The Floodplains Are Flooding... Again

"Watch it!" Jeff Henson yelled, pointing at a spot in the wall that was looking quite soggy. Cammie rolled her eyes and motioned for the workers to stack more sand bags in that area.

Three years on this job, and he still thinks that I can't handle stacking sand bags, she mused, trying to sweep back her wet and matted hair before grabbing the next bag. Her gloves were soaked through, not to mention her shoes, two pairs of socks, pants, and other unmentionables. Although it was supposed to be springtime, it was as cold as ever on the river that night. What might have been a crisp breeze during daylight was a freezing blast when you were shin-deep in river with nothing but headlights shining on you.

Four years ago, Camilla Jane Murphy had graduated from the University of Maryland with a Masters in Meteorology. A thrill seeker at heart, she had spent the next year kicking around Tornado Alley, throwing in her lot with stormchasers. Unfortunately, stormchasing had not been very profitable. With loans to pay, she was forced to find a more steady income, working for the Federal Emergency Management Agency as a Disaster Assistance Employee. In other words, she was one of a small workforce sent to clean up after disasters hit in the United States. Tonight, for the second time in her short career, she was back on the Mississippi floodplains, stacking sand bags.

I think I may have actually stood on this very bank two years ago, she realized. ...And now, we are back again. People live on the floodplains of the Mississippi. Then, when it rains for days and the plains flood, these people act all surprised and panicky and demand assistance from the government. Then, FEMA sends us out here to freeze and stack up little bags of sand to save their homes from the surprising flood. You would think they would all just figure out that floodplains are called that for a reason... I think floods must be my least favorite disaster responses.

Cammie sighed and hefted another bag. It was going to be a long night. The moon was just rising over the clouds serenely. She glared at it briefly before turning away to round up some more sand bags.

It was hours before their work was through, and dawn had come and gone. Cammie had downed several cups of hot coffee over the course of the night, but she still felt as though she was completely drowned, like a dripping, pulpy slip of paper caught in a gutter. She tromped into her motel room and immediately started kicking off her shoes and stripping.

All I want is a nice shower and about a week of sleep, she promised the Forces That Be and ducked into the bathroom.

She adjusted the water temperature, then slipped under the hot flow. She stood there for an indeterminate amount of time. Finally, feeling less numb, she emerged and wrapped herself in one of the just-too-small towels. Had she been at her own apartment, back in Maryland, she might have dove straight into bed, but in this rather dingy motel, she decided to dress in her pajamas first. She then slid under the covers and huddled, trying to get warm enough to fall asleep.

This has been one hell of a night, she thought sleepily. Not as exciting as a hurricane response... we missed all the tornadoes, sadly enough. You would think that in my line of work I would get to actually see a few disasters. No, that would be silly, because then we would have to respond before the events even happened that caused the emergency...

Thinking about the unfair lack of clairvoyants in the FEMA workforce, Cammie dozed.

Sometime later, Cammie was jolted awake by the ringing of the motel phone. She fumbled with the receiver before finally getting the right end lined up with her mouth.

"Yeah?" she slurred, still trying to remember where she was.

"Get your butt in gear, FEMster. We move in fifteen."

It was Emily, in charge of making the calls to coordinate the teams. Suddenly, Cammie remembered--Mississippi, flooding... What was that sound? Oh no... more rain.

Well, that's not good, she reflected, staring at the window where rain was pelting against the glass.

"Right, Emily," she said into the phone and hung it up. She sat up slowly, blinking and looking at the clock. Eleven twenty-three, AM. She had gotten about three hours of sleep. Ug. Cammie quickly jumped out of bed and began dressing.

Fifty minutes later, Cammie was once again up to her knees in the mighty Mississippi, hoisting bags. The rainstorm that had started as a drizzle had gotten worse. Now, the winds were whipping the downpour into the eyes of the workers. Thunder rumbled in the background as they raced to stack up the bags. Even as they did it, they knew it was futile. Lightning cracked across the sky.

"We've got severe weather reports coming in!" one of the coordinators yelled as he jogged through the muddy water. "There's a tornado watch for this area! We're ordered to seek shelter! Stack what you can, then get back to the vehicles!"

He jogged down the line to relay the message. Cammie and those she was working next to doubled pace to toss the last of the bags onto the failing wall. Lightning flashed again, and when the thunder rolled this time, it had an almost electric quality to it. The sky was dark. After depleting their pile, the group headed back to the trucks and vans they had come in on. Cammie clambered into the cab of one of the sandbag trucks. The driver turned to greet her.

"Heck of a storm out there," he began conversationally. Cammie just nodded, too cold and wet to put any effort into it. Voices chattered over the CB. Finally, the trucks began moving out. After sloshing and bouncing along the road for some time, Cammie saw something that immediately grabbed her interest.

Those clouds are rotating, she noticed with some detachment as she peered up at the sky out the side window. She leaned forward to look up out the windshield to check her conclusion. Hmm, looks like our tornado watch is going to get a warning upgrade soon.

The voices on the radio seemed to agree, as some quick and loud commands barked at the trucks to step on it and get off on a side road. Cammie, however, watched as the rotating clouds became more pronounced. Then, in a field next to the highway, a turning column of dirt and grass formed and began snaking up to meet the sky.

Would you look at that?! Cammie's mind exclaimed. A year spent chasing the darn things and when I'm not on the job, they come right to me!

In fact, the tornado was coming a bit too close for her comfort. "Watch it," she warned the driver, who was considerably paler than when she had last glanced at him. His thick eyebrows where lowered in a worried line and his mustache twittered nervously. There was no where to go.

"We can't get off. We'd better head into that side ditch." Cammie suggested. Better to get down below the level of the road then be sitting ducks. The driver, obviously panicking by now, jerked the wheel sharply toward the ditch. "Not so hard!" she yelped, but it was too late. The truck slammed off the edge of the road and nosed right into the other side of the ditch. The engine stalled, leaving only the growing roar of the tornado. Cammie shook her head to clear it from the jolt, then shoved the driver's shoulder. "Come on, out," she commanded, opening her own door and climbing out of the vehicle. The roar was deafening. Not good.

Lacking a better idea, Cammie dove underneath the truck. The driver followed suit, and they cowered under the truck as the earthquaking force descended upon them. The truck began shaking. Cammie only had time to realize that the truck's wheels were lifting off the ground before it was flipped off her. She made grasping motions at the grass as the ground was suddenly yanked away from her and spun up and away.