The rain had been falling long enough that the street no longer looked like a street. It had become a moving thing—dark, fast, impatient—climbing higher with every minute. Evan felt it pushing against his knees as he leaned his weight into the scrap cart, metal rattling beneath his hands.

Inside the cart, fourteen dogs pressed together.

They were soaked, shaking, eyes wide and shining. Some stood rigid, others crouched low, paws braced against the thin metal sides as the water surged around them. Their smell—wet fur, fear, and something faintly metallic—mixed with the sharp scent of oil from Evan’s grease-stained shirt.

“Easy,” he muttered through clenched teeth. “Easy, boys. Stay with me.”

Rain lashed his face, blurring his vision, stinging his eyes. He blinked hard, pushing forward as the water climbed to his thighs. The current tugged at the wheels, pulling sideways, trying to turn the cart into just another piece of debris.

Windows lined the street above him. Faces pressed behind glass. Phones held up, filming from dry rooms, safe rooms. Evan didn’t look at them. He couldn’t afford to.

One of the dogs—a small terrier with matted white fur—let out a soft whine and shifted closer to the rail. Evan felt it before he saw it: a paw slipping through the bars, tiny toes brushing his wrist.

“I know,” he said quietly, voice thick with effort. “I know. You’re safe. Just hold on.”

The terrier’s paw hooked the edge of the cart, claws scraping metal. Another dog leaned into him from behind, their combined weight rocking the cart as a wave surged past. Evan tightened his grip, arms burning, shoulders screaming under the strain.

The water pulled harder now.

It wasn’t a gentle rise anymore. It dragged, grabbed, tested every step. Evan planted his boots and shoved forward inch by inch, breath coming ragged, uneven. His shirt clung to his skin, heavy and cold, rainwater and floodwater indistinguishable now.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he said, more to himself than to them. “I’ve got you all.”

The cart creaked, metal groaning in protest. One wheel dipped into a hidden pothole, and the dogs lurched as one, bodies pressing together, nails scraping in panic. A low chorus of whines rose, thin and desperate.

Evan stopped moving.

He leaned over the cart, forearms braced against the rail, rain pouring off his hair and down his face. “Shh,” he said, urgently but soft. “Shh. Look at me.”

They couldn’t understand his words. But they understood his presence. One by one, the sounds softened. The terrier’s paw tightened around the rail. A larger dog pressed its head against another’s side, eyes locked on Evan’s face.

“Good,” he breathed. “That’s it.”

He adjusted his stance, muscles trembling, then shoved again. The wheel popped free with a jolt that nearly knocked him off balance. Water surged into the space it left behind, slapping against the dogs’ bellies. Evan grunted, teeth bared, and leaned harder into the cart.

“Hold on,” he muttered. “Just a little more.”

His breath matched theirs now—short, fast, desperate. In. Out. In. Out. He could hear them breathing over the rain, feel it in the way their bodies shifted with every push. Fourteen heartbeats trusting him not to let go.

The terrier whimpered again, softer this time, and Evan reached out without thinking, brushing the wet fur with his thumb. “I’ve got you,” he said. “I swear.”

The water climbed higher, tugging at his waist, cold and relentless. Each step felt like lifting his legs through cement. The cart rattled, threatening to tip, and Evan adjusted, angling it just enough to keep the dogs centered.

He didn’t think about what would happen if he fell.

He couldn’t.

Another wave surged, stronger than the rest, slamming into his side. Evan stumbled, knees buckling, hands slipping on the wet metal. The cart lurched forward dangerously, and a sharp bark cut through the rain.

“No,” Evan gasped, catching himself at the last second. He wrapped his arms around the cart’s edge, chest pressed to the cold rail, holding it steady while the water rushed past.

“Not today,” he said through shaking breaths. “Not you.”

The dogs huddled closer, bodies tight, fear pressed into every line of them. One licked his hand. Another pressed its nose against his arm, warm even through the rain.

Evan pushed again.

Slowly, painfully, the ground beneath his feet changed. The pull of the water weakened just a fraction. The cart rolled more smoothly. Evan sucked in a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

“That’s it,” he whispered. “That’s it.”

He didn’t cheer. Didn’t smile. He just kept moving, one step at a time, until the water dropped from his waist to his thighs, then to his knees. The rain kept falling, but the current loosened its grip.

At last, he reached higher ground.

Evan stopped and leaned against the cart, head dropping forward, rain dripping from his hair onto the metal bars. His arms shook uncontrollably now, exhaustion crashing in all at once.

Inside the cart, the dogs were still. Not frozen—just quiet. Watching him. Breathing.

The terrier’s paw slid back inside, curling against its chest. Another dog let out a long, shaky sigh, the sound rippling through the others like permission.

“You’re safe,” Evan said hoarsely. “All of you.”

He stayed there for a moment longer, catching his breath, letting the storm rage around them while the danger ebbed. Somewhere behind him, voices called out. Footsteps approached. Help, finally, arriving.

But for this moment, it was just him and the dogs and the rain easing its hold.

Evan straightened slowly and rested his hand on the cart’s edge. Fourteen noses pressed closer, fourteeen bodies leaning into the space he occupied.

“I’ve got you,” he said again—quieter now, steadier.

And for the first time since the water began to rise, it felt true in a way nothing else had.