Hurricane Katrina Rescue

by Kate Messner

  “The pirogue!” Clare said. She looked at Ranger. “We don’t need a door, dog! We have a boat! At least, I hope we do …”

  Her father kept the pirogue tied to the shed behind the house. Clare stood up to look into the backyard. Yes!

  In the attic, she found the wooden paddle her father used with the boat and brought it up to the roof. The pirogue was tugging at its rope in the flood, like an animal that wanted to get away. Clare looked out over the water that separated her from the boat. It was at least twenty feet. Not too far to swim. But this wasn’t ordinary water.

  Clare wished she had something to keep her afloat. She crawled around the edge of the house to see if there might be a board or something in the water. All kinds of things floated by. Coolers and roof shingles and baseball caps. Plastic bags and kickballs and a lonely rubber boot. Then Clare saw a flash of orange.

  “A life jacket!” Clare didn’t let herself think about whose it was or what might have happened to them. She crawled to the edge of the roof and waited for it to come closer. It was dirty and faded, tangled in thick, dark ropes. But it would help her get to the boat. That was enough.

  Clare held the paddle out and poked at the life jacket, trying to pull it closer.

  Ranger crouched low beside her, sniffing the air. The water still smelled of chemicals and torn-up earth. But as Clare pulled the old life jacket closer, he smelled something else. Something dangerous!

  Ranger barked and pawed at Clare.

  “Stop it, dog!” she said.

  But Ranger wouldn’t stop barking.

  Clare squinted at the old life jacket. The ropes around it were moving!

  Clare sucked in her breath. “Snakes!” Dark patterned water moccasins writhed around the life jacket’s straps. Clare had seen venomous snakes like these near the lake with her father. He’d warned her to stay away.

  But Clare wasn’t about to give up. She raised the paddle and smacked it down hard on the life jacket. Two thick snakes untangled themselves and wiggled away. They curled around each other and drifted with the current.

  Clare took a shaky breath and dragged the life jacket onto the roof. She felt a sharp sting on one hand as she untangled the straps.

  “Ah! Fire ants!” she cried. The life jacket was crawling with them. Just like the water moccasins, they must have been flooded out of their homes. They were clinging to whatever they could to survive.

  Clare shook out the life jacket until the ants were gone. She put it on and looked across the water at the little pirogue, bobbing beside the shed. If she spent any more time thinking about what might be in that water, she’d never get the boat. Clare turned to Ranger.

  “Stay, dog,” she said. “Stay.”

  Then she grabbed the paddle and leaped off the roof into the water.

  Clare held her breath and squeezed her eyes closed as she plunged into the stinking water. The tattered life jacket didn’t keep her from going under, but once she popped back up, it made swimming easier.

  Head for the boat. She had to head for the boat.

  Clare paddled and kicked her sneakers. Every time something in the water brushed against her, she imagined the twisting, writhing snakes and tried to swim faster. She could hear the little boat clunking against the wood of the shed. She just had to get there.

  Ranger barked. What was Clare doing? Why had she jumped into the awful water? She’d told him to stay, so he did. But he stood on alert at the very edge of the roof, watching.

  Clare struggled to hold on to the paddle and keep her face out of the filthy water. Every time she took a breath, she swallowed another mouthful. Finally, she kicked hard, reached out, and felt the rough, splintery wood of the pirogue. She clung to the bow of the little boat, flung the paddle inside, and tried to catch her breath. She’d made it! But the boat was no good to her unless she could get it untied.

  Clare shuffled along the edge of the boat until she reached the rope that tied it to the old tree next to the shed. She tried to undo the knot, but the rope was swollen with floodwater. Every time she tugged at it, the knot grew tighter.

  Why hadn’t she thought to bring the axe from the attic? Even if she swam back to the roof now, she’d never be able to climb back up. What was she going to do?

  Something scraped past Clare’s leg, way down in the muck, and she shivered. She couldn’t stay in the water. So she pulled herself up onto the bow, swung a leg over the side, and flopped into the boat. Something poked her side.

