No Ordinary Day

by Polly Becks

  The one in the lead was someone Lucy thought she recognized.

  Ace Evans conferred with the other two firefighters, then held up what looked like a cord belt and a hook, several of which he had slung over both his shoulders, as did the other rescuers, one of whom was carrying a wide coil of rope, which he put down on Lucy’s desk.

  “Hey guys—my name’s Ace. We’re here to take you out. Can you all raise your arms over your heads like this?”

  He held up his own, straight, with his hands pointed toward the ceiling.

  The children obeyed.

  “Excellent.” He handed the rest of his belts to the other firefighters and walked over to Kristen, who was trembling in her wheel chair. “You’re first, miss. We’re going to be partners, ok?” The little girl nodded, looking terrified. He slipped the adjustable cord, called a gut belt, around her waist, and attached a carabineer to it, then slid it through the D-ring on his own belt.

  “Keep your hands up until you’ve got your belt,” he said as the two firemen began attaching the gut belts to each of the other kids. “Then you can put ’em down.” He turned to the two women.

  “Can you put on your own?”

  Both women nodded uncertainly.

  “Good.” He smiled slightly at Lucy. “You’re going to have to trust me today, ma’am. Sorry about that.”

  Lucy just swallowed as she took the webbed belt he handed her and put it around her waist, cinching it tight.

  It only took a few moments for everyone to be belted up, after which the man with the large coil of rope took it off the desk and clipped his rescue belt to the reinforced loop at the end of it, tightening the carabineer.

  “So here’s how this works,” Ace said in a voice that was commanding, while at the same time calming, to the children. “We are all getting tied together, as you can see.” He leaned down to the trembling child in the wheelchair. “What’s your name?”

  “Kristen.” Her voice was a ragged whisper.

  “Kristen and I are the leaders. Everybody else is going to follow the leaders in a single-file line. We’re going up the hall that way—” he pointed north toward the exit door. “Then we’ll turn left and go right out the door and across to the football field.”

  “What about the water?” Dominic asked, his voice quavering.

  “We’re going to walk right through it—there’s a line of firefighters standing across the stream, and each of them is going to pass you along to the next one, like you were a football,” said Ace as the other two responders checked each of the carabineers, twisting the locking mechanism on each one. “No worries—we’ve gotcha. Right, gentlemen?”

  The two firefighters smiled slightly for the first time since they had entered the room and nodded.

  Ace looked at Kelly Moran, then at Lucy. “Let’s put her in the center,” he said to the first responders, indicating Kelly, “and Miss Sullivan at the end of the line.” Then he turned to the kids.

  “You ready?”

  He got a minimal response.

  Ace cleared his throat.

  “I said ‘are you ready?’ ” he growled, but his eyes twinkled. “The answer is ‘yes, sir!’ ”

  “Yes, sir!” the children shouted back, energized.

  “All right,” Ace said cheerfully. “Let’s blow this popsicle stand.”

  He signaled to one of the first responders, who took up his position at the door, then he bent down to Kristen.

  “Ready, Miss Kristen?” The little girl nodded. Ace scooped her carefully up in his arms and signaled for the door to be opened.

  Another swell of water, this time almost up to the children’s thighs, swept through the door, stinging cold, causing a number of them to scream.

  Ace turned back. “No worries, polar bears. We gotcha. And you guys are North Country born and raised—this is nothing for you. Come on.”

  He started out the door, the children being pushed along by the two firefighters, anchored in the center and at the end by the teachers, who were trembling as violently as the kids were.

  This can’t be happening, Lucy thought as she struggled to remain upright in the river that was now coursing through the western corridor. The water was slightly lower than it had been when it rushed through the doorway, but still the children were fighting to remain standing in the chilly current.

  “Repeat after me,” Ace called in between blasts of the fire alarm. “Hup, twop, three-p, four, hup, twop, three-p, four—”

  The students began chanting the cadence, following Ace around the corner to the side door of the school.

  They were so engrossed in the chant that they didn’t notice the sizzle of the overhead corridor lights as the last of the power in the building blinked out.

  Lucy looked back through the windows as the line of kids began to turn the corner and saw similar lines of roped children and staff with other firefighters leading them, making their ways to the bucket-brigade-type lines of rescuers in the rushing river that was spilling now down the sides of the building. Every now and then some sort of trash—tree branches, garbage cans, or other junk swept up in the flood—would impact one of the people in the rescue line, causing a hiccup in the process, but for the most part the passage seemed to be working well.

  A growing cluster of kids and teachers was gathering on the football field, out of the way of the flood.

  Just as she made it past the exterior door, she looked around for her missing students, the five girls Mr. Daniels had “snagged” earlier in the morning.

  And did not see them.

  A knot tied itself in her throat.

  The baker’s dozen of kids from her class were now being passed along the rescue line, Ace and Kristen at the lead. The National Guardsman was sturdy enough to make his own wake as he passed through the floodwaters, leading the rope line of kids, but each person in the bucket brigade of eight firemen put a steadying hand on him anyway, just to be sure.

