They Called Me Crazy, Until the Hurricane Hit

Before my flight to Chicago took off, I saved an old man from nearly passing out from the heat outside Miami Airport.

The moment he swallowed the water I handed him, he suddenly grabbed my wrist and clung to it with surprising strength.

"Listen to me. Whatever you do, do not get on that plane! There's going to be a Category 5 hurricane today!"

I froze for a second and looked up at the cloudless blue sky over Miami.

Assuming his Alzheimer's had flared up, I smiled and told him I'd already called an ambulance for him.

But his eyes suddenly widened, and all the color drained from his face.

"The storm is coming. Hundreds of planes will be ripped apart in seconds, torn into scraps of metal... Everyone will die..."

I thought he was raving and turned away, dragging my suitcase into the terminal.

Then, just before boarding, I went to the restroom with my suitcase.

When I came out, someone had tightly wrapped a discarded boarding pass around the handle of my silver carry-on.

On the back, in thick red marker, were the words:

[HURRICANE LANDFALL IN 30 MINUTES! DO NOT BOARD!]

A chill ran through me.

Boarding was about to close. If I missed this multimillion-dollar deal, I'd be out of a job tomorrow.

And at home, my four-year-old daughter was waiting for me to pay her expensive daycare bill.

Should I step onto that jet bridge or not?

It all started with a packet of electrolytes.

That morning, I'd rushed to the passenger drop-off area outside the MIA terminal.

Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted an elderly white-haired man slumped beside a palm-tree planter, his lips turning purple and his breathing labored.

As a single mom, my bag was always full of little emergency supplies.

Without thinking twice, I pulled out a packet of electrolytes I kept for Lily, mixed it into a bottle of water, and handed it to him.

"Sir, are you dehydrated? Drink this. Quickly."

He struggled for breath, then gulped down several mouthfuls of water before finally recovering.

Once I saw that he was out of immediate danger, I was about to leave for my flight when he suddenly lunged forward and grabbed my wrist.

"Listen to me." His bloodshot eyes locked onto mine. "Even if the sky is falling today, do not get on that plane!"

I stared at him. "Excuse me? I have to get to Chicago to sign an important contract."

"Listen to me!" His grip tightened until it hurt. "Find an enclosed room without large windows. Stock up on food and water. Prepare yourself for what's coming."

I almost laughed. "Sir, are you suffering from heatstroke? Let me get you somewhere cooler. The ambulance will be here soon."

He ignored me completely. His voice had gone hoarse from speaking so forcefully.

"In forty minutes, the sky will go completely dark."

"The cyclone in the Caribbean is going to suddenly change course and send seawater surging as high as a ten-story building."

"The planes won't even make it off the runway. They'll be torn apart. No one will survive..."

He spoke with absolute certainty, faster and faster.

My scalp prickled. Waves ten stories high? A Category 5 hurricane?

There wasn't even a tropical storm warning for Miami. This old man had to be completely out of his mind.

I called 911 with one hand while trying to pull my wrist free with the other.

"Okay, okay. I hear you. Sit here and don't move. The paramedics are coming. I have to get inside and catch my flight."

I shoved the rest of the bottle of electrolyte water into his hands and hurried toward the revolving doors in my heels.

Behind me came his desperate scream.

"Don't get on that plane!"

"Don't go anywhere! Trust me! This place is about to be wiped off the map!"

I paused for a moment, shook my head, and stepped into the freezing terminal.

Check-in. TSA security. Everything was running smoothly.

As I waited at the gate, I couldn't shake the look on the old man's face—the sheer terror, almost desperation, in his eyes.

Just to put my mind at ease, I pulled out my phone and checked Twitter and the weather apps.

The trending topics were completely normal, packed with celebrity gossip.

The latest post from NOAA read: [South Florida will remain sunny for the next three days, ideal for beach activities.]

Several cyclones in the middle of the Atlantic were thousands of miles away, with no signs of changing course or making landfall.

I laughed at myself. I must have been losing my mind from lack of sleep to actually believe the ramblings of a man who might have dementia.

Then my boss, Sterling, texted me.

[Go straight to the client's building when you get to Chicago. The final contract is already in your email.]

[Only one of you gets to stay, you or Mireille. Whoever lands this multimillion-dollar project becomes Senior Partner.]

I stared at the messages, a tightness settling in my chest.

Yesterday, just before leaving work, Sterling had called me into his office. There had been no buildup. He'd simply thrown this brutal elimination game at me.

"The company is cutting costs. There's only one Senior position left in the design department. You or Mireille. Pick one."

I'd spent six years grinding away at one of the top architectural firms in the industry, earning an entry-level salary and draining myself dry just to support four-year-old Lily and keep up with her expensive daycare bills.

Mireille Laurent had only been there for two years. Young. Polished. No family obligations. Ruthless.

She could take one of my design sketches, change the color scheme, and then casually claim it as her inspiration at a business dinner.

I'd complained to Sterling. He'd simply twirled his pen between his fingers, looking completely unconcerned.

"Coraline, the workplace is a jungle. She knows how to handle clients. That's what matters. If your personal life is weighing you down, don't expect the company to make exceptions for you."

And now, when it was time to cut someone loose, he had the nerve to call this a "fair competition."

Fair my ass.

I locked my phone, then couldn't help opening my photo gallery.

In the picture, Lily was wearing a sunflower-print sweater, with a little smear of oatmeal still on her cheek.

That morning, she'd wrapped her arms tightly around my neck and refused to let go. "Mommy works so hard. You have to take me to the aquarium this weekend."

"Don't worry. Mommy promises she'll be back on time."

She'd rubbed her little cheek against my shoulder. "When Lily grows up, I'll make lots and lots of money, and Mommy won't have to fly around all the time."

A small smile tugged at my lips.

Then I thought of the poor old man outside again.

He'd been so overheated. I wondered if the ambulance had picked him up yet.

"Flight AA241 to Chicago is now boarding..." The announcement broke into my thoughts.

I stood and prepared to join the line.

Suddenly, a sharp cramp twisted through my lower abdomen.

I'd been in such a rush getting Lily to daycare that morning that I'd barely swallowed half a cup of cold brew straight from the fridge. Apparently, my stomach had decided to protest.

With no choice, I grabbed my silver carry-on, clutched my stomach, and hurried to the restroom.

By the time I washed my hands and rushed back to the gate, the other passengers had already entered the jet bridge.

A ground agent stood at the entrance with a microphone.

"Ms. Coraline Winters? Please board as soon as possible. The cabin doors are about to close."

I nodded repeatedly and hurried forward, reaching for the handle of my suitcase.

The moment my fingers touched the metal, I froze.

Wrapped tightly around the suitcase handle—probably while I'd had my back turned washing my hands—was a discarded boarding pass.

On its white back, written in thick red marker, were the words:

[HURRICANE LANDFALL IN 30 MINUTES! DO NOT BOARD!]