HURRICANE MILTON—Our Drowning World
When Hurricane Milton made landfall on Florida’s Siesta Key, my brother‑` who had evacuated with his family and dog from Tampa said, “It’s eerie you wrote about a monster hurricane hitting that beach over ten years ago.”
In 2012, I published The Drowning World, a YA/crossover novel set in a future of rising seas, Flood Lands, and brave, young, environmental refugees. From family visits, I knew Siesta Key, a fragile barrier reef now battered in 2024 by Milton’s Cap 3 with 120 m.p.h. winds and astonishing 12-foot sea surge. I imagined this novel for the next generations to help them survive what the kids call “global weirding;” and because I wanted to imagine other futures for our children than extinction. Here is an excerpt published in Oxford University Press’s Studies in Literature and the Environment on Global Warming.
THE DROWNING WORLD
Florida, 2030
I recognize this sand — it’s cool and sugar-white just like my Siesta Key beach. “Home!” I shout out loud, laughing. A balmy breeze with its delicate fragrance of wild gardenias welcomes me.
“Are you sure, Lukas?” Marina asks. “The beach looks . . . different.”
There is a lot of mud mixed in with the sand and there are fallen trees everywhere. Hurricane?
“Something’s not right here.” Marina’s face clouds over.
Glancing up and down the beach, we see nobody. That’s so strange. Where are all the beachgoers? As we walk further inland, the sand is gritty and full of gravel.
“Can’t quite get my bearings,” I confess to Marina as we stride down the beach. From this stretch of sand, I can’t see the familiar skyline of high-rise condominiums that used to dot Siesta Beach. Windows are blown out of nearby dilapidated cottages; parking lots are full of cars filled with mud. No lights on.
“Where is everybody?” my voice wavers. “Must have been a monster storm hit here and flooded everything.”
This beach is muddy and full of debris — shingles, rusted bicycles, mountains of bricks, and panel siding piled up everywhere. So many of the palm trees are dead and fallen over, with bark peeling back.
“I don’t think we’re alone,” Marina breathes. “We’re being followed.”
“Let’s get into town!” I say and stride off down the battered beach.
We follow a rough path through the underbrush. Bushes and fallen trees on either side of us are so dense I wish I had a machete. Birds chatter overhead and I hear a menacing growl from a nearby tangle of wild vines. Florida panther? Impossible. Those big cats were declared officially extinct several years ago. Maybe a pack of wild dogs? I glance up through the thick canopy of green and see a huge black snake curled around a branch.
“Wild animals . . . here?” I say, my heart racing. Humans don’t allow this much wildlife near their civilization. “Where are all the people?”
“I don’t know. Do you think people are . . . extinct?” Marina asks.
I don’t want to show Marina how spooked I am. She’s right, there’s something terribly wrong. I take a deep breath. “Marina, this isn’t the Siesta Key I know.” My heart sinks. “It looks like a disaster area. But there should be rescue workers.”
Only then do I hear the shuffle of fallen leaves and the snap of twigs. Kids emerge from the trees looking like aborigines, their faces covered in dirt for camouflage. A teenage gang.
They look like they’ve been on their own for a long time. Then I notice that they all have small machetes and knives. No doubt they know how to use them. I’m surprised to see a few girls in the gang, too. They look like wild cats with their matted hair and lean, angular bodies.
I look straight at the leader with his filthy baseball cap. “So, what happened here? Hurricane?”
“Ya think?” The boy mocks me and jerks his head toward the shoreline, acknowledging the devastation all around us. The gang surrounds us in a close suspicious circle.
“We need your help,” Marina says simply. “What’s your name?” Marina asks the leader.
“Jake,” the boy spits out. His dark face is all angles and shadows; and his changeable eyes are ovals.
“How long have you all been on your own here?” Marina asks.
“We lost everything,” one of the little kids says hoarsely.
“Right before this Hurricane Malachi hit, there was another freak hurricane and then terrible twisters,” a scrawny Black girl named Sissy says. “We wanted to stay together,” Sissy adds, sniffling. Her legs are covered in scars and scabs.
“Besides,” another boy in the group scowls. “Nobody misses homeless kids.”
“But how do you survive?” Marina asks. Her voice is so kind it breaks my heart. And opens theirs.
“We do okay in the Flood Lands,” Jake says. “Nobody comes here now, not on purpose. Not even pirates loot the place much anymore. Only the Trash Bots come to clean up all the debris.”
“What’s left of Siesta Key?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.
“Just a giant refugee camp,” Jake says. “Thousands of people here and out on the floating cities. They call them Eco-Arks. We’re better off staying here in the Flood Lands on our own.”
As we all emerge from the muddy underbrush, I gasp. I can’t believe the wreckage. This once quaint and expensive street is just a rutted deer trail now. Beach Road was once valuable waterfront property boasting rich mansions and elegant bungalows. But now all those cottages and streets are boarded up, covered in filth and debris. Asphalt streets are potholed, mountains of bricks and shingles, upside-down trucks, fallen power lines and telephone poles — that’s all left of Siesta Key.
So, my teacher who defied state laws and taught us science was right: Rising seas and extreme weather caused by climate change have taken their terrible toll.
Is this our future? Kids scavenging and homeless? It’s hard to believe that our conquering enemy is climate change — horrible hurricanes and savage storm surges. Enemies my world could have stopped but chose to deny.
The wind is whipping up what’s left of the palm trees and overhead the sky is threatening. There’s an ominous yellow and charcoal streak across the sun. Hard to tell what time of day it is. Hurricane time.
Marina grabs my hand, her eyes strangely calm. “We’ll get through this, Lukas,” she assures me. “Together.”
Even though I’m scared, I also feel a hint of excitement. Anything is possible. It really is a new world. It may be ruined — but it’s still mine. Maybe ours.~
To read the full excerpt: www.isle.oxfordjournals.org
Bio: Brenda Peterson is the author of over 20 books, including the memoir, I Want to Be Left Behind: Finding Rapture Here on Earth, selected as an Indie Next “Great Read” by independent booksellers. Her most recent book is Wild Chorus: Finding Harmony with Whales, Wolves, and Other Animals. The Drowning World series is out in paperback and now in audiobook. See all her books: www.BrendaPetersonBooks.com