  “Ow!” Clare reached down. When she saw what she’d landed on, her heart jumped with hope. It was her father’s folded-up fishing knife! Clare flipped open the blade and went at the rope. She sliced and jabbed and hacked. Fiber by fiber, it came apart. Finally, Clare brought the knife down on the last thin strands, and the boat was free!

  Clare paddled to the house. When the boat bumped against the edge of the roof, she grabbed the gutter to keep from drifting away. She sat up tall, but her bag was out of reach.

  Clare doubted she could make it onto the roof without falling into the water. Even if she did, the boat would drift away before she got back. Why hadn’t she thought this through? Her only hope was the dog.

  “Hey, dog!” Clare called. “Fetch?”

  Ranger looked down at Clare. Fetch? That’s what Luke and Sadie said when they threw sticks for Ranger. There were lots of sticks in the water. Did Clare want him to fetch one?

  “Fetch!” Clare called again. She pointed up onto the roof. “Go get my bag! Fetch! Bring it here!”

  She pointed again. Ranger looked behind him and saw the bag. Was that what she wanted? He turned and started toward it.

  “That’s it! Good dog!” Clare shouted.

  Ranger took the knotted handle in his teeth and dragged it to Clare.

  “Good job!” Clare stretched her arm up to grab it. “Okay now, ready?” She thumped the boat’s little wooden bench with her hand. “Come on! Jump!”

  Ranger crept to the very edge of the roof. He didn’t like the way the boat kept bobbing up and down. It moved closer and away, closer and away. But if Clare was going in the boat, Ranger had to go, too. So he jumped — and thumped into the bottom of the wooden boat. At least there was a soggy jacket to break his fall.

  “Whoops!” Clare said, patting Ranger. She picked up the old orange jacket, held it to her chest, and sighed. “If Dad were here, he’d have us safe and dry by now.” She settled herself on the little bench and dipped the paddle into the water.

  Ranger curled up at her feet as she paddled through the flooded streets. He was tired, but he didn’t close his eyes. Everything felt wrong in this strange, watery place. The city was so quiet. There was a gurgle and splash every time Clare pulled the paddle through the water and, somewhere, the choppy hum of a faraway helicopter. And then another sound.

  Ranger perked up his ears. There it was again. A person sound! It was coming from the house they’d just floated past.

  Ranger barked. He scrambled to the back of the boat.

  “Settle down, dog, or you’re going to end up in the water.” Clare paddled toward the bridge at the end of the street. But the dog wouldn’t stop barking. Finally, he pawed at her arm, and she turned. “What is it?”

  The dog didn’t answer. But Clare heard someone else’s voice.

  “Help! Is anyone there?” a woman called.

  And then, a baby’s cry.

  Clare twisted around. The voice had come from behind her. She paddled hard on one side to turn the boat. Then she headed back up the street.

  “Where are you?” Clare shouted. “I have a boat and I’m coming!”

  “Here!” the voice called. Clare scanned the rooftops, searching for someone who might have escaped from an attic like she and Nana had. She didn’t see anyone until the woman shouted again. “Over here!”

  Finally, Clare saw a woman waving an old shirt out an attic window. In her other arm, she cradled a baby who couldn’t have been more than a few months old.

  “I see
you! I’m coming!” Clare paddled hard. She’d been frightened enough herself. She couldn’t imagine how scary the flood must be for a tiny baby. When the boat thunked against the house, Clare pulled the paddle inside and reached out to hold the window frame.

  “I can take you up to the bridge,” Clare said. “It’s dry there.”

  The baby started crying again, and the woman looked down at Clare. “Where are your parents?”

  “My mother is in Houston and my father …” Clare swallowed hard. Between getting Nana to safety and freeing the boat, she’d almost managed to forget that she had no idea. “He should be back soon. I’m not sure where he is, though.”

  “Oh, honey,” the woman said.

  Clare shook her head. She wasn’t going to cry. “Let’s go. Can you hand her down to me? Then you can climb in.”

