Lori Kim’s Blog 9/30/2012
As I approached the compound, I found a chain link fence surrounding what once had been a parking lot, and which now was a field of concrete obstructions and defensive berms surrounded by a barbed wire fence. There was one obvious gate with extra reinforcements and since I was both friendly and expected, I approached without hesitation. A video screen in the wall next to me in the entrance started up, but then died. It tried to work a couple more times, but never did. Then a hand-held spotlight began to make its way out towards me, spilliting time between blinding me and shining on the ground. For the last twenty feet or so, it never left me, except when the guy carrying it almost tripped.
“Who are you?” he said. He was a little guy, a little older, with a long fine beard and a shock of curly hair lining the sides of his head. He wore a rubber apron and walked with a slight limp.
“I’m from the Times. Soren sent me. I’m supposed to talk to Oleg.”
He sniffed a little bit, seemed a little indignant about me. Then he took out a handheld walkie talkie. He tried to call to home base for a minute, but it wasn’t working either. He squeezed the hand pump for about a minute, then tried again. Nothing.
“Hang on.”
Then he turned and walked back just like he came out. After ten minutes, he came back with a fairly large guy with thick glasses and a big smile across his face.
“Ms. Kim! I’m delighted to have you here.”
They opened the gate and allowed me into the compound. I drove my bike behind him into the main compound at a slow walk’s pace. He led me along a path that seemed arbitrary until we got closer to the compaound and he mentioned the defense mechanisms they had in place prevented a more direct route.
He opened a garage door on the lower levels of the main building and asked me to park, and from there we went up to the top floors into what had been classrooms and now were workshops.
“We’ve been trying to reach you.”
I pulled out my phone.
“It’s dead. Waterlogged.”
He frowned a little, took it and had it opened in seconds.
“We’re glad you made it. There’s some rough parts around here.”
I didn’t have any trouble. They must not be rough enough to brave the storm. I don’t know why I felt the need to act tough, but I did.
He wheeled his way across the room to a shelf and grabbed a part from one of the many bins and then wheeled back to his soldering gun. Then again. He repeated a few times, and at least once, cracked open an old cell phone.
“Still, you got here.”
“So what do you do here?”
“We’re rebuilding. I’ll give you the nickel tour tomorrow.”
Then he put the halves of my phone together and tossed it back to me.
“Should work now. I’ll show you to your room.”
I tried to push him to show me more, but he wasn’t having any of it.
Tags: 2012, hurricane, Tidewater Community College
