Flood Warning

Timberline High School’s principal, Amos Wamba, ignored news media and weathermen’s warnings of a severe storm and predicted dangerous flooding. His decision placed thirty-four hundred students in danger, but Wamba had personal reasons for not closing his school.

Amos Wamba was not bothered that he was disliked in the community and felt that everyone was ‘out to get him’. He sensed the school superintendent’s personal growing hostility. Wamba smiled at the man’s predicament; after all, the superintendent was the man that had hired him for the principal’s position. Wamba feared more the wrath of his belligerent wife and his failed home life.

Wamba’s failure to close school has disastrous results when a bus with 24 students is swept into the flooded and raging waters of Marsden Creek.

The only hope for the students’ survival is the bus driver, Claude Fisher, a World War Two veteran with a bad heart. Fisher has been warned by the school’s medical examiner that this is the last year he will be allowed to drive. In all his 27 years of driving he has never had a serious accident.

As the bus is being swept into the raging and powerful currents, Fisher frantically worries how he will be able to save his boys and girls. As he wades through muddy and knee-deep icy water filling his bus, his world suddenly turns dark.

Chapter 1

Ninety miles off the west coast of Washington State a cargo ship labored in seas with 45-foot waves. A helmsman stood with feet braced as green water swept the deck of the 840-foot vessel. He held tight to the steering wheel as the ship bucked and rolled fighting nature’s powerful forces. The captain stood close viewing all that was happening. He continued to monitor mountainous waves crashing over the bow and said, Maintain course at slow speed.

The first mate replied, Yes Sir. I think this storm is growing worse by the hour!

The seasoned captain said, My thoughts exactly! This storm has the potential to sweep clear across North America!

The helmsman twisted the ship’s wheel to meet a wall of water that filled the horizon.

When he was able to speak he said, With respect, Captain, my concern is right here!

The remark brought a chuckle from the ship’s senior officer.

The captain reached for the microphone of the ship’s powerful radio. The helmsman heard the captain speaking with a land-base NOAA weather station.

After giving the ship’s position the captain said, Barometric reading twenty-seven point four and falling. North west wind speed constant at forty-five; gusts fifty-five.

The weatherman’s voice came over an open speaker.

Roger, Golden Queen. We have been receiving reports for the past hour from other ships in your area. You must be having a rough ride!

The captain said, Green water is always a challenge. Sea has forty to fifty foot waves.

The meteorologist for National and Atmospheric Administration said, Thanks for the report, Captain. We will prepare a weather advisory immediately. Good luck.

The captain ended the call then switched to another radio channel to talk with a company officer for the ship line.

"Golden Queen reporting. Heavy seas and gale-force winds will delay our ETA.

Our estimated time of arrival at San Diego will be set back at least seven hours."

Message understood, Golden Queen. We received a distress signal earlier from a ship fifty miles south of your position.

Do we need to give aid?

Negative, Golden Queen. Another ship is on the scene.

Golden Queen signing off.

The helmsman chanced a look at the captain and saw worry on the officer’s face. He knew the massive storm would soon be a threat to North America and worried about his family in Houston.

Chapter 2

In an office of Wisconsin TV station WORL Patrick Torres pushed his chair closer to a bank of computer screens. His face showed the affects of working the past seven hours with only two short breaks.

Damn it, Harry, I still think this could be a big one!

Harry Bierstad turned in his chair to face Patrick Torres, Chief Meteorologist for TV station WORL. Harry took a moment to study his boss.

Torres was usually ready with a joke or filled the office with his infectious laughter, but now his face showed worry. Harry knew the girls in the office had a crush on Patrick. He had a handsome face and his Spanish heritage added extra intrigue. Standing slightly over six feet tall, with broad shoulders and a 34-inch waist, Patrick was a four-time winner of the county’s annual marathon. He pushed dark hair back that hung down over his forehead.

Harry leaned close as he looked over Patrick’s shoulder and said, Pat, you’ve been sweating over those barometric bars all day! They are coming from the west like usual. Okay, I agree there is an indication of strong winds later this evening but I don’t see all that much to worry about.

Pat Torres pointed to the Texas panhandle region on the screen.

See that low pressure building there, and look up at the Pacific Coast off Washington and Oregon. Heavy seas and winds of fifty plus are being reported there. Right here we have had heavy rain since yesterday. Streams are nearly full.

Harry had earned his AMS diploma eight months ago but he could not see Patrick’s need for concern.

Harry laughed and said, Boss, east is east and west is west and never the twain shall meet! There are two thousand miles separating those three fronts! Do you really think they could all come together?

