Storm Rescue (8 page)

Then Lucy meows again. She tips forward a little, sliding her front feet toward the water lapping below the window, as if she's thinking about jumping. She wobbles on her splinted foreleg. I suck in my breath, sure that she's going to fall in.

She catches herself just in time and backs up, letting out another desperate meow. I gulp, trying to swallow my terror. “I'll go,” I blurt before I lose my nerve. “I mean, I'm wearing a life vest. Even if I don't know how to swim, I should be able to paddle over there and get her.”

Maggie looks uncertain. “Are you sure?”

“It's the only way.” I try to sound confident. It's not easy, since my insides feel like they've all suddenly turned to Jell-O.

I kick off my shoes. David grabs the rope that's coiled up in the front part of the boat. One end is tied to a ring at the front of the canoe. “We can tie this to your vest,” David suggests. “That way we can make sure you don't get carried away by the current.”

“Maybe we can even help you steer a little,” Maggie adds.

I nod and scoot around on the narrow canoe seat so that they can tie the rope to the back of my vest. David crouches behind me. I can't see what he's doing, but after a moment, I feel a tug on the life vest.

“There,” he says. “That should do it.”

“Ready?” Maggie asks.

I nod. I don't trust my voice to speak. Taking a deep breath, I clutch the edge of the boat with both hands and stare down at the water. Can I do this?

I have to do this. I don't let myself think about it anymore, and I climb out of the canoe onto the large branch. It feels solid and comforting under my feet. Then I slide down into the water, push off, and let go.

 
 
The water is a lot colder than I expected. And it's moving around more than I realized, too, making me feel like one of Harshil's toy boats bobbing in the bathtub. My vest doesn't hold me up as much as I thought it would—I'm so low in the water that when a little wave comes toward me, it washes right over my head. For a second, I'm totally underwater! I forget to hold my breath, and take in a mouthful of water. There's a weird sort of roaring sound in my ears.

I thrash around until I pop up above the surface and can breathe again. I shake my head to get my hair out of my eyes. I cough and spit out water. It tastes disgusting. I try not to think of all the germs I probably just swallowed. I have enough to worry about right now.

“Are you okay?” David calls.

I can't answer him. I'm too busy trying to spit wet hair out of my mouth without losing track of what my arms and legs are doing. Every time I let my muscles relax, it feels like I'm going to sink straight down into the water. So I keep my limbs moving around, trying to imitate what I've seen other people do while they're swimming. With the help of my life vest, it seems to work pretty well.

“Yeah,” I gasp. “I'm okay.”

“Don't worry,” David calls. “If you get too scared, just yell, and we'll pull you back in with the rope.”

I don't want to waste any energy answering, so I just nod. Then I turn around to face Mrs. Clark's house.

Okay, Sunita,
I tell myself firmly.
Time to swim.

I think back to a hot, sunny day a few weeks ago. It was a slow day at the clinic, so at lunch-time, Dr. Gabe took us to the park for a picnic. Sherlock came, too, and while we were eating, he waded out into the pond for a swim. If you've never seen a basset hound swim, I can tell you it's not a pretty sight. But he managed to get around pretty well, paddling energetically with his stubby front paws.

As I try to imitate Sherlock's swimming style, I see another ripple coming toward me. Not wanting to let my head go underwater again, I thrash harder with my arms to raise myself up in the water. The tiny wave washes by, splashing my chin. But my head stays up. I smile with triumph.

“Hey! Sunita!” Maggie yells from behind me. “Kick with your legs!”

I do as she says. I'm focusing so much on my legs that I forget about my arms for a second. I remember them when I feel my face sinking lower into the water. Finally I have all four limbs working at the same time. That does the trick. Mrs. Clark's house starts to get closer. Of course, that means the canoe must be getting farther away behind me. But I try not to think about that.

“Mrrwowrr!” Lucy's voice floats out across the water.

I glance up at the frightened cat, blinking the water out of my eyes. She's perched in the window. The rain makes it hard to see clearly, but it looks like she's watching me. The water is lapping at the house just a foot or so beneath the windowsill.

