Rushing water tried to push Elsa over. She pulled Ant’s wet hand out of hers and shove
d him at Loreda. “Get yourselves to safety.”
“No, Mom—”
Elsa saw the tall volunteer heading their way again. She pushed her children toward the man, said, “Save them,” and turned back.
“Ma’am, you can’t—”
Elsa fought her way to the truck, which was running-board deep in water. A plastic doll in a muddy pink dress floated by, blue marble eyes staring upward. Mud and water had swept their campsite away; everything was gone. The stove had been knocked over; water swirled over it. She thought about the box that held their money and knew she’d never find it.
She climbed into the truck, grateful for once that she kept the keys in the glove box. Auto theft was low on anyone’s mind when gas was unaffordable.
Please start.
Elsa turned the key in the ignition.
It took five tries and five prayers before the truck grumbled and groaned and came to life.
She turned on the headlights and put the truck in gear.
The truck jostled from side to side, fighting its way out of the mud. Elsa kept her hands tight on the wheel; her feet worked the pedals. The vehicle rolled and bucked and sometimes the engine whined, but finally the tires found purchase.
Elsa drove slowly out to the road, where a string of volunteers helped people into cars. She saw Loreda step out of an old-fashioned, wooden-cabbed truck into the pouring rain and wave her hands in the air. “Follow us, Mom!”
* * *
ELSA FOLLOWED THE OLD truck into Welty. On a small, deserted street by the railroad tracks, it pulled up in front of a boarded-up hotel. On either side of the hotel were businesses that had been shut down. A Mexican restaurant and a laundry and a bakery. The streetlights were off. A shuttered gas station boasted a hand-lettered sign that read: THIS IS YOUR COUNTRY. DON’T LET THE BIG MEN TAKE IT AWAY FROM YOU!
Elsa had never seen this street. It was several blocks from the main section of Welty. The few houses she could see looked dilapidated and deserted. She pulled up alongside the other truck and parked.
She stepped out into the driving rain. Her children immediately ran to her; she drew them in close, holding them tightly, shivering.
“Where are the Deweys?” Elsa yelled to be heard over the storm.
“They left with other volunteers.”
The driver of the truck stepped out. At first all she noticed was his height and the familiarity of the dark brown duster he wore. It was an old-fashioned coat, something a cowboy would wear. She’d seen it before, somewhere. He walked toward Elsa, through the headlights’ rain-beaded glare.
It came to her: she’d seen him spouting Communist rhetoric in town once, and again outside the jail, where he’d been beaten on the night Loreda ran away.
“The jailbird,” she said.
“The warrior,” he answered. “I’m Jack Valen. Come. Let’s get you warm.”
“He’s the Communist I met, Mom,” Loreda said.
“Yes,” Elsa said. “I’ve seen him in town.”
He led them to the padlocked hotel door and put a key in the lock. The big black lock clattered to the side. He pushed the door open.
“Wait. The hotel looks boarded up,” Elsa said.
“Looks can be deceiving. In fact, we count on that,” Jack said. “A friend owns this place. It only looks abandoned. We keep it boarded up, for— Well, never mind. You can have one or two nights here. I wish it could be more.”
“We are grateful for anything,” Elsa said, shivering.
“Your friends the Deweys were taken to the abandoned grange hall. We are doing what we can. It came on so suddenly. There will be more help in place in the morning.”