| |
––––––––
Lightening clawed the sky, but September didn't flinch, numbed by what had come before. She only gritted her teeth and shivered when the clouds once again turned on the spigot. Shadow pressed close beside her.
From her vantage, she saw the tank's partially breached dam continue spewing water. Two-thirds of the dike held the rest of the water at bay, but as she watched, the artificial current down each side chewed at the barrier. She swiveled, gauging the rate of rising water inside the barn, its rush buffered by cement block walls already weakened in the storm. Once the dike surrendered—not if, but when—anything inside would drown.
The roof and loft already sliced and diced by the tornado exposed the barn interior to punishing rain. The low windows she'd opened to reach the kids now allowed water to sluice inside like a dam's open floodgates. Her elevated view mimicked first balcony seats at a macabre theater production, and she carefully edged forward and craned her neck when the kids screamed again.
Melinda, Willie, and Steven clung together. Lenny sprawled unmoving at their feet. The little group hunkered on the first level of an island of stacked straw bales that abutted one side of an eight-foot-long horse panel, a wire grid barrier defining that side of the dogfight pit. The rising water lifted the bale and the kids rocked a bit before climbing to the next tier to join Boris Kitty. They left Lenny, and September worried the boy might roll off into the water.
Willie wailed again. "He wiggled and slipped out. Get him. Please, get him, Nikki." He jerked his arm but couldn't escape his sister's grip. "I can't swim, please get Kinsler."
September followed Willie's gaze, and her stomach lurched. A bucket floated by, banged against her SUV that still blocked the exit, and performed a drunken pirouette before the current sucked it beneath the car. Nikki slowly plodded through the rising water toward a bobbing white bundle.
Shadow woofed under his breath. He watched with interest, but kept a wary distance from the edge of the drop off.
It only took a few inches of rushing water to knock adults off their feet, and a little girl like Nikki wouldn't have a chance. If the dam broke, the surge of additional water would batter her against, or trap her beneath the car. Once sucked through the narrow breach and tumbled out the other side, not even an Olympic swimmer would survive.
Nikki didn't understand the risks. Her empathy for stray cats nearly got Nikki killed in the burning barn, too. September quelled the urge to shout, "Hurry up," because slow and steady offered better footing. "One step at a time, don't trip, Nikki."
"I'm okay. But his head's under water." Nikki stopped, scooped up the dripping dog and turned back to the bales. Limp and unresponsive, Kinsler flopped in the girl's arms, and September's heart sank.
"Is he okay? Is Kinsler going to be okay?" Willie scrubbed anguished tears from his eyes. He pulled away from his sister's restraint, but fear of the water kept him rooted in place.
September didn't blame the boy. Water made her queasy, too. She couldn’t bear to put her face in it. "Everyone, stay right where you are." Her voice whip-cracked with authority. "Nikki, hook your hands in the wire grid on the horse panel. That's right, that's the way." She held her breath until the girl slogged close enough to roll the small dog up onto the level where the kids crouched.
"He's not breathing." Willie stroked long white fur away from Kinsler's face. "He's not breathing." Willie hovered over his dog, and his sister helped Nikki climb out of the chilly water.
The boy's pleading expression unnerved September. In his world, adults had all the answers, and were supposed to make everything better. Poor kid. First the divorce, then his mother's illness, and now he'd watch his dog die. She hated adding another failure onto his young shoulders, but she had no time to waste on a hopeless cause. The kids’ safety and getting them into the loft before the dam broke took priority.
"Listen to me. The water's going to get worse really fast. Everyone must get up high, quick as you can." Straw stacks gave them height, but the bales floated, and would become unstable once the dam broke. The loft was the safest location, but her SUV smashed the loft’s stairway.
The spring pole's rope moved back and forth in the breeze. Able to sustain the ferocious grip and gyrations of a Pit Bull hanging by his jaws, it certainly could support the weight of each child. But the lowest end hung a good five feet above ground now covered with over a foot of water. Rope-climb drills in Phys. Ed. class when she was a girl spawned universal kid nightmares. September doubted she'd be able to do it, let alone tiny Tracy. They needed something foolproof. Like a ladder.
Even then, the kids couldn’t lift Lenny. Shock alone could kill the boy, if his injuries hadn't already. "Melinda, there's a couple of horse blankets on one of those top bales. Yep, where Boris Kitty is resting. We've got to keep Lenny warm."
Willie remained focused on his dog. "Nikki, you work for a vet." His voice trembled, the implications clear. "There's stuff you can do to save him. I saw it on TV about pet CPR."
"I never learned how. September knows." Nikki leaned over Kinsler and felt his chest, then held her palm in front of his nose. "He's not breathing. And I can't feel his heart." She jutted her chin. "September, tell me what to do."
September fumed. They couldn't waste the time. At least Melinda had covered up Lenny as best she could. The orange cat Willie called Waffles decided to snuggle beneath the injured boy's neck. Maybe they could secure the bale in place—
"My dog, what about Kinsler?" Willie yelled, frantic.
Shadow whined. He hated raised voices. More to placate Willie and keep him busy than with any hope for success, September barked out instructions. "Melinda, you're the tallest. Pick up Kinsler by his rear legs. That's right, upside down. Now swing him. Back and forth. With more energy." That often jump-started breathing. Chest compressions required a flat firm surface, not spongy straw bales, and even a veterinarian had trouble performing the ideal 100-120 compressions per minute under the best of conditions.
With Willie's urging, Melinda took the dog by his hocks and swung him back and forth several times. The white dog flopped and dripped water like a sodden stuffed toy.
