“Listen to me Mark, please. We have to get out of here. The Governor has declared a state of emergency.”

“You go, Traci. I’m going to stay here. I’ve been able to ride these things out before.” The wind was beginning to pick up and storm clouds were forming. TV meteorologists had practically run out of adjectives to describe the hurricane’s destructive potential.

“Mark, I can’t leave you here. I know we haven’t been seeing each other very long, but if you care anything for me, you’ll leave with me right now.”

Mark pointed to the hurricane shutters on the windows. “I had these shutters put in last fall. Spent a ton of dough on them.” Traci stood silent. Until that moment she had not realized that Mark could be stubborn. The house was situated on an oceanfront lot, close enough to the beach that you could hear the waves kissing the sand, especially when the sliding door was open. That morning, they slapped the sand hard, signaling a loud warning: Run.

“How much lightning do you think there’s gonna be?” Mark asked.

“Lightning?  Not during a hurricane, silly.” Traci said. “Why?”

“I hope these shutters keep the light out.”

“You’re not making any sense Mark. Listen, my Santa Fe has a full tank of gas. We need to make for Orlando now. With any luck, traffic will be light. Most of the people around here left hours ago.”

Mark was filling his large spaghetti pot with water. He had two cases of bottled water on the dining room table. “My refrigerator is stocked and I’ve got ice right up to the top in my bathtub and more in a cooler in case power goes out,” He said. “Plenty of food for both of us.   

“Are you listening to me? If this storm is half as bad as they say it is, your food, your ice and your water are going to be littering Biscayne Boulevard,” Traci said.

“Look, if you want to go, go!” Mark yanked the refrigerator door and pulled out a bottle of Bud. “I can’t leave here.” He took a long drink. “I have to get some extra blankets for the bed.”

Traci, who managed a psychiatric practice, suddenly felt a chill. “Mark, you mentioned lightning. Does lightning upset you?”

Mark shrugged. “A little maybe.”

“My God, Mark you probably have astraphobia.”

“What the hell is astraphobia? Never heard of it.”

“Astraphobia is an abnormal fear of lightning and thunder. It’s not uncommon. Is that why you refuse to leave?” At that moment, there was a flash of lightning over the water, soon followed by a loud thunder clap. The light was visible even with the shutters closed. The storm was getting closer. The wind was blowing now and there were a few raindrops falling.

“What was that? I thought you said hurricanes don’t have lightning.”

“Hardly ever, but Mark, the lightning isn’t going to kill you. This storm might.” She spoke softly now. “Listen, I can blindfold you so you don’t see anything. I’ll have the news on. You won’t even hear the thunder, okay? My sister lives in Kissimmee. We can be there in about three hours. We’ll be safe there.”

“These storms are never as bad as the TV weather people say it’s gonna be. They just want us to grocery shop.”

Traci opened the refrigerator door. “Apparently, it worked,” she said pointing to shelves crammed with food. “Come on, let’s go. Don’t make me drive to Kissimmee alone.”

Mark saw the worry in Traci’s eyes. He went into his bedroom and shut the door. Traci heard him creating his own thunder, slamming drawers. When he returned to the kitchen he was holding a small overnight bag and a blindfold. He took a deep breath.

They got as far as Boynton Beach. That’s where the traffic stalled. A tractor trailer had overturned about ten miles north of their position. I-95 was a parking lot. The storm hit with full force twenty minutes later. There were a few lightning strikes. Blindfolded, Mark didn’t see them. The hard rain, pounding all those close-knit vehicles, practically drowned out the thunder.

The couple sat silently, holding hands. Traci prayed. The car was being buffeted by strong winds, although not as fierce as predicted. Mark couldn’t take the blindfold anymore. The cars rocking in the wind spooked him. He had to see what was happening.

He noticed a young woman and two small children running through the trees that bordered the Interstate. They were almost at the shoulder of the road when a terrific gust of wind forced the woman to lose her grip on the smaller child. The little boy, perhaps four years old, started to tumble backwards. Instinctively, Mark jumped out of the Hyundai and ran for the boy.       He caught him half-way between the road’s shoulder and the trees and scooped him up.

The mother was clinging to the guardrail with one arm, while holding her little girl close to her chest.  Mark ran past the woman and managed to get the back door of Traci’s car open. He put the kid inside and turned to go after the mother and the little girl. By then another man, shouting at them to stay low, was guiding the woman and girl toward the Santa Fe.  

The young woman’s car had broken down on a side road. Foolishly perhaps, she left her car to look for help. She too was trying to get to the Orlando area. Six hours later, Traci dropped them off with relatives they were trying to reach. That night, safe in Kissimmee, Traci said, “You were really brave Mark. I had no idea you could be so cool under pressure.”

“That’s nothing,” he said. “I’m not afraid of lightning anymore.”