The Hurricane - Pt. 2

"Quint!...QUINT!!", Martin yelled after the truck, to no avail. The wind and the rain drowned out his voice and the land rovers windows were blurred by the rain. He didnt think Quint would have stopped for him, anyway...when Quint set his mind to something, he was like a pre-programmed robot. "Damn it!!", Martin cursed, then turned to run back into the building. He ran smack into Burns as he was coming out. "Where the hell did the mayor go??", Martin demanded. "I dont know, chief", Burns shrugged, "he was talking to Simms...ask him". Martin looked at burns as if he were an idiot, "Youre alot of help". Burns just shrugged, "Sorry...". Martin ran inside and met Simms coming out of the conference room. "Hey, chief", Simms said, "...We were all just on our way back to the station to get our next set of orders...". "I told you", Martin said, agitated, "Drive around - but carefully - and look for folks who may be stranded...especially the older residents, who cant get around very well anymore...make sure that everyone gets to a designated shelter....Polly just put up a list of alternatives at the station...". He paused for a moment. With all the confusion, he almost forgot to ask about Quint. "Burns told me that you and the mayor were talking before he left", Martin inquired, "Did he tell you where he was going?". "No where specific, chief", Simms shrugged, a man so tall that Martin had to look up at him, but painfully thin. The police department had height requirements, but not weight requirements. Simms continued, "He just said that he was going to find his wife and son...maybe he went home?". Frantic, Martin told Baker, who'd been standing next to Simms, to go over and keep things moving at the station. He then told Simms to do his best about getting an ambulance to the station and try and gather some pillows and blankets to take to Mrs. Quint...then told him why. "Whatt're ya gonna do, chief??", Simms asked, excitedly. "I gotta find Quint!", Martin told him. Martin ran to the mayors office to see if thier phones were still working. The island phones were like that, sometimes...sometimes several phones would be out, but two or three would still work. Craziest damned thing he'd ever seen...but he hoped that was the case, this time, too. He was going to call Ellen to tell her to drop the boys off at the hospital and come over here to help deliver this baby! Oh, sure...he had the training to deliver a baby...he just didnt have the stomach for it! But the phones were out in the town hall, too. He guessed they were down all over the island. He had a radio in the truck, but that wasnt going to do him any good...Ellens nor Quints trucks had radios in them. So, Martin decided to brave the oncoming storm and got into his police land rover and went out to look for either Elles or Quint...mainly Quint. He knew Ellen could take care of herself...hell...living 15 years in New York could toughen up Mother Teresa! He thanked Christ that he'd left his street jacket in the truck...it was so cold that he thought he might freeze his testicles off without it! When Martin turned onto Beachfront road, he had no idea in which direction he should go. He knew Quint wouldnt go to the mayorial mansion and it was unlikely that he would go to the cottage on Oceanview, so he headed north, to get to the west side of the island, where the ferry was. Mrs. Tanner had told Quint that Elena was heading for the mainland, so this was the most likely place for him to be. But when Martin arrived at the ferry building, the entire area had been abandoned. Everything had been shut down and locked up tight in anticipation of the oncoming hurricane. And Barbara Gillespies red 1982 Chevy "suburban" land rover was nowhere in sight. He wondered if Quint hadnt abandoned it somewhere? He could have borrowed it, like Simms said...but, knowing Quint, if it wasnt fast enough or he got it stuck somewhere, he'd ditch it and go on foot. "Sweet christ", Martin thought to himself, "I hope not!". Martin sat there, at the abandoned, lonely...and a bit spooky, now...inteersection, wondering what he was to do, next. He had no idea where to look for Quint, at this point. "To hell with it", Martin said, "He's a big boy, now...he could very well care for himself!". There were many other people that Martin had to be concerned about, right now....ones who werent stubborn, who needed help and epended on him...especially Elena. He had to get back and help her deliver that baby!...There was no one else who was going to be able to do it. Martin had no choice. Reluctantly, Martin turned the truck around and headed back to the station. He thought about useing the radio to contact the hospital, but there was little chance anyone would be monitoring the radio...the place would be over-crowded and all available staff would be too busy tending