Storm Rescue (6 page)

“Shh!” I say anxiously. “I want to hear what Jacqueline Jermaine is saying.”

“Too late,” Zoe comments. “They're back to the anchor guy.”

A few seconds later, the picture switches again, and David gasps. The camera is scanning a row of stalls with terrified horses inside. Water in the aisle outside the stalls looks like it's at least a foot deep.

The anchorman is explaining that the pictures were taken this morning at a horse show outside of Philadelphia. The fairgrounds flooded overnight, and rescue workers are trying to get the horses out.

The camera zooms in on one stall, where a gray horse is tossing his head and rearing, his eyes rolling back until the whites show. He lets out a noise that doesn't sound like it could have come from a horse at all.

“Poor guy!” Zoe says. “He's terrified. I hope they get him out of there!”

We hold our breath as we watch several people try to approach the horse and grab his halter. He keeps rearing, flailing his front hooves. Nobody can get close to him.

“Calm down, dude,” David whispers, his eyes locked on the screen. “They're just trying to help you.”

“He's too scared to realize that,” I say, remembering how weird Mittens, Socrates, and Stormy acted yesterday. If dogs and cats can be freaked out by a storm, I figures horses can be, too.

The horse continues to thrash around in his stall, whinnying in terror. As I watch, I feel real fear creeping over me, too. What if my father is wrong? What if my house, the clinic, our whole town is in danger from the rising waters, just like Oakwood? What would I do if I were trapped in the flood, just like that poor horse?

I turn my face away from the others. I definitely don't want my friends to think I'm scared. David might tease me again. But it's no use. I can't help thinking about Lucy. I really hope she's okay. I remember what my father said last night about Willow Street getting flooded out ten years ago, and I think about that deep puddle in Mrs. Clark's front yard.

On TV, someone finally manages to fling a towel over the horse's eyes. “Cool!” David says with relief. “A blindfold. That should help.”

Sure enough, once the towel is tied over the horse's eyes, he calms down a little. Someone leads him out of the stall and up to higher ground. We all cheer. The announcer reports that all the horses were evacuated from the fairgrounds safely.

Unfortunately, our cheer sets Sherlock howling. “Yikes!” Zoe cries, clapping her hands over her ears as Sneakers lets out a startled yip. “Forget the hurricane. That dog is a natural disaster!”

“Was that the phone?” Brenna says, interrupting whatever Maggie starts to say in her dog's defense.

I hurry over to the phone on the end table as David mutes the TV. The button for the clinic line is blinking. I pick up the receiver, praying that whoever is on the other end can hear me over Sherlock's howling. “Hello, Dr. Mac's Place,” I say. “Can I help you?”

“Hi, this is Bill Jermaine.”

“Oh! Hi,” I say. “It's Sunita. Is Stormy all right?”

“I hope so.” He sounds worried. “I'm rather concerned about him, actually. Is Dr. MacKenzie available?”

I clutch the phone, wondering if something new is wrong with Stormy. Sherlock finally quiets down—thank goodness. “Um, no. Can I take a message?”

“I'd appreciate that,” Bill says. “You see, I'm stuck at work because of flooding. I had planned to dash home and check on Stormy. I wanted to give him another dose of his tranquilizer and bring him inside. He's in his outdoor kennel right now. He seemed calmer there than in the house this morning, so we left him out. I should have known better. But since the clinic is so close to our house, I was hoping Dr. Mac or Gabe could go get him and look after him until I can get there. Do you think they might be able to do that?”

“Um ... ” I'm not sure what to say. Dr. Mac would probably agree if she were here, but she's not. And I definitely don't feel like leading that huge dog through the storm. I glance quickly at the others, who are watching me curiously. With a gulp, I remember how David teased me yesterday about being a scaredy-cat—and I remember the horse. “Yes,” I tell Bill. “Don't worry. I know she'll want to help.”

“Thank you, Sunita.” Bill sounds relieved. “I really appreciate this. Tell Dr. Mac I'll be by as soon as I can.”

