by Polly Becks
“Corinne—come, honey,” he urged, putting his hands out to the terrified students, who were looking at each other in alarm. “Elisa—Sloane, come here, girls, Grace and Sarah—hurry!”
Corinne glanced around again, then ran to him, followed by Sarah, who waved to the other three girls as she ran. As soon as they reached Mr. Daniels he scooped them up and put them atop the heater, as high off the floor as he could get them without risking them toppling or falling off. Then he turned back to the other girls.
“Follow me!”
He ran to Elisa and picked her up, nodding to the other girls to follow him. The child was shaking violently, so he put his hand behind her neck comfortingly as he carried her back to the heater ledge. He set her up beside Corinne and Sarah, then hoisted the other two girls beside them and pushed the piano closer to allow for another barrier between them and the water.
Then he smiled as bravely at them as he could, sickened by the terror on their little faces.
“It’s OK—don’t worry. You girls stay here. Stay together. I’ll be right back.” He smiled at them again, then ran to the door and opened it.
The water began running into the music room, turning the worn industrial carpeting an even uglier shade of gray. Glen Daniels struggled to pull the door shut, and disappeared from their view.
He ran down the interior hallway, banging on doors, pulling every fire alarm he could find, shouting all the way.
As the emergency bells began sounding throughout the school.
AT OBERGRANDE FIRE Stations #1 and #2, the alarms rang ferociously, shattering the morning peace.
And atop each fire hall, the blue light began to spin, sending its beams out into the gray haze that hung in the air.
No one was in Station #1 to hear the call of the county dispatcher, but in Obergrande #2, the fire hall in East Obergrande, the assistant chief, Andy Klein, and Paul Moody, a veteran firefighter who would be taking the position of Captain of Fire Police when the terms for officers changed in July, were both on site, washing the floor and setting up for the annual family portrait fundraiser scheduled for the next day, Saturday.
Both men froze, mops in hand, at the metallic-sounding voice of the dispatcher announcing the site of the alarm.
Obergrande Elementary School, the small brick building close to the river’s edge on the east side of town.
Both mops dropped to the floor in an instant.
The men dashed to the wall where their gear hung.
“Dear Lord, the school’s on fire?” Moody stammered, dragging his turnout gear off the wall as Klein raised a hand, listening.
Multiple calls were coming in.
“It—it sounds like a flood,” the assistant chief said, struggling to pull on his rubberized pants, then pulling the suspenders up to his shoulders.
Outside the hall, they could hear the screeching of cars pulling up.
COLONEL GENOVESE AND Sergeant Evans were just finishing checking out of the Lakeview Motel, west of Tree Hill but still within the area considered to be East Obergrande. They had eaten breakfast at the diner across the street, and were dropping off their keys when the fire alarms began sounding in the office and throughout the building they were leaving.
“What’s going on?” Colonel Genovese asked the desk clerk, who looked around, puzzled, and rose from her chair, staring at her desktop computer.
“I’ve no idea,” she said nervously. “There’s nothing on the screen—but in a lot of towns and villages in the Adirondacks, hotels and motels where a large number of guests can be staying are wired into the police and fire scanner from the Fire Stations, because wild fires roar through here occasionally. Almost all the old historic hotels in the Park have burned.”
Ace Evans rushed to the door and looked out, scanning the mountains and the areas to the west.
“No smoke,” he noted.
Then he looked at the parking lot and the street leading up to it.
Water was coursing from the north in substantial torrents southward.
“Colonel!” he shouted. “Call the outpost!”
Colonel Genovese hurried to the door behind him.
And quietly loosed an expletive under his breath.
“Your phone working?” he asked the desk clerk, who snatched up the receiver, listened, then nodded, her eyes beginning to glaze in panic as the bells from the carillon of Our Mother of Sorrows began to ring wildly.
