PART 5. Irma is gone and so is the sun. I no longer see the devastation around me; I no longer see anything. The island is enveloped in complete darkness, except for the lights outside some of the buildings in our resort. How long until we have running water and electricity again, I wonder. The manager assured us the resort had enough fuel to keep the generators running, but I'm not sure why they aren't, or when they will. I'm glued to our bedroom window, not able to see much, yet unable to go to bed. It is dark out there, so dark.
I see lights moving and my heart stops. It's a group of people, somewhere up top, with flashlights. Without skipping a beat, my brain immediately analyzes the two options at hand: it's either search and rescue or it's looters ready to pounce on the weak. You see, Mother Nature came through and ripped us a new one, yet I know she's not a bitch with ill intentions, she's just doing what she's done for millennia; humanity on the other hand... Sigh. Humanity is now my worst fear.
I've always thought I'd make a great forensic or private investigator because I have a great deal of paranoia and a very active imagination. But right now it's not about vocational alternatives, it's about survival; it's about making it all the way back home alive. Just because Irma is gone doesn't mean this crisis is done.
Right now my paranoia and my instinct have my full attention, for they keep me safe. I combine them with all my wild life experiences growing up in my beautiful Mexico, and condense them into one intangible survival kit that I carry with me from now on. I throw in a few survival tips I learned from The Walking Dead, just for good measures. I finally step away from that window to go to bed, and I make a promise to myself: I've already made one really bad decision this week, I will sure as fuck not make another one.