The Last Train Through the Flood

Rain fell hard on the city all evening. Ayla stood at the door of her uncle's shop. She watched the street.

The water was already high. It covered the road and the bus stop. A yellow taxi sat in the street. The driver tried to start it. The engine was dead.

A woman got out of the back seat. She held a bag over her head. Water came up to her knees.

"Hello!" Ayla called. "Come in here!"

The woman waded to the shop. Her coat was wet and her face was white. Her name was Selma.

"Thank you," Selma said. "My train leaves at eleven. My sister is very sick. I must go tonight."

"The station is far," Ayla said. "And the roads are all under water."

The taxi driver came in too. His name was Tomasz. He shook his hat and looked at the clock.

"It is ten fifteen," he said. "I am sorry. My car is dead."

Ayla thought for a moment. She knew every part of the old city. She often rode her bike here, even at night.

"I know a dry way," she said. "It is long, but it is safe."

"Please show me," Selma said.

Reza, Ayla's uncle, looked up from the counter. He gave Selma a big torch. "Take this," he said. "The lights are out on the next street."

"Thank you," Selma said. She did not stop to talk.

Ayla led them out the back door. They climbed the stairs to the market arcade. It was a long roof over a row of shops. The floor was dry, but the arcade was dark.

"Follow my light," Ayla said.

They walked past closed doors and empty tables. Rain hit the glass roof above them. Tomasz came behind with Selma's bag.

At the end of the arcade was a locked gate. Selma stopped and looked at Ayla.

"Wait," Ayla said. She took a key from her pocket. "My uncle has the key. He gave it to me this morning."

She opened the gate. They went down a ramp into a car park. Water covered the bottom floor. But the ramp up to the top floor was dry.

"We go up," Ayla said.

They ran up two floors. At the top, the wind blew hard. They could see the whole city. Many streets shone like rivers under the lights.

"Look," Tomasz said. He pointed far away. "That is the station."

A walkway led from the car park to a building. Ayla crossed it first. The metal floor rang under her shoes.

"It is ten forty," Selma said. Her voice was thin.

"We are near," Ayla said. "Only one more street."

The last street was the worst. Water ran across it, fast and brown. But a line of tall steps went along the wall. Ayla held the rail and walked on the steps. Selma and Tomasz followed.

At the end, the station doors stood open. The big clock on the wall said ten fifty-six.

"Platform three!" a man shouted.

Selma ran. Tomasz ran behind her with the bag. Ayla ran too, with the torch in her hand.

The train was there. A guard held up a small flag. Selma jumped onto the step. Tomasz gave her the bag.

"Thank you so much!" she cried.

The guard blew his whistle. The doors closed. The train moved slowly into the dark.

Tomasz and Ayla stood on the platform. Water dripped from their coats.

"Now," Tomasz said, "how do we get home?"

Ayla looked at the torch and smiled. "I know another dry way," she said.