Grams gently patted her husband’s arm. “Should I call the rest of the girls?”
His gaze on the hall Logan had disappeared into, the General shook his head. “At this point it’s likely best for them to stay where they are.”
Lucy came running back inside. “That man is good. Only took him a minute of very precise words before the Mayor said she would authorize a media alert. Per Logan’s suggestion, all citizens will be advised to stay put except for folks on the shore. They’re being told to move to higher ground if at all possible. Also, she’s putting the word out for all local emergency volunteers to report and help deliver sand bags and be on the ready for rescue operations.”
The General nodded and looked to Logan, hurrying toward him, buttoned up to his chin. “Ready?”
“I’m coming too.” Rose turned to get another slicker.
“No.” Her grandfather shook his head. “I’d rather you check with the guests we have left and ask if they’d be willing to help. Wouldn’t hurt to gather up all the rain gear we have in one place for easier access too.”
Rose didn’t have to ask needed for what. When Hurricane Sandy had torn through the east coast, her mom had told her stories from when she was a little girl at the lake and the aftermath of Hurricane Adelaide. The neighbors had banded together sandbagging the cottages on Hart Land and nearby. Only her grandfather’s insistence that they board windows as well had saved his and his friend’s property from more damages. But that time they’d had more warning. Now she wasn’t so sure if time was on their side.
* * * *
“Damn,” the General muttered.
Visibility was seriously limited. Even in the middle of the day, the thick layer of clouds had darkened the afternoon to dusk. From indoors it had appeared the rain was pouring down in sheets, but trudging down the paths to the shoreline was almost like battling a fire hose. No wonder the retired Marine was concerned. There was only so much water land could absorb, and judging by the way his boots sank, Hart Land had passed its limit.
At the water’s edge the General muttered another curse. They’d barely passed the last cabin that should have still been a good walk to the sandy retreat and instead the choppy lake rolled over their boots. Silently, the retired general executed a ninety degree turn and marched across the land with the gusto of a much younger Marine. Not till they stopped at the stone wall by the creek did Logan realize the Point was almost completely under water as well. Just how much water had Mother Nature dumped in the last twenty-four hours?
Turning to his left, the General walked the wall to the end. With the water so high, there was no leaning over to untie a boat. “You do that one, I’ll do this one.”
Logan untied the boat at the end. He could see why the old man would prefer to take his chances in the open water than against a stone wall.
The paddle and fishing boats free from the Point, Logan followed the General as he walked up the wall creek side. He didn’t need to see or hear the man to know what he was the thinking. The small creek had swelled to a rushing river. He knew people who would pay big bucks to ride down that sucker. What he liked even less than the increased flow of water was the debris floating along.
Lips pressed in a tight line, the General shook his head “We’ll have to secure this. I’ve got sandbags in the winter shed.”
The two continued to walk a few more feet. He knew the General was checking the integrity of the wall as much as he was keeping tabs on the sporadic cluster of branches coming their way. If the storm was breaking branches from the aged timber the flow of twigs and sticks would be steady, the occasional limb—leaves and all—would be floating past him. These twigs and sticks were bare and clustered and the flow spread too far apart. It took a few more minutes before the pattern began to make sense to Logan, and he didn’t like it one bit. “How many bags do you have? Because if I’m guessing right, we’re going to need a lot.”
Brows buckled, the General cast his gaze upstream and then back. “I think we have enough.”
A clap of thunder and flash of lightening had Logan looking off in the distance. He’d seen some pretty dark clouds over the Texas horizon, but he’d never expected to see anything as black as a gulf storm. “We need to move fast. When those clouds roll all the way in they are going to drop Niagara Falls on us.”
The General followed his gaze.
“When it does,” Logan continued, “the dam is going to give way. We may not have much time.”
