Rowan
Devastation.
I've felt it before. You don't bury your four-year-old daughter and not feel it. But this? This is destruction.
“Isn't that where The Juke Box used to be?"
I nod, listening to my brother, Sullivan, list off places that used to be on Main Street in our small town of Paradise Lost, Alabama. Everywhere the eye can see, there's debris and water. So much water.
I'm standing in ankle-deep sludge as we speak. The rain is still coming down, but not as hard as it was hours ago. Thank God for rain boots; without them, I'd probably be risking some sort of waterborne illness no one has discovered yet.
“Should we start going door-to-door?"
He looks down at me, a harsh look on his face. “First of all, little sister of mine, I'm the police, you're an EMT. If anybody will star
