, although currently quite high, could be record breaking if all the desk personnel and the onsite correspondents were totally naked. The learned literary references lend an educated credibility lacking in other broadcasts. These broads are casting pearls before the viewing swine.”

“And one other note. Earthquakes have epicenters. Hurricanes and potatoes have eyes. Despite that small hyperbolic oversight, we find the program too good for the general public and advise all future programming be confined to closed-circuit viewing within the household.”

“We return you to our regularly scheduled mega-storm.”

And the fans went wild. “That was the best comic satire I’ve seen in a long time. Great show, sisters. I needed the laughs.” Rachael hooted over the applause.

Sally shouted from the kitchen, “Supper is buffet-style tonight. Plates and silverware on the counter, food on everything else. Fried pork chops, rice and gravy, grilled chicken, steamed veggies, assorted sides. Baked apples, drizzled with chocolate caramel for dessert. Leftovers will be lunch tomorrow. Eat up before it gets cold.”

Comfort food is magic. It has the power to turn normal human teenagers into ravenous remorseless eating machines. Barely-out-of-their-teens college professors are not immune. There is no antidote for the enchanting aroma of baked apples and pork chops.

The cooking wizards cast the spell well. So well that all conversation ceased until twenty-three plates were piled high and carried to the living area. Then, it was all happy sounds and sincere compliments, followed by moans and giggles.

After dessert was served and devoured, Sara announced. “We made it. You guys get the clean-up duty.”

Sally pointed to the sink. “If this is the end of the world, Nina and Naomi would reanimate us just so they could yell about dirty dishes in the wreckage. You will be cleaning the kitchen.”

Emily laughed, “You heard ‘em girls. To the kitchen. Sponges. Soapy water. Poly bags. I saw ‘Pet Sematary’. It does not end well for the zombies.”

Phil grinned at the antics. “The world does not end tonight. At least not here. I say we have band practice. We did bring the instruments and some of the multi channel amps. My sisters and I can rig something to get us wired.”

“Just like the band on the ‘Titanic’, except for the down with the ship part.” April yelled, glad to be promoted out of the kitchen. She and May started dragging out boxes and wires.

The girls all pitched in as the kitchen crew cycled in and out. Phil directed Nancy and Joanne to a storage closet when he remembered an old 8 input mixing board Claire bought so the kids could keep up music lessons on vacation.

Nancy grinned big. “We brought ours. Every time we play, things get crazy. We planned for crazy and there was room on the bus. Mics, pickups, we got it all”

That started a mad search for more electronics. Marcie found a wireless stereo used at the beach shelter. Connie and Bonnie used the older radio room equipment, stored under the counters, to rig a small FM radio station and satellite feed.

Phil had a light bulb moment. “Girls, do you mind if we try to pipe some music over to the Red Cross shelter at the high school? Might be fun to distract the folks staring at the ‘Weather Channel’ or being scared.”

Everyone loved the idea. “Why not? Beats waiting for Bellatrix.” Dana said. “Maybe the Marines left at LeJeune would like it?”

Little plans got crazy fast. Phil called Adam to get an uplink to SingerSat. Adam loved the community service aspect. Sherry called her old commander who promised to link with Hardcastle and the Coast Guard. Various twin combinations worked out a connection to the Red Cross through the Computer Lab geeks staying at the high school. Amy contacted the University. Chancellor Schwartzwelder wanted the broadcast on the campus closed circuit television public access channel.

Of course that involved Martin, the Serabians, Chamberlains and Marcinowskis. What the kids didn’t know was that PBS, NPR and the Armed Forces Network were getting the feed, too. PBS from the university, NPR from their reporter stranded at the shelter and the military from the regional Marines’ comm. links. Armed Forces Radio got their feed from Jacksonville.

Will Simpson, from the local CBS affiliate, had his own video set-up at the high school.

Joanne and Lanie created an orchestra ‘pit’ in a corner of the living area with side chairs from the dinner table, beach furniture, sofas and ottomans. The Drama Girls positioned the amps, microphones and drums where they needed to be. Everyone worked to connect wires to the soundboards, sending the signal to the entertainment system to monitor the output, as the people in the impromptu network would hear it. The sat feed was pigtailed from the TV.

All the twins configured the high-resolution cameras on a pair of laptops to add video, one for the satellite feed and one for the smart phones.

Phil convinced the band to dress in khaki shorts and polo shirts to give the impression they were taking the hurricane danger seriously.

They tuned up for twenty minutes of so, deciding to repeat the second concert playlist in a different order. They did pull ‘Bolero’ for time and ‘Gimme Shelter’ for the children. ‘Still The Same’, ‘Like A Rock’ (Bob Seger) and ‘The Rose’ (Bette Midler) filled in the gaps.

Meanwhile, the real world had gone batshit insane. ‘Gravity’s Master’ had been ambushed and co-opted. The little show was going out live on PBS, NPR was doing a simulcast and the Armed Forces Network went global! Nancy and Joanne were aware because they suddenly were doing sound and video checks with the networks. They were becoming techie rock stars. None of the veteran production people out there knew they were college students making it up as they went along. They were working it like pros.

Joanne passed a wireless headset to Phil and asked him to stand by while they alerted the listeners. “We’ve been kidnapped. Put on your game faces, kids. We’re going live! Hold for the intro. I’ll be in your ears, Phil. Expect breaks.” Nancy turned the TV to PBS.