Wise individuals recognize the danger and depart, as Hurricane Milton's wrath approaches, drawing Floridians towards the interior.
Hurricane Helene had claimed its victim two weeks prior.
"Up to the door panels" the surge crashed in from that damning storm, which made landfall nowhere near this place – but around 200 miles to the north – she mentioned.
For a brief time, Helene had left Whitmore isolated. Later, her daughter found her on the family safety app Life360, she said, before "some kids I've known since they were little picked me up" in a boat.
This Tuesday morning – almost 40 hours before Milton's predicted landfall – the veteran Manatee County public official wasn't taking any chances. Whitmore had learned her lesson and wouldn't risk it again. She decided to leave in her other vehicle, taking important papers from her safety deposit box and "enough clothes for a while" with her, along with "Maddie, a little rescue" dog.
"Only a fool would stay," Whitmore added, referring to Milton as "the one we always prepared for – but never had."
Like millions across Florida, Whitmore was fully committed to her plan to weather a massive, powerful hurricane growing broader and stronger by the hour, threatening to use untamed Helene debris as a missile depot while terrorizing an exhausted public with predicted record storm surge and wind.
In the past day, statewide warnings had resonated as Milton, with Category 5 intensity, aimed at a wide stretch of Florida almost as long as the Peninsula itself. The mayor of nearby Tampa had issued a grim warning: "If you choose to stay in one of those evacuation areas," Jane Castor said, "you're gonna die."
Holmes Beach's police chief echoed the concern on Tuesday: "If you don't take heed, you're on your own," Bill Tokajer said. "You might as well write your name and Social Security number on your leg so that when we find you, we can contact someone ...
"Because staying out here is not going to work," he warned. "It is not going to be good for you."
Elsewhere across Florida, residents packed roads and highways on Tuesday to flee coasts with predicted storm surge of up to 15 feet. Behind the wheel on Interstate 4, Jake Keglor had left his home in Seminole, near St. Petersburg, in his rearview by Tuesday at 9 a.m.
But soon, he faced a new problem.
‘There’s a lot of roads that are a war zone’
"Gas is the biggest issue," Keglor said. He navigated the 100-mile trek northeast to Orlando with his 14-year-old gray tabby cat Sugs, following his parents' eight-hour evacuation gridlock ordeal. "All of the pumps have the bags on them" because they're empty.
As for traffic, it was "not great," he said, even with "all the shoulder lanes ... open."
Usually, Keglor would stay put: 3 miles from the coast, in evacuation Zone C. But last month's deadly hurricane had shaken his usual thinking, too.
"Two weeks ago, with Helene, I had never seen the stuff that we saw," Keglor said. Social media posts from friends who initially seemed nonchalant about the storm suddenly changed their tune: Their cars were "halfway underwater."
Since then, crews across Florida have been working overtime to clear storm debris – doors, mattresses, ottomans, and couches; refrigerators, side tables, even an honor roll memento from someone named Angel – left from Helene before Milton can use it as ammunition.
"We've been out here for the last 48 hours doing everything we can to help clean these streets up," said Greg Mullis, manager of corporate operations for College H.U.N.K.S. junk-hauling firm, while working Tuesday in the Gandy community of Pinellas County south of Tampa.
"There's a lot of roads that are a war zone."
"We've been running nonstop since Sunday to help with just the curbside pickup to just eliminate damage that's, you know, ultimately unnecessary at this point," said his colleague, Dan Whelan, the company's vice president of operations.
‘Just taking our last sentimental walk’
Marie Saveikis, 82 years young, had wanted to stay in her coastal home during Milton, she said. But her children and grandchildren insisted she evacuate to Belleair Bluffs south of Clearwater, which she planned to do – but not before she prepared.
"Last night, I took a shower before I went to bed," said the native Pittsburgher who raised four kids as a single mom and ran a hair salon. "I'm gonna take another one soon as I go wash my hair, put no product in it, so then I can just take my little bag and go over to my son-in-law's in the morning.
"For me, it's toiletries and medications," she continued. "And clean clothes because I'm a clean freak ... I don't care about my makeup, I don't care about my hair; I just need to be clean."
Back on Anna Maria Island, Montana snowbirds Skip and Annie Radick walked their dog, Skip, early Tuesday afternoon along the flattened sand and scattered dune grasses that, until Helene, had held strong against storm surge.
"We were wrapping up our emotional stroll, snapped a couple of memories, and were heading inland," mentioned Skip. "We've been in and around this island since 1997, and this is the first time we've encountered an empty beach - the first time."
Annie predicted, "I doubt we'll have a house standing here in a few days."
Skip lamented, "It's unfortunate, considering our family's history here for twelve years. It's been a significant part of our children and grandchildren's childhoods. It seems it might not exist anymore. So, hand in hand with the misfortune of many others."
As the impending landfall thickened the air, Tokajer - the Holmes Beach police chief - found himself in quite a bind.
"There's no other way to put it," he admitted. "We're still tackling Helene, and at the same time, we're dealing with Milton. We're attempting to evacuate Milton and clear out the rubble from Helene. ...
"If you haven't evacuated yet, make your move by tonight. There's no room for hanging around. Predictions suggest this surge might be double that of Helene. If the surge doubles, the water could drown us out here. We won't see sunlight anymore."
"It's going to be a trip," Tokajer added.
Keglor, with his feline companion, pondered his uncommon evacuation in light of Milton's peculiar behavior for Florida's central west coast. The National Weather Service in the city cautionedly warned on Interstate 4, "If the storm stays on its current path, it will be the most devastating storm to impact the Tampa area in over a century."
"Statistically speaking, we haven't been impacted directly in a hundred years, but it seems like it's our turn this time," Keglor mused.
The thought of Milton's churning in the Gulf brought to mind a local legend he'd heard during his days in Seminole.
"It's like the Tocobaga tribe that cast a shield over Tampa Bay, warding off storms," Keglor said. "And it seems like it's time to reconsider that shield."
Original reporting by CNN's Paul P. Murphy from Florida's west coast, and Michelle Krupa from Atlanta; additional contributions from Leigh Waldman in Tampa.
Despite the recent experience with Hurricane Helene, Whitmore decided to prepare for Milton's potential impact on their area. Recognizing the seriousness of the situation, she gathered important documents, clothes, and her pet dog, knowing that "only a fool would stay" during such a powerful hurricane.
As they left their home, Jake Keglor and his family were reminded of the destruction caused by Helene only two weeks prior. Seeing the aftermath of Helene had led Jake to change his perspective and evacuate, even though they lived in an evacuation Zone C.
