by Kate Messner
“The levee’s breached. Look!” Clare pointed to the front door. A waterfall poured in through the mail slot. “We need to get to the attic!” The water in the living room was up to Clare’s ankles. How high would it rise? And how fast?
Clare ran through the house to her bedroom. She grabbed her backpack full of clothes and her book. What if the whole house flooded? Clare looked at the clarinet and music books under her desk, her bulletin board covered with report cards and SPCA volunteer certificates. Should she try to fill another bag?
Ranger stood in the doorway. The whole house was vibrating in the rushing flood. He could feel it under his paws. He barked, and Clare turned to look.
The house groaned, and something thumped against the siding. The time for packing was over.
“Nana, come on!” Clare led her grandmother up to the attic. She dropped her backpack on the wooden floor and helped Nana settle on one of the sleeping bags they used when they camped near Lake Pontchartrain in the summer.
“You okay for now?” Clare asked.
Nana nodded and pulled her knitting from her bag. “Don’t you worry, baby,” Nana said. “Your daddy’ll be back soon.”
“Wait here,” Clare said. “I’m going to get us some water and food.”
Clare turned back to the stairs. Ranger stayed so close she almost tripped over him. She’d taken only two steps down when her breath caught in her throat. The water was covering the bottom stairs. How could it be rising so fast?
“Lord,” Clare whispered. But they couldn’t stay in that stifling attic without drinking water. Clare stepped into the flood and pushed forward. It was already up to her knees.
Ranger splashed after her through the living room. The little wooden end table was flipped, legs in the air, floating toward the doorway. Clare pushed it out of the way and struggled into the kitchen. The refrigerator had toppled over onto its door, so she couldn’t get to anything inside. Clare grabbed two bottles of water from a high shelf. She bent over and felt around under the filthy water. Where was the cooler they had packed?
Ranger tried to hold his chin up, but soon, waves of water swept his paws out from under him, and he was paddling.
Ranger barked. It wasn’t safe here! They had to get back where it was dry.
“Go on!” Clare came up sputtering, her shirt dripping with muck. “Go up with Nana! I’m coming!”
Clare snatched a loaf of bread and a box of garbage bags that were floating by. They needed more food. She needed more time! How could it be so deep already?
Ranger pawed at Clare, struggling to stay above the awful, sharp-smelling water. It was nothing like the lake where he swam with Luke and Sadie at home. This water smelled of waste and gasoline. It wasn’t safe. Clare had to get out of it.
She understood that, too. “Come on, dog,” she said, and fought her way through the water, nudging him along with her leg.
The current threatened to push her over. How could there be a current in her house?
Clare reached for the couch to steady herself, but that was floating, too. There was nothing to grab.
Ranger felt her hand on his back and struggled to keep himself afloat. He paddled through the living room, until his paws finally touched the stairs.
Clare climbed five steps and sank down beside him, her arms full of soggy bread and water bottles. She stared into the living room, at all of her family’s things — tables and books and board games — all floating in the stinking water.
There was barely time to catch her breath. In seconds, the flood was licking at her sneakers.
Clare slogged up the stairs. She climbed into the attic and closed the door.
“You get some water?” Nana asked from the corner by the vent. Wet curls stuck to her forehead. She dabbed at her face with the purple bandanna she wore at basketball practice.
“Here.” Clare handed her one of the bottles. Nana opened it and took a long drink.
Clare knelt by the vent and tried to see outside. The rain had stopped, but water gushed down the street. It felt as if their house had landed in the middle of the Mississippi.
“Help should come soon, Nana,” Clare said, but she had no idea if that was true.
“Pray they make it fast,” Nana said. She took a shaky breath, leaned back against the wall, and closed her eyes.
Clare dragged another sleeping bag from the camping things and spread it out.
Ranger looked up at her.
“Go on, dog,” Clare said. “There’s room for you.” So he curled up on the slippery red nylon. Clare pulled Bud, Not Buddy from her bag and sat beside him, leaning against the wall.
She tried to get lost in the story with Bud and his rules, but her eyes strayed to the attic door.
