by Kate Messner
For all the residents of the Lower Ninth Ward,
yesterday and today
Contents
Title Page
Dedication
Chapter 1: Time to Go
Chapter 2: Rumbling Sky
Chapter 3: Storm Warning
Chapter 4: Rising Waters
Chapter 5: The Axe in the Attic
Chapter 6: No Room on the Boat
Chapter 7: Leap of Faith
Chapter 8: Into the Flood
Chapter 9: The Littlest Survivor
Chapter 10: Runaway House!
Chapter 11: Hope from the Sky
Chapter 12: Helicopter Rescue
Chapter 13: Turned Away
Chapter 14: This Little Light
Chapter 15: No Dogs Allowed
Chapter 16: Going Home
Author’s Note
Further Reading
Sources
About the Author
The Ranger in Time Series
Don’t Miss Ranger’s Next Adventure!
Copyright
When Clare Porter’s dad dropped her off to volunteer at the SPCA on Saturday morning, the neighborhood hummed with activity. Traffic helicopters buzzed overhead. Neighbors hammered plywood over windows, getting ready for the storm. Two big trucks were parked outside the animal shelter.
“What’s going on?” Clare asked James, one of the older volunteers.
“We’re moving the animals to Houston,” James told her. “Katrina is a Category Three hurricane now. Procedure says we have to evacuate the shelter. I’m working on ID collars. We also need to take photos of all the dogs and cats before they’re loaded onto the truck.” He handed Clare a camera, and she set to work.
“Smile, Bugsy!” she told a grumpy bulldog mix. She’d met him on her first day volunteering at the shelter last fall, right after she’d turned eleven.
“Your family leaving?” James asked Clare as he fastened a collar on a squirmy orange cat.
“Mom and my little brothers have been visiting Aunt Celeste in Houston. They’re going to stay a few extra days,” Clare said. “Daddy and I are staying here with my grandmother to ride out the storm unless it gets real bad.”
James raised his eyebrows. “Already starting to look like a big one.”
“We’ll be careful.” Clare looked at the pale, quiet sky. It was hard to imagine a monster hurricane just two days away. Aside from getting their houses ready, most of her neighbors in the Lower Ninth Ward of New Orleans were going about their business. Dad had taken Nana to basketball practice right after he’d dropped Clare off to work at the shelter. Nana used to be one of the star players on the Silver Slammers, a basketball team for women sixty years and older. But Nana was eighty now, and last year, she started forgetting things. She couldn’t remember the rules. She couldn’t really play in games anymore, but she still went to practice to shoot baskets. Practice had gone on today, just like always.
But by the time Clare’s father picked her up at the shelter, more and more neighbors were packing their cars.
“We’ve got time,” Dad said. He scooped some of Nana’s red beans and rice into a bowl for dinner and limped over to the table. His knee still bothered him from when he got hurt in the army a long time ago.
“I still think the storm will turn,” Dad said. “We’ll wait and see.”
Later, after she was in bed, Clare heard him on the phone with her mother. “I know. But evacuation would be mandatory if they thought the storm was going to hit that hard … Okay … Love you, too.”
* * *
On Sunday morning, Clare woke to the sound of the news on TV.
“Devastating damage is expected, rivaling the intensity of Hurricane Camille of 1969 …”
Clare shivered. Dad had told her stories about Camille. Back then the flooding was so bad that he and Grandpa had to break out of their attic with an axe and wait on the roof to be rescued.
“Clare?” Dad called. Clare found him in the kitchen at the front of their long, skinny house, filling a cooler. “The mayor just ordered a mandatory evacuation. We’re leaving. Pack clothes for a week,” he told her.
“A week?!”
“Just in case,” Dad said. “Storm’s getting stronger. I’m going to put gas in the car. Mrs. Jackson next door is coming with us, too.”
“Mrs. Jackson? How come?” Clare asked.
“She doesn’t have family here,” Dad said. “So we need to look out for her. No one gets left behind on my watch.”
