Chapter Forty

CHAPTER FORTY

COUNTDOWN TO ZERO HOUR 14 MINUTES

PRESIDENT DAWSON HAD feared all day long that it would come down to something like this.

“And this sluice gate, it’s the only way to drain the water?” he asked, flipping through the papers, scanning the Clover Hill blueprints.

“Yes, sir,” the chair of the NRC said from a video quadrant on the screen. “It’s a two-person operation. Relatively simple. But requiring everything.”

“Their sacrifices will not be forgotten,” Dawson said as Tony handed him the call sheets with contact information for the two volunteers’ next of kin. “They are heroes,” he said, looking at the first sheet with the picture of Fire Chief Steve Tostig. “And they will be remembered as—”

The president stopped, the second sheet frozen in his hand.

“Mr. President?”

Dawson ignored the chairman as he studied the image of Dr. Jocelyn “Joss” Vance that stared up at him from the page. A Mona Lisa smirk, a hint of a raised eyebrow. What’d you expect? her expression seemed to taunt.

“Tony. Get Dr. Vance on the phone.”

Tony cleared his throat. “I tried. I’m sorry, sir. She’s already gone.”

“Everybody, listen up!”

The church hushed to silence. Reverend Michaels turned up the radio’s volume. Marion’s voice filled the room.

“Well, ah, this is it. They have left for the R2 auxiliary buildings to open the sluice gates and drain the subbasement. The mission is underway. And, ah, well, the next time I update, I imagine we will know how it went.”

The people of Waketa stood side by side with the National Guard listening to the update from Clover Hill. A guardsman held the water bottle Mrs. Shelton had just handed him, waiting to take a drink. Ernie Caro’s ankle was almost wrapped, but the military medic had stilled his hands. Outside, the school bus pulled up.

Reverend Michaels made eye contact with Carla as Principal Gazdecki put it in park, but everyone stayed on. They, too, were listening.

Everyone paused, to bear witness together.

“The sluice gate takes two people to open,” Marion continued. “Fire Chief Steve Tostig and Dr. Jocelyn Vance are the, ah, the volunteers for that duty.” He cleared his throat. “Well, I already explained what that means.”

There was quiet. The incident commander removed his hat.

“This is all for now,” Marion said finally. “The evacuation order remains in effect. And… ah. Godspeed to them both.”

The transmission ended. The church stayed silent. Most looked at the floor, unsure of where else to look or what to do next. After some time, Mrs. Jacobs, the mayor’s wife, spoke.

“Reverend Michaels,” she said. “Should we pray?”

Everyone in the church turned to the altar.

Reverend Michaels looked around the room at the exhausted, the scared, the injured. He saw their fear and their sadness, their trauma from what had already happened and their worries of what was yet to come. He saw need and longing. Desperation and hopelessness.

He also saw homemade sandwiches and butterfly Band-Aids. The parking lot was full.

Reverend Michaels tilted his head.

“Mrs. Jacobs,” he said. “What do you think we’ve been doing all day?”

And with that, everyone went back to work.