Where was the water now?
Could it rise high enough to fill the attic?
If it did, where would they go? How would they even get out?
Clare’s eyes fell on the axe in the corner. She hoped she wouldn’t need it. And she prayed she’d be strong enough to use it if she did.
Clare forced herself to read, but every few minutes, something thumped against the house and shook the attic floor. Trees? Cars? Other houses?
Ranger sat quietly at Clare’s side. His skin prickled under his fur. The attic air was hot and wet and stale, filled with the smell of old things and dampness. Other smells drifted in through the vent. Gasoline and chemicals. Dirty water and torn-up earth. The roar of the water seemed like it would never end.
But after a while, it changed. Along with the rush of the flood out in the street, there was a closer splashing. A gurgle at the attic door.
Ranger ran to the door and barked. Water was seeping in through the cracks around the frame, already spreading over the attic’s worn wooden floor.
Clare looked up from her book and gasped. How long had it been? Ten minutes? Fifteen? How could the water have climbed the stairs already?
“Nana, get up!” Clare shook her grandmother’s arm and then pointed to the attic door. Water poured in underneath. It was seeping up through the floorboards, too. Soon, the sleeping bags would be soaked.
“Here …” Clare dragged the plastic bin to the corner. “Sit here so you stay dry.” She was thankful when Nana didn’t argue.
Then Clare picked up the axe. It was heavier than she remembered, even from yesterday. She looked up at the beams and boards that crisscrossed the ceiling. They seemed impossibly sturdy.
But the water was already over her sneakers. If it kept rising, they’d need a way to get out.
“Watch out, dog.” Clare took a deep breath. She lifted the axe and let the head fall behind her. She chose a spot on the ceiling and swung the axe upward as hard as she could.
It made a tiny chip in the wood.
She swung again. And again. The muscles in her arms burned.
“We should go downstairs,” Nana said, standing up.
“Nana, no.” Clare wanted to cry. “We can’t go down. We can’t open the door. Just … please … stay there.”
Ranger understood the command stay. He understood that Clare needed his help. He couldn’t whack at the ceiling with her, but he could keep Nana settled.
Ranger sloshed through the water to Nana’s side. She looked down and gave him a pat on the head. “Aren’t you a good dog. You need a bath, though.”
Ranger nuzzled Nana’s hand. He nudged her back to the plastic bin. She sat down and stroked his wet fur.
Every time Clare swung the axe, dust rained down on her. The water was up to her shins, and she hadn’t even made the tiniest hole in the ceiling. It was impossible to get any momentum when she had to swing upward. She was never going to break through.
Clare swallowed hard, but the lump growing in her throat only got bigger. There was no time to cry. She had to get Nana out of here before they both drowned.
Clare’s eyes burned with the sharp smell of the filthy, rising water. She lifted the axe and took another whack at the ceiling. The axe stuck in th
e wood. She had to pull and twist to get it free. When the board finally let the axe go, there was barely a dent in it.
Clare’s arms trembled, but she lifted the axe again. Maybe lots of smaller swings would be faster. She hacked away at the board above her. Tiny wood chips flew everywhere. But there was no rush of fresh air from the outside. No sliver of sky to give her hope. No escape from the rising water.
Clare struggled to catch her breath, but the hot, stinking air in the attic made her cough. Even if the water stopped rising, she knew they couldn’t survive here for long.
When Clare couldn’t hold the axe any longer, she dropped it and collapsed against the wall. Tears streamed down her cheeks, and she let out a sob.
Ranger sloshed over to Clare and nuzzled her hand. That made her cry harder. Even the dog was depending on her, but her arms were too tired. The flood was going to swallow them up. How long would it be? An hour? Two?
Clare looked down at the water around her knees. Had it finally stopped rising?
She waded through the muck to Nana, who was still perched on the bin, leaning into the corner. Somehow, she’d managed to doze off, even with Clare chopping at the ceiling. Clare found their old kitchen table in another corner. She dragged it over and spread a damp sleeping bag on top.