I have to do this—for Lucy. I kick harder, aiming straight for the window. The house is only about six feet away now. If I were on dry land, it would hardly seem like any distance at all. But right now, it seems as wide as the Mississippi River—or maybe the Atlantic Ocean.

I can see Lucy sitting there watching me, and that gives me the strength to keep going. When my fingers brush against the brick wall, I feel like cheering. Instead, I grab the edge of the windowsill. The window is open, and there's no screen. Lucy jumps off the windowsill and back into the attic.

“Mrrrr?” she says uncertainly, rubbing the top of her head on an old trunk. When I peek in the window, I'm happy to see that the floor is still dry.

“It's okay, sweetie,” I say breathlessly. I try to keep my voice as calm and soothing as I can as I climb in through the window. It feels good to stand on something solid again. “Don't worry, Lucy. It's me, Sunita. I want to get you out of here.”

The cat crouches down, her eyes trained on my face. The tip of her tail switches back and forth. I can tell she's still nervous and trying to decide what to do. Maybe she doesn't recognize me with wet, stringy hair.

I look around for the cat carriers Mrs. Clark mentioned yesterday. Even though it's the middle of the day, it's dark in the attic. The power is out, and only a little grayish daylight comes in through the window. But I soon spot not one, but two hard plastic cat carriers stacked neatly by the wall. Remembering Mittens' hiding place at home, I grab the smaller of the two. Maybe being in a small place will help Lucy feel more secure.

Lucy jumps when I pick up the carrier. She turns and races off, moving surprisingly fast despite her splint. She disappears behind some cardboard boxes.

“Lucy!” I exclaim. “Come on, girl! I'm here to help you.”

I wish we were all safe and sound, back on dry land again. Taking a deep breath, I force myself to calm down. I have to be patient.

Crouching down beside the cat carrier, I carefully swing the door open, trying not to make any scary noises. “It's okay, baby,” I croon, watching the spot where Lucy disappeared. “I know all that water out there is scary. I don't like it any more than you do, believe me. But I couldn't just leave you here by yourself. I'm here to help you. Now you need to help me by being a good kitty and letting me get you out of here.”

I keep talking, saying whatever comes into my head. Finally I see her nose poke out from behind the boxes. She stares at me, her whiskers twitching.

Still talking softly, I ease forward inch by inch. Lucy watches me nervously, but she doesn't move.

“Come on, sweetie,” I croon, holding out my hand. “Come here, Lucy girl.”

Lucy crouches lower, looking suspicious. I'm afraid she's going to dart away and hide somewhere among the boxes and old suitcase in the attic.

“Listen,” I whisper to her. “I'm scared of water. You're scared of water. But I'm here now, and I really want to get you out of this place before the water gets in. Believe me, you'll be glad when we're both back on dry land.” I clear my throat, trying not to think about the floodwaters swirling around the house. “I'll be glad, too.”

Lucy seems to be listening to me. Her large, dark ears are pricked toward me, and she doesn't back away as I continue to inch forward.

Finally I'm closer enough to reach out and grab her gently by the scruff of the neck. I wouldn't normally pick up an adult cat that way, but since I can use only one hand. I figure it's safer than trying to grab her any other way—especially with her broken leg.

Lucy struggles, but I hold on tightly, lifting her carefully with my other hand supporting most of her weight. She gives me a few scratches with her claws, but I hardly notice. Soon she's safely locked in the cat carrier.

“Whew!” I say. “Now what do you say we get out of here, okay?”

I blink, wondering exactly how we're going to do that. How am I supposed to get the cat carrier back out to the canoe?

Then I realize the answer. I pick up the carrier and carry it to the window. David and Maggie are watching from the canoe. I give them a thumbs-up to let them know I have Lucy. Then I swing up onto the windowsill before reaching back into the attic for the carrier.

When David sees me lowering the cat carrier toward the water, he shouts out in alarm. “What are you doing?” he cries. “She'll drown!”

“Don't worry,” I call back breathlessly. “It'll float.”

