Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 73664 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 368(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73664 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 368(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
“You did everything right,” she assures me. “I’m the one to blame here. I shouldn’t have been so careless about my phone. It might be worth getting my landline reinstalled. Especially on a night like we had tonight. The cell towers may go down.”
At the mention of her phone, I look at mine. Five thirty a.m. I scramble to my feet. “If it’s okay, I have to go. I’m supposed to have breakfast with my father at six.”
“You should call him,” Lexie says. “Explain what’s happened here. I don’t think you’re going to make it. That storm is nasty. They expect flash flooding. There are warnings all over the news.”
“I’ll make it. I grew up here, remember? I’ve driven through storms like this. It’s really important that I not miss this breakfast date with my dad.”
She eyes me but doesn’t push. “All right, but please be careful. Don’t worry about coming into work this morning. Try to get some sleep after breakfast.”
“Thank you. I appreciate that.”
“No, thank you. You, Abe and Jim saved this little guy’s life. I should’ve been here, and I wasn’t.” She smiles at me again. “I’d hate to lose you around here, Carly, but you need to go back to vet school. You have great instinct, and you love animals. You need to be treating them.”
“I’d like to,” I say. “But I’m taking life one step at a time these days, and the step I need to take right now is breakfast with my father. I’ll be in later.”
She shakes her head. “Nonsense. Take the day off. If I see you in here today, you’re fired.” She places the diaphragm of her stethoscope against Beau’s chest.
I glance at Abe, who gives me a shooing motion. Jim just gives me a small smile. “All right. I’ll take you up on it, but only this time.” I turn and leave the stables.
The rain is pummeling down, and the ground is soft and muddy. Lexie wasn’t kidding.
Again I’m surprised the noise of the storm didn’t wake me up before Lexie got there, but I learned to blank out noxious screaming and grunting noises during those years I spent in captivity.
I get into my car and begin the drive home. If I hurry, I should just make it.
I’ve got my wipers going as fast they’ll go, but visibility is non-existent. Good thing no one’s on the road this early. Ranchers get up before dawn, but they’re not going anywhere besides their barn or stables to do chores. They’re taking care of animals.
The county road isn’t bad at first, but as I near the bridge over the creek…
Damn. This isn’t just any flash flood. Usually the flooding happens after the rain starts to subside, especially if the storm is upstream. Right now? It’s coming down like a firestorm and the creek has risen over the bridge. There’s no way I’ll get across.
I know the rules of a flash flood. Don’t try to drive through it. Leave the car and get to high ground.
I’ll have to call my father after all and let him know that I won’t make breakfast. That I’m actually not in my bed. If he finds me gone, I don’t know what he’ll think. No, I know exactly what he’ll think and it won’t be good. He’ll panic. Think I ditched him in a disrespectful way for Austin.
I should’ve left a note but I didn’t even think of it.
I grab my phone, but the rising waters are coming toward the car. I try to reverse, but I feel the car start to lift. Shit, I have to move. I escape the car before calling him.
“Oh!” I cry out, the sound ripped away by the wind and heavy rain.
I hit the ground with a thud. The slick mud made me lose my footing and I fall flat on my face. My phone slips from my grasp, and lands…
I have no idea where. It’s quickly washed away. I pull myself up, ignoring the pain on my palms, which are scratched up from trying to break my fall. Great, a lovely mixture of mud and blood. I glance down at my feet, the cold water already filling my shoes and swirling around my ankles.
That’s the last thought I give to my father or to breakfast. I glance at my car. The water has already buried my tires by a few inches.
Wet and muddy, my heart doing flips, I trudge away from the swiftly swelling creek along the road toward higher ground. I’m soaked through to the skin and I need to get to safety. A broken tree branch is caught on the muddy torrent and whacks me in the shin. I’m no match for water. Nothing is.
I didn’t survive years in captivity to die this way.
I have to move. And fast.
30
AUSTIN
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