Part 8
Elected Hurricane Stage 4. ETA 2 hours.
"Man, I can't believe what we're doing!" Said an amped up Pompadour.
"Yeah, but we're doing it. Right?" added Button who literally stood over Kate. Button was so close Kate could taste the girl's breath on the back of her neck.
They all stood by the emergency exit. It consisted of viewing glass, which wasn't actually glass, but Sideros 1 a clear metal alloy and ceramic mix, allowing the strength of steel, massive clear see-through doors with a keypad and a massive, metal manual crank.
"If you turn this. Then you can open it. If you enter the pass code, then there's a notification to the control room and we go to jail. But! If you have a special key for these types of emergency doors. You can open it without a record."
Kate pulled out her screen, flipping and tapping until there was a red and blue presidential seal visible. She pressed it against the keypad, keeping it there, she very, very slowly teased the manual door open. At first it gave a popping noise, then a hiss and then opening it got easier and easier with Griff grabbing the wheel from the bottom and twisting.
The air had changed completely, from the last time she'd been outside. The air was still stuffy, but the wind had picked up.
It kicked up her hair and challenged Pompadour's pompadour to the point where she had to hold it down. They rushed the ledge, battling the wind that whistled and howling in the distance. The noise grew as the crashing of waves grew taller, falling from greater heights.
She could see the actual hurricane. The darkening swirling clouds, the haze of mist pushing down as a fist, it was impossible that that was just rain. And it would get there soon enough. The most amazing thing had to be the solidity of the whole thing. Like someone had crunched the wind and rain into a meaty slab, one which was ambling its way forwards.
It was gaining shape, pulling back and pushing forwards as if it were clay being worked. The humidity long forgotten by all parties.
They found a hatch leading down seemingly forever, before splitting to another hatch, leading down another two levels, each time they had to pause to slip it open and lock it upwards.
At the bottom the hatch opened to music and conversation. Whichever took dominance depended on where one was and who was with who. The mesh of rhythms mostly old people music in a tall and wide park with hundreds of chairs and three-dimensional projectors, it was an image of the hurricane forming. People sat with chairs around it, marvelling like they were staring at a grand bonfire.
She'd seen crazy weather before, but not from so close. Her heart screamed for her to sit and stare.
The girls took the lead, clearly in their home ground. They rushed to a group of teens standing by a sound projection dome. The levels of snark, finger snapping and angled hips suggested they were engaged in a battle was over a song.
It painted a picture about the type of teenager she was observing. It reminded Kate of bulls. Skinny and undressed pale girls, who could make hulking rampaging beasts look small.
It was all light and airy skirts combined with a plethora of tube tops, but the most popular had to be the denim miniskirts, fabric so minimal there was enough for a hat. There were maybe one pair of sandals between all the girls. And girl was such a strong, strong word, considering her far from puberty they were.
Great, she had to be the youngest person there. Griff didn't count. The purpose of his existence was to be a pillow she could hug and push along as mister Young Striker was shoulder to shoulder with her while the older kids followed Pompadour and Button.