by Debbie Burns
The rescue team, run by two middle-aged women named Rhonda and Karen, was posting pictures of each animal on social media and working with the police and animal control in an attempt to locate the owners. After seventy-two hours of being held but not claimed, the animals were listed as available for other rescues or foster groups to request.
“Come on, girl.” Olivia tugged on the hood of her jacket and headed out into the light rain after cajoling the hesitant dog out from under the shelter of the metal roof. “It’s not raining that hard.”
From the dog’s glossy coat to the way she meandered around patches of standing water, Olivia suspected she’d been an inside dog. She wanted to know if the dog had been surrendered or found roaming the streets, but there were more than twenty dogs and cats in the shed, and Rhonda and Karen were clearly inundated with coordinating the different parts of this rescue effort.
The Lab mix was one of the two who’d been cleared for transport to the shelter in O’Fallon, Illinois. Since Olivia had had car trouble, the two women were working out whether they needed to find another driver to get the dogs to the shelter this evening. Some shelters would hold kennel space in emergencies like this, but others wouldn’t.
Olivia headed to an island of trees at the edge of the feed store’s lot, letting the mild-tempered dog sniff around and stretch her legs. Once Olivia stepped from the gravel to the soaked ground, the water began seeping in over the top of the rubber soles of her shoes, and the backs of her calves and thighs grew damp from turning her back to ward off the wind and blowing rain.
Tugging her collar tight, she spotted Gabe headed her way with one of the dogs, a black-and-brown hound of some sort, on a leash and Samson trotting along behind them. He joined her at the island of trees but kept a respectable distance between their dogs. He was wearing a hoodie but didn’t have the hood on, and raindrops were glistening on his dark, cropped-short hair and beading up on his shoulders. Samson paid neither dog any mind, instead trotting over to sniff at the base of a jumbled pile of pallets.
“Do you know what they’re going to have you do?” Olivia asked, her pulse beating a bit faster now that he was joining her.
Gabe offered a crooked smile that drew her attention to a deep dimple on his right cheek. “I guess the call for help they put out turned into a game of telephone. The vet services they needed were pretty basic, and a veterinarian who left an hour ago took care of them already. One dog needed stitches for a cut on his leg, and Rhonda and Karen were trying to determine if one of the cats was pregnant.”
He gave a one-shoulder shrug at her “Oh no.”
“It’s all working out fine. They’ve got their hands full, and the request was put out with a plea for help with basic care, which I can do. And it was nice that I could be there to give you a lift.”
Olivia’s pulse burst into a full sprint. It was nice. In fact, even with the disappointment of her car taking a giant crap and knowing she was going to have to face her family tonight when she’d been hoping not to, meeting Gabe and his dog had affected her in a way she hadn’t felt in a long time.
“I’m really thankful you did.” She debated bringing up the mechanic but decided not to. There was something intimate about standing out in the rain with him and the dogs, watching the raindrops dampen Gabe’s hair and roll down his temple. He had beautiful eyes, hazel-green, and a chiseled jawline. And really nice hands. They’d drawn her attention several times on the ride here when they were wrapped around his steering wheel. Long fingers and defined muscles that she could imagine guiding a scalpel with precision as easily as catching a football.
He motioned toward the shed. “I guess I haven’t been paying enough attention to the weather this spring. These guys are just from two counties. The water’s higher in spots further south.” He gave a light shake of his head. “If the rivers keep rising, I can only imagine how much worse it’ll get. I’ve been in practice less than a year, and I’m still figuring out how intricately woven rescue efforts are.”
“Having grown up down here, I can tell you the farmlands closest to the water flood often enough no one gives it much notice. At least not until things start getting serious. And I had no idea about the rescue efforts, either, even living here where it floods more years than it doesn’t. Not coordinated ones like this. Two of my grandpa’s lower fields flood whenever the tributaries around the farm back up. When it gets bad, animals come in from who knows where. They even show up on his porch. He acts all tough and says he’s not about to let four-leggeds burn up his profits. But he ends up letting them stay if they don’t move on when the water recedes.”
