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Hurricanes are no stranger to the Outerbanks. The island is like a magnet for natural disasters, monstrous wraths that sweep right across Kildare County and the rest of North Carolina. The first of the summer, Agatha, had come and gone in a fleeting visit: raging winds with a violent lot of destruction left in her wake.
Lennon's old T-shirt clung to her body when she peeled herself out of her sheets that morning, which, as a result of the humidity, felt more like wet towels to her than bedding. Living in an old fish shack by the marsh didn't cope well in harsher weather conditions, nor did it prevent any severe damage from striking its fragile structure. She could only pray that it was nothing too devastating.
The first thing she did was open a window in the hopes of freeing herself from the sweltering heat of her bedroom. Outside's air wasn't of much better standard, but it did well enough. She leant forward on her elbows and the fresh air blow over the sheen of sweat that coated her forehead and frizzed her hair from her roots. Her eyes scanned the grass that led up to the docks.
She'd heard the debris clattering around during the night, underneath the shrill howl of the wind. Still, she winced at the amount of it. Branches were strewn across the unclipped lawn—a myriad of trees now missing their limbs. Lennon was sure she'd spend her entire summer ploughing through the scraps of Agatha, alongside the rest of The Cut's residents.
She grimaced at the thought, then let it wither, pushing it into the depths of her worries. If she had the possibility of holding it off for even a day, she'd take her chances.
She got changed and cycled to John B's in the hopes of seeing him before his DCS visit. Even though he refused to state it explicitly, Lennon knew he had been nervous, so she ploughed through the mess of her living room and hopped on her bike, taking it down the backroad where the Chateau stood. When she reached the door, she knocked vigorously to make sure she was heard. John B had never been one for urgency.
Through the panes of glass, she watched him stumble through his own mess, uncoordinated and alarmed. When he finally saw her face, his panic seemed to ease. "Jesus, Len, I thought you were DCS." He said breathily when he opened the door.
"Sorry," she apologised sheepishly, glancing towards JJ, who lay flat and face-down on the couch. "Morning, J."
For a moment, when he didn't move, Lennon was almost certain that the hurricane had taken him out for good. After a second or so, with his voice muffled by the cushions, JJ grumbled, "'Sup, Lennie."
"You been outside yet, JJ?" John B asked him.
Still unmoving, JJ replied, "Nah, bro, I got polio. I can't walk"