“Nana …” Clare shook her grandmother awake and helped her onto the table. Then she pulled a trunk over by the bin, sat down on it, and patted the bin. “Come on up, dog. Get out of the water.”
Ranger jumped up and sat down. He was soaked. But at least he was with Clare.
Clare pulled her legs in tight so she’d fit on the trunk. She read her book, stopping every few chapters to nudge Nana awake and get her to have a drink of water. The attic grew warmer and warmer. Clare turned pages and worried and waited for help. But no one came. She didn’t know what time it was, but the light coming through the vent was getting dim. And she was exhausted.
Why hadn’t her father come back? Where was he? Clare reached for her phone, but it didn’t turn on. Somehow, in all her preparations, she’d forgotten to charge it.
Clare’s eyes burned with tears. She blinked them away and took a few deep breaths. She needed to stay calm. She needed to stay strong. And right now, she needed sleep. In the morning, she’d pick up the axe and try again …
* * *
“Anybody there?” a deep voice called. Clare was sleeping, but Ranger heard it. He jumped from the trunk, splashed through the water to the vent, and barked.
Clare sat up. The sky was just getting light. “What is it, dog?”
“Anybody there?” the voice called again.
Clare jumped up, ran to the vent, and shouted, “We’re here! Help! Please! We’re here!”
“Clare?” the man called.
“Yes!” It was her dad’s friend Mr. Robinson. “I’m trapped here with Nana!” Clare shouted out the vent. “I’ve been trying to break out with an axe but it’s not working.”
“Hold on!” he called. “I’m coming!”
Something clunked against the house. Clare heard footsteps on the roof. Then a voice from above said, “I have an axe. Stay clear and I’ll get you out of there!”
A few seconds later, there was a loud thwack! Sawdust drifted down from the ceiling.
Nana startled awake. “What’s happening?”
“It’s all right, Nana,” Clare said, and held her grandmother’s hand. “Mr. Robinson is here. He’s cutting a hole in the roof to get us out.”
Thwack! Crack! Thunk!
Finally, a board broke. Light streamed into the attic from above.
Thwack! Crack!
Crash!
“Good Lord!” Mr. Robinson said, leaning in through the opening he’d made. “I thought y’all had decided to leave, but then I saw old Mrs. Jackson on her roof.”
“Oh no!” Clare felt awful. She should have checked on Mrs. Jackson somehow. “Is she all right?”
Mr. Robinson nodded. “I’ve got her in my boat. But where’s your dad?”
“He went to find gas for the car. He hasn’t come back,” Clare said. A hot lump rose in her throat.
“No gas for miles,” Mr. Robinson said. “My guess is he got stuck out of town. He’ll find his way back, don’t you worry.”
Clare nodded.
Mr. Robinson pointed to the trunk. “Shove that over here so you can climb out.”
Clare pulled the old trunk by its scratchy rope handle until it was below the jagged hole in the attic roof. She helped Nana climb up first.
“Don’t worry. I’ve got you,” Mr. Robinson said, and lifted Nana onto the roof.
Clare thumped the wooden trunk. “Go on, dog! Go up and wait with Nana.”
Ranger jumped onto the trunk and leaped from there onto the roof.
The shingles were wet and slimy-scratchy under his paws. Ranger spread his toes so he wouldn’t slip. He padded over to Nana and sat down beside her while Clare handed supplies up to Mr. Robinson.
First, she passed him Nana’s bag and a life jacket she’d found with their camping things. She loaded her backpack, Ranger’s first aid kit, the bread, and her last bottle of water into a garbage bag and sent that up. Then she hoisted herself onto the roof.
Mr. Robinson looked down at Clare, his forehead creased with worry. “Thing is … I can’t take you both,” he said. “I’ve already got three others.” He nodded down at the boat where his wife and mother-in-law were waiting with Mrs. Jackson from next door.
Clare knew what needed to happen. “Take Nana,” she said. “Please. She’s not doing well with the heat.”
Mr. Robinson hesitated, but Clare helped Nana into the life jacket.