Gabe dragged a hand across his damp brow. “I can relate to that. I’m renting where I live. If it weren’t for the fact that my lease only allows one animal, there are a couple homeless dogs and cats I’ve worked with that I’d have loved to bring home.”
“Oh really? I wouldn’t have guessed you’d end up with homeless animals at a veterinary office.”
“Yeah. It happens more than I’d have guessed too. A box of kittens by the door when we get there in the morning, or there’s a client emergency—allergies or moving, that sort of thing. A few weeks ago, a guy brought in a basset hound he’d accidentally hit. No owner could be located, so he paid for the dog’s surgery. When she was mostly healed, I transferred her to the main shelter I work with. I took her cast off today, so she’ll be up for adoption. The vet whose business I’m taking over has developed a good relationship with the shelter that took her in. He’s been out from back surgery the last two months, so it’s just me now. I spay and neuter the shelter’s intakes at a pretty steep discount, and they take on animals I send their way when they can.”
“Sounds like a good arrangement.” Olivia gave a light shake of her head. “Before I signed on to do this, I was thinking about volunteering at a shelter. I chose the rescue driving instead because I’m convinced I’d struggle with wanting to adopt every animal that comes through the door.”
“I can see that. But from what I’ve seen, it’s a pretty rewarding experience.”
Once the dogs had gone to the bathroom and sniffed around another few minutes, Gabe and Olivia headed back to the cover of the shed. Before she had even pulled down her hood, it became clear the energy in the crowded metal building had changed. So far, the rescue workers had displayed a “once you’ve been in the business as long as we have…” attitude about things. Now, Karen was on the phone, tension lining her tone, and Rhonda was flushed bright-red and mumbling to herself.
The only other volunteer at the moment, an older woman who had only recently begun helping Rhonda and Karen with their rescue, was shaking her head. “That’s not right. It’s just not right,” she said.
“What’s not right?” Olivia asked as she coaxed the Lab mix back into her kennel with a couple of treats.
“The county fire and EMS is too busy with evacuations to respond to an emergency call about a dog trapped in rising water. There’re a couple people trying to get to him, but the current’s too strong. Karen’s trying to find someone to help. And some bolt cutters too.”
“How far away? I bet they have a pair of cutters inside the feed store.”
The woman’s face brightened. “Maybe five or ten minutes. You know Old Bollinger Road? It ends at the river hangout where all the kids go.”
“Yeah. I know it.” Olivia looked at Gabe, who was snapping the bars of a crate into place. “I’ll help, but could you give me a ride?”
His mouth turned down into a hint of a frown as he stood. “I’ll take you wherever you want to go, so long as you promise not to charge into floodwaters before I assess the situation.”
Assess the situation? That wasn’t the first thing he’d said that had her thinking he acted more like a cop or an EMT than a vet. Maybe he watched a lot of Law & Order. Feeling a bit like his gentle yet assertive command called for a “Yes, sir,” she settled on “Tha
nks. I’m a strong swimmer, but I won’t get into anything I’m not positive I can handle. I’ll run up to the store and see if they have a pair of cutters and meet you at your truck. I know the road dead-ends at the river, but see if you can get an address.”
“Yeah, okay. And if they don’t have any, I’ve got an ax in my truck.”
Olivia jogged toward the main building, her wet shoes sloshing. It was a steeper incline than she’d have guessed. By the time she made it up there and borrowed a pair of rusty bolt cutters one of the workers had in his truck, Gabe was pulling up. She climbed into his passenger seat still breathless from the jog and in jeans that had become soaked and muddy from the knee down. Even though it would be hours from now, she promised herself she’d end this day with a soak in a warm tub.
“Thanks again.” She did her best not to sound like jogging uphill an eighth of a mile hadn’t just sucked the breath from her lungs and made a mental reminder to up her home cardio routine.