“Sure. Bye.” I hang up.

What have I done?

“Who was that?” Maggie asks.

After I tell them the whole story, Zoe tugs on a strand of her long blond hair and frowns. “Why didn't you tell him that Dr. Mac and Dr. Gabe are both out?” she says. “There's no telling when they'll be back to go get Stormy.”

“I know,” I say. “That's why we have to go get him ourselves.” I'm already nervous about what I've agreed to do. But I know it was the right decision. Even though Stormy scares me a little, he's a nice dog. I hate the thought of him being trapped, like the horse we just saw on TV. What if his outdoor kennel floods or blows away or something? What if he gets struck by lightning?

“Sunita's right,” Brenna says, jumping to her feet, which makes Sneakers start barking. “Come on!” she shouts over the noise. “Let's get moving!”

“Wait!” Maggie cries. “We can't all go. Someone needs to stay here in case any patients come in—and to tell Gran where we are when she gets back.”

We all exchange anxious glances.

“I'll stay,” Zoe speaks up after a second, bending down to soothe Sneakers. “Humidity does terrible things to my hair anyway,” she jokes nervously.

 
 
We all hurry back into the clinic and put on our raincoats. Mine's still a little wet from this morning. David opens the door. Outside, the sky looks worse than ever. There are puddles everywhere, as well as tree limbs and all sorts of debris. By the time we've gone half a block, the rain finds its way into my shoes and down the back of my neck.

The wind is still blowing, and a siren is blaring somewhere nearby. We don't talk much. The Jermaines' house is only about four blocks away, on the corner of Franklin and Willow streets.

We struggle against the wind down the first block, then the second. But we keep moving. An animal needs our help, and that's the only thing on my mind. I know my friends feel the same way.

Before long we're turning on to Franklin. The Jermaines live on a block lined with nice colonial homes that have backyards overlooking the old section of town. I hear barking in the distance. As we get closer to the Jermaines' green-and-white house at the end of the block, the barking grows louder, along with a sound of rattling metal. It's coming from behind the house.

“That's Stormy!” David says. “His kennel must be around back.”

We run around the side of the house. Suddenly Brenna stops in front of us.

“What's wrong?” I ask.

Then I look past her and gasp in horror. The whole backyard is flooded under two feet of water—including Stormy's kennel!

Chapter Eight

S
tormy is hysterical with fear—he keeps bounding up onto the top of the doghouse, then slipping off and splashing down into the water. Each time, he leaps straight up as if the water is burning hot, then races forward and rebounds off the wire kennel door. Then it's back to the doghouse roof again. His ears are plastered back against his head, and his expression is panicky. His barking sounds hoarse, like he's been doing it for a long time.

Maggie hurries us forward. “We've got to get him out of there! He's freaking out—he's going to hurt himself, if he hasn't already.”

Behind the house, the ground slopes down, then levels off again where Stormy's kennel is. The doghouse is an island surrounded by muddy water. We march right up to the kennel, with the water lapping at our knees.

“How are we going to get him back to the clinic?” I ask. “We don't have a leash.”

“There's one.” David points to a nylon leash hanging on a hook near the kennel door.

“Good eye!” Brenna shouts above Stormy's barking. “Who's going to be the brave one?”

I grab the leash from the kennel wall. Maggie is shouting something behind me, but I tune her out.

I flip the latch on the kennel door, fling it open, and barge inside. “Good dog,” I say breathlessly, trying to make my voice calm and soothing, just like it was when I was comforting Lucy yesterday at the clinic. “It's all right, sweetie.”

Stormy's barking drowns out my voice. I don't think he even sees me standing there. He's on top of the doghouse again, his claws scrabbling for a foothold on the rain-slick surface. He starts to slide off and jumps instead, splashing into two feet of muddy water on the ground.

“Calm down, Stormy, okay?” I plead, my hand clutching the leash. “I want to help you.”

Stormy pushes off the side of his kennel, rebounding off the chain-link fence like a trampoline. I flinch when I see him coming straight at me. Oh, no!

