by Lakota Grace
The woman pulled out her cell phone and took a selfie.
The water continued to rise, and I waded out to assist. As I reached the Toyota’s bumper, the car jerked under my hand and started to float. It shifted sideways with the force of the current and drifted closer to the jagged edge of the guardrail marking the drop-off to the torrents below.
“Too late,” Rory yelled in my ear. “Car’s going over.” He grabbed my arm and pulled me back to the safety of the creek bank.
The Toyota caught for an instant on the broken railing. Then with a gentle sigh, the car slid into the wash. It floated upright, buoyant in the current, and slowly pin wheeled once, the heavier engine weight reversing the car.
Then the passenger-side rear tire caught on the edge of the muddy sandbank in the middle of the stream. The car hesitated for a moment, then held.
A tangle of mesquite branches bumped into the car, wedging it farther into the red mud. However, the car was turned crossways to the current. That stable position wouldn’t last long. I had to rescue the driver!
I skidded down the roadway embankment parallel to the roiling creek, lost my balance, and fell seat-first in the mud. I stumbled to my feet and pushed through the remains of an old barbed-wire fence. The flooded creek lay ahead of me.
Rory dashed back to the Hummer. He ground into low gear, barreled through the fence, and paralleled my actions on the creek bank.
Downstream from the bridge, the red-brown water roiled with a mass of debris and broken branches. The stream grew in width creating waterfalls and whirlpools as it ripped down the channel.
I plunged into the creek near the car, mud sucking at my ankles. The storm had dropped the temperatures dramatically, and the water chilled me through in seconds.
The white-faced woman in the car pointed frantically to the back seat.
“There's a child in a car seat back there!” I shouted to Rory as the Hummer lurched to a stop.
“I’ve got to reach them before the car shifts again.”
“I’m breaking out the rescue gear,” Rory yelled, climbing out of his seat and running to the rear of the Hummer.
He yanked out a PFD, a Personal Floatation Device, and threw it to me. I pulled it over my shoulders and cinched it tight around my waist.
I reviewed what I knew about water rescue. Most people try to get out by opening the door of their car. Then they panic when they find out the door won’t budge, that the water is stronger than they are.
If the water was above the floorboards, the next best bet was escape through a window. But there was a three-minute limit before the automatic window-opening gear jammed in rising water. This lady had already passed that threshold.
That left breaking a window manually. The car’s back end was still anchored in the mud bank, but the hood swung like a pendulum, back and forth in the rushing water. The car could break loose at any moment.
Rory tossed me a ball-peen hammer from his Hummer’s tool chest. It fell just short, but I grabbed it before the current did, and shoved it in my waistband.
The water nudged at my calves, and then sucked at my knees as I waded closer. The current seemed like a living animal, grabbing at me. A branch blocked my foot. I kicked it away.
I waded away from the upstream side of the car. The worst possible situation was to be swept under the car by the current, trapped under muddy water until you could no longer breathe. Drowning came next.
The woman had frozen in the front seat. She stared at me, her face a rigid mask of fear.
“Peg, here.”
I looked over my shoulder as Rory yanked a rope-toss bag out of the trunk. He held one end of the rope and underhanded the canvas bag containing the rest of the cord across the water to me. Gravity pulled the rope out of the heavy bag as it zipped my direction.
I followed the arc of the canvas bag and snagged it like a shortstop with a game-winning play. Maybe it was.
Our lives could depend on it.
I tied the rope around my waist and pulled the hammer out of my waistband. No use trying to break out the windshield—that glass was fabricated to stop a good-sized deer before buckling. Best get the little kid first. I reached over and gave the back window a shortened whack.
The glass crumbled instantly, and I brushed away the shards with the handle of the hammer. The little girl in the car seat looked to be about two years old. She appeared more excited than frightened by this turn of events.
“Hi, Honey, you ready for a ride?”
I unhooked her car seat harness. She lifted her arms and let me pull her through the window. She clung tightly to my neck, tucking her head under my chin.
