Storm Rescue by Laurie Halse Anderson Page A

Stormy. “And pretty good dog.”
    I climb to my feet, feeling embarrassed. What was I thinking? I should have let Maggie handle it from the start.
    No one says anything about my mishap, though. Brenna pushes back her brown hair, which is dripping into her eyes. “Come on,” she says. “We’d better get out of here before we all float away.”
    We make our way toward the front of the house with Maggie and Stormy in the lead. This time we have to step around one end of the canoe that was on top of the Jermaines’ van yesterday. They must have left it in the backyard, but it’s floating now. Finally we’re on dry ground again.
    That’s a relief. All that water was making me really nervous.
    We head for the corner and stop to catch our breath. I can’t help but look over my shoulder and down the hill at the old part of town and Willow Street.
    Oh, no! Willow Street is underwater! Just a short distance away, the street slopes down and completely disappears. A block farther, the mailboxes are barely visible above the water. And by the middle of that block, the water is almost up to the second floor of the houses. Through the drizzle, I can barely see Mrs. Clark’s house at the far end—there are a couple of large trees in the way—but it must be more than half submerged. Lucy...
    â€œDo you think they’ve evacuated everyone already?” Maggie asks.
    â€œLook!” Brenna cries, cutting her off.
    In the distance, I see a motorboat chugging toward us. As it gets closer, I see who’s inside—two men in bright yellow slickers and a small white-haired woman wrapped in a plaid raincoat.
    â€œMrs. Clark!” I cry.
    At that moment, Mrs. Clark spots us. “Help!” she cries, waving her hands at us. “My poor Lucy!”
    Maggie, David, and I run toward the boat, splashing down the hill until we’re knee-deep in water.
    â€œGuys! Don’t go out too far!” warns Brenna, who stays back with Stormy.
    â€œAre you okay?” I yell over the sounds of the wind and the boat’s motor. “Where’s Lucy?”
    â€œShe’s still in the house!” Mrs. Clark calls back. “She was frightened by the men and the boat. She ran and hid in the attic. They insisted I leave her.”
    â€œI’m sorry, ma’am,” one of the rescue workers says. “We couldn’t spend any more time. The water’s rising quickly, and we need to get you to the emergency shelter, which is where you kids should be—under shelter.”
    I open my mouth to protest—to tell them about Lucy’s broken leg, her diabetes—but the rescue workers are already steering the boat toward the next street. Mrs. Clark shouts about Lucy, but her words are drowned out by the sounds of the boat’s motor.
    I stare down the hill. I remember how those flooded houses looked on TV. And the flooded stable. What if it was Mittens? It all makes me feel so scared and helpless that I have to clench my hands into fists to stop them from shaking.
    Then I remember how Lucy meowed at me this morning, bumping her head against my hand when I bent to pet her. And I know what I have to do.

Chapter Nine
    W e’ve got to save her,” I tell Maggie and David as we turn and walk back to Brenna and Stormy.
    â€œYou’ve got to be kidding,” David says. “How are we supposed to do that? Build an ark?”
    I frown. “This is no time for jokes. Come on, we need a plan.”
    Maggie shoots a worried glance down the street. “I don’t know, Sunita,” she says. “I mean, I want to help Lucy, too. But—”
    â€œNo buts,” I interrupt firmly. “Lucy needs us. We’re the only ones who can help her. We’ve got to do it.”
    Just then another big gust of wind sweeps by, blowing away any words my friends might have tried to say. We all hold on to our hoods as Stormy lets out a brief