“Move!” Maggie shouts. She's so close that I feel her breath on my face. She grabs the leash and pushes me toward the door. I stumble on the threshold and fall to my knees outside, splashing into the water. Glancing over my shoulder, I see Maggie standing just inside the door, looking very small beside Stormy, who has missed running into her but is still bouncing around the wire pen like crazy. How is she ever going to calm him down and get him to safety?

Maggie claps her hands and lets out a sharp whistle. Startled, Stormy freezes and looks toward her.

“Sit!” Maggie thunders, her voice louder and deeper than I've ever heard it.

The dog responds instantly, dropping onto his haunches right there in the water. He looks surprised and uncertain. Maggie doesn't give him a chance to figure out what's going on. She darts forward and quickly snaps the leash onto his collar. As soon as she does, Stormy seems to sort of go limp. His tense muscles relax, and his ears return to their normal position. In a matter of seconds, Maggie's leading him out of the kennel.

“Wow!” Brenna yells with admiration. Stormy doesn't look too happy about sloshing through the water, but he's walking meekly at Maggie's side. “That was awesome! How did you know he would listen to you?”

“I didn't,” Maggie admits. “But I know he's well trained, so I gave it my best shot.”

“Pretty good shooting. Or should I say shouting?” David says with a grin. He pats Stormy. “And pretty good dog.”

I climb to my feet, feeling embarrassed. What was I thinking? I should have let Maggie handle it from the start.

No one says anything about my mishap, though. Brenna pushes back her brown hair, which is dripping into her eyes. “Come on,” she says. “We'd better get out of here before we all float away.”

We make our way toward the front of the house with Maggie and Stormy in the lead. This time we have to step around one end of the canoe that was on top of the Jermaines' van yesterday. They must have left it in the backyard, but it's floating now. Finally we're on dry ground again.

That's a relief. All that water was making me really nervous.

We head for the corner and stop to catch our breath. I can't help but look over my shoulder and down the hill at the old part of town and Willow Street.

Oh, no! Willow Street is underwater! Just a short distance away, the street slopes down and completely disappears. A block farther, the mailboxes are barely visible above the water. And by the middle of that block, the water is almost up to the second floor of the houses. Through the drizzle, I can barely see Mrs. Clark's house at the far end—there are a couple of large trees in the way—but it must be more than half submerged. Lucy...

“Do you think they've evacuated everyone already?” Maggie asks.

“Look!” Brenna cries, cutting her off.

In the distance, I see a motorboat chugging toward us. As it gets closer, I see who's inside—two men in bright yellow slickers and a small white-haired woman wrapped in a plaid raincoat.

“Mrs. Clark!” I cry.

At that moment, Mrs. Clark spots us. “Help!” she cries, waving her hands at us. “My poor Lucy!”

Maggie, David, and I run toward the boat, splashing down the hill until we're knee-deep in water.

“Guys! Don't go out too far!” warns Brenna, who stays back with Stormy.

“Are you okay?” I yell over the sounds of the wind and the boat's motor. “Where's Lucy?”

“She's still in the house!” Mrs. Clark calls back. “She was frightened by the men and the boat. She ran and hid in the attic. They insisted I leave her.”

“I'm sorry, ma'am,” one of the rescue workers says. “We couldn't spend any more time. The water's rising quickly, and we need to get you to the emergency shelter, which is where you kids should be—under shelter.”

I open my mouth to protest—to tell them about Lucy's broken leg, her diabetes—but the rescue workers are already steering the boat toward the next street. Mrs. Clark shouts about Lucy, but her words are drowned out by the sounds of the boat's motor.

I stare down the hill. I remember how those flooded houses looked on TV. And the flooded stable. What if it was Mittens? It all makes me feel so scared and helpless that I have to clench my hands into fists to stop them from shaking.

Then I remember how Lucy meowed at me this morning, bumping her head against my hand when I bent to pet her. And I know what I have to do.

Chapter Nine

W
e've got to save her,” I tell Maggie and David as we turn and walk back to Brenna and Stormy.