THE TIDE AT CAPE PERKINS

In early September, the weather charts in the Dare County emergency office turned ominous.

A category-four hurricane, named *Isidore*, formed over the warm waters of the Caribbean, turning north and aiming directly for the fragile ribbon of the Outer Banks.

The governor issued mandatory evacuation orders for all civilian residents from Hatteras to Corolla.

The mainland ferries ran continuously, loaded with families, campers, and tourists fleeing the coast. The sky turned an eerie, bruised purple; the Atlantic swells grew to fifteen feet, crashing against the dunes with a deafening roar that shook the foundations of the houses.

At the Cape Perkins guild station, Silas and Victoria were securing the boat sheds, strapping down the historic skiffs, and boarding up the windows with heavy plywood.

Robert walked into the shop wearing oilskin foul-weather gear and heavy rubber sea boots.

""The radio says the storm surge is coming over the south spit at midnight, Captain,"" Robert reported, his voice calm and alert. ""The drainage culverts on the sound side are clear, but Mrs. Gable and her disabled grandson are still stranded on the marsh island two miles up the creek. Her outboard motor died this morning.""

Silas looked out at the churning white water of the sound, the wind screaming through the live oaks at fifty miles per hour.

""The state rescue boats won't launch in this gale, Robert,"" Silas said gravely. ""The sound is too shallow for their propellers, and the current is running at eight knots.""

Robert did not hesitate. He walked over to the wooden work skiff he had helped restore—*The Osprey*—a heavy twenty-foot flat-bottomed wooden dory designed specifically for the treacherous shallow shoals of Pamlico Sound.

""The Osprey draws only six inches of water, Captain,"" Robert said, his eyes locking with Silas’s. ""If we rig the auxiliary oars and run the shallow-draft inboard engine, we can reach their dock through the sheltered salt creeks.""

Victoria stepped forward, her heart seizing with maternal terror. ""Robert, it’s too dangerous. The eye is thirty miles off the cape!""

Robert placed a warm, calloused hand on his mother’s shoulder.

""You taught me that this family protects this shore, Mom,"" Robert said softly, his voice steady as the keel beneath them. ""I’m going.""