to people. He could always give it a shot, later...when things werent so hectic.....or....he would give it a try if things started going wrong with Elenas delivery... Martin was starting to really worry, now. When Martin walked into the crowded station, he saw that several more people had crowded inside, despite all the listings of shelters that Polly had put up. He thought of running everyone out and sending them to shelters, but then he figured it was starting to get too dangerous to go out there, anyway, so he remained quiet about it. Polly met Martin as he walked through the little swinging gate that seperated the back of the office from the front. "Chief...Mrs. Quints time has come, now...", she whispered, "that baby is coming...what should I do?". She was wide-eyes and nervous. She'd had her own child, but she was under anesthetic when she did so! "Mrs. Brody hasnt gotten here, yet?", he asked. "She got a message through on the two-way, chief", Polly said, "they left the house, headed for here, but the storm hit hard, so they were rerouted to the firehouse because its closer". Frustrated, Martin cussed under his breath. Hearing his cuss words, Polly shook her finger at him and gave him a scolding look, "I used to wash my boys mouth out for language like that, chief Brody!". He grinned, "Yes, ma'am...sorry". But he had hoped Ellen would be here to help deliver that baby...he didnt really want to do have to do it...but, it looked like he was the only one available. It was him or no one. "Where did all these other people come from?", he asked. "Most of them were stranded", Polly said, "Some were brought in by Simms and Baker". "Wheres Simms and Baker now?", Martin wanted to know. "They're out trying to round up Burns and O'Connor, now...", she said, looking out at that nasty sky, "...Before that storm hits full-force". Just as she said that, a massive wind came up and blew out that cracked window. Glass shards blew everywhere and everyone screamed. Papers from Pollys desk flew all over the room. Martin covered Polly with his body and took her to floor, just in the nick of time. Luckily, his street coat was thick and wet enough to repel most of the flying glass. He ended up with only a small cut on his right ear. But, before he could shake off the glass, Elena screamed. Martin yelled to a couple of the guys to get the bookcases in front of that window to try and block out some opf the wind, as he ran back to the office, to Elena. Mikey was crying, standing next to his mommy, trying as best he knew how to comfort her. Martins heart went out to Mikey...he was only 8, but trying to take care of his mom, trying to be a man - and being so terribly scared, himself. Quint would be so proud of his litle son, right now... "Martin...", Elena gasped, panting, "The babys coming...I need help!". This was it. There was no one else around who knew enough to deliver a baby, so it was totally up to him, now. "Hey, Mike", Martin slightly whispered to the boy, "...Want to do me a huge favor?". His little blue eyes so sad and full of tears and his lips quivering, Mikey Quint puffed out his little chest and said, as calmly as he could without hitching with sobs, "I cant, uncle Martin...(sniff)...I have to take care of my mommy...". Martins heart was breaking. He could actually feel it. He knew how scared this little guy must be. Damn...he wished Quint was here...! "I know, Mike...", Martin said, as softly as he could, trying not to let his voice crack, "But this is going to be important police business and all my deputies are out searching for people stranded out in the rain" (careful not to say the word 'storm'....the kid was scared enough). Mikeys eyes lit up...a spark flashed in the blue. Martin unfastened his badge, then pinned it to the official jacket. "I'm deputizing you now, Michael Quint, junior...", Martin smiled, kneeling before Mikey, "...You have to help me, now". Mikey tried desperately to hide a growing grin as he shifted his eyes between Martin, his mother and this shiny, brass badge. "What do I do now, mommy?", he asked her, leaning over to whisper into her ear, "I dont want to leave you...". She smiled and gave a quick wink to Martin, trying to be calm, despite her great pain, "Do as uncle Martin tells you to do, Mike....youre his deputy, now...he needs your help". Mikey looked up at Martin, still trying to be so brave, "Okay...", he said, "But you have to promise to watch my mom and take care of her while I'm busy, ok?", he sniffed, but smiled. Smiling himself, Martin placed his hand gently but firmly onto Mikeys shoulder (the jacket was so huge that it seemed to just swallow this little guy up, Martin mused), "I will, Mike...this is why I need your help", Martin explained carefully to him, "See, your mom needs someone who knows a little about doctoring to help her bring your little