Two days earlier…
The storm that had hit the North Carolina coast caused little structural damage, but all along the beachfronts of the Barrier Islands, residents were out cleaning the sands of the unsightly aftermath. They picked driftwood and rubbish off the beach, carting away the flotsam and jetsam on trailers and undertaking the minor repairs to windbreaks and fences with the spirit of camaraderie that came from such work. Community spirit was always at its highest following times of travail, and once the work was done, their triumph over the elements would be celebrated with barbecues on the beach. But that would come later.
For now, they scoured the sands, hauling away the trash, calling out to each other when they found something beyond the ability of one person to lift, and hurrying to lend a hand. The shouts were a regular feature.
Along the beach another yell went up, this one tinged not with joviality, but trepidation. A woman beckoned her neighbours down to the waterline, while she clutched at her throat with shaking hands.
A group gathered around her, eyes wide as they studied what the storm had thrown at their feet.
One of them took out a cellphone. They couldn’t deal with this alone; the emergency services were required. They didn’t call the police… this man needed urgent medical assistance if he was going to survive his horrendous injuries.