“Folks within the path of Buckwater Dam are advised to find higher ground as our station has just been notified that a lightning strike has hit the dam’s control center.”
Daphne wiped her hands on her apron and reached for the volume button. The image cut to a field reporter standing beside a grim-faced engineer. “We are with Dr. Jacob Davies, one of the engineers who helped design Buckwater Dam back in the 1970s. Dr. Davies, based on your knowledge of the dam, what is the main concern here that our viewers should be aware of?”
“Well, the dam’s control station automatically opens the spillway gates to allow any excess water to release to keep pressure down behind the dam, but if the control station has been damaged, then that’s not happening.”
“But isn’t there a manual control for it if the power goes out?” the reporter followed up.
“And backup generators.” Mr. Davies nodded. “But those generators can’t handle the pressure coming in for too long.” He paused to look down at his phone, his frown deepening. “And I just got word fromthe manager of the dam that the access road to the dam is flooded. Emergency crews are having to goaroundthe mountain—forty-five minutes on a good day.”
Daphne’s face went cold. She turned to the window, but the rain was coming so fast and heavy, she couldn’t see past the glass.
“And why is that a concern?”
He shifted his gaze away, hesitating, and then looked back at the reporter. “I warned the town council a few months back of a hairline crack in one of the critical concrete abutments of the structure. With the amount of water pressure coming in and now a control station failure, I just don’t know...”
The reporter stared at the man a moment, coming to the same conclusion as Daphne. “Are you saying the dam could break?”
“There’s a real possibility,” Mr. Davies replied, his voice grim. “Especially with the circumstances being what they are.”
Daphne’s chest hollowed.What did that mean?
As if reading her mind, the reporter leaned in. “And what... what would that mean for our local viewers?”
Davies drew in a deep breath. “Buckwater isn’t a large dam, and it was well-placed when it was built, but... it means anyone along Gulf Hollow or Laurel’s Rest needs to get out now. Until the storm passes. Because—God forbid—if the dam breaks, the excess water won’t just rush down the mountain. It’ll fill existing bodies of water and cause additional flooding. So... the higher you are, the better.”
Daphne’s gaze shifted to the window. The Ashbourne River curled around one side of Wisteria. Penner’s Creek bordered the south. With waterways already swollen, how far could a break reach?
And who did she know in its path?
Her fingers flew across her phone, group-texting Jack, Nate, Granny D, Rosemary—anyone she could think of—urging them to pass it on.
“I only ate four more blueberries,” Lucy confessed solemnly from the counter.
The words pierced through Daphne’s spiraling panic like a warm light.
She turned, managing a smile. “Only four? I’d call that admirable restraint. Blueberries are my favorite too. And we certainly wouldn’t want any of them to go to waste.” She winked at the little girl, who promptly snagged another one with a delighted grin.
“I’m going to peek at the weather outside for a sec, okay, sugarplum?”
Lucy nodded, now rearranging the last two tarts like a fruit-focused architect.
Daphne slipped her phone into her pocket and cracked open the front door.
Wind whipped water into her face and bent nearby trees low. The row of shops on her side of town backed up to the park, which led into small neighborhoods and pastureland beyond. It wasn’t the lowest part of town—but even here large pools of water dotted the park, much bigger than anything she’d seen before.
Her eyes narrowed toward the road leading to the Laurel’s Rest neighborhood. A manmade pond bordered the entrance. It had breached its banks, spilling across the road. A passing car sent water splashing high onto its roof.
Oh Lord, protect us.
Main Street sat on a gradual knoll, with the north end higher than the south. Tea Thyme was closer to the lower half. Finn’s pub sat even lower still. The water rushing down the street likely fed straight into the river below, raising its already dangerous level.
How high was the Ashbourne now?
The TV’s volume spiked behind her, drawing her back inside.
“It seems that Tropical Storm Danielle has stalled over the region,” the announcer said, “dropping continued rainfall on already saturated ground. Flooding is imminent. Move to higher ground immediately.”
Daphne shut the door with trembling fingers and grabbed heriPad. “I think we should take these tarts up to my apartment,” she said, keeping her voice chipper as she reached for a tray. “Want to help?”