brother or sister into this world...we cant get a real doctor because of all that rain and your dad is...uh...busy right now, so he cant be here, so...I have to help her. But theres official police business out there that needs tending too and I cant be in two places at once, right?". Mikey shook his head. "Right", Martin agreed, "So I need you to go out there and set with Polly and watch those people...make sure that everyone stays calm and orderly while I'm in here helping your mom...ok?". "Okay, uncle Martin", Mikey said, hesitantly, still holding onto his moms hand, "What should I do first?". His mind scrambling to think of something to keep the boy busy and not having much time to think, Martin finally said, "Well, first you can help Polly pick up all those papers that the wind blew around...", then, scrambling to think of something else, quickly - and pleased with his brains quick responses - he said, "Then you take this key...", Martin pulled the keyring from his utility belt, singling out one particular key, handing it to Mikey, "...And go down this hall to the utility closet and get everyone some candles and some paper cups to slip around the candles, so that when theyre lit, the wind cant blow them out, then pass them around, okay?". Mikey nodded. "But you let Polly or some other grown-up light them, okay?", Martin told him. Mikey nodded again. "Okay...lets get started", Martin said, standing up, taking Mikey by the shoulder, to lead him out of the office. But Mikey stopped long enough to hug and kiss his mom before he went. "Thats one hell of a kid you and Quint have", Martin told Elena as he rolled up his sleeves, then stepped out into the hallway to the bathroom, to wash his hands. "Yes", he heard Elena say...as she gave a push with her stomach muscles. "Dont push till I get there!!", Martin said, rushing back, his hands still dripping with water. He didnt even get a chance to use soap. "I...cant...help...it", she said, still pushing. Finally, she was done pushing for the moment. Martin scanned the room for things he would need...something to put water into, gloves, a blanket or towel, scissors, alcohol... Alcohol!...He went and got his bottle from the desk drawer. Kentucky bourbon was better than nothing. "We dont have much by way of sterilization, lady", Martin said, "So we'll have to do alot of praying!". Panting, resting before another pain hit her, she told him, "I dont really give a rats-ass at this point, Martin...just help me get this kid out and we'll deal with all of that later!". Martin knelt on the floor, between her knees. The babys head was crowning...he didnt have much time. One good push and that head would be out. He reached over and grabbed the days newspaper off the desk. He was going to need it to wrap the baby in, for warmth. "I gotta PUSH again!", Elena growled. "Okay...okay", Martin said, scared as hell. Jeez...he wasnt even in the delivery room when his own kids were born! "Just remember", he said, nervously, "Breathe!!", reminding her of the Lamaze breathing techniques that she'd learned (and Martin, too, went he went to those classes with Ellen) in those birthing classes. "Aaaaaahhhhggggggg", went the sound that came out of her as she beared down, useing every muscle in her body to push that baby out of her. The head popped out. "The heads out!", he exclaimed, as Elena laid back against the arm of the sofa to rest a minute, breathing heavily. Quint had practically been all over the island looking for his family. The winds were so heavy that he could barely control the land rover and the rains were coming down so hard, that he could barely see at all. The streets were flooded and completely deserted...and it was getting darker. He pulled over to the side of the road to think. After a few moments, he slammed his fist into the trucks dashboard in frustration. "Where the hell are they??", he hissed through his teeth, the muscles in his jaw clenched so tightly that they were pulsating. Cold, wet and scared as hell, Quint decided to try and get to the hospital...maybe she finally got there, somehow. But the truck wouldnt start. "Bloody HELL!!", he yelled. He flipped the latch and kicked the door open with so much force that it whipped back and slammed him in the right knee so hard that it cut through his slacks, slicing through his skin. Blood was gushing everywhere. "Jesus H Christ!!!", he spat, as he examined his wound, not really feeling the pain. He leaned back inside the truck and looked for something to use as a bandage. He lucked out...he found one of Barbaras scarves. He tied it tightly around his thigh, to try and cut off the blood flow to the wound, so that he wouldnt bleed to death. Thank God it was so cold...it helped to numb the pain. But he knew he would have to get somewhere to get some help for this wound...so he could continue looking for