Chapter 10 Raine
Raine
The ground trembled before we heard it.
A deep, low groan, like the earth itself was warning us.
“Levee’s going!” someone shouted.
Then it happened—wood, rock, and steel snapping all at once, a roar louder than any storm. The river burst through Echo’s wall in a tidal wave of black water and debris, swallowing everything in its path.
“Move!” I sprinted forward, boots slipping in mud, lungs burning. A farmhouse stood just ahead, water smashing against its side. People screamed from the upstairs window, frantic arms waving.
“Raine—wait!” Adam’s voice thundered behind me.
I didn’t wait. Couldn’t. Time wasn’t a luxury.
I hit the porch as the house shuddered, yanked my rope free, and clipped fast. “I’ll go up!”
Strong hands clamped on my harness, yanking me back hard enough to spin me around. Adam. His face was a storm—jaw tight, eyes blazing.
“You’re not going in there alone!”
“I don’t have a choice!” I shouted back, shoving at his chest. “They’ll drown!”
For a heartbeat, I thought he’d drag me away by force. Then his grip shifted, tightening instead of pulling.
“Fine,” he growled. “We go together.”
The current surged, slamming against the house. Adam clipped onto the same line, and we moved—two bodies, one tether. Boots crashed through the upstairs window. Inside, water poured up the staircase, devouring each step.
“Two kids!” a woman cried, shoving them forward.
Adam scooped the boy, I grabbed the girl, and we hauled them onto the roof. The structure moaned, tilting under the weight of the river.
“Now!” Adam barked into his comm.
A cable dropped, swaying in the wind. Boone’s voice came through, sharp and cocky: “Harness ready, princess. Try not to die.”
I clipped the girl in, shoving her toward the line. “Go!”
The house jolted again. A beam cracked, sending shards spraying past my face. Adam shielded the boy with his body, taking the brunt of the hit.
“Adam!” I reached for him, panic slamming into my chest.
He shoved the boy into my arms, voice steady even as blood streaked his temple. “Get them out.”
“I’m not leaving you—”
“Raine!” His eyes locked on mine, fierce, unyielding. “Do it.”
I clipped the boy to the cable with shaking hands, signaled the lift, and watched them both disappear into the floodlit night.
The house groaned again, walls bowing inward. We had seconds—maybe less.
And Adam was still standing there, rope taut, refusing to move.
“Together,” I whispered, grabbing his vest. “I said we go together.”
His hand closed over mine, strong and certain, even as the roof gave way beneath our boots.
The roof split under us with a scream of nails tearing loose. The farmhouse lurched sideways, water exploding through the windows in a violent rush. For one sickening heartbeat, I thought we were going under with it.
Adam’s grip tightened, iron around my hand. “Jump—now!”
We launched off the collapsing roof together, the rope snapping taut and wrenching us upward. My body slammed into his, his arms locking me tight against his chest as the house disappeared into the river below. The noise was deafening—crashing timber, roaring water, the shrieks of metal torn apart.
For a moment, we spun wildly, dangling over the chaos. My breath caught, my heart slamming into my ribs. Then Adam’s voice was at my ear, raw and steady all at once.
“I’ve got you.”
The words seared into me, grounding me in the madness. I clung to him, fingers fisting in his vest, refusing to let go.
The cable jerked again, hauling us higher. The flood raged beneath, swallowing the last of the house, but we were clear. Alive. Together.
We hit the landing zone hard, knees buckling as boots struck wet asphalt. Russ and Boone rushed in, unclipping us from the line. The rescued kids were already being carried to the medics, their mother sobbing as she held them both.
But all I could feel was Adam’s hand still gripping mine, knuckles white, as if letting go meant losing more than just the rope.
“Raine,” he said, voice rough.
I turned, ready to snap, ready to put the wall back up—but the look in his eyes stopped me cold. Not just anger. Not just fear. Something deeper. Something that made my chest ache.
Then he blinked, the shutters slamming back into place, and his hand dropped from mine.
“Check on the family,” he said, already turning away. “We’ve got more sectors to clear.”
And just like that, the moment was gone.
But the echo of his words—I’ve got you—stayed, burning in my chest long after the floodwaters swallowed the farmhouse whole.