“So, there's different types of rain. There's rain that is just enough to mess up your car and your pool party. There's regular rain. There's heavy rain with loud friends like wind, thunder, and lightning. There's all kinds of freezing types of rain, including snow. And then there's this.”
“And what is this?” Mrs. Gladys Jubilee Trent said to her nine-year-old grandson Milton Trent.
“This is the type of rain that makes you think the world may not exist on the other side of it, the kind of rain that probably gave Noah nightmares, and I don't like it.”
“Well, if the world does not exist on the other side of this rain, we'll come out of here like Noah and his family did, and start it over, Milton.”
“Oh yeah, that is an option.”
Mrs. Melissa Trent, Milton's mother, had a good laugh about this in the kitchen.
“I needed that laugh!” she said to her husband, Sgt. Vincent Trent.
“I know,” he said as he looked out of a window in which the world was absolutely invisible through a silver-white curtain of rain. “Milton is just about right, actually. This is the kind of weather that you pray you are in position for correctly as a soldier, because whoever isn't is about to be wiped out. The force of this kind of water on the land is unbelievable.”
“Maybe that's why so much of Lofton County isn't ready,” Mrs. Trent said. “I had to turn off the radio. So many people out here thinking lightning can't strike in the same place twice, not understanding: this is a hurricane, not lightning.”
“There are so many people right now who take facts as a scheme to harass them from their political opponents,” Sgt. Trent said. “The problem is, weather doesn't care about your political affiliation any more than it cares about what side you are on in a war. If you're not ready, you will be harmed. You will lose everything up to and including your life. And, consider this: we are 450 miles from Mneme's core, which is slowly turning back out to sea and hitting us with its outer skirt as it turns. Think about how much stronger it is than Justicia, which actually did come ashore in North Carolina and slide up the Appalachians.”
“Justicia was a category 1,” Mrs. Trent said. “Mneme is a Category 5 again.”
“Yep – dipped below Category 5 long enough to get fools to cancel emergency preparations. Velma [Milton's eleven-year-old sister] said she just changed from her red skirt to the silver skirt before dancing, and that was why – that is as good an explanation as any. But Melissa, consider this. A Category 5 storm is out here blowing at 157 miles an hour or above. Category 4 is at 156 miles an hour. Mneme was out there blowing at 165 miles an hour, and temporarily dropped to 155 miles an hour – but what does that have to do with the rain?”
“Nothing,” Mrs. Trent said.
“What they should have paid attention to was the rain rate,” Sgt. Trent said, “and I can tell you just by hearing that Mneme is dropping at least twice as much rain as Justicia was. If I did not know how meticulously your father keeps up his properties, I would be as nervous as Milton. This is a good power wash he ain't gotta pay for –.”
Mrs. Trent started laughing.
“I needed that laugh too!” she said as she put the last of the fruit salad bowls on the tray her husband was going to roll out to the whole family.
“I know,” he said with a smile. “This is nerve-wracking weather. I need to keep you safe in every way, so, I'm just Milton's backup on laugh therapy.”
Mrs. Trent was still laughing as they went out and served fruit salad to the family.