Chapter 3 - The Attic Hatch
The water in the living room surged another six inches within minutes, lifting the heavy dining table and smashing it into the kitchen cabinets. Lily shrieked, wrapping her legs tightly around my waist as I braced myself against the doorframe of the hallway.
""Look at me, Lily,"" I demanded, forcing absolute calm into my voice despite the sheer panic clawing at my throat. ""Do you remember the secret hideout in Grandpa's hallway ceiling?""
She sniffled, wiping her eyes with her soaked sleeve. ""The attic?""
""Yes. We're going up there. The water can't reach the roof. Mommy is going to lift you up first, okay?""
I waded down the dark hallway, where the water was slightly calmer. Above us, the square panel of the attic access door remained closed. In a typical house, there would be a pull-down string, but my father had replaced the door with a flush wooden cover that required a stepladder to reach.
The water was up to my shoulders now. My bare feet barely touched the slick linoleum floor. I felt beneath the surface until my toes hit the hallway console table that had tipped on its side.
""Lily, hold onto the crown molding. Just for three seconds.""
I hoisted her upward. Lily’s tiny fingers dug into the wooden trim along the ceiling. Bracing my legs against the submerged walls, I reached up and shoved the wooden attic hatch with both hands. It gave way with a dry groan, sliding into the dark rafters above.
""Grab the frame, baby! Pull yourself up!""
Lily kicked her legs, crying out as she pulled her upper body through the opening. With one final, desperate push from my palms against the soles of her sneakers, she tumbled onto the dusty insulation of the attic floor.
""I'm up, Mommy! Come on!""
I grabbed the wooden lip of the hatch. The water lifted my lower body, but the weight of my soaked clothes was immense. My forearms burned with exhaustion; every muscle screamed from the run through the forest and the fight against the creek. I pulled with everything I had left, scraping my ribs against the rough framing, finally dragging my legs through the hole just as a thunderous crash shook the house below.
The front picture window had finally buckled. Thousands of gallons of murky water roared through the living room, filling the ceiling space right below the hatch within seconds.
Lily threw herself into my arms, weeping against my soaked chest. The attic was pitch-black, smelling of old pine boards, fiberglass insulation, and dust. Rain hammered against the shingles inches above our heads like artillery fire.
I pulled Lily into my lap, wrapping my body around hers to share body heat. She was shivering uncontrollably, her lips tinged with a faint, terrifying shade of blue.
""Mommy, why did Grandpa say I wasn't his responsibility?"" Lily whispered, her small voice cutting through the drumming rain. ""Did I do something bad? Did I break something?""
Tears burned my eyes, but they were no longer tears of fear. They were tears of pure, unadulterated fury.
""You did nothing wrong, my sweet angel,"" I whispered, rocking her gently in the dark. ""You are the most precious thing in this world. Grandpa and Grandma are sick people. Very, very sick people. And you never have to see them again.""
We sat in the dark for what felt like hours, listening to the creaking foundation and the water raging below our feet. Then, faint at first, the rhythmic thump of helicopter rotors vibrated through the roof.
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Moments later, the blinding beam of a searchlight swept across the roof vents. A loud megaphone shattered the darkness: ""Is anyone inside 414 Sycamore? Signal if you can hear us!""
I grabbed a loose piece of 2x4 lumber from the rafters and banged on the roof joists with all my remaining strength. ""We're here! In the attic! There’s a child in here!""