“Dam?” The General turned his attention back up stream and even in the shadow of the storm Logan could see the change in the old man’s eyes the minute he realized what Logan had. “Shit. I take that back. I don’t have enough sand bags stored up for that. We need to get moving faster than I thought.” The old man took off at a trot. “Pull the tether out of the ground. We’ll need to collect up anything that can become a projectile.”
Logan nodded, yanked the thing out of the soggy dirt as he scrambled by and followed the General up the porch steps. Aided by the wind, the door slammed open. A pile of yellow slickers, boots and rain hats were stacked to one side. Lucy had changed from her usual housedress into jeans. More startling was Mrs. Hart. The woman who usually looked like fashion model from an era long gone wore her sleek silver hair tied back in a short ponytail, jeans and an oversized sweatshirt that announced Stay Safe, Sleep with a Marine. If the situation hadn’t been so dire he would have laughed.
“Shed’s unlocked,” Mrs. Hart told her husband. “Cole called and his chief gave him permission to come help us bag. Ralph and the guest from the Elm have already taken a load. They’re starting with the first cabin. Sealing the door.”
The General looked to Lucy. “You and Rose pull up the volleyball net.” He turned to Poppy and his daughter. “You two start moving all the chairs to the shed.”
Shaking off the rain, Callie came through the door. “I’m here.”
“Good. You can bring in the bocce balls.”
The five women nodded and took a step back ready to do as tasked.
“We’re going to need more bags.” He turned to his wife. “Call Jake. See if he has any sand bags at the store, though I doubt it, or sacks he can stand to lose. Then call Cole and see if he can pick up Alan and Eric on his way. We could use the extra manpower. There may not be much time.”
“Time for what?” his wife asked tentatively.
The General scooped her hand in his. “It looks like a beaver dam up creek is coming apart from all the rain. It’s bound to break apart when the next phase of the storm hits. If we’re right and it’s the dam that’s been halfway up the mountain for years, the thing is massive. All the water—”
“Will come over the wall, straight for us,” Fiona Hart stated matter-of-factly.
Rose’s gaze darted from her grandparents to his. The woman he’d grown incredibly fond of—okay, had come to care for, okay, who was he kidding—the woman he was falling head over boot heels for stood as proud and calm as her remarkable grandmother. She studied his face a moment and then gave an almost imperceptible nod. “We’d better get cracking.”
And just like that she was off to save the day. Didn’t matter if she was dealing with an art show, an auction or a natural disaster. With or without her precious binders, the woman knew how to get the job done. There was nothing about Rose Preston that didn’t amaze him. Silently kicking himself out of his thoughts and into action, he turned to the General. “Let’s start raising up that wall.”
The General nodded and once again marched forward, through the house and out the back door. They had a high stakes mission to accomplish and they’d better not fail. The dam was giving way, and when it finally blew, the whitewater rapids of Colorado were going to look like a trickle compared to creek threatening to flood Hart Land.
Chapter Sixteen
By the time reinforcements arrived, the women had successfully battled the wind and rain and quickly cleared the grounds of anything that could fly into a window, or land in th
e lake, or worse, propelled by wind power, kill someone. Virginia Nelson had reached out to every guest to move them to cabins on higher ground. The family’s friend and neighbor Ralph, along with some of the guests, had used most of the stored sand bags to stop the rising water from seeping into the cabins under the doors. So far, the lake’s edge was licking closer to the buildings than anyone liked.
With help from the cousins’ husbands and fiancés, one row of the remaining sand bags had been stacked along the stone wall as far as the main road. With the creek already less than a foot below the existing wall, if the rain didn’t stop soon, Logan wasn’t holding out much hope that a single layer would make any difference.
“How many more bags do we have?” Logan leaned into the back of Jake’s truck.
From the bed of his pickup, Jake shoved large sacs toward the tailgate. “We’re out of sand. This is feed. Should do the trick.”
“It will have to.”
The walkie-talkie clipped to Jake’s belt chirped. “Jake here.”