Clare nodded. She hadn’t been born yet when her father served in the army during Operation Desert Storm, but she knew the story of how he got hurt. He’d run out from behind a jeep to rescue another soldier who had fallen during a firefight. Dad said he had to go, even though it was dangerous. You never leave a fallen soldier. It was an army promise. The mission wasn’t over until everyone made it out.
“We’ll leave as soon as I get back,” Dad said. “Keep an eye on Nana while I’m gone.”
“Okay.” Clare headed down the hallway. “Are you getting clothes together, Nana?” she called into her grandmother’s bedroom.
“I’m staying right here,” Nana said. “I have practice tonight.” She held up her Silver Slammers warm-up jacket.
Clare sighed. “There won’t be practice with the storm, Nana. Everyone’s leaving. Pack your clothes, okay?”
Clare went to her bedroom and threw shorts and T-shirts into a backpack. She was in the middle of reading Bud, Not Buddy again, so she packed that, too. Then she took it back out to read as she waited for Dad. She liked all of Bud’s funny rules for getting by in the world.
After a while, the wind rattled her window, and Clare looked up. It had already been half an hour. Just how far did Dad have to go for gas? Clare hoped he’d find an open station soon so they could head out.
The sky grew darker and darker. Clare turned on a light. The wind slammed a door shut somewhere. Clare looked at the clock. It was already noon. She texted her father.
When will you be home?
He didn’t reply. So Clare turned on the radio.
“At least one-half of well-constructed homes will have roof and wall failure,” an announcer said. “Water shortages will make human suffering incredible by modern standards. Once tropical storm and hurricane force winds onset, do not venture outside.”
Clare closed her book. She rushed to the living room. The door was partway open, thumping back and forth on its hinges. Clare looked out. There was no sign of Dad. And the rain had already started. She closed the door tight.
He’ll be here soon, Clare thought. We just need to get everything ready so we can leave right away when he comes back.
“Nana!” she called. “Are you all packed?”
Her grandmother didn’t respond. “Nana!” Clare called again. She ran to Nana’s bedroom. It was empty.
Panic rose in Clare’s chest. How many pages ago had she heard the door slam? How long had it been since Nana wandered off?
Clare raced to the front door and yanked it open. Her grandmother’s warm-up jacket was on the porch swing. Clare grabbed it and held it to her chest. “Nana!” she shouted into the rain.
But only the wind answered back.
“Whoops!” Sadie looked down at the last bite of hot dog that had slipped off her plate onto the grass.
“Hey, Ranger!” Luke said. “Looks like you get an extra treat!”
Ranger hurried over and gobbled it up. He loved hot dogs. And he loved it when Luke and Sadie’s family had cookouts with their friends, the Tarrars. Someone was always dropping something.
Ranger sniffed around the picnic table until a flash of brown near the garden caught his eye.
Squirre
l!
Ranger ran after the squirrel, barking. He chased it through Mom’s herbs and past the sunflowers. He chased it up and down the porch steps and around the picnic table. Finally, the squirrel raced up a tall tree. It sat on a branch, chattering down at Ranger.
Ranger barked a couple of times. Then he went back to sniff for more hot-dog pieces. Ranger had never caught a squirrel, but he loved chasing them. Squirrels were the reason he wasn’t an official search-and-rescue dog.
Ranger had done weeks of search-and-rescue training with Luke and Dad. He’d learned to follow a scent trail to find a missing person. He’d practiced finding Luke in all kinds of odd places. He’d found Luke hiding in barrels and behind tree stumps. He’d even found him once when he was buried in the snow! Ranger was good at finding people.
But in order to be a search-and-rescue dog, you had to pass a special test. You had to ignore everything around you except the command you’d been given. You had to ignore dog treats and toys and juicy pieces of hot dogs. You even had to ignore squirrels.
On the day of Ranger’s test, a squirrel had run by, swishing its fluffy tail. Ranger had chased it. He wouldn’t have done that if a real person needed help. But he knew Luke was just pretending to be lost, like always. So Ranger didn’t pass his test.