“All right then,” he said. “Once we make it to the bridge, I’ll walk her to the Superdome. It’s set up as a shelter with doctors and such. She’ll be in good hands. And it won’t be long before the Coast Guard brings you there, too. Here …” He picked up Nana’s purple bandanna from where she’d dropped it on the roof and handed it to Clare. “Wave this when you see the boats coming. Make sure they see you.” Then Mr. Robinson lowered himself off the roof.
Clare tucked the bandanna in a pocket and turned to Nana. She put her hands on her grandmother’s shoulders and looked in her eyes. “Nana, Mr. Robinson’s taking you to a shelter.” Clare swallowed hard. “I’ll meet you there soon.”
“Hope it’s cooler there,” Nana said, and Clare knew she wasn’t thinking clearly. If she had been, she’d never agree to leave Clare alone. But she let Clare help her down into the Robinsons’ boat.
“Thank you!” Clare called to Mr. Robinson. Her eyes burned with tears as she watched them go.
Ranger crept to the edge of the roof. He pawed at Clare until she scrambled up higher, away from the deep, dark water. Then he sat beside her and leaned his body into hers.
“It’s okay, dog,” Clare said. She scratched him behind his ear. “Help will come soon.”
She hoped what she said would be true.
When Clare couldn’t see Mr. Robinson’s boat anymore, she fished around in her garbage bag. She pulled out the bottle of water and took a long drink. The water was warm, but it still tasted good. Clare took a deep breath and tried to quiet her racing thoughts.
Everything would be all right. It had to be. Mr. Robinson would be back soon. And her father, too. He was probably on his way.
Clare set the water bottle down and reached for her book. When she turned, the bottle slid down the sloped roof.
“Oh no!” Clare jumped up — too fast! Her feet flew out from under her, and she landed flat on her back. She kicked and clawed at the slick roof, trying to catch herself as she skidded toward the filthy water. The shingles scraped her hands and elbows raw.
Finally, her foot caught something and she stopped sliding.
Clare lay pressed against the wet roof, praying the flimsy aluminum gutter wouldn’t break and dump her into the dark water below.
Ranger barked. He couldn’t drag Clare up from the edge of the roof.
But maybe he could help her find a way to safety. Carefully, he started down the roof toward her. He tested each step with his paw to see how slick the shingles were. Parts of the roof were less slippery, and when he finally reached Clare, he nudged her in that direction.
Slowly and carefully, Clare wiggled sideways until she found a less slippery spot. She started inching her way up the roof. But then she spotted her water bottle in the gutter. Did she dare reach for it and risk slipping again? Clare was afraid to move, but she knew she couldn’t give up her only water. She eased her way down, inch by inch, and grabbed the bottle. Then she crawled back up to her bag and collapsed beside it.
“You all right there?” a voice called. A skinny man was drifting by on an old door he’d made into a raft. He leaned forward, paddling with a folded-up piece of cardboard.
“I’m okay!” Clare called, suddenly aware of how alone she was. This man wasn’t anyone she recognized from the neighborhood. “Help is coming!” The man nodded and continued down the flooded street.
Clare read her book and slapped at mosquitoes that seemed to multiply by the hour. She kept Nana’s purple bandanna by her side, ready to wave as soon as she spotted a boat. But the Coast Guard never came.
The sun sank lower in the sky. When Clare couldn’t stand the swarming insects anymore, she lowered herself into the attic. Ranger jumped down onto the trunk, too. They both sloshed through the flood and curled up on Nana’s sleeping-bag table. There wasn’t much room, and it was way too hot, but Clare was thankful for the shaggy dog. She was too scared to spend the night alone and barely slept anyway.
When light spilled through the hole in the ceiling again, Clare climbed back onto the roof, and Ranger jumped up after her.
There were no boats. No people. She wished Mr. Robinson would come back. Or, better yet, her dad. She’d even take the stranger from yesterday now, with his front-door raft.
“Too bad we don’t have a door, dog,” Clare said. The man had been paddling on one side to turn, just the way her father did when he was steering their pirogue, the old flat-bottomed boat they used to go crabbing on Lake Pontchartrain.