The woman in the front seat unfastened her seat belt and scrambled to the back. She grabbed my arm through the window opening with panic-stiffened fingers.
“Get my little girl out of this!”
The car tilted against the current. Then the vehicle shifted again, aligning with the floodwaters. I needed distance from the car.
“Hold tight,” I said to the little girl.
I pushed through the rolling water, testing each footstep before I moved forward toward dry ground.
Rory applied steady pressure on the rope, pulling us toward shore. By now, other people had gathered on the bank. They formed a tug-of-war line on the rope behind him, helping pull.
I heard a collective gasp and chanced a quick look behind me. The car released from the sandbar with a sucking sound. The woman trapped in the car screamed once, a shriek that echoed above the flood. Then she was silent, as the car bobbed and twisted in the downstream currents.
My attention turned toward maintaining my balance on the rocky wash bed. I slipped once and then I righted myself and continued onward, making slow agonizing progress. Rory's eyes locked on mine, urging me forward.
One step, another. Finally, I felt the current release its hold as I neared shore. I lifted the child up to Rory. He passed her to a woman behind him who swaddled the little girl in a blanket.
Rory stretched out an arm to pull me up, too. At that moment, I stumbled and the knot I had tied in the rope unraveled. The creek bank dissolved under my feet, plunging me into a deep hole of swirling darkness.
I gulped a mouthful of muddy water. By the time I surfaced, the current had pushed me to the center of the flood once more. The flotation device was still secure around my waist but the rope was a useless snake floating out of my reach.
“Stay afloat, Peg!” Rory’s words were almost lost in the roar.
I pointed my feet downhill, and floated on my back, using my feet to steer off rocks and tree branches snagged in the morass. The current stiffened as the water volume increased and I felt its hard slap. It was bitter cold, and my body numbed.
A log snagged by the stream created its own waterfall ahead of me. I'd have to use my arms to push off the top of the half-submerged limb. If I slipped underneath the fallen tree, I'd drown in the snarling water. I flipped over on my stomach in anticipation.
The log pulled at me, but I eluded its grasp. From the corner of my eye, I saw the bright orange Hummer keeping pace on the edge of the bank, tearing through a blur of sagebrush and creosote.
A huge bulk loomed in front of me in the creek. The blue Toyota! It was still upright, but rapidly filling with water. The woman clung to the back seat, trying to keep her head clear in the shrinking air space.
I bumped into the side of the car and rebounded. I clutched for the bumper, felt it slip from my mud-slick hands. Then I stretched out my fingers, caught an edge, and pulled myself closer to the back fender.
The car seemed firm at this point, wedged against the far bank of the draw, but I knew that condition could change at any moment, as it had before. Hand over hand, I pulled myself to the back window.
I made eye contact with the woman. She was shrieking, terrified. I had to calm her down, or we’d both go under in our attempt to reach the far shore.
“What's your name?” I asked.
“M-M-Mary.
” Her lips were blue from the exposure to the water as hypothermia and shock set in.
“Well, Mary, your little girl is fine. She's up on the bank. Ready to go see her?”
She nodded stiffly.
“First, you need to climb out this window—”
“No, I can’t!”
“Sure you can. How else you going to your little girl?”
“You’ll be safe.” I shrugged out of my flotation device and dangled it in front of me, luring her.
“As soon as you’re out of the car I’ll put it on you.”
She was tugging at something in the front seat.
“No, leave your purse. Just you!”
She sucked in her breath and then scrambled through the back window. Panic-stricken, she grabbed the vest out of my hand and pulled it over her shoulders.
I dodged her frantic embrace and steadied both of us against the current. We only had one life vest, so we’d have to double up. But we could do this.
“Ready, Peg?” Rory shouted.
He tossed me the second rope-throw bag. I tightened that rope around me. Knotted it twice. The creek narrowed here, intensifying the coil of swiftly swirling water, but making the journey to safety much shorter. There’d be a danger if either of us lost our balance, but a risk we’d have to take.
