![]() There is some “unusual event” downriver at the nuclear power plant in Southport, but we are told that it is under control. Inevitably, the Cape Fear breaches the dam surrounding Sutton Lake, the retention pond for cooling water for the local power plant. All of this makes its way into the river. Upriver, more than 5,000 hogs drown, their carcasses joining those of more than a million chickens and turkeys, along with the contents of overflooded lagoons thick with hog waste and mounds of chicken waste. The Cape Fear and Black and Lumber and all the other rivers are expected to flood to historic levels. The rain comes back in more lashing waves. We hear of a young mother and her infant who were crushed in their home by a fallen tree.Īnd so it goes. Teams are pulling people off of cars, roofs, and trees. Three thousand homes flooded, we hear.Ī new term makes the rounds: swift-water rescue. We know people whose homes were smashed flat by falling trees, whole neighborhoods flooded, people who have lost nearly everything. Other shoppers trade tips about where to find gas or water or batteries.įEMA centers start popping up in parking lots - a reminder that, for too many, Hurricane Florence is more than a matter of inconvenience. Everyone is polite and helpful, sharing the inconvenience. We load a cart with water and food and more dog food, enjoy hot coffee at the air-conditioned Starbucks café at the front of the store. The beer aisle is almost stripped, but I snag a case of what’s left. ![]() So we tour the wreckage of blocked-off and flooded streets, snaking through detours, and find an open grocery store. We go out in search of an open grocery store - it’s clear that three or four days of emergency rations isn’t going to be enough. My university, UNC Wilmington, is closed until further notice - classes will not resume until October 8, unprecedented in my 30 years of teaching there. He was evacuated from Wrightsville Beach during Fran and wrote a prescient book called The Coming Storm, which linked more and more unpredictable superstorms to climate change - 17 years ago. When my friend Bob calls from New York, I say, “Greetings from the new island nation of Wilmington.” He gets the joke. We learn on the radio that Wilmington is cut off - all roads out are overwashed, even I-40. But because of the shortage of gas, he has to shut it down every night around 9. This is miraculous, the gift of cold drinks, food we can grill, and a fan to move the close, humid air of the living room - our new bedroom. In a gesture of extreme generosity, Pete lets us hook a line into his generator so we can run the fridge in our garage and a fan, and recharge cell phones and a laptop computer. In only six or seven hours, we clear all four trees. As we clear the tree at the entrance to the neighborhood, he appears with his teenage son Parker and his STIHL Wood Boss chainsaw. My friend Chris has texted me to see if we’re OK, and I tell him that we are trapped and in need of a chainsaw. ![]() Pete hauls out his chainsaw and leads a crew of seven of us to cut up the trees and pile the limbs in heaps on the side of the road to make a clear passage. We have four large trees down across our street and no access for emergency vehicles or Duke Energy trucks. We learn from a neighbor that the water utility is running out of diesel fuel for its equipment and generators, and if that happens, the water will go off. We learn that the water is no longer safe to drink, not even for cooking. From time to time, we get cell phone reception, texts, even the odd phone call. The power is off, and will stay off for almost six days. The house is beat up by debris, but not damaged. We can see the mast of the boat down the creek - still moored snugly to the dock. ![]() This is part three of a four-part feature: The Approach, The Landfall, The Outlook. Surviving the Storm of a Lifetime … Again is featured in our December 2018 issue. ![]()
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