  The woman leaned farther out the window. Her hands trembled as she held the wailing baby over the water. Clare wrapped an arm around the tiny girl and tucked her in close to her chest. With her other hand, she held the window frame to steady the boat as the mother climbed down. Once she’d settled in and taken her little girl back, the baby quieted.

  Clare started paddling toward the bridge. “What’s her name?” she asked.

  “Christina,” the woman said, bouncing the baby quietly in her arms. “I’m Jennifer. And you are?”

  “Clare.”

  “Thank you, Clare.” Tears trailed down the woman’s cheeks. “I don’t know what we would have done.”

  “You’re safe now,” Clare said. It made her feel good to help when the day had felt so out of control. “My neighbor says once you get to the bridge, you’ll be able to walk to the Superdome. It’s open as a shelter.”

  Jennifer nodded, and then the only sound was the paddle shushing through the dark water. Sweat dripped into Clare’s eyes. She was working hard, and the sun had come out. It was hot.

  Ranger settled down beside Jennifer and sniffed at the baby. She smelled like soap and milk that had spilled a long time ago.

  A block from the bridge, Ranger heard more people sounds. He barked and pawed at Clare until she stopped paddling.

  Then she heard it, too. A new voice calling out, “Help! I’m trapped up here!”

  Clare paddled toward the sound until she spotted an older man waving a blue shirt out his window. “Help! Please!” he called.

  The boat was already low in the water. But the man was skinny and frail. He didn’t weigh enough to sink them, did he? It didn’t matter. Clare knew she couldn’t leave him behind.

  She paddled the boat to the window and held it steady while he climbed on board.

  “Praise the Lord,” he said as Clare started paddling again. The boat was tippy now. They needed to get to the bridge.

  But more voices called out. “Help us! Over here!”

  Clare’s heart sank when she saw four people on a roof halfway down a side street. There was no way they’d fit in the tiny flat-bottomed boat. Water was already sloshing over the side. Why couldn’t it be bigger?

  Clare raised her paddle into the air and waved so they would know she saw them. “I’ll send help!” she shouted. “I’ll tell them you’re here!”

  When Clare got closer to the bridge, she realized she wasn’t the only boat in the water at all. Other neighbors were delivering people to the bridge in their little fishing boats, too. They were dropping off passengers and turning right around to paddle back into the flood. Clare didn’t see any of the Coast Guard vessels Mr. Robinson had promised, but her community was busy rescuing itself.

  “Here we go … careful,” Clare said as their little boat scraped onto the ramp of the bridge. She took the old man’s hand while he climbed onto the bridge. She held little Christina while Jennifer stepped out of the boat.

  Jennifer took her baby back and waited for Clare. “Aren’t you coming?”

  Clare looked up the ramp. Dozens of people were walking toward the Superdome. No one seemed to notice her or the dog in the boat. They were all focused on getting to safety. Finding a dry place to sleep and probably water and something to eat other than soggy bread.

  Then Clare looked back at the flooded streets of the Lower Ninth Ward. She thought of the people shouting from their rooftops. How many more neighbors were trapped in attics or watching out their windows, waiting for help? And what about her father? What if he’d made it back and found shelter with someone as the storm hit? What if he was trapped on a roof with the water rising, too?

  Leave no one behind, Clare thought. She looked up at Jennifer and shook her head. “Be safe,” she said.

  And she paddled back into the flood.

  Ranger sat in the bow of the boat as Clare steered them away from the bridge. He shifted his weight from paw to paw. The air was wet and heavy with danger. He wished Clare would go with the mother and baby, where it was safe.

  Ranger sniffed at Clare’s garbage bag. His first aid kit was in there, all quiet. That meant his work wasn’t finished. But Ranger was thirsty. He whined a little and pawed at Clare’s arm.

  “I know, dog,” she said. “But we can’t leave the boat and run off when people need help. Our mission is to get those people off the roof.” She gave Ranger a scratch behind his ear. Then she pulled her water bottle from her backpack and took a sip. She held Ranger’s chin and dribbled water into his mouth, too.

  “Ready?” Clare headed down the street.