Samson’s head was sandwiched between the seats. His long, pink tongue swept across her jaw and ear as if he was happy she was joining them again.
“No problem, but honestly, in good conscience, I couldn’t have left you to head out on this alone.” Pausing at the parking lot’s entrance, Gabe asked, “Left or right?”
She pointed left. “It’s not that far down the highway. Did you get an address?”
“No, but they said it’s a ranch on the left less than a quarter mile from where the road’s flooded out. They’re in a Camaro out front. I guess the dog’s in back in a kennel next to a shed.”
Olivia’s heart lurched, and she clamped a hand over her mouth. What if they didn’t make it in time? “Did they say if the owners are home?”
“No, but I’m guessing not. The call was from a couple teens who were driving down to check out the flooding and spotted the dog. They’re the ones who called for help.”
Olivia sat on the edge of her seat, tension knotting heaviest in her shoulders and calves. It was all she could do not to urge Gabe to drive faster even though he was already pressing the upper edge of what was safe for the winding highway. The truck wipers seemed to pulse over and over to the beat of “Hold. Still. Hold. Still.”
When she directed him to turn on the road leading to the river access, she was thankful Gabe didn’t find it necessary to slow to a crawl the way many drivers did on dirt roads. Even so, what felt like an agonizing four or five minutes later, Olivia spotted an ocean of brown water covering acres of fields and creeping past the narrow tree line a few hundred feet away on the left side of the road.
“We must be getting close,” Gabe said, having spotted it too.
The as-of-yet-unflooded farmland they passed was mostly still winter-brown, but a few fields had the yellow-green of newly emerging growth. Small country houses popped up here and there. This side of town tended to be more run-down than most other areas of New Madrid, and a handful of the modest houses were in different stages of disrepair. Some needed nothing more than a few coats of paint, a power wash, or some landscaping attention. A few others were littered with long-discarded toys or broken-down cars.
They spotted the Camaro at the same time. The house that it was parked in front of was in the shabbiest condition of any house on the road, close to condemnable even from what Olivia could see through the remains of last year’s overgrowth of trees and shrubs pressing up against it. Certainly, the partially collapsed front porch was a hazard. The back of the property dipped in such a way that it seemed unlikely the house wouldn’t take on water before the river crested tomorrow.
“If we’re too late…” She swallowed back the rest. They weren’t too late. They were right on time. It couldn’t be any other way.
Gabe’s tires skidded to a halt on the wet gravel driveway. “Stay put, bud,” he directed Samson. Proving again the almost humanlike connection between them, Samson responded with a soft whine and settled back onto the bench seat.
The teens who’d spotted the dog were nowhere in sight. “I’m guessing they’re around back?” Olivia grabbed her jacket and the bolt cutters and hopped out into the rain. The soft gurgle of rushing water made the hair on the back of her neck and arms stand on end as she tugged into a jacket that was nearly as wet inside now as it was outside.
“Most likely.” Leaving the keys in the ignition, Gabe jogged around to the back of the truck. He popped open the back of his camper and crawled in. In the space of a minute, he emerged with a tightly wound rope over his shoulder, a set of gloves shoved into his back pocket, an ax, and a jumbled mass of nylon that looked like a set of shoulder straps without the attached backpack in one hand.
As they headed along the side of the house together, his free hand locked around her elbow. “Look, I don’t want to come off sounding like a macho prick, but there’s no trusting floodwater, not the current, not what it carries. So, what I’m saying is if I don’t like the look of things, I’m going to ask you to hang back. I’d appreciate it if you’d trust me. I don’t want to have to choose between saving a dog and saving you.”
Electricity raced up her arm at the gentle strength in his grip. His words struck a chord. She was a good swimmer, but she’d never swum in a current before. “Okay. You say it like you have experience in floodwater.”
“Technically, I do. Ten hours of water rescue training and one real-time rescue.”