I clung to the back of the woman’s waist and together we started wading to shore, while Rory and his volunteers pulled the rope overhand, helping us along. The woman stumbled once and I gasped.
Something bumped against my leg, then wrapped tightly around my ankle. I lost precious moments untangling the sodden vine.
The woman sagged in the water, but the vest held her upright. I pushed her hard into Rory’s grasping fingers. She was safe!
Now me. One more step and I’d be there.
Yet the flood waters held me captive. My chest pounded. I couldn’t breathe. The air around me blackened as I fought to control the panic I’d held at bay for these last frantic minutes.
“No,” I moaned. “Not now!”
Rory led a human chain from the bank. He held out his hand and I reached for it, our fingertips almost touching. Then I plunged into a deep hole. My mouth filled with filthy water.
I stumbled to my feet, sputtering.
He tried again, and the welcome strength in his out-stretched fingers met mine. Pulled by the rescuers, we staggered to shore.
I dropped to the ground gasping, trying to catch my breath. I vomited out the muddy water and lay there, exhausted.
I leaned against the Hummer, shivering as a breeze flattened my wet clothes against my body. Rory tucked a warm blanket around my shoulders.
“Thank god you're safe, Peg. If something had happened to you...” He let his voice drift off and shoved a metal Thermos cup into my hand.
I took one gulp and started coughing. Coffee, liberally laced with Scotch. The next swallow went down slower and melted the cold right down to my hipbones.
“The EMTs need to check you out,” Rory said.
“I'm fine, really.”
“And these guys will make double sure.”
His tone brooked no argument and for once, I surrendered my independence. He put one strong arm around my shoulders and led me to the emergency van.
The blood pressure cuff around my arm showed a sky-high, adrenalin-charged blood pressure reading. Skilled hands investigated a cut on my forehead that I’d acquired. In the midst of the rescue, I felt nothing at all, but now the wound started to throb, especially when they dabbed on antiseptic.
“Ouch.” I jerked away.
“Better than the alternative,” one said.
“When’s your last tetanus shot?”
Without waiting for my response, he jabbed me with a needle. Then efficient hands rinsed mud off my arms and legs, and disinfected numerous small cuts.
“Be sure to disinfect everything again once you get home,” one EMT cautioned. “No telling what’s in these flood waters.”
Overhead a news chopper buzzed the creek scene. The Toyota woman’s stupidity would be all over the evening news with the usual warnings about driving into flood waters. We were lucky. This time everyone survived. Sometimes they didn’t.
The EMT gave Rory the high sign. He helped me to the Hummer, and I climbed in with unsteady legs. I tried to buckle my seat belt, failed. Rory hauled himself into the driver’s seat and with gentle fingers completed the task.
He maneuvered skillfully over the ruts and bumps of the red earth beside the wash. With one final heave of mighty tires, the Hummer bounced onto the main roadbed. We drove down the narrow road toward I-17 and home in Mingus.
“The little kid, the woman—they okay?” I asked.
“They’re just fine, thanks to you.”
“That's nice.”
I drifted off into a troubled, shock-filled doze. I was dimly aware of passing through Cottonwood and felt the upward whine of the engine as Rory navigated the hairpin turns on the road to Mingus.
“We’re here.” Rory nudged me upright.
I stumbled up the stairs to my studio apartment, Rory close behind me. Without asking, he started the shower and dug around in my dresser while I undressed.
“You got some pajamas in here?” He rummaged a little further and pulled out my flannel ones with the Wonder-Woman insignia. “These'll do.”
“Need to get your body temperature back up,” he muttered and pushed me into the steaming water.
I stood in the shower braced with both hands against the wall, letting the water run through my hair, down my back, sluicing away the mud, grit, and terror of the flood waters. Only when the shower turned cold, did I get out.
