I pulled you closer to where I was by holding on to your dress. In the dark, in the water, it was hard to make out anything but the white parts of your eyes. You were blinking rapidly and that’s how I found you without having to say anything out loud; both of us were too frantic to speak anyway. Up on the porch above another gunshot exploded out in the flood night, so close to where we were underneath him that my skull rang like a bell, felt like it would burst. It wouldn’t end until he’d killed all of us. Me and you huddled in the rising water under the porch as the storm covered up the sound of our father’s shotgun. Crouching down, the water was up to our shoulders now. I kissed you on your damp cheek and tasted soil and garbage from the flood water tearing up our street.