Chapter 1

Grant Maxwell and his two children stared at the local news report in amazement. Overnight, a squall two hundred miles east of Charleston and a hundred miles south had turned into a hurricane. Of course, hurricanes in the Low Country of South Carolina were not uncommon, but no one had ever heard of one forming this far north or so close to the mainland. In addition, this storm seemed to be heading straight for Charleston, which would place Grant’s research facility in the path of the northern side of the eye - the area of the storm’s most significant fury.

The last time a storm had hit this area was twenty-two years ago when Hugo left a path of destruction whose effects could still be seen just by looking out his window. His house and research compound were located about five miles from the mouth of the Santee River at the north-eastern edge of Francis Marion National Forest and a little over a mile west of the Intracoastal Waterway. Hugo had flattened this large National Forest, destroying enough trees to have built homes for one point six million people. The small pines that were now twenty to thirty feet high were a sad reminder of the large trees that had been destroyed, many of which were two feet or larger in diameter. It was doubtful if most of the stately live oaks that had once shared the forest would ever be replaced.

Grant felt pretty secure in their location, as this area had survived the bigger storm, and they had done much to strengthen the site during the building process. Several of his employees felt the same, as they had abandoned their mobile homes and brought their families to the facilities for shelter. What really added to their sense of security was the floor of the house and most of the other buildings were forty-eight feet above sea-level; fifteen feet higher than the peak of Hugo’s storm surge. This confidence was boosted by the Army Corps of Engineers certification that the main structures could withstand winds greater than two hundred and fifty miles an hour.

Of course, with the type of secret research he was doing for the Navy, they could justify the funds needed to secure the site for anything short of a nuclear explosion or a large object falling from space. The full importance of their work could be seen by the fact that they were hidden in plain sight. There were no ten foot chain-link fences topped with razor wire, no guards at the entrance, and no armed patrols with dogs. Instead, they were at the end of several miles of little used sand and shell roads. This didn’t mean that security didn’t exist though, as there was a substantial electronic surveillance network covering the roads and the surrounding areas.

To further the secrecy of the site, there were no visible power or phone lines past the Santee Gun Club, which was a good two miles west. Lines past the hunting club, which catered for top level government personnel, were buried underground to the Maxwell facility, and this included a T-3 link to the Internet. Their electricity was backed up by several large propane powered generators, as well as a turbine anchored to the river’s bottom. A unique part of the turbines was that they could be turned by water flow in either direction, thus utilizing not only the river’s current, but also the tidal activity. This was part of their research, and had been successful to the point of actually transferring more power into the Santee-Cooper grid than they were using.

Looking from the river, the site used a thick stand of bamboo and massive live oaks to hide the small harbor containing several boats. Included in their efforts to remain basically hidden from inquisitive eyes, was a movable platform containing bamboo and shrubs that fit closely to the actual land. Blending in with its surroundings, it protected and hid the harbor’s entrance, yet it could be opened like a gate to let boats in and out of the small harbor.

Grant’s thoughts were interrupted by the ominous sounds of Darth Vader’s theme. Only his ex-wife’s calls could initiate this ringtone.

“Yes, Charlotte,” he answered.

“Do you have the children? I can’t get a hold of my sister.”

“Yes, I have them. Teresa called me in a panic and said they were headed out away from the storm and did not have room for Mark and Tracy.”

“I was trying to get back, but the FAA has closed the airport and we’re being redirected to Atlanta.”

“I understand, but they’ll be perfectly safe here. I offered to provide shelter to your sister, but they couldn’t wait to leave town. She was so terrified; she couldn’t wait for me to get there. She took them to the police station instead.”

“She did what?” shouted Charlotte.

“She dropped Mark and Tracy off at the front entrance to the James Island Police Station. She didn’t even take them inside, but just sent them inside with a note. By the time I got there I was knee deep in social services bureaucrats. It took me almost three hours to remove the kids from their clutches.”

“I know she can be a bit hysterical, but this seems a bit much even for her.”

“Well, believe me, I’m not making this up or exaggerating. It took me most of the drive back here to calm Tracy down, though Mark seemed rather stoic about the whole affair.”

“Grant, we’ve had our differences, but as far as I know, you’ve never lied to me. In fact, part of our problem was that too often you told me a truth I didn’t want to hear. Based on that, are you sure they’ll be safe? The television report seems to think that area’s going to take quite a beating.”

“Charlotte, we’ve got generators in case we lose power. We’ve got food and water and are almost fifty feet above sea-level. This place weathered the storm surge from Hugo, and we’ve done a lot to make it even more secure.”

“That makes me feel better, and besides, no matter how I feel about you, I can’t imagine you placing those kids at risk.”

“Thanks for the compliment ... I think.”

His ex-wife laughed, and said, “Thanks for keeping my feet on the ground, even though I’m thirty-five thousand feet in the air. Now, how bad is it?”