“It’s the beaver dam all right,” Cindy announced. While Eric and Cole worked alongside the family, Cindy and Alan had gone to determine how much of a threat the dam was. “The top of the top dam has been compromised. The cascade seems steady though. The roads are mud pits and we can’t get any closer. I have no idea if the structure will survive.”
He’d been surprised they’d made an attempt at all, but apparently a ‘little rain’ never hurt anyone.
“All right,” Jake sighed. “Be careful coming back.”
“We’re going to stay at Alan’s. From his back room we can keep an eye on the dam. It’s not the same as being on top of it, but we’ll report any notable change.”
“Sounds like a plan. We’ve got enough people here. Stay dry.” Jake hooked the walkie-talkie on his belt again and shook his head. “What a mess.”
That about summed it up.
As the pitch of night fully descended, Lucy and Mrs. Hart set up spotlights near the house. They weren’t ideal, but the last thing they needed was for someone to go over the side because they couldn’t see in front of their faces.
Poppy and Rose lugged the last two feed bags from the truck and hurried past Logan to the wall. It amazed him that in the rushing back and forth, tracking through the soggy grounds, barely able to see two feet in front of them, no one had taken a nose dive in the mud.
“It’s not enough.” The General had split his time between ensuring his wife and housekeeper remained busy with tasks that would keep them out of the rain, and checking on the progress of the make shift retaining wall. Logan was pretty sure the man was itching to do the heavy lifting himself, but he was smart enough to accept that at his age there were limitations on what a retired Marine could do.
After spending the last couple of hours hauling heavy bags about, no one seemed to care about the constant downpour. Having laid the last bag of feed, the six of them and the handful of guests gathered around the bed of Jake’s truck. Before anyone could mention a new plan, high and bright headlights turned onto Hart Land. For the first time in hours one of them cracked a smile.
“Looks like the cavalry is here.” Grinning, Cole waved his finger in a half-hearted effort to point at the incoming truck.
“Man, do I know how a duck must feel.” Payton, Cole’s buddy from the fire department, climbed down and shouted over the wind. “Where do you want these?”
“On the wall would be good but since that truck will sink like an antelope in quicksand, right here will have to do.” The General gestured to the side of the paved drive.
“Here it is.” Payton lifted one arm halfway to his face and then quickly let it fall to the side. Logan knew how the guy felt; more than once he’d had to fight the urge to salute the old guy.
With the help of the volunteers, the bags were neatly stacked to one side and the construction line had begun again before they’d driven off Hart Land. A bitter chill shot down Logan’s spine. In Texas, that feeling would have had him checking the tall grass for rattlers. Here, he prayed his fears were far worse than reality.
“Let’s get this last load out and then get inside and get dry like the sane people in the world.” Jake grabbed a bag in each hand and as if willed by Logan’s thoughts, his foot slipped one way and his other foot followed a different direction, landing him flat on his keister.
“That does it. No more stomping about.” The General marched to the shed at the back of the house and emerged moments later storming in their direction, carrying several bundles of corded rope. “We’re doing this bucket brigade style. And I want the men closest to the water tied together in pairs.” Muttering, he added, “Should have done this from the start.”
Despite the logic of the safety precaution, Logan had never liked the idea of being tethered to anyone on dry—or sort of dry—land for any reason. Especially not in the dark of night in the middle of the worst storm the lake had seen in almost forty years.
“He’s right.” Rose moved closer for him to hear. “It’s safer at this point.”
Had the woman read his mind? Did she know him so well that even under these circumstances she could read his face? Why was it that even standing in the pouring rain under the pressure of a ticking clock, he wanted to lean in and kiss the worried look from her face.
“No.” She shook her head and took a step back, just far enough to be out of reach.
Okay, maybe the woman could read minds. Or maybe she just wanted set up the brigade and he was being paranoid. There was no time to debate the idiosyncrasies of losing his mind over a woman. The wall wasn’t nearly high enough yet if things got worse before they got better.
