Flood warning: ‘Evacuate or notify next of kin’
FAYETTEVILLE, N.C. — The river seethed a quarter-mile away, bulging from its banks, so the patrol cars circled the neighborhood three times.
“Get out now,” a voice boomed from a bullhorn. “This is an emergency.”
Waheeda Reese and her 14-year-old daughter, Anissa, were inside watching news reports about drowned towns all over the state and rain that hadn’t yet stopped.
“All that water is going to come this way,” Anissa said, trying to convince her mother it was time to leave. The city had taped a mandatory evacuation notice to their front door, and a friend in the fire department had called to warn: “I don’t want to have to come pick you up in a boat.”
They still had 22 hours until a deadline to go, and Waheeda wanted to stay. She pointed out the window and said, wishfully, “Look, I think the rain’s letting up.”
As the days drag on, Hurricane Florence has taken this deceptive turn: The violent winds that rattled shingles off houses and tore down trees have subsided, and the pounding rain has eased, lulling many in the storm’s path into believing they’ve weathered the worst of it — while the A man and his dog maneuver out of a flooded neighborhood Monday in Lumberton, N.C., as the waters continued to rise in the aftermath of Hurricane Florence.
rivers quietly churn and continue to rise.
The storm has claimed at least 20 lives and an untold number of homes on its slow march across North Carolina, inundating city after city: Wilmington, New Bern, Lumberton. Authorities are warning that by the time the Cape Fear River in Cumberland County crests Tuesday at 62 feet — 27 feet over its flood stage — it will threaten to swamp anything within a mile on either side of it. Its tributary,
the Little River, is expected to flood, too.
More than 7,000 people were ordered to evacuate by Sunday afternoon. But many, weary of a storm that’s lingered on and on, did their own rough calculation of the odds and decided to stay.
As the Cape Fear River swelled, rescue teams trudged along its banks, pleading with people to get out of its way. Police officers went door to door. The mayor of Fayetteville
presented the problem in the starkest of terms: Evacuate or notify your legal next of kin.
Over the weekend, a military truck rolled down the mucky lane to Kevin Blades’ house 20 miles upstream from Fayetteville, near where the Cape Fear and Little rivers meet. Six horses were drinking from floodwater already pooling on the front lawn. Power had been out for days. The dirt road to the house was so soggy, the truck got stuck in the mud and Blades and a neighbor had to tow it out.
Blades informed the soldiers he planned to stay anyway and not to worry because he had an escape plan. “If I have to,” he said, “I’ll ride the horses out of here.”
The soldiers left, the Blades played cards, the rain poured on, and the river rose.
To the west, in a town called Spring Lake, authorities had shut down already-flooded roads and some who had stayed put started to worry.
Mary Ingram stood outside a convenience store, open only thanks to a generator. She lives with her mother and 1-year-old son two blocks outside of the mandatory evacuation area, so she thought they’d be safe. Then it hit her: “My mom can’t swim. So if it does flood, I can’t save both her and the baby.” She decided to stay, nonetheless.
Back in Fayetteville, as downtown streets started flooding Sunday, Waheeda Reese finally decided it was time to pack the car and get her daughter out.
“So would you be offended if I just dropped you off and came back to stay here?” she asked Anissa.
“Kind of,” her daughter said. “Why?” “Because you need to be safe, too.”