“The storm is still rated a category two, but it’s sitting at the edge of the Gulf Stream picking up strength. The winds here are currently thirty-three miles per hour and increasing. The rain bands started a few hours ago, but at the moment, it isn’t coming down very heavy. One thing positive is that we reached high tide more than two hours ago, so most likely we’ll be on an outgoing tide when it finally comes ashore. That should drop the level of the storm surge considerably.”

“It’s funny. I’ve been listening to the experts for over four hours, and you told me more in four minutes. I think you missed your calling.”

“Thanks, but remember the reason they rattled on for four hours was that they had airtime to fill. I just concentrated on the pertinent facts.”

“I hadn’t thought of it like that, but you’re right. Anyway, thanks for the reassurance and the civil conversation.”

“Charlotte, when have I not spoken to you in a civil manner?”

There was a long pause before his ex-wife answered in a sad tone, “When I was making unreasonable and unrealistic demands. Many of which I have to admit were placed in my head by my sister. Maybe if she had kept out of it ...”

“Don’t even go there, Charlotte. Let’s just concentrate on the fact that we both got what we wanted, and we’ve got two very special kids as an added benefit. Now, I’ve got to go. The wind has just jumped almost fifteen miles an hour and rain is coming down in sheets.”

“Okay, Grant. Please stay safe.”

“I’ll do my best.”

Grant terminated the call and looked back at his gauges. He quickly extended the mast of the sailboat sitting in the harbor and used the radar and the TV camera to get a quick look at the storm. It seemed to have made up its mind and was headed toward shore. At maximum magnification he could actually see the forward edge of the eye wall. He quickly lowered the mast and hit the intercom.

“John, it’s headed in and I think it’ll be a category three by the time it arrives. Get the families inside and make sure everything is secure, including the steel covers for the windows.”

“We’re already on it,” replied John Ross, his second in command.

Grant’s cell phone rang for a second time. Looking at the caller ID, he found that it was from his friend, retired marine gunnery sergeant Eric Camden.

“Yes, Eric. What’u need?”

“How about a little shelter? We’re returning from a gun show in Conway, but we’re not going to make it to Mount Pleasant before the storm hits.”

“Sure, but be careful as there may be trees and stuff all over the road. How many are with you?”

“We’ve three in each of the two vans and both the vans and the trailers are full of merchandise. We’ll be there as quickly as possible, but we’re having to drive about twenty miles an hour due to the heavy rain. I can’t see more than seventy-five feet in front of me.”

“Okay. I’ll have some of my men clear out an area in the warehouse so you can just pull in and park out of the weather. Call when you see the buildings and I’ll start the door opening.”

“Will do, and thanks.”

Sioux Ross entered the room as Grant ended the call, and asked, “Grant, do you or the kids want anything to eat or drink? I’ve some fresh juice made, as well as soup and sandwiches.”

Before Grant could answer, the excited children headed to the kitchen area.

“Well, I guess that’s part of my answer,” Sioux laughed. “Are you going to join them?”

“Actually, I need to stay on watch at the moment, though the soup and sandwich sounds good. I’d like a diet though, instead of juice.”

“Over ice?”

“Please.”

While studying the instruments and waiting for Sioux to return, Grant took a mental inventory of those who were depending on him for shelter. Of course, his children, Mark and Tracy were his ultimate concern, but he also had John and Sioux, along with their eight month old daughter, Tiena. John was his second in command and lived on site, as did Grant.

Mike and Jenifer Samuels, Brad and Barbara Tyson and Jerry and Pat Allen were the three couples who had fled their manufactured homes. All three men were retired Navy Chiefs who had worked with Grant at the Naval Weapons Station in Goose Creek. When the Navy had moved Grant to a separate facility, the three men were granted full retirement and given clearance to continue helping Grant with his research. There were other employees who were also valuable to their research efforts, but they weren’t presently depending on Grant to protect them from the storm.

Sioux returned with his meal at the same time his weather gear notified him that the winds were now above sixty miles an hour. He thanked her and took his first bite of the hot pastrami sandwich. It was delicious. He sipped the cup of cream of broccoli soup as his cell phone again rang. The ID said it was Eric.

“That was quicker than I thought,” Grant stated into the phone.

“We’re not there yet, but I thought I better advise you that we’ve a car and a truck following us. I suspect they’re following our tail lights, but I thought I’d better give you a heads up. We should be there in less than ten minutes.”

“Thanks for the warning. I won’t turn people away during a storm like this, but I’ll need to make sure they’re legitimate.”

Grant ended the call and hit the intercom, saying, “John, we’ve got guests coming. Some of whom were not invited. Clear the center of the warehouse and make sure everyone is armed. The first two are Eric Camden and some of his employees returning from a gun show. They have two vans, each pulling a large trailer. We think the others were just following his tail lights in the storm, but we don’t know for certain.”

“Aye aye, Skipper. How close are they?”

“One zero minutes according to Eric. He’s supposed to call when he sees the compound, but if you see him first, open the doors. I’d also turn on all the lights out there.”

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Winds of Change

Mike Lowe aka The Scot

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