Avery Rhiannon's Arc

Chapter 5 of 17

Tom set the notebook down and tilted his head, listening. The wind had eased, but a new sound pressed through the walls — a low rush, wrong for a settled river. He crossed the barn and climbed the ladder to the hayloft in quick, sure steps. Avery followed. At the top, he pressed his face to the small octagonal window. "The river," he said. Avery looked. Down the slope, the fallen tree lay across the water like a thick brown wall, its roots clawing the air, its branches caught with leaves and mud. The river had nowhere to go. It spread sideways in a dark sheet, sliding straight toward the bright wooden kennel. They moved without speaking. Down the ladder, out the sliding door, across the wet grass. Inside the kennel, water already licked the floorboards. A cluster of aluminum food bowls drifted between the cages, kibble spinning on the surface. Three strays pressed against the bars, paws lifted, eyes wide. Avery yanked leashes from a hook. Tom popped the latches one by one. They clipped collars, looped lines around their wrists, coaxed each shaking dog out into the rising cold. "Go, go," Tom murmured. A small terrier balked; Avery scooped him under her arm and kept moving. They ran back to the barn with leashes fanned in both hands, dogs scrambling at their heels. Tom hauled the door shut behind them. Wet fur, panting, the warm lantern light overhead. Avery counted heads — every stray safe, dripping on the boards. She met Tom's eyes across the huddle and felt something settle. The kennel was lost to the flood. The animals were not.