Katrina

"Just when you thought it was safe to go back in the water."

Katrina drifted in and out of consciousness, her body curled on top of what used to be her living room armoire, now overturned and floating like a makeshift raft. The air was thick, heavy with heat and rot. The floodwaters from Hurricane Katrina had swallowed most of her house. She didn’t know how long she’d been there, hours, maybe a day.

A sound stirred her. A wet splash.

She blinked. Across the room, another shape floated in the murky water—a man.

“Ron?” she croaked.

He lifted his head. “Katrina? You okay?”

It was Ron, her next-door neighbor. Somehow, the storm had flung him through what was once her dining room window. He was straddling what looked like a piece of a roof, soaked, scratched, but alive.

They laughed. A short, surprised laugh. Against all odds, they had survived.

“How did you get over here?” Katrina asked.

Ron shrugged and looked around at the debris-choked room. “I honestly have no—”

A violent splash cut him off.

The water exploded. A sleek, gray shape launched from below. Massive jaws open wide and bite into Ron’s body.Ron let out a strangled scream as the shark’s jaws clamped down. Blood gushed from his mouth in thick, bubbling streams, his eyes wide with pain and disbelief. The bull shark eats Ron and then sinks back into the water, leaving nothing behind but a few drifting bubbles and a red stain that slowly thins into the murk

Katrina screamed.

Her heart thundered, and her breath came in shallow gasps. Frozen, she clutched the edge of the armoire. Then, she heard it.

A baby’s cry.

“Ivy!” she called out. Her voice cracked. “IVY!”

Another cry. Muffled. Somewhere deeper in the house.

Katrina turned her head and caught a glimpse of a triangular fin gliding across the hallway. The water had turned her home into a hunting ground, and she was not alone.

She closed her eyes and tried to think. Think!

The cries grew louder. Desperate. Ivy was still alive.

Images flashed in her mind. The hospital room. The cold sweat. The doctor yelling, “Push!” The sound of her newborn’s first scream. Ivy had come into the world screaming. She was a fighter. And now she needed her mother more than ever.

Katrina spotted the shark’s dorsal fin slicing through the water, heading straight toward her. She froze, heart hammering in her chest. There was nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide. It was coming fast, and she had seconds.

Then, something surfaced.

A pale shape, bloated and drifting just beneath the surface. It bumped against a floating chair leg and rolled over.

Katrina’s breath caught.

It was Ron, or what was left of him.

His lifeless eyes stared blankly toward the ceiling, his torso mangled, his lower half gone. As if summoned by blood memory, the shark turned sharply, jaws wide.

It struck with a thunderous splash, dragging Ron’s body back under in a violent, red spiral.

Katrina didn’t waste another second.

She dove forward, kicking with everything she had, arms slicing through water and debris. The cries of her baby echoed down the hall like a beacon. She reached the staircase just as the water surged again behind her.

The shark changed course, thrashing toward her. Water surged. She grabbed the banister and hauled herself up.

The floodwater was rising. Fast.

She climbed higher, slipping, soaked, nearly blind with sweat and fear. The shark’s snout breached the surface below her, jaws snapping inches from her feet.

Katrina screamed and scrambled into the attic crawl space, slamming the door behind her.

Then, crying. A familiar, beautiful cry.

“Ivy…” she whispered, crawling across beams and ruined insulation.

There she was. Ivy, somehow still safe in her floating crib wedged between two beams. Katrina scooped her up, held her close, rocking, sobbing with joy.

But then came another sound.

Bang.

The floor buckled below them.

Bang. Bang.

The shark was ramming the ceiling from below, the floodwaters giving it reach and power.

The wood cracked.

Katrina turned, eyes wide. No time.

Katrina cradled Ivy in one arm, soaked and trembling, and looked toward the narrow attic window. The shark was still thrashing below, water rushing in fast. She needed her hands free, but couldn't risk dropping her baby.

Her eyes darted to the side. A torn bedsheet, half-submerged and tangled in insulation. With a flash of desperate inspiration, Katrina grabbed it, wrapped Ivy tightly against her chest, and knotted the ends behind her back like a crude sling. The baby wailed, pressed close to her heartbeat.

With Ivy secured, Katrina shoved the attic window open. Rain sprayed in as the wind howled. She hoisted herself through, legs slipping against the wet sill.

Behind her, a thunderous crash.

The bull shark erupted through the attic floor, jaws wide, slamming halfway through the opening. Its snout smashed against the window frame, jaws snapping inches from her feet.

Water poured out like a ruptured pipe.

Katrina screamed, shoved off, and slid down the pitched roof, palms skidding and scraping against the shingles. Ivy whimpered, but the makeshift sling held.

She landed hard near the edge of the roof. Below, debris floated: tree branches, a half-sunk car, and corpses.

The shark tried again, slamming through the opening behind her. It thrashed once, twice, and then tumbled back through the window, crashing into the floodwaters below.

Katrina scrambled, barefoot and bleeding, climbing up the incline. A metal gutter ran alongside the roof, barely holding. She gripped it with both hands, using the weight of her body to haul herself upward, digging her feet into gaps in the siding like footholds.

At the peak, she collapsed. Soaked. Sobbing. Ivy squirmed weakly against her chest.

A low thrum vibrated through the storm-churned air.

Katrina looked up, eyes stung with rain and blood.

Out of the clouds, through the smoky veil of dusk and chaos, a rescue helicopter emerged, its rotor blades beating like the wings of an archangel. The searchlight pierced the darkness and fell over her, a blinding, radiant beam, warm and holy. For one surreal moment, it felt less like a machine and more like a messenger sent from the heavens, as if the storm itself had split to let mercy in.

The light touched her face, and suddenly she was back in the delivery room, clutching Ivy to her chest for the first time. She had been terrified that day, too, terrified she wouldn’t be enough. That she wouldn’t survive motherhood. That somehow, she'd break this tiny, perfect thing life had given her.

But Ivy had looked up at her eyes wide, breathing steadily. And in that moment, something had filled Katrina's chest, not just love but a knowing, a sense that God had chosen her for this child, not because she was perfect but because she would never stop fighting.

And she hadn’t.

She lifted Ivy now, the baby still bound to her heart, and waved with a trembling hand, her cries torn from her throat like a prayer. The light held steady on her, a silent covenant that she had been seen and that she had not been forgotten.

They were alive.

Not just survivors of flood or beast, but of doubt, fear, and despair.

Katrina collapsed against the roof’s peak, cradling her daughter, bathed in that divine white glow, as the roar of salvation drew near.

Author’s Note

The idea for this story first came to me around the time Hurricane Katrina devastated New Orleans. I was a volunteer and saw firsthand the damage that the hurricane did. I remember hearing wild rumors that snakes and even sharks had been found inside some of the flooded homes. I have no idea how true those stories were, but the image stuck with me. It felt like the perfect setup for something terrifying.

Originally, I imagined it as a screenplay. I started writing it a few times over the years but always ended up putting it aside.

Then, this year, I kept seeing posts and articles about the 50th anniversary of Jaws. I’ve always believed Jaws is the greatest shark movie ever made; nothing else really compares, not even the sequels. That anniversary stirred something in me. I felt like it was finally time to revisit this idea, not as a script, but as a short story.

So, here it is: my little tribute to Jaws, told in my own style.

And hey, if you get a chance, check out the Jaws popcorn bucket from Alamo Drafthouse. It’s seriously one of the coolest popcorn buckets I’ve ever seen, and I’m not even a collector. This isn’t an affiliate link or anything, I just thought it was too cool of a bucket not to mention.

Photo by Library of Congress on Unsplash