Olivia started to ask him to clarify what he meant, but they’d rounded the corner of the house, and her heart lurched into her throat. A hundred or so feet out in the rushing, choppy water there was a dog pen attached to a small, rotted shed. From the creaks and groans emanating from it, the shed was on the verge of collapsing from the massive pressure of the water rushing into and past it.
Inside the pen, a large liver-brown and spotted-white hound balanced precariously atop a nearly submerged doghouse that must have been swept by the pressure of the water into the far corner. He was standing on all fours, his gangly legs balancing on the half-hexagon roof, his tail tucked tightly between his legs, and his head bowed low. Even as far away as she was, Olivia could spot drops of water streaming off him. He either hadn’t been up there long, or he was having trouble keeping his balance and was getting knocked off.
The two teenagers were behind the house at the edge of the advancing water. One of them, a girl who looked as if she might blow away at a heavy wind, was crying. The guy with her wasn’t much bigger. He had his phone out and was filming.
“You two place the call?” Gabe directed the question their way.
The girl startled, not having heard them approach over the eerie gurgle of the rushing water and creaking trees.
The teens hurried their way, the girl swiping at her cheeks and the guy putting away his phone. As they got closer, Olivia realized the guy was soaked to the bone, cropped black hair and all. The girl only seemed wet from the waist down.
“Robby tried to go in after the dog,” the girl said, her voice shaky and uneven, “but the water gets really strong about ten feet in. It isn’t that deep, but I thought he was going to get swept away.”
“It’s a good thing you turned around,” Gabe said. “Water moving this fast has undercurrents, and you never know when you’re going to step into a strong one.”
The dog let out a giant bay that stabbed straight into Olivia’s heart. She clamped her hands together and scoped out the path to the pen. The unflooded strip of yard between the house and the water seemed to fall in a steady decline, and out in the rushing water, there were areas with more ripples than others. With any luck, it was only three or so feet deep, but Gabe was right. There was no denying that it was moving fast.
“Did you guys bring a boat, or are you going to try to walk it?”
“There’s no boat.” Gabe’s free hand locked around Olivia’s arm for a second or two. “Would you want to stay back and hold the rope for me? I think we could use that tr
ee as a pivot joint.”
Olivia frowned. If she went in and the water knocked her off her feet, four years of high-school swim team might enable her to reach the pen, but there’d be no carrying out a dog that size through the water. She was willing to bet he was seventy or eighty pounds. Pushing through rushing water while holding a gangly, heavy dog would be a challenge even for Gabe, and he probably had half a foot of height and fifty pounds on her.
It was Olivia’s turn to squeeze Gabe’s arm, and even in the stress of the moment, some instinctive part of her responded to the solid feel of his biceps. “Just promise not to get into anything you can’t handle.”
“I’ll do my best.” He pulled out the gloves tucked into his back pocket and offered them to her along with the rope. “You’ll need gloves to hold the rope if I end up fighting with that water.” To the teens, he added, “Back her up, will you, guys?”
The dog let out a series of long bays. To Olivia’s horror, she realized the water was close to tipping the doghouse over right underneath him. It was knocking back and forth against the metal fence of the pen from the pressure of the water. Dogs can swim, Olivia told herself over and over. They’re great swimmers. Even if it tips, he’ll be fine till Gabe reaches him.
Olivia tugged on the several-sizes-too-big gloves as Gabe threaded one end of the long rope through the belt loops of his jeans. His cotton shirt was lifted in the process, exposing an inch or two of remarkably defined obliques and a pronounced vee disappearing into his jeans and sending a wash of saliva over the back of Olivia’s mouth.
When finished, he hooked the backpack-looking strap over his shoulders. Just before he tugged a red-handled pull poking out from its left tip, Olivia realized it was a self-inflating life jacket, just a much slimmer one than the bulky Styrofoam-filled floaty she’d worn strapped around her on float trips as a kid.
He checked his pockets, and his eyebrows furrowed together. “Guess my phone’s in the truck. Keys too.”