The storms had raged for weeks. Flooding was rampant and far too many preachers were talking is as their moment in the biblical sun.
But without a plan for redemption or a sparing of the righteous, no one paid them any mind, seeking instead higher ground. Preferably of the granite variety.
Joan sat on one of the mountain tops, surrounded by a rag tag collection of families from the city. Families that had piled into SUVs and Trucks, families who had watched the water fill their streets, play grounds, strip malls, and highway overpasses.
Today was different, Joan thought. The wis parted in the west. A single patch of blue sky pierced the grayness. From the hole a set of four planes, dropped into the air. Around Joan the rain had stopped and she saw the glint of light on the silver tipped wings.
She wiped away rain soaked hair from her face and for the first time in weeks, shielded her eyes from the glare.
"Who is that?" asked Davison.
"Someone looking for a place to land," said Joan.
"They came the wrong way." Davison got up and headed back to the group huddled in sagging tents.
Joan thought of the meadow along the back, the one far from the washed out roads. It hadn't been turned into a marsh, the ground had good drainage. It was they way she had come weeks ago.
She waited until Davison was out of sight, then rose.
She'd meet those pilots at the meadow first. Maybe they'd have news. Maybe they knew of a place that was dry.
Maybe the could take her out of here before she went crazy.