To read more about the Great Florida Outbreak, check out Hargood and the End.
One hour. Every day. 3:00. Every day. This is when it rains in Florida, and you can set your watch to it. The rest of the day, it's sunny, but 23 hours of Heaven leaves only an hour for a day's worth of Hell. So when 3:00 strikes, batten down the hatches and brace yourself for the apocalypse. Every day. Oh mighty Zeus, do your worst! Florida can take it. Florida will hold.
Marcus, like most Floridians, had a carport. But while his neighbors locked their doors at 3:00 and went deep into prayer under shelter, Marcus would pull a lawnchair into his carport and sit. He'd light a pipe and watch the rain, listen to it beat the tin roof black and blue, and sometimes feel its spray when the angry winds blew hard enough. Yes, the 28 year-old art student was different, he knew this, but Marcus found solace in his stormy afternoons alone. He was a wanderer, a loner, and an observer. All that in one makes an explorer, and he considered every storm worthy of exploration, even and especially from his carport, as the good Lord intended thunder storms to be experienced. It was more than a pastime for him. He took great pride in weathering any storm, even the hurricanes that passed through in the late autumn. No matter the gale, Marcus Tom, Jr. could be found sitting in his carport, smoking his pipe, alone.
His alarm went off at 10:00. College student, remember. Marcus woke up slowly and pulled his computer bag over his sweaty shoulder. No point in showering when the moment you step outside, it's so muggy. That was his opinion, anyway. He grabbed a sandwich on his way out the door and headed for the coffee shop two blocks up. An animation assignment for class and two web design jobs to pay the bills. He had a busy day ahead of him.
Marcus was a slow walker, he liked to take his time, but his stride always picked up as he came to the second block. He could smell the coffee beans from there and it gave him an extra boost. But today, there was no coffee aroma to come floating on the air to meet him. It caught him off guard and he stopped in his tracks. Something was wrong. Joe Cool Java was open every day, even on Sundays. It was more reliable than Starbucks (and had better coffee, anyway). Marcus stood dumbfounded on the sidewalk, scratching his head and glancing around to see if anyone else noticed this distinct change in everyday life. Only a handful of individuals wandered the usually bustling street, and there was no traffic to speak of, though cars were parked every which a'way.
Something wasn't right. Marcus picked up his pace and headed to the coffee shop, as planned. What he found there was a nightmare. Shops, including Joe Cool Java, were vandalized and burglarized. Broken windows, blood, and an absence of living bodies told Marcus it was time to head home. What was happening? What had he missed by sleeping in? Yes, going home would be wise, but this was a storm in and of itself, and Marcus Tom, Jr. Was an explorer and took great pride in weathering any storm.
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