As the Colonel took the phone and called in the report of the rising water, Ace hurried out into the parking lot, the fire alarms of both Obergrande companies now wailing through the town and echoing off the mountains.
The flood waters had increased dramatically even in the few seconds it had been since he had seen the initial spillage in the street. Ace rushed to his car, which was parked outside the motel office, opened his trunk and pulled his hard helmet and other emergency gear from the back. He left his uniform in the car, deeming his off-duty clothing—an Army Corps of Engineers T-shirt, jeans and boots—to be appropriate enough attire to deploy.
Colonel Genovese was out the door a moment later, the expression on his face grim but calm.
“The hurricane seems to have tipped the scales into just what we were talking about last night,” he said as Ace handed him one of a pair of two-way radios, raising his voice to be heard over the screaming sirens and the clanging church bells. “Radar and satellite reports indicate the Lake Obergrande dam may have just failed. Saranac is deploying, not sure who else—I’m heading to Fire Station #1 in West Obergrande, you’re to go see what you can do to help Station #2 around the corner until the guard units begin arriving. It looks like Albany will be sending recon and rescue helicopters just in case.”
Ace nodded silently and returned the Colonel’s salute as the harsh honking of fire trucks began to roar a short distance away.
From the mountain roads and streets overlooking the town, cars and trucks with blue flashing lights, the vehicles of volunteer firefighters, were streaming down toward Fire Station #2.
Ace hurried into his car and joined them.
Chapter 11
‡
9:49 AM
Windsor Gardens
DAVE WINDSOR HAD been at the garden center for almost four hours already when the sirens went off across Obergrande.
He was in the process of shoveling his highly-acclaimed mulch, a secret blend of shredded woods and thick grasses, off of the truck that had brought it back from the shredder and into its standard place of honor, a towering pile at the edge of the alpine garden, when the shriek filled his ears, first from his own station, then joined a few seconds later by #1, followed by the bells of the Catholic church and emergency sirens all across the town.
He dropped the shovel onto the mulch pile and ran for his pickup.
Walt Bentley, the driver of the truck and a fellow firefighter, climbed down from the dump truck’s cab and followed him.
Dave leaned over and opened the door from the inside for Walt, who slid in remarkably quickly for a man his age. Then he slapped his blue light on and gunned the engine.
And spun out of the gravel parking lot of Windsor Gardens, leaving his store unlocked and his register unguarded.
Without a second thought.
9:52 AM
Cavenaugh Street, southwest of Tree Hill
SUE WINDSOR WAS dozing on the couch in the living room when the sirens went off.
She sat up hazily, listening to the babies awaken at the harsh sounds.
And, a moment later, join in the wailing with the alarms.
She rose shakily and made her way to the front door, just in time to jump back as a knock thundered on it.
“Sue!” a muted voice, male and terrified, shouted from the other side. “Sue! Open up!”
Before she could even get to the door, it burst open.
Her neighbor, Lenny Verillo, a retired mill worker, stumbled into the foyer.
“Sue—get the girls—we’ve gotta evacuate—now—come on
—”
“What—what’s going on?” Sue mumbled as she turned toward the playpen where the baby girls were now sobbing.
“Flood,” Mr. Verillo puffed as he made his way to the playpen and snatched one of the babies, Blythe, who let loose with an earsplitting wail. “Get the other one—come on!”
Sue snapped out of her daze, seized her daughter Bonnie, and followed Lenny Verillo out onto the front porch.
And stopped in horror.
The streets around the center of Obergrande were filling with water, rivers of rolling rapids that grew stronger by the moment.
Lenny was already on his way across the lawn where he had parked his all-wheel-drive vehicle.
“We—we have to use my car,” Sue protested, following him halfway but waving at her driveway. “They need to be in car seats—”
“Sue,” Lenny said commandingly, “your car will never get up the hill! Come now.” He opened the back door and waved urgently at her.
Sue Windsor ran blindly for his car, clutching the baby as tightly as she could. She scrambled into the back seat and pulled the door closed behind her.
