They sat glued to the TV, watching with sinking hearts as the death toll climbed and reporters tried to calculate the devastation.
The initial blast came not from the Gulf but the Mississippi River itself, creeping up from the ocean and destroying everything on both sides. Then, about twenty minutes later, a second wave roared out of Lake Pontchartrain. It moved unnaturally far, taking out the upper part of the city. The Jeep made it over the Calcasieu River Bridge and into Slidell just in time. They didn’t dare look back until they crossed the state border.
Bourbon Street and the French Quarter were not only affected but intentionally eliminated. Wiped clean. Flattened. Buildings shattered like toothpicks. Giant boats plowed through anything in their path before coming to rest on top of