A loud crack sounded and all heads snapped toward the mountain top. Louder than the way thunder had been clapping all night, more like the snap of a ginormous match stick, the eerie sound made the hairs on the back of his neck bristle. Match stick. “The dam,” he moaned.
Another crack filled the air, Jake’s walkie-talkie crackled, and Cindy’s voice echoed through the static. “The center structure just broke loose. The rest could go any minute. Everyone get the hell inside. Now!”
* * * *
Stunned by the sudden loud pitched crack breaking through the night, everyone stared frozen at the mountain top. Even in the dark of night and pouring rain, the increased sound of rushing water reached Rose’s ears. They’d run out of time. Suddenly, four or five men rushed to drop the sandbags they already held at the highest point of the sanded wall and to her horror, instead of heading indoors, all of them grabbed more bags. “We’ve got to get inside!” She might as well have been talking to the stone wall itself.
Jake paused in front of her. “Go inside.”
“No. Not without all of you.”
Stopping at her side, Logan parroted Jake’s word. “We’ve got this. You and your cousins go inside. Please.”
On the road ahead, headlights bounced against the sheets of rain momentarily catching her and Logan’s attention.
“That’s not another delivery truck,” Logan said. “Who is crazy enough to drive on a night like this.”
Rose squinted as if there were any chance in hell she could make out a car model. Another boom sounded, breaking the hum of steady pouring rain, followed by a roar. A very loud roar. Without any effort, suddenly there was no need to strain to see. The foamy white of the cascading water appeared across the road and up the hill, rushing down like an oil slick kid on a water park slide. Except this was no amusement park, more like a dangerous rapid river.
“Oh my God.” Logan dropped the bags he held. “The driver doesn’t see it.”
Voices, barely audible over the rushing water, shouted as every able-bodied person forgot about the bags and ran to the main road, repeatedly screaming, “Stop!”
The car, that Rose could now see was an antique sports car of some kind, continued to roll along, approaching the roaring creek.
“That’s Marylou Parker’s Pontiac Firebird,” her grandfather shouted o
ver the roar, rushing up the hill beside her. “She’s deaf as a tree stump and terrified to drive in the rain. What in blue blazes is she doing out on this of all nights?”
The rushing waters seemed to pick up speed as the torrent reached the main road. Rose’s heart nearly stopped. The world seemed to turn in slow motion. Everyone froze in place. Eyes rounded with horror as the old Pontiac reached the overpass at the same time as the deluge of rushing water passed under and over the road.
“Oh God,” Rose repeated. More of a prayer than a cry.
The movie reel still rolling in slow motion, the rushing waters slid under the vehicle like surreal tendrils, lifting the car off the road and ever so slowly nudging it over the side. Carrying it away in the rush like the hero football player by a crowd of adoring fans after winning a championship game. Except there would be no winners here.
Steps ahead of her, half the men were already running alongside the makeshift wall, the shouts now pleading for Marylou to open a window.
Water sloshed over the sides of the sandbagged wall in some places and gushing in others spewed gallons of water and debris across Hart Land. A log almost as big as her caught Poppy’s legs from behind and knocked her off her feet, unforgiving waves of water flowing over her limp body.
The General may be old, but the man still had the instincts of a Marine. Or maybe those of a loving grandfather. The closest one to her, he had Poppy on her feet and leaning on him with surprising speed and agility. Grams must have seen most of it as she and Lucy came running from the house to bring her inside. Barking, Lady and Sarge trounced in the muddy waters alongside them.
“Point the lights toward the water,” her grandfather shouted at her as he turned and hurried toward the running crowd.
It only took a second to realize he meant the mouth of the Point where the rushing waters would dump Marylou and her car. Holding on to the idea that her cousin would be fine in the hands of her grandmother, Rose rushed as fast as the slick muddied grass would allow and turned the spotlights from the creek to the lake.
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