But he was still good at finding things. Like hot dogs!
Ranger sniffed around under the picnic table until he found another piece Sadie had dropped.
Then the sky let out a rumble.
“Uh-oh,” said Luke’s mom. “We’d better move this party inside for dessert. Dad has peanut butter cookies in the oven.”
Everyone started picking up plates and food, but Ranger went straight to the door. He pawed at it and whined.
Ranger did not like storms. Thunder made the hair on his neck feel all nervous and prickly.
“You want to go inside, Ranger?” Luke said, and opened the door. “Go on. We’ll be right there.”
Ranger went to his dog bed in the mudroom so he could curl up in his blanket and wait for the storm to go away. Another rumble of thunder shook the sky, and Ranger whimpered. Then he heard a quieter humming sound.
Ranger knew that sound. It was coming from a mysterious first aid kit he’d dug up from the garden one day. The old metal box made a humming sound whenever someone far away needed his help. Once, the box took Ranger to a loud, scary beach where two young men were in danger. Another time, it had taken him to a land of ash and smoke, where he’d met a girl named Helga.
Ranger pawed at his blanket until he uncovered the old first aid kit. Beside it were some of Ranger’s treasures — bits of paper and metal and two feathers — things he’d brought back from his adventures the other times the old metal box had hummed. The box had taken Ranger to busy cities, frozen oceans, and quiet prairies — always because someone needed his help.
Now it was humming again.
Ranger pawed the leather strap over his head. The humming got louder and louder. Light began to spill from the cracks in the old metal box. It grew brighter and brighter, until Ranger had to close his eyes. The first aid kit grew warm at his neck, and he felt as if he were being squeezed through a hole in the sky.
Finally, the humming stopped and the box cooled.
When Ranger opened his eyes, rain blew into them.
But this wasn’t the crisp, cool rain of home. The air here was hot, muggy, and thick. The wind rattled a street sign. Then a girl called out.
“Nana! Nana, where are you?”
Ranger ran up to the girl, but she barely looked at him. “Nana!” she called. She ran to the house next door and pounded the door. Ranger followed her.
A man on a bicycle called from the street. “They left town yesterday!”
“Oh!” Clare whirled around so fast she almost tripped over Ranger.
“Have you seen my grandmother?” she asked the man, and held out a warm-up jacket. “Nana left this. She wanders sometimes. We’re supposed to be leaving …”
“Haven’t seen her, but I’ll take a lap and let you know if I do,” the man said.
“Thank you. I have to find her!” Clare said as he rode off.
Find!
Ranger barked. That was the command Luke and Dad used in training sessions. Luke would run and hide in the woods. Dad would say, “Are you ready, boy? Go find Luke! Find him!” Ranger would take off, sniffing the air and the ground until he tracked Luke’s scent to wherever he was hiding.
Ranger sniffed the jacket in the girl’s hands. It held another person’s scent, too. Maybe the Nana person!
Ranger barked again. “That’s my grandmother’s jacket,” the girl said. “Do you smell her? I have to find her.”
Find! Ranger walked down the sidewalk. The air smelled of rain and dirt and sawdust. Ranger could smell the girl and the man on the bike. But no Nana smell. Not yet.
Ranger circled, and the girl followed him back toward her house.
There!
The Nana smell!
Ranger followed the scent trail down the block, into a grassy yard. The Nana scent was getting stronger.
“Where are you going?” Clare stepped around some tomato plants in a garden. “This is where Nana’s friend Ruth lives, but she’s gone.”
Ranger ran up the porch steps and pawed at an old screen door. On the other side, Nana sat quietly on an old sofa.
“Nana!” Clare opened the door and rushed in. “What are you doing?”
Nana looked confused. “I’m waiting for Ruth. We have basketball.”
“There’s no practice because of the storm,” Clare said. “Ruth is on her way to Baton Rouge. We’re going to Houston as soon as Daddy gets home. Come on.”