his family. He got out, closed the door and started walking toward the front of the truck. The wind was blowing so hard that he knew he wasnt going to be bale to walk against it, so he would have to blow with it. He turned in the opposite direction and was blown all the way to the back of the land rover...he had to grab the bumper as he blew past it to keep from getting blown to who-knows- where! "SHIT!!!", he screamed...angry, frustrated, worried...and downright scared. Here he was, already terrified for his son amd expectant wife...and now, probably having to end up being rescued himself. That is, if there would even BE anyone along to rescue him...which, he doubted. Everyone was already tucked safely into shelters, by now. He didnt know what to do. He clung to that bumper as the wind rocked that truck from front to back, whipping him around like a kite caught on a power line. A brief, horrifying thought raced through his mind...what if the wind blew the truck ontop of him?? But that thought was too horrifying for him to dwell on, so he quickly replaced that thought with an idea... Less than 30 feet down the road was a small cottage. No one would be there, of course...but he would have a better chance to survive there than where he was, currently. Besides...it would at least give him a rest and a chance to gather his thoughts...and maybe there were some medical supplies for his wound there, too. He knew the wind wouldnt allow him to get up and walk down there, so...he simply let go of the bumper he had been hanging onto. He allowed the wind to just take him. He was blowing and rolling down the road like a tumbleweed. He kept his arms and legs outstretched so that it would be easier for him to navigate himself in the direction he wanted to go. This seemed like it took forever (but was only, actually, a matter of minutes), but he finally ended up in front of the small cottage. He reached out and grabbed onto one of the pickets in the fence, but it broke under his weight. As the wind blew him further, his hand slid along the thin, wooden pickets until it found purchase on a thicker, more sturdy corner post. He grabbed it and hung on for dear life! Once he got his bearings, he pulled himself along the fence, then inside of the gate. He then pulled himself along the inside of the fence, until he could grab onto one of the porch pillars, then he pulled himself onto the porch. Clinging to the porch railings, he came to a window. He lunged for the window sill and grabbed it. From there, he was close enough to the house to where the wind wasnt so bad. He walked sideways to the front door...but it was locked. "SonofaBITCH!!", he yelled, so angry that he was almost crazy from it. Still holding onto the house mouldings, he reached out with one fist and yelled at this hurricane, "I'll ride you out out and find my family and keep them safe from you...and then you can KISS MY ASS!!!", shaking his fist in the air, "I'll beat you, you bloody bastard!!!". He was really pissed off. He swung his mighty, powerful fist into that window glass, putting it right through. He reached in, unlocked it and climbed inside. He sat down on the sofa to catch his breath. Once rested, he inspected his leg. It was a nasty wound...a gash about three inches long and about a half an inch wide and looking quite deep. Despite his make-shift tournaquet, it was bleeding profusedly. The enitre lower portion of his right trouser leg was caked with a mixture of fresh and drying blood. Even his sock was soaked with it and it had puddled in his shoe. This was not good, Quint thought, so he steadied himself and stood up. He went searching for a bathroom medicine cabinet. Along the way, he stumbled into a shelving unit with doors. He heard glass bottles clanking together, inside. He opened the cabinet and found a well-stocked supply of liquor. He reached in and just grabbed a bottle, not wanting to take the time to be too particular. He carried the bottle with him to locate the bathroom. The bathrooms medicine cabinet was fairly well stocked...there were plenty of things inside that he could use...antiseptic, cottonballs, gauze, tape, aspirins... He took all these things and set them on the sink, next to the toilet. He sat down on the toilet and prepared to clean and dress his wound, but, first, he took the cap off of the liquor bottle and took a long drink. He held the bottle high, in the light...curious to see what it was that he had grabbed...an old bottle of Irish whiskey. With a twinkle in his eye and a grin forming on his lips, he raised the bottle into the air. Looking upward, grinning, he shouted, "Here's to you, me sainted Irish Grandmother!", then he took another long swallow. "Aahhhh...thats smooooothe...", he smiled, wiping his arms across his lips. He studied the bottle a moment, once more, before taking the last, long