Page 15

Chapter fifteen

Elliot

There was a certain silence that fell over a room full of linemen when a big storm was coming.

It wasn’t fear. Not exactly.

Just a quiet, settled understanding.

Because we all knew what this meant.

A hundred guys packed into the meeting room at the local dispatch center, standing shoulder to shoulder, arms crossed, expressions serious. The low hum of conversation had died down minutes ago when our district supervisor, Aemon Carter, walked in and pulled up the latest storm projections on the screen.

The map was a mess of red and orange spirals, the white line of the projected path cutting straight toward northern Florida.

Aemon cleared his throat. “All right, listen up. We’ve been tracking Hurricane Beatrice for the past several days. As of this morning, she’s a category three. We expect her to hit category four or higher before landfall.”

“Beatrice is a real bitch,” one guy standing behind me said to the snickers of others.

“She’s expected to make landfall somewhere between Tallahassee and Jacksonville, but as we all know, storms can change course last minute. No matter where she lands, her outer bands are going to hit Georgia, so we need to be ready for local damage and prepare for deployment to Florida as soon as we get clearance.”

He clicked the slide, bringing up the storm surge projections.

“Winds are estimated to hit 140 miles per hour, maybe more. Storm surge could reach fifteen feet. That’s gonna tear through the coastal grid and push water inland—knocking out substations, flooding transformers, and taking down lines and poles.”

A few guys muttered under their breath. We’d seen it all before. We knew what that level of destruction meant.

Aemon kept going. “Georgia Power is expecting widespread outages here, too, mostly along the coast and southern half of the state; but we could see major wind damage all the way up to Atlanta. Be ready for long shifts, high water, and serious hazards. All PTO is canceled until further notice.”

No one flinched.

This wasn’t our first rodeo.

Aemon exhaled, scanning the room. “We’ll have three tiers of response teams—Local, Statewide, and Deployment Crews for Florida.”

He pointed toward another manager, who stepped forward with a clipboard.

“We’re finalizing assignments,” new guy said. “If you’re on the first-response team, you’ll be stationed here, riding out the storm and clearing damage as soon as it’s safe.”

That meant staying local. Working shifts before, during, and immediately after the worst of the outer bands passed. Of the three jobs, it was likely the easiest.

“If you’re on the statewide crew, you’ll be deployed across Georgia as soon as roads are clear, reinforcing crews where needed.”

That meant driving into the hardest-hit areas in the state, likely spending weeks away from home, hopping from town to town.

“And if you’re on the interstate deployment list, you’ll be part of the first wave heading into Florida once we get the green light.”

That meant packing a bag and living out of a truck, working sixteen-hour days in destroyed neighborhoods where power might not return for weeks. That one sucked. Seriously.

Aemon clicked again, pulling up the assignment list.

I braced myself.

My name was exactly where I expected it. Elliot Hart – Interstate Deployment

I sighed, running a hand over my jaw. I had a bad feeling about this one.

Aemon cleared his throat. “For those of you assigned to Florida, be ready to roll within twelve hours of landfall. That means bags packed, gear prepped, and mentally ready for at least two to three weeks on the road. Landfall is projected in six days.”

No one complained.

This was the job.

This was what we signed up for.

Aemon nodded, flipping through his notes. “For now, stay on call, keep an eye on the storm track, and get your home situation in order. Oh, try to get a little extra rest. We’ll be working till we drop once this thing hits.”

He paused, scanning the room. “Questions?”

Silence.

No one ever had questions.

Aemon gave a firm nod. “All right. Dismissed.”

As waves of burly men filtered out of the room, my phone buzzed. I fished it out of my pocket to find an odd text message.

Sisi : You’ve been holding out on us.

Oh, God. First a hurricane, now a real storm, one named Sierra.

Me : Oh?

Sisi : You had a date with that teacher and never reported back to the committee. We demand information.

Me : Demand? Feeling a little full of yourself today?

Sisi : Don’t start with me or I will add Matty to this text chain.

Me : I surrender! Take my house, my car, whatever you want.

Sisi : I’ll take details about this date. Did you get some ass?

Me : What is with you women? Mrs. H was all up my ass, asking about sexual positions I doubted she even understood.

Sisi : Oh, you’re in so much trouble. You told that old woman about your date but not us?

Me : Fuck my life.

Sisi : Fuck that teacher . . . and tell us about it.

Me : We’re breaking up . . . I can barely hear you . . . or read you . . . or whatever. Gotta go.

Sisi : ELLIOT PETER PARKER HART!

Me : Teacher and I have another date tonight. Talk after. Bye.

Sisi : I SO hate you!