Lenny handed her Blythe, and Sue pulled both girls into her lap, all of them lurching from side to side as the SUV pulled out of the grass, leaving deep ruts and showers of mud behind it.
As they skidded up the street, she glanced over her shoulder to see showers of sparks erupting in the distance behind them, over near the center of town, as electrical lines ignited. Sue’s head felt as if the electricity was blasting through her brain as a terrifying thought occurred to her.
“Sweet Lord, Lenny,” she whispered as her neighbor negotiated the slanted streets leading up to the western sections of the village terraced into the hillside that overlooked the lake. “The school—oh—oh—Lenny—Sarah’s in the school.”
Lenny’s jaw was gritted, thinking of his granddaughter.
“I know,” he said. “Abby too. And five hundred other kids.”
9:54 AM
DAVE WINDSOR PULLED into the parking lot of Obergrande Fire Station #2 through water up to the wheel wells of his tires. His truck was barely in PARK as he vaulted from it and ran into the station, Walt Bentley only a few steps behind him.
One of the four fire engines was already staffed with a team of a dozen volunteers and ready to depart, a second loading up as he came into the building. He glanced quickly at the blackboard, where Andy Klein had written the specifics of the call from the county dispatcher for any members who arrived after the engines had left.
“Engines Two and Four ready to go, One and Three starting to load, four teams, roughly a dozen a piece,” Klein said, pulling on his coat. “Thank goodness for the law in New York that requires direct alarm wiring from schools—as close as they are to the river, they’re probably halfway under water by now.”
Windsor swallowed, his hands going numb.
Klein blinked. “Sorry, chief,” he said. “I—I forgot—”
“S’ok,” said Dave, shaking off the thought. “We’ll get ’em all out.”
“You wanna go with Two? It’s leaving now. We’re taking the school, being closer—Company #1 is dealing with a logjam and abatement.”
Dave shook his head, heading for the equipment rack. “Send ’em. I’m not gonna hold anybody up. Send Four as well—I’ll catch One with Walt. How many departments responding?”
“About eight so far, from what I can tell. The dispatch has been constant and chaotic. I expect we’ll see a dozen or more, maybe twenty before this is done. See you out there, chief.”
“Godspeed,” Dave Windsor said, pulling on his pants.
“Got a visitor,” Klein said, nodding toward the door as he headed for the first engine.
Dave looked around.
A young man he had never seen before was coming through the door, wearing a T-shirt with a castle emblem on it, the letters A.C.E. emblazoned above it. He was somewhat shorter than Dave, probably in the neighborhood of six feet, with broad, muscled shoulders and the fluid movement of a trained soldier.
Dave pulled up his suspenders and sat down on the bench, dragging his boots out from under it. Walt Bentley was already suiting up next to him.
“You here to help out?”
The man stopped. “Yes, sir—Sergeant Alex Evans, 3rd Battalion, 105th Infantry, Army National Guard, Saranac Lake. Happened to be in town—what can I do to help?”
Dave was lacing his boots. “You got any water rescue training?”
“Yessir. River Rescue cert, Swift Water Technician, advanced, Naval Rescue Swimmer—”
“Well, I’m convinced,” said Walt Bentley. He put on his helmet and headed for the trucks.
The fire chief snagged his helmet, goggles, gloves, and self-contained breathing apparatus, and nodded at the wall of gear.
“Grab the turnout gear in locker 17—that guy’s retired.”
Ace nodded and went to the wall.
“Army National Guard—isn’t ACE the engineering corps?” Dave asked as he started toward the engine.
“Yessir. I consult with them.” Ace already was adjusting his suspenders.
“Well, then, you should ride with me. I’m Dave Windsor—bring your gear—I’ll help you suit up in the rig.”
Ace grabbed what remained of the turnout gear, and followed him.
