Chapter 8 - The Sinking Cabin
A chunk of the asphalt roadway sheared off, crashing into the water just inches behind Leo's legs. The sudden displacement of mud sent the sedan rolling sideways, tilting at a sharp thirty-degree angle.
The woman screamed as her seatbelt locked tight, pinning her against the buckled dashboard. Water poured through the broken rear window, rising instantly to her chest.
""I can't move!"" she sobbed, spitting water. ""The belt is jammed!""
Leo shoved his upper body through the rear opening. His jacket was soaked through now; the kittens inside were crying hysterically, huddled against his collarbone to escape the rising tide.
""Copper, keep clear!"" Leo yelled without looking back.
He squeezed between the two front bucket seats, his fingers frantically feeling along the woman’s left hip for the seatbelt buckle. Muddy water was filling the footwells, lapping at her chin. The car was leaning further into the deep concrete throat of the culvert. If it slipped another foot, it would be fully submerged inside the pipe.
His fingers found the release latch, pressing down hard. Nothing happened. The mechanism was twisted, mangled by the force of the collision.
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""I don't have a knife,"" Leo muttered, panic rising in his chest.
From the open window behind him, a wet, brown head thrust through. Copper had slipped the old man's grasp. The dog squeezed into the rear seat, water dripping from his red bandana. In his jaws, he held the old man’s rusted garden shears, clutched firmly by the handle—dragged down from the porch steps.
