Eli watched the work for a moment, then realized with sudden clarity that he had forgotten the one reason he had come to the property at all.
"Rascal," he said.
Ronan looked toward him. "What?"
"My dog. He's tied near the fence. I left him there."
For a moment Ronan stared. Then, to Eli's astonishment, he let out a low laugh. It was not a laugh at the boy's expense. It sounded more like a man discovering that the world had decided to restore a little ordinary absurdity to a night that had offered too much fear.
"Of course he is," Ronan said. "Come on."
They went down the slope together, keeping close to the tree line where the wind was weaker. The ground was slick, and Eli stumbled twice before Ronan moved to his side and offered an arm. He accepted it the second time. It was easier to be brave when the choice involved a strange room than when it involved admitting he needed help walking through the mud. He was beginning to understand how ridiculous that was.
Rascal was exactly where Eli had left him.
The dog was pressed close to the fence post beneath a shallow overhang, ears flattened, every visible inch of him wet. He lifted his head when Eli approached and gave one indignant bark that seemed to summarize the entire evening from his perspective. Eli crouched, untied the leash, and put both arms around the dog. Rascal leaned his full weight against the boy and shuddered with relief.
"I'm sorry," Eli whispered into the wet fur. "I'm sorry. I know."
He had spent the evening convincing himself that he was calm because he could think clearly. Now, kneeling in the mud with Rascal alive against him, he discovered that calm had simply delayed all the feelings waiting beneath it. His eyes burned. His throat tightened. He buried his face against the dog's neck and breathed in the familiar, terrible smell of wet fur, dirt, and whatever unfortunate thing Rascal had rolled in earlier that afternoon.
Ronan stood nearby without speaking.
Eli was grateful for that silence. He had no words that would make sense of the last few hours, and anything comforting would probably have broken him completely. He simply held Rascal until he could breathe normally again. The dog, who had no understanding of heroism or evacuation procedures, accepted the embrace as his due and began wagging his tail.
"You came up here for him," Ronan said at last.
"He's a lot of trouble."
"Most important things are."
Eli looked up. Rain ran from Ronan's collar, and the older man's face appeared tired for the first time. He was not looking at the clubhouse now. He was looking at a boy who had gotten his dog back. Somehow that made the moment feel more important than the rescue of an entire building, though Eli knew the thought made no logical sense.
They began climbing toward the others. Halfway up the slope, red emergency lights appeared at the bottom of the gravel road. A fire engine was making its way through the flooded section in low gear, followed by a county sheriff's vehicle and an ambulance. The vehicles moved slowly, their lights reflecting off branches and the rain-slick road.