A towel and the pajamas were waiting for me. I put them on with stress-stiffened fingers. Rory had turned down my bed and I dropped onto the cool sheets, bone-weary.
Behind me in the bathroom, the water throbbed a steady rhythm while Rory took a shower in the cold water. Then there was silence as he toweled off.
Through a haze of exhaustion, I heard him calling HT.
“Yeah, she's okay. We're both fine. You keep Reckless. Bring the dog by in the morning? I'll watch her tonight.”
***
The next morning, a beam of sun pierced my consciousness. Whispered conversations on the landing below alerted me that company was coming. I scooted up in bed and stuffed the still-warm pillow lying next to me behind my head along with my own.
There was the stolid clump of feet as Isabel climbed up the interior stairs to the apartment and then Reckless bounded on the bed, pressing a cold nose in my ear. He wriggled close to me. I pulled the sheet higher around my shoulders as my grandfather followed his housekeeper to the top of the stairs.
“Peg, are you okay?” he asked.
“We were so worried about you,” Isabel chimed in.
HT pulled a chair over to the bed and sat down. His big hands engulfed mine, “You could have drowned.”
I looked around the room blearily. My damp clothes made an untidy pile in a corner, accompanied by Rory's underwear and socks wadded into muddy balls. I stole a look at Rory over HT's shoulder. He was dressed in a mud-stained T-shirt and damp blue jeans. Bare feet.
What had he worn to sleep in? The obvious answer came to me, and I blushed. It wasn’t as though I’d done anything wrong. In fact, I didn’t think I could have, as tired as I was. But the thought of a naked adult male recently present in my bed, being observed by the housekeeper and my grandfather? Embarrassing.
“We won’t stay,” HT said. “Just wanted to bring Reckless over and make sure you were doing better. You're in good hands here.”
He clapped Rory on the shoulder and the two shook hands. Then HT and Isabel left as abruptly as they came.
“Rory,” I stammered. “Thank you for everything.”
“That's what friends are for.” He looked as awkward as I felt and made preparations to follow HT.
“Wait. Stay for breakfast, anyway.”
He didn't need a second
invitation.
“Coffee, first? I’ll make fresh.”
We moved to the couch waiting for the coffee to finish. I drew an old afghan around me and we talked about how unexpected the flash flood was, and how dumb people can be when facing life-threatening danger.
“Why did she stay there in that flooding car, for heaven’s sake?” I asked.
“Probably uploading pictures to Instagram.”
“Never want to go through something like that again.” I shuddered.
“I never want to see you in water like that again. You could have died!”
Rory's eyes stared into mine.
Then he slowly peeled off his damp T-shirt and jeans and let me to the bed. I unbuttoned the top of my fleece pajamas.
The coffee could wait.
Chapter 22
When I woke for the second time, it was about noon. I was alone.
Rory had returned to his home in Prescott. He’d made some vague noises about getting together soon, and so did I. But I couldn’t help wondering if we would. Ours was an uncertain relationship at best.
After a sleepy cup of coffee, I dressed in casuals, snapped a leash on Reckless, and walked up the hill to the sheriff's station. Even though it was Sunday, Shepherd was there, eating his lunch. He set his sandwich down and peered over his reading glasses at my blue jeans and tank top.
“Look what the mutt drug in.”
Reckless bounded over to give him a coonhound hello, and Shepherd fielded him back into play with an expert knee to the dog's chest.
“Time you trained that dog. He's a menace.”
“You volunteering?” Shepherd had trained K-9s for the county for years. Even won some blue ribbons for some of his dogs.
“Not likely. He’s a lost cause.” Shepherd eyed the dog for a moment and then looked up at me. “Heard about your rescue operation yesterday. I thought you’d be home recovering, not here at the station.”
“I wanted to call to my colleague back in Tennessee. Thought I’d do it on the sheriff’s nickel.” I explained to Shepherd the suspicions I had about Fancy Morgan's past.
“Lots of people are evasive about where they come from,” Shepherd said.