We move forward, and as hard as I try to forget the sight of the cradle, of Ruth, it follows me like a chill that settles in my bones.

How many others haven’t been as lucky as we are? How many perished last night?

We continue on, heading toward the main road. The farther we walk, the more obvious the scope of the destruction becomes.

I stumble, nearly losing my balance. I open my mouth to cry out, but no sound escapes.

A body hangs from the limbs of a tree, mangled beyond recognition.

For a moment, I think it’s the man I shot, come back to haunt me, but it’s a woman, I realize, stepping closer as the breeze blows a lock of long red hair like a ribbon fluttering in the wind.

It could be the girl from New York I met earlier on the beach.

Elizabeth.

It could be anyone.

Beside me, Anthony swears.

I have seen the aftermath of many storms.

I have never seen anything like this.

“Should we—”

The words “help her” stick in my throat.

“She’s beyond any help we could give her now,” Anthony replies, his voice achingly gentle as though I might unravel at any moment.

We walk on, and there are more bodies. On the ground, wrapped in whatever trees survived the wind’s fury, bodies poking through rubble of homes that were obliterated by the storm. A few times, Anthony rushes over to the body as though the person can be saved, as if there is some assistance to be given, but it quickly becomes apparent that there is no point.

We are surrounded by death.

In the distance, I spot two figures walking toward us. I grip Anthony’s arm, and he tenses beside me as we assess the new arrivals—two men, their clothes tattered, cuts all over their faces and arms, their faces slack with shock.

They’re brothers, and their house was destroyed in the storm. Their eyes well with tears discussing it. I cannot fathom how devastating it must be to see your home laid to waste, your family and friends gone.

We walk on with the men, and others join us, more survivors of the storm wearing the shocked expressions that no doubt must mirror our own, their bodies in various stages of undress, their clothing blown away by the elements, their shoes gone, feet scraped by the rocks as they wander aimlessly, as they search for their loved ones.

Some of the locals stop every once in a while to pick up something of theirs that was blown away by the storm. My heart clenches at the pain in their eyes, their scattered possessions clutched in their arms, at the losses they’ve suffered. Homes are destroyed. Lives are lost. The entire island has effectively been wiped away.

These people were already struggling. What will they do now?

Bodies litter the beach. Around us, the locals cry as they recognize one of their own, but just as frequently, the appearance of the body is left with more questions than answers.

Could it be Nancy Thompson?

Perhaps.

No, it’s too tall to be Nancy.

It’s the Miller girl, isn’t it?

A pause. A wiping of brows.

It might be the Miller girl.

And on and on it goes. There are women and men. There are children. Babies.

No one should see the things we see today.

More than once, Anthony urges me to return to the house, but I stay as I am, my hand clutched in his.

Each step we take reveals another fantastical, horrific thing:

Mr. Flagler’s mighty railroad lies in ruins, stretches of track destroyed, cars broken and twisted. An enormous freighter marooned near a beach rather than far off in the ocean where it should be, the storm’s strength and power ominous, indeed. The Matecumbe Hotel is severely damaged, yet intact enough to provide shelter to some of the survivors. So many dead that I begin to lose count, the violence of their deaths becoming less shocking with each mile we traverse, the storm’s indiscriminate cruelty numbing me.

It’s the worst by the railroad station. Bodies are tangled in the mangroves, the stench unbearable. They litter the ground like discarded trash.

“They didn’t even have a chance,” the woman beside me whispers, crossing herself.

The strangest thing is that in the midst of all this destruction, there are items that are untouched, blown far away from their owners yet perfectly preserved. A dress on the ground. A shoe. A bed. These things defy logic, explanation.

Anthony gestures toward a group of men up ahead he’s been talking to. “They’re going to try to ferry some of the people who need medical assistance out. The most vulnerable need to be taken to safety. Most of the food and supplies have been swept away. Things are going to get bad for everyone stuck here. Water, in particular, will be a problem.

“I’m going to help them. You should head back to the house. Get some rest. It’s late. You don’t want to be out after dark in this. Please. I don’t want to be worried about you the whole time.” Anthony pulls the gun out of his pocket. “Take this. Keep it on you. There could be looters. People trying to take advantage of the situation.”

A grim look passes between us—there could be more enemies of his.

“I don’t want to leave you, but they need men who can help carry the injured, and—”

I press my lips to his, cutting off his words.

When the kiss ends, I lean back and gaze into his eyes.

“Come home to me.”

Twenty-Six

Helen

It’s late in the afternoon when John returns to the cabin, Lucy sleeping peacefully. I’ve made the most of the canned goods, but he wasn’t wrong—water is already in short supply. We can’t stay here much longer.

“What’s it like out there?” I ask. I’ve done little more than peek out the windows at the unfamiliar landscape since he left.

“We’re definitely near Windley Key. It’s a mess. The telephone lines aren’t working. Same with the telegraph lines. The roads are blocked. The bridges are gone.”

“The hospital?”

“That’s gone, too.”

My heart sinks.

“Everything is gone,” John adds. “A boat came down from Miami; they’re helping get the injured out and taking them to safety, ferrying them up to the hospital on the mainland. You and Lucy should go.”

“What about you?”

“I’ll join you later, stay behind until there’s a chance for the rest of us to get out. Right now, the most important thing is that you’re both safe.”