swig before tending to business. He poured some of the whiskey into his wound. (He had learned, while he was in the Navy that the alcohol one drinks is just as good as rubbing alcohol, in a pinch). But, he had forgotten that it burned and stung just as badly! "Ooowwww, Jesus H christ!!", he winced with the stinging pain. He grabbed at the aspirin bottle and downed several aspirins, then washed them down with the whiskey. After he had cleaned and dressed his wound, he decided to try and find a clean, dry pair of trousers. When he found Elena, he didnt want her seeing all that blood and panicking...not in her state. It would scare her to terribly. He eventually found some mens clothing, but the man they belonged to was much shorter than Quint - and much thinner. So, Quint decided to just wash out as much of the blood as he could and keep what he had on. He was already soaking wet, anyway and was going to get soaking wet, again, when he went back out...so he removed his shoe, sock and trousers and rinsed them in the sink - all the while, draining more and more whiskey from the bottle and pouring it into his gullet. He got out as much of the blood as possible...which wasnt really much...then put back on his wet clothing and went into the kitchen for something to eat. He knew that drinking on an empty stomach would make him sick and he had to stay in top shape in order to find his family. Besides...he had promised Elena that he would eat something, anyway. He fixed himself a couple of sandwiches, then sat down at the kitchen table to eat them. As he ate, he listened to the howling wind whipping around the outside of the cottage. He could even hear, at times, what sounded like shingles ripping from the roof and clapboards ripping off of the outside of the house. This little cottage shook and moaned under the strains of the powerful winds. Quint was amazed that this structure was holding up so well. The rain pelted the window glass so hard that it seemed the glass would surely break under the strain, but it didnt. He wondered how his own little cottage was holding up beneath this battering hurricane? His thoughts of the cottage on OceanView road turned his thoughts to his wife and son. He actually prayed, for the first time since Josh Brewer had shot Elena inside that cottage, for his wife and children to be safe from this storm. He finished his two sandwiches, took a long, healthy guzzle of the whiskey, finishing off the bottle. He sat back in the chair, his belly pleasantly full and a lovely 'buzz' forming in his head. As he sat the empty bottle on the table, he spied a notepad and a pencil...and an idea struck him. He picked up the pencil and began writing a note for the owners of the cottage...just incase it was still standing after the hurricane...and, by the looks of it, it would be. The note read: "Dear homeowners, I found myself needing to take refuge in your home during the storm. While I was here, I took liberties with you food and drink and medical supplies. I thank you for your (although involuntary) hospitality and will send a check to cover all that I have made use of in your home. My thanks to you. Sincerely, Mayor M. Quint P.S. = I will also cover the cost of the front window that I had to break in order to gain entry." He then went into the livingroom to set and think and rest awhile, before starting out, once more. HIs forst instinct was to ride out the storm. He tried rationalizing that Elena would be alright, that she would have surely found someplace for her and Mikey to be safe, but he knew that he would be crazy with worry and could not rest until he knew for sure. The booze really hit him by this time. He started to get sleepy. He figured he would just lay his head back and sleep it off an hour or so, so he closed his eyes. He passed out cold, drunk. Once the babys head was out and Elena had caught her breath, she gave one more good push, with Martins insistence, and the baby completely entered the world. "Its a GIRL!!", Martin shouted, excitedly, "Youve got a little girl!!". He laughed heartily as Elena, soaked in persperation and breathing heavily, smiled tiredly. Martin wiped the babys face with the edge of Elenas blanket to clear the mucous from her little mouth and nose, then took her gently by the tiny ankles, lifted her and gave her a gentle but firm swat on the back to help her clear the mucous from her lungs. She let out a squeal that nearly pierced his eardrums! "Oh, shes Quints daughter, alright", Martin laughed, "Listen to that powerful set of lungs!". Elena laughed in agreement, as Martin set about wrapping the newest member of the Quint family in newspapers to keep her warm. Then he carried her to her mothers waiting arms. "This is the best I can do with what we've got, kiddo", Martin smiled down at Elena, as he gently laid the baby in her mothers arms. Just