Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 80052 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80052 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
There are a lot of orange ponchos in the lobby, a sea of Oompa-Loompas running to and fro, trying to help any way they can.
Lara is already at the excursion desk, so I join her.
She looks so relieved to see me I think she might tear up.
“You! Oh my god, thank you! Stay here for five minutes, okay?” She takes ahold of my arms and physically drags me behind the excursion desk, smack dab where she was. “I’ll be back,” she promises. “Just need to use the restroom for five minutes!”
Her departure feels both ominous and permanent. She’s going to lock herself in a bathroom stall and scroll TikTok for the better part of an hour, I know it.
“You better not abandon me here!” I demand.
She doesn’t even turn around. She just gives me one of those halfhearted waves over her shoulder as she picks up her pace to get away from me.
There’s a TV mounted in the seating area of the lobby that’s usually set to a nonpartisan nature show; today it’s been swapped to news about the weather. A crowd of thirty watches intently while the junior meteorologist on screen thrusts himself into the elements, all in the name of good reporting. I mean, mister, we realize there’s a hurricane; we don’t need you to report from inside the damn thing. But there he stands, knee deep in the angry ocean, desperately trying to keep ahold of his microphone as harsh winds throttle him from all sides.
“The winds are really picking up!” he shouts at us. “The trees are really swaying! It’s getting treacherous out here. For residents not planning to evacuate this morning, we encourage you to get a plan in place. Seek shelter and hunker down for the long haul.”
A woman lets out a trembling gasp, like the weather is too much for her delicate sensibilities. Having had enough, she turns away from the TV and covers her face. Her husband consoles her with a tight hug and a tone of reassurance. “It’s okay, Sue. If one of us dies, the other will probably get the trip comped.”
Meanwhile, the preppers in the audience are absolutely beside themselves. They turn to one another with Cheshire grins. I’m surprised their eyes don’t roll back in ecstasy. This? A real emergency where they can flex all their precious survival gear? They’re about to pee themselves. Rip the price tags off those LED headlamps and hand-crank radios, boys! It’s go time!
Immediately, I’m pelted with questions at the excursion desk, and it’s not fun to flounder in front of the guests, so when I see Oscar running past, I call out to him in desperation. He looks relieved to have found me.
“Do you know what’s going on?!”
“Here,” he says, forcefully shoving a printout at me. “This is the new schedule for our department. I’m supposed to be distributing them.”
I look down at it, trying to find my name amid the chaos. “New schedule?”
“Yeah, all excursions are postponed until further notice. We’re not under an official lockdown or anything.” He leans in and drops his voice. “But they don’t want the guests wandering too far, just in case . . .”
My voice carries a slight panic now. “What are we supposed to do with them?”
I swear the noise volume in the lobby explodes.
“Check the schedule and see where they want you.” He gets distracted. “Hey, Mitch! Here, take this! It’s your new schedule!”
I stare down at the paper. Someone (Cole, probably) has painstakingly divided the entire day into hour increments and by various locations. It looks like a music-festival set list. In the craft room, from 10:00 a.m. to 11:00 a.m., you can paint your own conch shell. From 11:00 a.m. to 12:00 p.m., kids can enjoy face painting and crafts in the Tiki Hut Kid Zone. In the Palms Meeting Room from 1:00 p.m. to 2:00 p.m., there’s a magic show (suitable for all ages). The list goes on.
I finally find my name printed under an afternoon yoga class located in the hotel gym. After that I’m stationed in the Turtle Cove Ballroom to help with setup for an impromptu movie night.
It’s bizarre having to keep the resort running at a time like this. We all want to be hunkered down in front of the TV, but there’s really no more news. For now, we’re not in the hurricane’s direct path, and we should be fine.
I manage to feel moderately useful for the next hour, directing guests toward various activities while keeping a (mostly) positive attitude in the face of chaos. Then Cole walks into the lobby from outside, with Todd and a few department heads. They’re properly outfitted in rain jackets and boots, though it doesn’t seem to have helped them much. Cole whips his hood off, and his black hair is sopping wet, dripping water down his face. His expression is stern; the worry lines on his forehead haven’t budged since last night. Did he even sleep?