BOBBY MITCHELL STARED OUT THE PATROL CAR’S rear window. They’d just rounded a curve, hugging the west shoreline of the Tennessee River, which flowed through a deep valley cut. Bobby was watching for the first sight of the flood wall.
“What do you see, boy?” the sheriff shouted, his eyes locked on the blacktop. He was driving dangerously fast. From the highway, it was a one-hundred-foot drop through trees straight to the river. They were racing toward Raitland, Kentucky, the next town in the path of the flood surge. Paducah was only fifteen miles away.
“I can’t see anything,” Bobby shouted.
“You sure can hear it,” the sheriff said. He had his window down. The approaching flood was a steady roar in the distance.
Lauren was trying not to think about what had happened at Gilbertsville. She wanted to block it forever out of her mind. There was no way the town, or anyone in it, could have survived that massive wall of water.
At Hessel’s urging, she tried to raise the police dispatcher in Raitland. The radio scanner mounted on the dashboard of the car hissed static. Lauren pressed the search button. A woman’s voice came on the air.
“That’ll be Georgetta Williams,” Hessel said. “Tell her to put her husband Bob on. Let me talk to him.”
Lauren did so. There was a long burst of static. “Bob’s dead,” the woman said in a dull monotone. “He’s lying out in the street. A power line fell on him.”
“There’s a flood coming your way, Georgetta,” Hessel said, grabbing the microphone. “The dam broke at Kentucky Lake. You’ve got to get out of there.”
The woman’s shrill laughter stunned Lauren. Coming over the static of the police radio, it sounded disembodied, ripped from her soul.
“Sure,” she said, still laughing hysterically. “I’ll go get my husband, and we’ll get the car and leave.”
The radio clicked off.
Hessel punched the gas pedal. The patrol car’s high beams were boring into the darkness. He was racing straight down the yellow lane divider. He could tell the softer aftershocks by the way the car vibrated. He felt the shaking in the steering wheel.
They hit Raitland a few minutes later, turning off the highway and heading down a long, steep street, their siren going full blast. Most of the town was laid out on a crescent-shaped plateau just above the river.
Lauren leaned out the window with the bullhorn.
“Evacuate now! The dam’s gone at Kentucky Lake!”
She kept repeating the warning as the sheriff maneuvered through the wreckage. The damage was extensive. Just like Gilbertsville, Raitland was a wasteland of broken glass, shattered brick walls, and collapsed buildings.
Lauren realized it was useless. Those who even heard her warning were too disoriented or stunned to respond. And there wasn’t time. The flood would hit them within minutes. The town was going to be swept away.
An elderly woman ran into the street right in front of them, waving her arms. Hessel braked hard, barely missing her.
“Lou!” the woman screamed. “It’s Dave. You’ve got to help me.”
The sheriff climbed out of the car. “Is that you, Mary Beth?” It was the wife of his cousin, Dave.
Seeing her more closely, Elizabeth realized the woman wasn’t elderly at all. Early thirties. She looked older because her face and hair were powdered white from plaster dust. A red gash crossed her left cheek.
“You’re bleeding pretty bad, Mary Beth.”
The woman touched her cheek and stared almost absentmindedly at the blood on her fingers.
“Where’s Dave?” the sheriff asked.
“The ceiling fell on him. Please, Lou. He’s hurt bad.”
The house was across the street. The front porch and part of the roof had collapsed.
Hessel said softly, “All right, Mary Beth. I’m coming.” He turned to Lauren. “I’m going to stay here,” he said. “See what I can do to help. You get on up to Paducah and tell them what’s heading their way. Then you and the boy get the hell away from there.”
Hessel hurried over to his cousin’s smashed home. The woman had already disappeared through the front door. Wanting to help, Lauren followed the sheriff. She told Bobby to stay in the car.
The two-story frame house had shifted on its foundation. Hessel went inside. His cousin lay in the living room, pinned on his stomach with a joist beam across his spine. He was bleeding from both ears.
“I think my back’s broken,” he said between gritted teeth.
Seeing Lauren behind him, Hessel grabbed her by the shoulders, hard. “Dammit, Lauren. I’m staying with my people. You get out of here. Now!”
Lauren kissed Hessel on the cheek then ran back to the patrol car. Sliding behind the steering wheel, she made a tight U-turn and raced back toward the highway. The ground started shaking again as the car nosed up onto the two-lane.
“Grandma, there it is!” Bobby shouted from the back seat.
Lauren didn’t look behind. She didn’t have to. She knew the flood water was crashing toward them down the valley. She could hear it.