above a whisper, toying with the babys tiny little hand, Martin asked, "So.,..whats her name, mom?". Smiling proudly down at her daughter, she contemplated before answering. The she told him. "I think I'll name her Elizabeth Noreen, after Michaels Grandmother and mother...". "Thats nice...", Martin smiled as he stood erect, "Now, you two get some rest, while I go and try to find the proud new poppa...". Weakly, Elena asked, "Is Mikey going to be alright out there...?". "He'll be fine, Elena", Martin smiled back at her from the doorway, "Just leave him to Polly and me". She mouthed a tired "Thank you" and managed a tired, weak smile before closing her eyes. Martin smiled back, nodded, then left the room and closed the door behind him so they wouldnt be disturbed while they slept. The he walked down the hallway to the bathroom to wash up. When he went back out into the main office area, martin saw little Mikey, setting there, next to Polly on the floor, in the furthest corner, behind a heavy bench, protecting them. "Everythings calm, uncle Martin", little Mikey said as soon as he saw Martin. Martin grinned, "Yes...I see that...youre doing fine!...As a matter of fact, youre doing so well, that I'm going to leave you in charge while I go look for your daddy...". Mikeys eyes widened...he looked scared, "...You think he's okay, uncle Martin...?", his little voice was so timid. Martin patted his little arm and winked at him, "I'm sure of it, Mike", then he smiled brightly and said, "...You dont think he'd let anything happen to him before he got to meet your new little sister, do you?". Martin had a sly smile, anticipating Mikeys reaction. Mikey looked stunned...suprized, "A sister...??", he asked, looking a bit disappointed. "Yes", Martin chuckled, "A sister". Mikey scrunched up his nose and curled his lip. After a few moments of thought, he asked, "Whats her name?", curiously. "Your mom named her Elizabeth, after your great-grandma...why?", Martin asked, curious himself, now, "Why?...dont you want a little sister?". "Aw, its okay, I guess", Mikey shrugged, "But I woulda rather had a dog". Everyone around Mikey burst out in uproarious laughter. CRRAAASHHHH!!!!!!!....went the sound that startled Quint out of his alcoholic stupor. "What the hell?!", he grumbled, as he jumped up off the sofa he'd been sleeping on. Once he got his bearings, he saw an entire mailbox, post and all, jammed into the same window he had broken to get inside. It was a sobering sight for Quint to see the awesome power of this hurricane...how it could just rip something like a mailbox post right out of the ground and hurl it about fifteen feet and smash it right through a houses window. He stood up, straightened himself then went looking for that bottle of Irish whiskey, until he realized he'd finished it, earlier. "Aw, shit", Quint said, frustrated...but too determined to finish his business to dwell on the issue for too long. He stood at that window and stared out over the mailbox, through what was left of the glass, out into that storm, outside. He came to realize that, no matter what, he had to get back out into that storm and find his loved ones. The only difference was, now, that this time, he knew where he would start. The boat harbour. He figured that she could have been on her way back home when the storm hit and, thinking that he would go there to secure the Orca, she wouldve started for there. It was the only other place he could think to look. So, he gathered his courage and went out the front door. He was blown back inside. He winced when he bumped his injured knee against the frame of the door...it sent a shot of hot pain screaming through his entire body...and probably started it to bleed again. But he was determined. "JesusHchrist!...I'll get out of here one way or the other, if it takes me all bloody day!!", he spat, hanging onto each side of the door frame with both hands. As he pulled himself forward, back outside, something moved and caught his eye. It was a big garage door , off to the right of the cottage. The wind had caught it and had blown it open with enough force to yank it off of its hinge. Quints only thought was that if there may be a vehicle inside that garage that he could make use of. "Well", he said aloud, "No way of knowing without checking it out", then began fighting his way over to it. Struggling to hang on with every inch, he finally made his way to that garage. He didnt have the luxury of being able to stand outside and look in, he pulled himself around the corner of the doorway, then inside the garage. The garage was a small structure, so there wasnt much room for Quint to move around inside. He found himself stumbling over shovels and rakes, hoses and other garage-type items. He turned to step over a pile of tow chain and tripped over some rope. He landed against something