Nikki interrupted. "It's not working. What about mouth to mouth? Doc Eugene promised to show me but—"
September didn't wait for her to finish. No time, no time, she had to get the kids to safety. "Nikki, you still have your bolt cutters? Good. Willie, you work on Kinsler. The rest of you do exactly what I say, no questions and no hesitation. Got it?" She couldn't get down there to do the work, so they'd have to pull together.
They all agreed, eyes wide and frightened.
"Willie, sit down and put your dog in your lap on his back." As he situated himself, September pointed to the metal grid next to the stacked straw bales. "Nikki, those panels come in sections. Cut one loose. It'll be about four bale lengths apart, probably wired together."
"I'm ready, now what?" Willie cradled Kinsler and waited, ignoring Nikki as the girl carefully climbed back into the water and searched for the far edge of the horse panel.
September turned to the two youngest. "Steven and Tracy, you need to help, too. Melinda, work with them. Cut free the baling twine that holds together the bales. Choose the ones that won't matter if they fall apart, we need the twine."
"What do I do about Kinsler?" Willie sounded panicked.
"Willie, do nose-to-mouth rescue breathing. Kinsler's mouth won't seal right so wrap your hands around his muzzle. Yes, that's right. Now open your mouth, and put it over top of his nostrils and mouth." The boy didn't hesitate. "Keep his neck straight so it's a direct shot into his lungs. Gently blow two quick breaths, like you're blowing up a paper bag."
He did it and then pulled away. "His chest moved."
"That's good, Willie. After every two breath-puffs, pull away to let the air come back out. Keep doing that. Don't stop." Sometimes it took quite a while before pets breathed on their own. Sometimes they didn't. But she couldn't tell him that. Better that he remained focused. And calm.
"I got one end cut." Nikki splashed to the other end of the wire grid panel while the first part sagged in deepening current. September wondered why the girl didn't shiver in the cold water. Adrenalin kept them all warm, she guessed.
"Stay close to the bales, and keep a hand on a safe anchor." September told herself that would give Nikki time to escape if the breach came. The truth was, she didn't know. But they didn't have any choice.
Melinda tugged ineffectually at the sisal on one of the bales. She screamed her frustration. "I need a knife!"
The broken knife still poked through one side of September’s coat. She grabbed the handle through the fabric and tried to work the blade free. She’d toss it to the kids, and pray her aim wouldn’t hit them or fall short and drop it into the water.
Nikki continued to struggle to cut loose with the other end of the panel. Without the horse panel, they wouldn't need the twine, and without the twine, they couldn't use the panel. September checked the state of the dike, and her breath quickened. No wonder the water level increased. The rest of the barrier could go at any moment. And the damn knife wouldn’t come free.
Steven brought a two-foot scrap of twine he'd found and pushed it into Melinda's hands. Her brow furrowed. She wouldn't take it at first, until he began to singsong instructions.
"See-saw, Margery-Daw,
Cut the thing with the string.
See it saw, Like a claw,
Make a sling, Cut the string..."
September frowned. Maybe he had learned this trick at the theater. Worth a shot. "Melinda, do what Steven says. Take that bit of twine, slip one end under the bale strap. Now grab both ends of your piece and pull up. That's what he means, make a sling. The weight of the bale holds it taut, you see? Now use your short piece and saw back and forth."
Melinda’s face lit up when the maneuver cut through the strap like butter, and then she stiffened. Boris Kitty had climbed up her pant leg and draped himself around her neck. She dumped him off.
"Good job, what a team. Melinda, you cut them, and Tracy and Steven collect them." September balled her fists, frustrated she couldn't lend a hand. "Next, tie all the pieces together, end to end, to make two strands long enough to stretch from here," she patted the loft floor, "clear down to the ground. Hurry." Best to have enough and double or even triple that amount of twine to add strength. She’d not yet worked out how to get the twine up to her level.
Boris Kitty once again vaulted high, this time clawing up Melinda's back. With a cry, the girl twisted, stood, and tried to shake him loose but he kept his grip and shimmied to reach her shoulders. She peeled him off and set him none too gently on the bale beside her.
"Done." Nikki stood with one hand still clutching the bolt cutters, and the other entwined in one end of the horse panel to keep it from sinking into the tugging current. "Now what?"
Willie yelled with frustration, his face red from worry and exertion. "It's not working. He's still not breathing." September winced at the accusation in his voice.
She saw a bit of sharp wire sticking out from the panel. Desperate times call for Hail Mary measures . . . "Nikki, cut off that wire, and straighten it out like a needle. You're going to do acupuncture on Kinsler."
Willie's eyes grew large. To Nikki's credit, she acted excited. She followed September's directions explicitly. "Take the sharp end, and jab it to the bone in the midway point of Kinsler's philtrum. That's the slit below the nose and above the lips. Jab it HARD and wiggle back and forth." Needling this alarm point stimulated the release of adrenalin—veterinarians call the drug epinephrine. That might be enough to jump-start the dog's heart. "Don't stop, keep wiggling it and pressing hard."
Ten seconds become a lifetime watching for signs of life in someone you love. When Kinsler gasped, Nikki jumped backwards with a squeal. The dog took another breath, and then yelped. He struggled weakly in Willie's happy embrace.
Melinda shouted, too, and Shadow barked with excitement in what September thought to be celebration. But no. It was Boris Kitty again, this time perched atop Melinda’s head, a climbing maniac determined to scale the heights.
September smiled. She knew exactly how to get the twine into the loft.
