The clock just ran out. Sirens wail, highways choke with cars, and Hurricane Beryl roars toward the coast, swelling into a monster no one can stop. Families are splitting in panic: stay or flee. Officials say “evacuate now,” but shelters are filling, gas is running out, and the water is already rising.
By the time Beryl’s outer bands lash the shoreline, it is already rewriting lives. Families who left early watch the radar from crowded shelters, clutching phones and praying their homes will still be standing. Others, stuck by lack of money, transport, or time, brace behind boarded windows as transformers explode and the power dies. The storm surge swallows familiar streets, leaving only rooftops and floating debris where neighborhoods once stood.

Yet survival begins before landfall. Those who heeded evacuation orders, secured their homes, stocked food, water, and medicine, and stayed glued to official alerts gave themselves a fighting chance. Beryl is a brutal reminder that preparation is not panic; it is love in action. When the wind finally calms and the water retreats, the difference between devastation and survival will be measured in the hours when people chose to act, not wait.