huge, covered with a dusty tarp. He pulled back the tarp and, underneath, was a smooth coat of shiny, red, metallic paint. HIs curiosity stirred, he cleared everything off that had been setting atop of that tarp and that shiny red thing, so that he could pull the tarp completely off. What he saw beneath it all was a mint condition 1936 Chevy pick up truck. "Wow...", Quint mused, "Someone sure loves this truck", as he admired this classic machine. He stood there, admiring the truck a few moments more, then said, "Well...lets see if shes got her land-legs...". With a hearty sigh, he went around the front and lifted the hood. The engine and everything else under the hood looked in good shape, so he decided to try and start her up. But he had no keys...and he wasnt about to try and fight that storm again to go back into the house to look for any. His leg was throbbing with pain...and he wasnt going in to get anymore aspirin or booze, either. So, he decided he would hotwire it. But, first, he would have to find some wire and some gasoline to prime the carbuerator. He did notice that the gauge read half a tank of gas, so he could just siphon some out of the gas tank. But, as he searched the place for wire, he spied an old gas can. He checked it out and there was a little gas inside of it. His luck was running pretty good at this point...when he went around toward the back of the truck to locate the gas cap, he saw some wire laying on the floor on the other side. He primed the carb with the gasoline, hotwired the ignition and she stared up, right away. He left the truck running as he cleared a path in front of it so he could drive it out. When he put her in gear, he said a silent prayer, then released the brake. She pulled smoothly out of the garage. She rocked from side to side in the wind, but she held her ground. Quuint continued out to the end of the driveway and out onto the road, slowly. The rain was outrageously heavy, but he had a task of the heart to complete...and Quint had the heart of a lion, so there was no stopping, now. Quint finally managed to make his way to the boatyard. He knew he was going to have to get out of the truck to go looking for Elena and Mikey, but his leg was throbbing so badly that he felt he'd pass out at times. Struggling and in pain, Quuint searched as many places as he could before making his way carefully to the Orca. His heart fell to his feet and broke into a million pieces when he saw her. She had been thrown ashore and she was in bits and pieces...and the strom that was still raging was blowing what was left of her around for miles. What the wind wasnt blowing everywhere, the huge waves were coming ashore to snatch, pulling it out to sea. He felt like falling to his knees and crying. He and that boat had been together over 35 years...since he got out of the Navy, after world war two. Ho could do nothing but hang on, to keep himself from being blown away, as he watched his best friend just disappear in the wind and the water. He'd never be the same, again, he felt. Finally, he couldnt watch anymore...he turned away - his heartache so great, that the throbbing in his leg had all but disappeared. He turned and pulled himself along the pier railing until he reached the stairwell of his old shack. He pulled himself around the stairwell, then clung to the side of the building with all his might until he reached the still-running truck. He clung to the truck until he got to the drivers side door...then froze in his tracks. He could swear he could hear someone calling him... He listened for a moment, but didnt hear anything, so he pressed the doorhandle button and opened the truck door, anxious to get in out of this rain. "Quuuuiiiiiinnnnnnnnttttt!!!", he heard, "Heeeellllllpppp!!". This was no trick of the wind. He turned around to look, but visibility was extremely limited. He couldnt see anything through the thick, driving rain and he knew he couldnt investigate on foot, so he got into the truck and rolled down his window. He slowly pulled away and the screams got louder. As he pulled past the rear of the piershack, he almost ran right into the stalled land rover. He stopped quick, but the truck hydroplaned on the water and rammed into it, anyway. The driver hinked thier horn and flashed thier lights. He thought they were letting him know that they thought he was a bad driver...until he saw a bunch of arms waving at him throught the passenger side window, facing him. He leaned his head out of his window and yelled, "Are you alright in there?...You need any help?". There were two young boys in the truck who looked quite familiar to Quint, but they didnt register in his mind until he saw thier mothers face show through the window. She yelled, "Quint!...Help!!...We're stranded!". It was Ellen Brody and her boys.

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