The exodus began early Thursday, a steady procession of cars, misery, frustration, acceptance, anger and uncertainty. It started in the Keys and stretched the length of Florida's west coast.
In Key West, most hotels closed by 11 a.m. Tourists were told to leave town. People who went straight to Key West International Airport were in for a shock: All flights after 9 a.m. were canceled.
"Why didn't they tell anyone?" asked an angry Kathy Murray of Indianapolis. "We got kicked out of our hotel and then we got kicked out of the airport. Honest to God, I'll never come here again."
She boarded a bus to Miami.
Along the narrow ribbon of U.S. 1, a steady line of traffic inched along as visitors and mobile home residents followed orders to evacuate the 100-mile-long island chain.
Farther north, the Lee County Emergency Operations Center came to life at 7 a.m., with evacuations immediately ordered for Fort Myers Beach and the barrier islands of Sanibel and Captiva.
By 9 a.m., a stream of cars, trucks and vans, many hauling boats, headed east.
On Sanibel Island, Wayne Foote cut short his stay at the Shell Island Beach Club and loaded his pickup for the trip home to Miami.
Foote said when Hurricane Andrew struck more than 10 years ago, he was glad he had heeded evacuation orders. This time would be no different.
"They want everybody out," Foote said. "We're gone. Show me Alligator Alley."
Charlotte Harbor, lined with homes and low-lying roads and feeding more than 100 miles of canals, was poised to gulp a big helping of storm surge.
Charlotte County emergency manager Wayne Sallade said the sprawling harbor could see water rise more than 6 feet. Many neighborhoods sit at less than 5 feet above the water level.
"You do the math," he said.
That's how it played out across southwest Florida on Thursday. Hurricane Charley brought fear and anxiety long before it brought wind and rain.
People inside a Subway restaurant along the Tamiami Trail stared silently at images of the hurricane on TV. Drivers formed long lines at gas stations along Interstate 75. Lifeguards at Nokomis Beach north of Venice raised a yellow flag and scribbled a poem on a nearby board: "Please prepare yourself today - High winds are on the way."
Standing ankle-deep in the surf near the lifeguard stand, Laura Coleman stared at the churning tide. Visiting from California and scheduled to fly back Saturday, she had more somber concerns.
"My dad's dying," she said. "Liver failure."
She worried the hurricane would keep her from visiting the hospital in Sarasota. Behind her, three women sunned themselves and read glamor magazines, while a pair of young lovers kissed and hunted seashells.
Just north in Casey Key, artist Brendan Coudal's forehead dripped with sweat as he cleared the walls of his studio gallery and loaded his truck. He couldn't bear to see his work swept away.
"I got most of the good stuff down," he said. "If we get a direct hit, it's going to mean starting over. We'll just hope for the best."
Across the street, Ben Neider and his girlfriend, Rachel Lomax, boarded up the Harbor Lights Beach Resort. They came two years ago from California. Neither has witnessed a hurricane; it showed in their worry-worn faces. "We're anticipating the worst," Lomax said.
Of course, not everyone in Charley's path surrendered to worries and warnings and evacuation orders. Scores of souls - fearless? foolish? - were content to stay put. One was Jason Oakes, a 24-year-old Key West resident whose family has been on the island for five generations. He's staying.
"It's not like we're lazy about it. We're being smart and preparing, but we're not going overboard," Oakes said. He added, "We're going to have a hurricane party."
At Sanibel's Kona Kai Motel and Cottages, owner Morgan Hendrix wasn't going anywhere, either.
"It doesn't really help to worry about these things. They come and they go," she said. "God has been looking out for us a long time. This is just another thing. It tests your faith."
In Osprey, south of Sarasota, David Costlow sipped a beer in the kitchen of his home at the Sarasota Bay Mobile Home Park, where he works as the maintenance man.
He worries only about his injured stepson who can't travel, his dog, Zoi, his entertainment center and the oak trees that tower above the rickety mobile home he bought for $300.
Otherwise, the Pennsylvania native is ready to ride out his first hurricane with his wife of 21 years.
National Hurricane Center
