Part 4
Owen had the mat rolled within ten minutes. Outside, the parking lot shone beneath hard rain, and the hills had disappeared behind it. The channel behind the shelter was running high and brown.
The director canceled afternoon appointments and called the county facilities crew. Staff lifted medication containers and files off the lowest shelves. Carriers came out of storage. Years earlier, spring runoff had put several inches of water inside, and there was a plan taped to the office wall.
Owen loaded Kip into his travel crate. Walter waited under the raised hatch, droplets caught along his back.
“A few more minutes helping,” Owen told him. “Then home.”
He settled Walter into the second compartment, checked both doors, and went inside.
Water was slipping beneath the rear service entrance. Celia laid a sandbag along the bottom. A twig floated around one end and came to rest against her shoe.
“Start transport,” she told the director.
The rear kennels emptied first. Cats went into numbered carriers, and every animal crossing the front entrance was checked against a paper list. Owen carried crates to a van on the highest strip of the parking lot. Staff spoke over the barking in short, practical instructions.
For nine minutes, the plan held.
Then the facilities crew radioed that branches had plugged the upstream culvert. Water was overtopping the channel and crossing the access road.
A bang came from the back of the building. The service door twisted on its frame, one lower hinge giving way. Sandbags slid down the hall. Muddy water rushed around them as the overhead lights blinked.
Fire-rescue arrived with Captain Nathan Frost in the first vehicle. He sent two responders toward the rear wing and directed everyone else to the front. Owen identified himself as off duty and asked where he was useful.
“Transport until I tell you otherwise,” Frost said.
Celia came through carrying a crated terrier. Water had darkened her orange jacket below the pockets.
“Three still in isolation. Wade can get two loaded, but the third won’t let him near the crate.”
Frost pointed toward a responder. “He’ll cover the junction. You and Wade stay in contact.”
“Wade knows that dog,” she said. “We’ll take another crate.”
Wade Tully, a broad technician whose beard generally held a few pale dog hairs, picked up the equipment. He and Celia headed down the west corridor while Owen took the terrier outside.
His phone vibrated as he reached the van. Ruth had a fallen cottonwood limb across her driveway. The cottage was dry, and the fence was intact.
“Come when the road lets you,” she said. “And don’t mistake being nearby for being assigned to something.”
“I’m under the captain’s direction.”
“Excellent. You remembered a few things I taught you.”
Owen checked the dogs. Kip stood in his crate, ears back, watching the movement outside. Walter sat with his nose angled toward the shelter.
Inside, Wade was coming through the lobby alone with a crated dog. He had to plant each foot against the current.
“Celia sent me out with this one,” he said. “She’s loading the last two.”
Frost looked past him. “When did you leave her?”
“Couple of minutes. Three at most.”
A ceiling panel dropped near the laundry room and dissolved into the dirty water. Frost called Celia on the radio and ordered her out.
No answer came.
The animal count was nearly complete. The front kennels were empty, the cat room clear. Two spaces remained unchecked beside the isolation numbers. On the personnel board, Celia’s marker was still in the building.
A two-person team went to the west junction. They came back quickly. A metal storage rack lay across the main passage, with rising water beyond it. Barking could be heard, but the intersecting halls made its direction uncertain.
“We’re not lifting that rack blind,” Frost said. “Another access, or we withdraw.”
Through the lobby glass, Owen could see the top of his SUV. He put his hand against the window ledge, then turned back.
“My shepherd can locate a person by scent.”
Frost looked at him. “Current certification?”
“None that I know of. Our canine handler assessed him. He’s been trained.”
“The old dog?”
“Yes.”
“With the hip trouble?”
Owen nodded.
Frost glanced toward the hall. “He can’t tell me whether a ceiling’s going to fall.”
“I’m not asking him to. He could narrow the search. You’ve got people checking two routes and very little time.”
Frost brought the rescue specialist over. They studied the evacuation diagram and spoke quietly. Owen waited without adding anything.
The permission came with limits. Walter could begin at the dry edge, on a line. If he indicated a route, the specialist would inspect it first. Owen and the dog could follow only after clearance, with a safety tether running back to the lobby. Any fresh movement overhead or in the walls meant immediate withdrawal.
Owen repeated the instructions back and went for Walter.
Kip cried when the crate beside his opened. Owen kept his door latched and helped Walter down, one hand beneath the old dog’s hips. He checked the working harness buckle by buckle.
“Stay put, little man. Ruth’s coming when she can.”
Kip put his nose against the wire. Walter touched it with his own, then turned toward Owen’s waiting hand.
In the office, Celia’s fleece vest hung from a hook behind the door. Owen took it down. Walter knew her well by then, but Owen presented the cloth as Elise had shown him. The dog breathed into a fold, then lifted his head toward the corridor.
Owen clipped on the long line. He caught himself winding it close around his hand, leaving almost no room for Walter to move.
He unwrapped it. A length slid through his fingers onto the floor.
“Go find Celia.”
Walter passed the turn toward isolation and approached the blocked main corridor. He stopped, tested the air, and stepped backward. Then his nose lifted toward the narrow maintenance passage on the other side.
The specialist moved with him to the entrance.
“That goes behind laundry,” a responder said. “The fire door at the far end’s usually locked.”
Walter planted his front feet at the opening and barked…
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