  Every few moments, as the current grew swifter, one or another of them would grab a kindergartner who had tripped or fallen and pull that child up, steadying him or her, before encouraging them onward. It was an agonizingly slow process, especially for Lucy, at the end of the line and looking anxiously around for Glen Daniels, who she was certain would have evacuated with her students.

  She saw both of the other kindergarten teachers, huddled with their classes, writing names down on clipboards provided by the fire department, counting and hugging each child as blankets were wrapped around them by rescuers at the scene. The sirens were still wailing, the fire trucks honking and the lights spinning, making the gray world seem like a waking nightmare.

  The student line was almost across the rushing torrent.

  A bullhorn broke through the noise.

  “Evacuate!” the voice, that of a middle-aged fireman, roared across the football field. “All faculty and volunteers, get these kids west to the far side of Tree Hill Park. A new swell is approaching upriver from the dam—repeat, get the kids to the far side of Tree Hill Park!”

  Pandemonium and a considerable part of Hell broke loose.

  The students and teachers in the water tried to rush forward, causing the roped line to collapse. The bucket brigade reached quickly into the blasting current and dragged the little people up to a stand again, then passed them as quickly across the newborn river as they could.

  Beyond the line of students ahead of her, Lucy could see adults, mostly teachers and first responders, but some that she recognized as parents, grabbing children by the hands and urging them forward, in a blind run to the higher ground of Tree Hill.

  Except for a scattered number of parents she recognized.

  The first to catch her eye was Corinne’s father, Professor Isaac Byrnes, standing beside his wife, Dr. Patricia Byrnes, staring at the school, and at her, fear in their eyes visible even as far away as they were standing, surrounded by their four boys. Not far from them was Reverend Fuller, the pastor of the Obergrande Community Church and hi
s wife, holding their son’s hand, also searching the oncoming line of children, looking desperately, she imagined, for Grace.

  Oh God, she thought, they didn’t get out yet.

  Panicked, she pawed at the carabineer, trying to free herself from the rope without success until she figured out that it was just a metal nut she needed loosen.

  She unclipped the carabineer and turned in the water to the firefighter at the end of the line.

  “I have to go back,” she stammered, handing the child to him.

  Then Lucy took off, splashing back through the rising water to the school.

  The startled firefighter shouted for Ace.

  She cast her eyes around, as best as she could, looking for a passable way back across the rising water, but still did not see a single one of the five girls that had gone with Glen Daniels an hour or so before.

  As the evacuation order was repeated over the bullhorn, the Sergeant, who was now out of the floodwaters and pulling kids rapidly out as well, handed Kristen off to other first responders. He unhooked each child as he or she made landfall, then sent them to a secondary line of responders and faculty, including Mrs. Cox, who was at the water’s edge, counting every child that crossed.

  “Hey! Ma’am! What are you doing?”

  Lucy kept going, fighting the current.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Ace!” she shouted back. “I’m missing five kids!”

  The Sergeant heard his name, but not the rest of her call. He pointed at his ear, then made a looping gesture, signaling for her to repeat her message.

  “I’m missing five kids!” she shouted again.

  The Sergeant’s eyebrows drew together as he took a silent count of the line, only two of which had not already been pulled out of the floodwaters.

  Then he shook his head, pulled the last two kids out of the water, into the arms of the waiting rescuers on the side of the swollen river.

  And made his way angrily into the water, heading after her.

  He unclipped his radio as he crossed back toward the school, waving it over his head to keep it out of the water and alert the other firefighters that he was going back in.

  “Miss Sullivan!—Miss Sullivan—stop—”

  Lucy had seized the door, and was dragging back on it with all her strength.

  And making little progress.

  Her struggle gave him the chance to catch up with her. Ace took his safety strap and clipped it to the end of hers, then exhaled.

  “Never letting you go again, ma’am,” he said.

  “I have to go back in,” she growled, pulling with all her weight on the right side of the double door. “There are five of my students still in the school—”

  The Sergeant was shaking his head.

  “We’ll get ’em,” he said. “We’ll do a sweep once every hall is clear—which they just about are.” He reached out for her again.

  “You don’t understand,” Lucy said, still pulling on the door, her teeth chattering from the cold water and fear, dodging. “I had five kids out on a special—to one of the music rooms. I saw their parents—they haven’t gotten out. And you don’t know where they are—I do. Now help me open this damned door!”

  Chapter 13

  ‡

  THE NATIONAL GUARDSMAN stared at her a second.

  “Let go and stand back, ma’am,” he said.

  Then he braced his foot against the left door, seized the handle of the right door and pulled, dragging the door open a crack.

  The water fought back, swirling and eddying around the opening.

  Ace adjusted his position and tugged again, the muscles of his back and neck bulging before Lucy’s eyes, even beneath his fire coat.

  As the door opened wide enough for her to slip through.

  Ace followed her. He stopped as she darted blindly into the water running down the dark hallway, his weight dragging her, without having to touch her, to a stop, because they were tethered together.

  “We need a plan of action before you go off half-cocked, Miss Sullivan,” he said calmly over the noise of the rising water. “Where is the music room?”

