It’s a good thing my bug-out bag was always ready.  A change of clothes, my ipod, money, tampons and shit, and a bottle of water and a few powerbars is what I keep in there.  Sometimes, if I’m going to the bar I’ll stick in my heels or whatever, and I’m glad I stuck this old notebook in there too.  Born and raised in California, I didn’t think much of a little rumble, but when it didn’t stop, I really freaked the fuck out.  I’ve never been in a big one, ya know?  And all I could do while huddling against the wall with the backpack over my head and neck was chant “Drop, cover and hold on.” like I was fucking praying.   When it stopped I braced for aftershocks, but they didn’t come and everything was so quiet.  I thought I was deaf for moment, but fuck when that crack sounded like God himself had taken a nutcracker to the Earth I thought my ribcage was gonna crack open too my heart was hammering so hard.

Next thing I knew the building was shaking again, and the sound was so fucking loud.  When I was little my dad took us out to the woods and we saw this waterfall, and it was so fucking loud we couldn’t even hear each other speak, this is kinda what this sounded like.

I couldn’t move, I knew I had to.  I didn’t come all this way to fucking die now!  But there I was, huddled on the floor.  The first inkling I got that something was really really wrong was when I realized that my jeans were wet.  I opened my eyes to see the crappy motel carpet was soaked, and more water was coming in from under the door. I had to get out of there.

I wasn’t sure what I’d see when I opened the door, but muddy water roaring and churning around the 2nd story balcony was not it–neither were was the amount of debris and bodies that rolled on by in the rushing current.  “Fucking move”  I told myself, slipping my bag onto my shoulders and following the few stragglers at the motel up the stairs further up.

After a while, when the water started receding and the currents weren’t as strong I ventured back down to my own floor.  The carpet was soaked, but the water never rose high enough to ruin the armchair that I let myself plop into…and actually fell asleep.

I woke up to pitch darkness.  I don’t think I’d ever seen it so dark, so that I couldn’t even see my hand when I lifted it, and I don’t think I’d ever heard such silence.  The only thing I could hear was the water outside and that fucking bell.  Out on the balcony I saw no one.  Heard no one.  The moon was out again, casting a weird glow on things, and leaning over the rail I could see the town, but only the walls that faced me were visible in the moonlight.  No fucking way I was gonna wade in that water in the dark.

I watched for about an hour and was about to go back inside when I caught sight of a flashlight up by the road to town.  Who the hell?  A rescue team?

Sure as shit, before I knew it was on a pallet floating back to the road, another girl sitting on it with me, and two guys wading in that water to get us across.

I found myself at The Eights, standing in the courtyard while they got a debriefing or whatever the hell its called, let by Mike.  I swear to God, I wasn’t’ sure if I should admire them or wonder what the fuck was in their Kool-Aid.  They looked and acted like a bunch of… fuck if I know.  But I expected to hear an “oooh-rah” and see a lot of ass-patting.  They are an odd bunch too.  A mixture of accents and looks.  All I know is that I couldn’t wait to get out of there, to get away from people, and I felt like shit for it.  They’d just risked their lives to get me out of the Palms and I was about to hightail it out of there into the night where it wasn’t safe.  I told myself I could run fast…I just wanted to get to Coach’s, but the streets were covered in mud and full of shit.   I got about as far as the gate.  There was a guy out there, a perfect excuse to dilly dally and deal with my indecision.  He was all decked out.  I thought he was part of Mike’s crew or a cop, and if he was, then he was out of place and just another asshole.  Most cops, or anyone in Mike’s crew would offer protection, and this guy gave two shits if I decided to walk down the streets at midnight in this mess.  So, that just leaves an Epsilon Asshole.

So I swallowed some of my pride, and here I am, sitting outside under the stairs in the courtyard of The Eights, too fucking proud to go knocking on their door after I turned down their hospitality, too fucking scared to run down the streets.  I’m sure Mike knows I’m here.  He said he’d take the first watch, I heard him, but maybe he’s decided to give me space.  I’ll leave as soon as the sun is up.

Promise.