Clare walked her grandmother home. When she got to the door, she looked down at Ranger. “Whose dog are you?” She lifted the first aid kit from around his neck. “Are you with the hurricane rescue people?”
Clare looked up and down the empty street. “You can’t stay out in the storm.” She held open the door. “Come on.”
Ranger followed her inside. The house was cozy, but the wind had a dangerous sound. Ranger settled on a throw rug while Clare checked her phone. There was still no word from her father. She tried calling him but got his voice mail.
“Dad, it’s me,” Clare said. “Is everything all right? Because it’s been a really long time and I hope you’re on your way home. Call me, please. I’ll keep getting things ready.”
Ranger followed Clare into the kitchen. He sat by the stove while she finished filling the cooler.
At five o’clock, it started to rain harder. Clare called her father again. This time, the call didn’t even go through. She heated up leftovers for supper. She turned on the radio, but reports of traffic jams and gas shortages made her stomach hurt.
By nine o’clock, the rain was coming sideways in sheets, battering the windows. Clare’s stomach felt all tied up in knots. Where was her father? She peered out the front window. There wasn’t a single car on the street. Where was he? What if he’d run out of gas? What if he was stranded somewhere?
Nana was in her bedroom listening to music. Clare didn’t want to worry or confuse her any more. She’d simply tell Nana the plan had changed. They would stay in New Orleans after all. Nana would be happy about that.
Clare made a mental list of all the things her parents did to prepare for hurricanes. She gathered flashlights and batteries. She found the family’s folder of important papers and put it in a big plastic bin with their photo albums.
Ranger wasn’t sure how to help, so he followed Clare around. She seemed happy to have company as she lugged the bin up to the attic. She brought Ranger’s first aid kit, too. It might come in handy in a storm.
Finally, Clare collapsed on the couch. Wind shook the windows, and rain pounded the roof. It was almost eleven o’clock. Nana had gone to sleep a long time ago, but Clare was afraid to go to bed. What if Nana wandered out into the storm?
Clare curled up on the sofa. Ranger jumped
up next to her. She wrapped an arm around him and closed her eyes. But she couldn’t stop thinking about her father, out there somewhere in the rain and wind.
She kept imagining him in that other storm a long time ago, trapped in the attic as water rose around him.
The axe! Clare sat up. She reached over to turn on the light, but the power was out. She grabbed a flashlight and ran to the back porch. Her sneakers crunched on broken glass as soon as she stepped out of the kitchen. The storm had blown out two windows. Rain whipped in from the darkness, so hard it felt like sand against her face.
She grabbed the axe from the corner by her father’s toolbox, ran inside, and bounded up the stairs to the attic. She leaned the axe against the plastic bin. Then she went back down and stretched out on the couch with Ranger beside her.
* * *
All night long, Clare tossed and turned, listening to the pounding rain. Every time she started to doze off, wind shook the house and she jerked awake. What could have happened to her father? Wherever he was, Clare hoped he’d found shelter. Let him be safe, she prayed. And please let him come home soon.
Finally, the sky outside grew light again. It was still raining, but the wind had quieted. Clare patted Ranger’s head. “Maybe the worst is over,” she said.
There was an inch or so of water in the living room. They’d have to clean up when Dad got home. Maybe he was on his way now that the storm had let up.
Clare sloshed to the front door, unbolted the lock, opened it, and peeked outside. It looked as if a giant had stomped through her neighborhood. The storm had snapped trees and scattered roofing everywhere. But the Lower Ninth Ward had survived, like always.
Ranger stood beside her, sniffing the wet morning air. It smelled of rain and gasoline and mud.
Clare was about to close the door when she heard a loud boom.
Then there was a roaring, rushing sound. Soon, waves of water were surging down the street. It could only mean one thing.
“Get upstairs, Nana!” Clare shouted. “The levee broke!”
Clare slammed the door shut. Nana hurried into the living room in her slippers.
