Empty by Suzanne Weyn Page B

as he could, emptied his waders into the kitchen pot. “Sorry, Mrs. Hernandez,” he apologized.
    â€œWhatever. Forget it. How’s your mother?”
    â€œNot so great this morning. She’s trying to bail out our basement, which is completely flooded.”
    Mrs. Hernandez raised a skeptical eyebrow. “And you’re not helping her?”
    â€œShe sent me out to see if I could buy a dehumidifier.”
    â€œWhat’s she going to run it on…love?” Carlos’s mother asked.
    â€œShe figures the power will come back on once the lines are repaired. We had power before the storm.”
    â€œI hope she’s right, but it’s not going to happen anytime soon, I can tell you that. Besides, nothing’s open anywhere today. Tell her to come on over here. I have a little pancake mix left and some butter and syrup. I can cook us up some breakfast on Carlos’s camping stove.”
    Maritza sat up on the couch looking alarmed. “That’s all the food you have in the house?”
    â€œDon’t give me that look,” her mother cautioned. “Have you been in the supermarkets lately? There’s nothing on the shelves. The truckers are rationing their trips because of the gas. I stood in line for two hours just to get what I have in the house now—and it cost three times the usual price.”
    â€œI’m just saying…what are we going to do?” Maritza replied. “We can’t eat pancakes forever.”
    â€œMy mom has some stuff still in the fridge,” Tom volunteered. “I think she wants to eat what’s there before it all goes bad. If you run short, come over to us.”
    â€œThat’s sweet of you, Tom,” Mrs. Hernandez said.
    Carlos’s father came into the room holding a hand pump. “The dinghy is blown up if we need to get out of here,” he announced.
    â€œJoe, could you take Carlos and Tom back over to Tom’s house? Karen needs help bailing out her basement.”
    â€œSure. Get some buckets, guys,” Joe Hernandez replied. “Let’s go.”
    After collecting buckets from a closet, Tom followed Carlos and his father back to the kitchen. Gazing out the window, he saw a yellow blow-up boat, large enough for four, bobbing in the three feet or so of muddy water below. The small craft was tied to the doorknob of the back door. “Out the window, boys,” Carlos’s father instructed. “Stay low in the dinghy. You don’t want to tip and land in that muddy water. Who knows what’s in there?”
    Carlos went out first and Tom followed him down. Mr. Hernandez handed down the buckets and some oars before climbing down also. “Thanks for doing this,” Tom told Carlos and his father. “Mom is going to really appreciate the help.”
    â€œNo problem, Tom. That’s what neighbors do. They help each other when times get tough,” Joe Hernandez said, untying and pushing off from the house.
    Every bump and small wave rocked the rubber vessel as Carlos’s father rowed it around the side of the house and down the driveway. When they were out on the street, Tom realized immediately that the rush of water had increased by a lot. Joe Hernandez was pulling hard on the oars just to keep the small boat from being caught up and carried away in the current.
    All around them, their neighbors were standing at their open windows calling out for help.
    â€œMy grandmother’s stuck in our flooded basement. Help me carry her. Please!”
    â€œWe’re out of food!”
    â€œI’ve run out of my heart pills. I could die without them.”
    A golden retriever that Tom didn’t recognize was being carried past the boat by the rushing torrent. The dog tried with futile movements to paddle away, but he was no match for the racing floodwaters. On instinct, Tom reached out and clutched the big dog’s long, reddish fur. The boat rocked precariously as he