Chapter 12
‡
10:01 AM
Obergrande Elementary School
MORNING SNACK WAS put away and Lucy’s class was divided in half again, her students studying different kinds of rocks while Kelly’s group practiced writing their letters. It was almost time to switch.
Dominic, ever the sky-watcher, stood up, stretched his arms above his head, revealing his little belly, and looked out the window.
And gasped.
“Miss Sullivan?” he stammered.
Lucy was collecting the rock samples from the other kids in the group. “Dominic, help us pick up, please.”
“Miss Sullivan,” the little boy insisted, “there’s a lot of water on the playground.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Lucy said, taking the igneous rock specimens out of the box to keep them from breaking. “We can still go outside at recess unless Mrs. Cox makes an announcement.”
A violent pounding in the hall, followed by the scream of fire alarms, tore through the air.
Lucy looked up in shock, then out the window.
A small stream, widening by the moment, was rushing past the windows between the playground and the school building.
As if in answer to the internal alarms, from every side of the town beyond the windows, sirens and honking horns took up the call.
The principal’s voice came over the loudspeaker, crackling and intermittent.
“Everyone stay calm, please. Faculty members are to initiate fire drill procedures but remain in your classrooms with the doors closed until fire department personnel come for you. Classrooms on the eastern corridor will be evacuated first. Make sure your emergency windows are unlatched. Repeat, everyone, please remain calm.”
Lucy swallowed hard. Her classroom was in the western corridor, near the northern door that led out onto the playground and to the sports fields of the high school beyond.
Farther away from the river.
If that stream is all the way over here, I can only imagine what the eastern side of the building is seeing, she thought anxiously.
The students dashed to the windows as fire trucks and rescue vehicles began arriving on the track at the high school, five hundred or so feet away. The circling lights seemed to entrance the students, shaking as they were from fear.
Lucy clapped her hands, but the noise was lost in the thundering alarms.
“Everyone line up like it’s a fire drill,” she said as calmly as she could. Her voice wobbled a little, but still sounded rational. “Over here, please. Now.”
She exchanged a glance with Kelly Moran, who was already bringing Kristen in her wheelchair forward. The assi
stant teacher’s large, dark eyes were wide with barely-controlled panic; Lucy could see that she was unsure how to rescue her student in the event that the hallways were flooded.
She looked out the glass window in the classroom door.
Trickling water was already running down the western corridor.
Lucy went to her desk as the children lined up behind Mrs. Moran and pulled her purse from the bottom drawer. She grabbed her wallet, a slender cloth one, and slipped it, without thinking, into her bra, then looked up to see all thirteen students staring at her.
She cleared her throat. “Line up in pairs, please. Find a buddy. Hold hands.”
Loud sounds were coming in from the hallway, the noise of boots and children’s voices rising and falling over the wailing sirens and Mrs. Cox’s regular assurances over the loudspeaker. Lucy wasn’t certain, but it seemed to her that the principal’s voice was becoming thinner and more frantic with each announcement.
Or perhaps it was just the crackling of the PA, which was starting to show signs of failing.
Her students were beginning to make noise about needing to use the bathroom, even though they had all visited the restroom after snack. Oh great, Lucy thought. She could not possibly let them out of line, but knew the prospect of having an accident was particularly upsetting to children who had only become reliably toilet-trained in the last two or so years.
She loosed the hands of her “buddies” and grabbed a plastic bucket of crayons. She dumped the crayons onto her desk and held up the bucket.
“Who needs to go?” she asked. “You can use this.”
The children looked at each other in horror, then stared at her, aghast.
“Is there anyone who can’t wait?”
Thirteen heads shook quickly from side to side.
“All right. Well, if anyone needs to go before we get outside, you can use this and we will all close our eyes.”
Just then the door opened with a screech, and an ankle-high rush of water poured in through the doorway.
Three first responders in fire helmets came rapidly into the room, scanning the situation as they did, two of them pushing the door shut behind them with great effort.
