There was only one, two-lane road that ran the whole length of the Outer Banks. It connected the hospital in Kill Devil Hills to our home in Duck. “It’s a wreck,” Gramps warned before he got there. “I’m sure you can imagine what it’s like.” I couldn’t really. Everything had happened so quickly. It was like one minute I was looking at the museum and the next I was in the road. Even the trip to the hospital seemed surreal. As we came around the curve in Duck Road, the sight was even worse than anything I could have imagined. It looked like a scene from some TV-news war coverage. The area where the blue museum had once stood was now flattened, filled with ash, parts of the building and other debris. The whole corner was gone; an old picnic table was the only structure still standing. “Stop the car, Gramps!” I had to see it. I wanted to look at it up close. “Please, Gramps.