I think there is a strong possibility. We could get a real gully-washer——and more!

In school these types of situations occur maybe once every hundred years.

Pat turned tired eyes to his doubting assistant and said, Well, Harry, maybe the calendar just turned one hundred.

Estelle Jordan knocked lightly and entered a door marked ‘Amos Wamba, Principal’.

A man with a crew cut looked up through his heavy rimmed glasses. The woman tried to conceal her shock at his orange tie and blue button-front sweater.

Yes, Miss Jordan?

Estelle always felt uncomfortable speaking with the high school’s administrator but then she knew her feelings were shared with most of the faculty.

Mister Wamba, Matt Hensel’s mother called. She said when she returned from getting groceries in town, Marsden Creek was near flood stage. She said it already has flooded several farmers’ fields.

Wamba stopped writing and held a ballpoint pen above the paper he had been writing on.

"So?’

The tenth grade teacher took a breath and said, WORL predicts heavy rain again for tonight. Nancy Hensel is not one to be easily alarmed but she said the creek has only flooded twice in fifteen years. They were times of hurricanes.

Wamba said, What exactly is your point, Miss Jordan?

Estelle straightened her shoulders and said, Many of our students live in the valley. If we continue to get heavy rain I wondered if we should consider implementing our emergency policy?

Wamba’s eyes flared behind his heavy lenses and sounded in anger.

Are you suggesting we start a few hours later tomorrow or what? Nancy Hensel is a worry-wart.

Estelle felt her face heating.

Doctor Sinclair outlined his procedure for emergencies. He suggested school should be closed if there is danger to students.

Wamba rose from his high-backed leather chair and pointed a ballpoint pen at her. His face had turned the color of the artificial rose on his desk.

School superintendents don’t face the wrath of parents when their little prince and princess get low SAT scores and colleges refuse to accept them! A student needs every day in a classroom! The state’s curriculum is faulty enough without more absentee days.

Then we will not have classes if—.

If Noah’s ark docks on the parking lot! You teachers look for every excuse for a day off! I have to work a full week every week—summer included! So unless the street out front is a raging river, we will have regular classes tomorrow.

Estelle nodded and left the office happy to be free of the man she felt unfit for the care of a school with an enrollment of more than three thousand students.

She paused at a window to view the dark and swirling clouds on the western horizon as rain continued to beat against the panes.

* * * *

Claude Fisher walked the aisle of his 74-passenger Blue Bird school bus making a final inspection before starting his evening tour. He reached down and picked up a discarded jacket. Fisher opened the coat looking for an owner’s name.

Not finding a name he shook his head and read the label.

Columbia. Some parent worked a day to buy this and the child leaves it on the floor of a bus.

He continued to shake his head as he carried the coat to the front of the bus and hung it on back of the driver’s seat. Claude Fisher sat down heavily into his seat puffing for breath. He knew this would be his last year working for the school board. His blood pressure tested borderline. Doctor Gray had been reluctant to sign his medical release to work. Claude had long been Gray’s patient and he finally agreed to Claude’s driving, but for only one more year. Claude agreed also to submit to tests every 90 days.

He sat in the driver’s seat thinking of the twenty-seven years he had driven a school bus. The number of students who had ridden his bus was long lost in office records but he still remembered almost every one. He could not always remember a boy or girl by name but he knew them by many ways, such as where they sat, or how they greeted him when they boarded his bus. Some invited him to their wedding. One girl was a doctor in Africa and one boy was a preacher in a local Baptist Church. Two boys went to fight a war in some distant place and never returned. He had personally seen enough white crosses in the fields and forests of Europe. Claude quickly tried to push those times from his memory.

He took some ribbing at the bus garage for checking his vehicle before each trip. The shop mechanics were conscientious about their work; still Claude continued to check before each trip.

He smiled looking into the over-sized tinted rearview mirror and said, Some get rowdy, a few say nasty things, but in time it all passes, and they are my kids to watch over. I’ve never had more than a fender-bender and that was when I skidded on ice. Still no one was hurt.

Claude wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and started the powerful Cummins diesel engine, then closed the door. It was time to pick up his assigned students for the trip home.

Claude Fisher’s yellow bus was parked in a long line of buses on the high school’s parking lot. Rain reflected on the blacktop making it look like a black lake. Claude heard the final school bell ringing and students began filtering out from several doors. Students moved quickly to avoid the pouring rain. He watched lines of boys and girls divide heading for their assigned bus. Claude opened the bus’s front panel door and counted each passenger as they entered shaking water on the floor. His eyes followed each student with parental concern until he or she was seated. James Makuski carried Pamela Carroll’s books until she was seated at