I hope I'm right. I'm remembering what I learned last year in science class about buoyancy. That's another word for how well things float. And I learned that a lightweight, hollow object with a solid bottom—like a canoe or a plastic cat carrier—has a lot of buoyancy. I just have to keep the door and airholes above water.

I hold my breath as the carrier sinks slightly, then bobs back to the surface, floating easily. Some water has splashed in, and Lucy yowls in protest.

“Don't be scared,” I whisper, hardly daring to believe I've actually done it. “You'll be safe now. Don't worry,” I turn and wave to let Maggie and David know that we're coming. I see David start swimming toward me, and hear the faint sound of Maggie cheering from the canoe.

Soon David is there beside me. “Good job, Sunita,” he cries happily. “You did it!”

I grin tiredly as he starts swimming back, pushing the carrier—and a very noisy Lucy—along with him. A second later, I feel a tug on the back of my vest. With relief, I remember the rope. I push off from the windowsill, letting Maggie pull me back toward the canoe. I do my best to help her by paddling, although my arms and legs feel like they have lead weights attached to them. I've never been so tired in my life.

But I'm happy. Lucy is safe!

Chapter Twelve

T
here you are!” Dr. Mac shouts when Maggie, David, and I enter the clinic twenty minutes later. “Thank goodness! Gabe just went out searching for you.”

She looks sort of angry but also very relieved. Zoe is sitting at the reception desk when we come in, but she hops up and rushes over. “Wow,” she says, handing us each a towel. “You guys look like you went through the washing machine.”

“Yeah,” David says with a grin, peeling off his raincoat. “But the dryer was broken.”

Dr. Mac doesn't look amused. “You all have a lot of explaining to do,” she says sternly. “But first things first.” She bends over and peers into the cat carrier I'm holding. “Bring her back.”

We all follow Dr. Mac into the exam room. I gently set the carrier on the examining table and peer inside at Lucy. “You're safe now, girl,” I reassure her. “Just like I promised.”

“So what happened, anyway?” Zoe asks curiously, leaning over to peek in at Lucy. “Brenna said the street was totally flooded. How did you rescue her?”

“Later,” Dr. Mac says firmly. “We have work to do.”

She opens the carrier door. I can tell that Lucy is glad to get out of there. She lets out a loud, disgruntled meow and tries to launch herself off the edge of the table—splint and all.

Dr. Mac catches her and returns her to the center of the table as David quickly grabs the carrier and moves it out of the way. “Okay, old girl,” Dr. Mac murmurs, stroking Lucy gently. “Let's see what we have here. Sunita, could you bring me a clean towel, please?”

I do as she says, then watch as she carefully dries off the damp cat. Lucy starts purring, and Dr. Mac smiles.

“Sounds like she's not feeling too terribly despite her adventure,” she comments as she looks Lucy over, checking her gums and listening to her heartbeat. “There are no signs of shock or serious stress, but we'll check her glucose level just in case. Otherwise, the rainwater bath doesn't seem to have hurt her any. But I think I'll put a new splint on her, since this one might be wet inside. Sunita?”

I start setting up the splinting equipment as Dr. Mac quickly draws blood for the glucose test. By the time she finishes checking the blood, I have everything ready. Even though Lucy is awake this time, the procedure goes quickly. The cat seems tired from the day's commotion and doesn't move as Dr. Mac carefully peels away the damp bandages and removes the splint underneath. Soon her leg is neatly splinted and wrapped again.

“Good girl, Lucy,” I tell her when it's all over, scratching her under her chin.

“Her sugar level is fine, and her leg is none the worse for wear,” Dr. Mac tells us as she peels off her gloves. “You can go ahead and take her to the recovery room, Sunita. I'm going to call the emergency shelter and see if Mrs. Clark is there. I want to let her know that Lucy is fine and that we can keep her here for a couple of days if necessary.”

“Lucy won't be the only one,” Zoe comments as Dr. Mac hurries out of the room. “People have been bringing animals in all day. Did you know the human shelter won't let pets in?”