  Where had those people been? Clare paddled up to a pecan tree sticking out of the water. She wrapped an arm around it to keep the boat from drifting while she tried to figure out where she was. Everything looked different in the flood.

  Suddenly, Ranger heard a creak and a groan. He sat tall in the boat and pricked up his ears.

  “What was that?” Clare stared at a nearby house and realized that the flood had swept it off its foundation. It was all crooked, stuck between another house and a tree. “Hello?” Clare called out. “Is anyone there? Are you all right?”

  The only answer was a loud, low scraping sound. The house groaned and shuddered. Then it scraped past the tree and came floating down the street toward them.

  “Oh!” Clare let go of the tree. She plunged the paddle into the floodwater so hard and fast it got caught on a floating branch and twisted out of her hands.

  “No!” Clare shouted. She lunged for the paddle. The tiny boat tipped dangerously to the side. But she was so close!

  Clare leaned a little farther. Just as her fingertips brushed the paddle, the boat lurched. Clare fell on her back on the floor and looked up to see the drifting house looming over her.

  Now they were trapped between the pecan tree and the house. The surging current was pushing it closer and closer. Their tiny boat would be in splinters in seconds. They’d drown if they weren’t crushed first!

  Clare hugged her garbage bag to her chest. “Jump!” she screamed, and leaped from the boat.

  She clung to the plastic bundle and kicked as fast as she could. It felt as if each of her sneakers weighed a hundred pounds, but she forced herself to kick harder. She fought the urge to look back at the floating house threatening to crush her.

  Clare gagged on mouthfuls of awful water as she swam. Was it even water anymore? No. It was a horrible, flooded-city soup that stank of sewage and chemicals and gasoline. Her arms cramped from holding so tightly to her bag. Her legs burned. Her eyes and nose stung. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could swim. And then what?

  Something crunched behind her. It sounded like a bundle of branches snapping in a giant’s fist. Clare let herself stop swimming. Floating in the black water, she turned and saw the pieces that remained of her father’s boat. The house had crushed it against the tree. If Clare had stayed in that boat, it would have been her limbs crunching against the tree. And the dog …

  Where was he?

  “Dog!” Clare called, and got a mouthful of awful water. She spit it out. “Dog!”

  She heard a weak bark and whirled around. There he was! Close
r to the house. It was wedged between two trees now and had stopped moving.

  Clare kicked her way over to Ranger. With the boat shattered into toothpicks, the house was their only hope to get out of the water. Clare grabbed a window frame and flung her garbage bag onto the gently sloped roof. Then she grabbed the gutter and hoisted herself up.

  The gutter creaked, but Clare held on. For once, she was thankful Dad had forced her through his special “army training.” She’d done push-ups and pull-ups in the yard with him three times a week since she was seven.

  Now Clare used every bit of her strength. The sharp edge of the metal gutter cut into her palms, but she didn’t let go. Finally, she collapsed on the roof. She caught her breath and turned to lean over the edge.

  “Come on, dog, jump!” Clare called down to Ranger in the water below. She thumped the roof with her palm. “Up! Let’s go!”

  Ranger looked at Clare. How was he supposed to jump onto the roof when his legs were busy paddling?

  He swam closer. The shingles were just inches above the water. But every time Ranger managed to get his paws onto the roof, they slid off again.

  Clare leaned out as far as she dared. She grabbed Ranger under his armpits and pulled him forward until he managed to get his front paws onto the roof. Then he caught his back paws on the gutter and scrambled the rest of the way up, knocking Clare over.

  “Whoa!” Clare tumbled backward. She started to slide down the roof, but her sneakers caught on the gutter, and she carefully eased herself back up.

  Ranger shook water from his fur. The house was shaky and creaky under his paws. A piece of siding ripped loose and floated down the street. Then another. And another.

  Clare pressed her hands against the rough shingles, trembling. How long would it be before the whole soggy house broke into pieces and dumped them into the flood?

  Clare looked up, searching the sky. A few rescue helicopters were buzzing around in the distance, but they were too far away to see her.