Rain. Dreary, dreadful rain from a grey sky. For six straight days it had rained, with only a single twelve hour reprieve where the incessant downpour paused. On the seventh day, Davey King was again traveling to work, taking alternate routes to avoid flooded and closed roads. He regrettably passed stranded motorists as their cars choked and sputtered to a halt in waters they had hoped to have been shallow enough to traverse. To stop and render aid would have thrown Davey late to work, an offense unpardonable in the fire service, which places great importance on the ability to depend on their employees at all times to do what is expected without question. Besides, there would be plenty of good intent, service calls ahead of him as his crew would undoubtedly go from one intersection to the next, pushing out cars and helping people to dry ground in the more capable fire truck.Some twenty years ago, the Mantooth River was diverted temporarily to allow the construction of a concrete canal, which now portaged its water through town again to prevent disasterous floods of inner city buildings. An ill constructed bridge spanned what seemed two social continents: an affluent culture, seemingly white in nature, and a community saturated in black roots. The canal at that point had been narrowed from its average one hundred foot width down to a tight fifty feet. For the volume of water to pass through this squeezing action, the engineers calculated a gradual slope to deepen the area under the bridge to accomodate the flow. Unfortunately, shoddy construction, underestimated velocity and pressure of river currents, and unpassed legislation to instill renovation and upkeep left the bridge ill-equipped to the onslaught of this monsoon. Its concrete members lost their grip at the bridge mean point, collapsing the bridge in a "V-shape" pattern. Orange barrels demarked the entrances of the area as condemned and uncrossable, forcing patrons to take a twelve mile detour to the north to cross to their destination. This fateful day, a yellow passenger bus represented a new era of unity. Young, determined students from both sides of the canal were picked up and transported to a private school where they were identified by only the common red vest uniforms they wore, instead of their natural born skin color. The bus traveled south on Canal Road to its destination, propelled by cheerful, laughing voices in song through the driving rain. On one of the guard-railed corners, the bus driver frightfully noticed that not only was the guard rail missing, the entire road had sloughed away down the hill in a giant mudslide leaving a massive hole. The bus disappeared into the hole in an instant, listing onto its port side, and landing in an eddy near the bank, out of the vicious current of the muddy, debris-laden river, a mere two hundred yards upriver of the treacherous bridge.Davey King arrived on scene five minutes later with his brother firefighters. Davey was an accomplished athlete, and was proficient at several strokes in the lap pool, but the thought of water rescue scared him. For one thing, he could see the bottom of the clear, safe pool, but deep, swift, and muddy water had always brought great fear. He knew the power of moving water deserved the utmost respect in dealing with just himself alone in the current. Throw in a panicked victim to rescue and you just painted Davey's worst nightmare. Reports were given on scene that all the passengers in the bus had managed to crawl out to safety, except one young black boy, not yet learned on mastering the skills of swimming. He had drifted into the massive current, thrashing helplessly to stay afloat. The bus driver who had been in control of the safe exit of the other students had witnessed the feeble cries for help and instantly, without hesitation, dove into the murky, churning waters in a dead sprint, crawl stroke after him. He caught up to him just as they were both slammed into a huge pile of debris lodged against the second from the middle pier on the condemned bridge. Somehow they managed to find a grip and a breath as they clung to the pile, unable to do anything but hold on as the water level slowly rose around them."KIng, you're our best swimmer. You'll be the entrant for rescue," the captain pointed out to Davey. As he laid out the other intricate parts of a rope rescue operation to the remaining crew members, Davey's skin flushed in fear."Oh, God," he prayed. "My hands are shaking on this one. I know you have made me to be a fireman and help people, but I am asking you to help me on this one and take this fear away so I can be strong and calm."Do you want to make a difference in this world? the voice answered aloud in Davey's head."Yes, Lord," Davey tried to bargain, "but can't You take the fear away?"I could, but this is how it has to be. You must take courage, even in the face of fear, for I will be with you. Trust me always to complete the work I started in you. Now, go.Davey closed his eyes, swallowed hard, and opened his eyes with a glare of determination that could have scared even the toughest opponent. He leaned back in his rescue harness, trusting the rope system in place. His life jacket and helmet appeared of little consequence in his mind, just standard procedures on this operation, for to be off of his tag line, there would be no survival, with or without the protective gear. As he was lowered from the groaning, unstable bridge, the noise became almost deafening. Spinning in mid-air he could see through the pelting rain the cause: a tumultous froth was being created as the entire river contents tried to squeeze under the bridge. The gap between the water level and the girders was slowly shallowing due to the rising water level and the build up of debris. The sound stole Davey's breath, for he knew no one could survive the horrible web of tree limbs, boards, and trash that were held just under the surface. "Take the boy," the bus driver yelled over the roar. "Leave me and take the boy.""No," Davey took control. "This rope is rated at 9,000 pounds and is backed up for safety. We can get you both, now let's harness up. This debris pile is breaking up and the water is rising. We've got to go now."Suddenly a log shifted, sending Davey in a slow fall backwards. Somehow the kid appeared in his arms as he fell. He reached out for the bus driver with his right arm and found a solid grip on his forearm, but the combined weight was too much for the bus driver to overcome. They fell from their perch as one, stretching the rope under the strain, and found themselves in the water. As the rope tightened, their mass sent them down deep below the surface with the water finding a way to go above them as it does over boulders on rapid mountain rivers. They were drowning and they had very little time to live. The firefighters on the top side strained at the heavy load, making great attempts to raise them from certain death. It was like trying to haul in a big fish, fighting and straining, when all of a sudden the line went slack, sending three firemen stumbling on their heels into a heap. Some heavy debris had sliced their life lines, sending them under the bridge, into the frothy web of death. For an instant, all three of them were held under the surface, tangled with a snarl of tree limbs and debris the bridge had collected. Davey could feel the force of the river pressing the air out of his chest. Unknowingly, he still clung with all his might to the boy and his bus driver. This would be their watery grave. Not yet. These are mine.The Voice rang in Davey's ears and startled him. Suddenly a force moved them as a whole, the tangle of debris giving way. They moved with the current downstream and somehow found the surface. A rope appeared in front of them on the water and the bus driver grabbed it. The three skidded across the surface of the river in a giant arc as firefighters played them to the shore and to safety. 