  Lucy, standing outside her classroom now, pointed south down the western corridor. “The east and west corridors are like the legs of an H,” she said nervously as she struggled to keep upright. “The interior corridor is the crossbar on the H. That’s where the music room is. I think they may be in there.”

  Ace turned on his flashlight and held it up, casting shadows around the dark halls of the school, then handed it to her. He hit the TALK button on the radio and informed the command of where they were and what they were doing. Then he rested his hand on her shoulder, steadying her.

  “All right. You have to stay calm, ma’am. They are going to need us to be confident; they’re terrified for sure.”

  “That makes six of us,” Lucy said as Ace started forward again.

  “Seven,” the National Guardsman said as they hurried down the corridor. “But two of us have to be the adults, since the five little kids can’t.”

  “Are you telling me you’re terrified, Sergeant?”

  “Completely. I’m always terrified when someone else is in harm’s way, especially kids. But I’ve been trained not to let it get the better of me.”

  Lucy nodded, grateful.

  They hurried around the corner into the horizontal interior corridor, lashed together, Ace’s greater size and strength providing some stability for Lucy, who was being tripped up by the cold floodwaters. She flashed the beam around the hallway, looking in the open doors of classrooms for anyone still trapped inside.

  “There are four stairs down ahead in the hallway,” she shouted over the increasing noise of the water.

  Ace, an architect and engineer, had already made note of the declining slant of the building, but just nodded.

  He knew, given that the water into which he was descending was already up to his knees here in the connecting hallway, that the eastern corridor would be vastly deeper.

  Certainly chest high, over a child’s head.

  He shook off the thought and took Lucy’s arm as they went down the four steps she had indicated.

  Lucy was pointing agitatedly at a door in the middle of the hallway.

  “There,” she said, her fair face red with exertion. “There!”

  “Hang tough, ma’am,” Sergeant Evans said as they reached the door. “I’ve got you.”

  “And you’re never gonna let me go. Yeah, I know—I heard you say so when you tied us together.”

  The National Guardsman smiled slightly.

  “I’ll get the door,” he said. “Be careful of the backwash—it should be lower in the classroom than in the hallway, so a lot of water is going to head that way when we open the door.”

  He took hold of the handle. Beyond the door, to his relief, he could hear the sound of sobbing.

  Up until that moment he was not certain there would be anyone inside still alive to rescue.

  “Remember, we’ve only got about twenty inches of give between us,” he said, bracing his shoulder against the door. “Don’t dash in too fast—you could pull us both down.”

  “Open the door,” Lucy growled through gritted teeth.

  Ace pushed forcefully against the door. It snapped back, then yielded to his strength, spilling a large amount of water into the room.

  Lucy ran past him, her long golden curls hanging in streams behind her.

  THE LITTLE GIRLS had actually managed to be rather brave at first. When Mr. Daniels had not returned as promised, they had remained silent, looking at one another and the rising water on the floor, perched as they were on the heater behind the upright piano.

  Grace, the pastor’s daughter, had retreated as far against the wall as she could, shuddering, but saying nothing. Elisa had followed her, pulling her little legs up to her chest, her enormous eyes wide with fear and glinting in the fading light. Corrine had hung close to Sarah, who sat immediately behind the top
of the piano, both of them watching the door intently, while Sloane was making plans and sharing them, to almost no response from the other girls.

  “See? It would be better to be princesses,” she had said nonchalantly, her voice quavering in spite of her brave words. “When you’re a princess, Prince Charmin’ comes to rescue you when you need help.”

  “Or the angels,” said Corrine.

  “I don’ think we want the angels yet,” said Sarah. “They bring you to heaven. I don’ think we will get back home if they do.”

  At that moment, the lights in the school had shorted out, sparking and snapping.

  Plunging the room into almost total darkness.

  All five of the girls screamed.

  Then Grace and Elisa began sobbing.

  “No me gusta la oscuridad,” Elisa wept. “I no like the dark. Tengo miedo.”

  Sloane moved closer to her, trembling violently, and held up her play wristwatch, a Cinderella one her father had given her for her fifth birthday. She pushed the button on the side, and the pink watch glowed.

  “Here, Elisa,” she said. “Here’s some light. Don’t be scared.”

  Corinne, who was also shaking, took Sarah’s hand and interlaced their fingers.

  “Look,” she said, glancing down at the keyboard of the piano below them, “our fingers look like the piano keys.”

  Sarah smiled slightly and squeezed her hand, but said nothing.

  They remained, clutching each other’s hands, Elisa holding on to Sloane’s arm near the glowing watch, and Grace backed up as far against the wall as she could be, watching helplessly for aid that did not seem to be coming.

  Finally, amid the muted sirens they could hear in the distance, and the sounds of planes and helicopters flying overhead, then disappearing, they all succumbed to despair and cried as if their hearts would break.

  Only to hear the sound of the heavy door of the classroom screeching open.

  And a familiar voice calling their names.

  And what appeared to be an angel, with long golden curls, holding a light in her hand.