Grandpa had said the house had survived Camille. But Grandpa wasn’t here fighting for his life — He was safely in his grave. Caught in the middle of Hurricane Katrina, Linda Grambling was trying desperately to avoid hers.
Katrina’s storm surge was crushing Camille’s records and the seaside homes in Linda’s Waveland neighborhood. Brown water swilled as the wind howled.
“So this is Hell?” Linda thought as she thrashed her arms in the surf. Fire ants landed on her face and bit her.
She had made it to her home’s second floor before it collapsed. Her face was pressed against the ceiling when the walls crumbled. This was no way to die. Fatigue in her body burned like the ant bites on her face. She washed toward the railroad tracks — although she really couldn’t tell. The water continued to rise and push her inland. It looked like Noah’s worst nightmare.
“Omigod,” she feared, “I’ll get sucked out to sea if I don’t drown first.”
“Where’s Superman?” she thought. “Where’s Batman? Anyone? I need a superhero.”
She grabbed onto an oak limb and held onto it as tightly as she could. Her legs wrapped around the tree as she prayed it would hold. The current ripped at her clothes and boards battered her body.
Safe for the moment, Linda closed her eyes.
“Where’s Superman?” she thought. “Where’s Batman? Anyone? I need a superhero.”
Slowly, the sea tired of its assault of the land and retreated back to the Mississippi Sound. Linda, exhausted, passed out.
She awoke to tomb quiet. And then a faint hiss from what sounded like a gas line. There were no birds or bugs. She heard a faint “Help,” in the distance. She then heard it again. It was a male voice. “Help, my wife needs help.”
“Where’s Superman?” she thought. “Where’s Batman? Ironman? Anyone?
She carefully shimmied down the tree. When she got to the final limb it broke, sending her tumbling to the ground. Her body hit hard on top of a pile of boards. Nails impaled her hand and foot. She felt Christ’s pain.
The land smelled like salt water, wet wood and death. She had no idea what time it was: Her watch had been ripped off her. So had her shirt. She felt around and at least had her pants and bra on. She would have died of embarrassment otherwise.
“Help!” the cries grew fainter. And then they were replaced with another noise. More voices. This time deeper and stronger: “Hello?!? Anyone alive?”
“OVER HERE!” she responded.
Two figures approached her from North. She looked at them and saw her cries had been answered. Superman and Batman walked toward her!
She reached out her hand to her superheroes and then saw who they really were.
They were a Waveland police officer and a paramedic. Both were battered. But both were there to help.
“Don’t worry ma’am, you’ll be OK.”
As they helped her to her feet, she knew that the superheroes of Katrina didn’t wear capes.
…and they spoke with a Southern accent. So many of our superheroes came from the great state of Mississippi. People with good hearts who acted without being told because that thought had never occurred. Our state may have it’s problems but it’s superheroes like these that make me proud to be a Mississippian.