An empty shopping cart sat alone in the parking lot. A few more, loaded with bundles, were pushed behind a concrete pillar. A blue tarp lay nearby.

There didn’t appear to be anyone around.

No sandbagging here. There wasn’t as much at stake. The firehouse at the river’s edge had been evacuated hours before. The water would continue to rise, to flood east-side streets and warehouses, but the potential property damage was nothing compared to what it was on the west side.

The water under their feet seeped east, away from the river. It wasn’t deep—only a few centimeters—but it was definitely traveling. Whether it was the river’s current or just the wind, Archie couldn’t say.

“There,” Heil said, and Archie turned in time to see a flash of light, like someone flicking a lighter on and then extinguishing it. It had come from a crevice where the elevated northbound lanes of I-5 met a concrete incline. They headed for it, passing eight blue plastic portable toilets that stood back-to-back, four on each side, one twisted slightly out of alignment.

Sound echoed down there, bouncing off the concrete that surrounded them, only to be almost simultaneously muted by the layer of water beneath their feet.

Archie was ahead when they heard the snarl coming from the dark crevice of the underpass. He froze and swung his flashlight just in time to see the brown shape barreling at him. The dog was all muscle, its gums peeled back around vibrating teeth.

“Pit bull,” he heard Heil say in a low, urgent voice.

No shit, thought Archie.

The dog had stopped two feet in front of him, head level, eyes trained on Archie. He could feel its growl in the center of his spine.

Archie found a spot forty-five degrees to the left and looked at it, keeping the dog in his peripheral vision, avoiding direct eye contact.

Just don’t move, he told himself.

The dog inched forward. Archie could feel all the hair on his arms stand up.

“Do you want me to shoot it?” Heil asked from somewhere behind him.

Dogs had short attention spans. As long as Archie didn’t give it a reason to attack, the dog would get bored and move on.

Archie tried to keep his tone low and calm and casual. “If it attacks me, then yes,” he said, his voice almost singsong. Everything’s fine! No worries here!

“I don’t think I can hit it if it’s moving.” Heil paused. “I mean, not without hitting you.”

Great.

The dog growled and sniffed at the knees of Archie’s pants. Archie could smell it, wet dog, like his wool sweater. Archie closed his eyes and waited.

“Gigi,” a voice said.

Archie opened his eyes and looked back at the dog, ninety pounds of snarling, rippling killing machine.

Gigi?