The sirens did not stop wailing. Martha looked tentatively through the french windows. St Augustus seniors home advertised its sea views. She knew it would be one of its main attractions when she had bought the business.
Now, fifty-two old folk were hooked up to their beds, too immobile to move. The tsunami was twenty minutes away. She swept up her laptop bag, checked her wallet was still inside and headed for the door.
Down the passage she heard the clanging of metal beds wheeled over hard floor tiles. Voices in at least six different languages called anxiously. She looked at her watch. Eighteen minutes. Time for her to get into her car and drive to high ground. If she didn’t go now the road out of town might be jammed.
A double door opened and a nineteen-year-old Lithuanian girl called in broken English, “What do we do Miss. What do we do?” Martha smiled. She always smiled. The old folk loved her for it. It showed her compassion.
Martha wrapped her coat tightly; a gale was blowing as she headed for the Range Rover. She was pleased she hadn’t bought the Merc. The four-wheel drive would give her an advantage over the little people in their Fords and Toyotas. The car started instantly and squealed out the carpark.
Behind her a dozen frightened care workers began pushing beds towards the now empty carpark. Martha switched on the radio. “The tsunami will hit in Fifteen minutes,” a recorded voice announced.
Words: Richard Rooney
Illustration: A.I.
Flash Fiction 250
Flash Fiction 250 