The water was rising faster than I’d ever seen. Streets that once had curbs were now murky rivers, swallowing cars and creeping up toward rooftops. People were wading through waist-deep water, holding onto anything that could float.
I was on my uncle’s fishing boat, helping pull people from the flood, when I spotted him—a soldier, fully dressed in his camo uniform, trudging through the water with a woman clinging to his shoulder. In his other arm, he cradled a tiny baby wrapped in a soaked pink blanket.
The mother looked terrified, her face streaked with rain and tears. The baby wasn’t crying, just staring up at the gray sky, barely moving.
“Over here!” I shouted, steering the boat toward them.
The soldier didn’t hesitate—he pushed forward, the water nearly at his chest, until he reached the boat’s edge. My cousin reached out, grabbing the baby first, wrapping her in a dry jacket. The mother scrambled in next, shaking from the cold.
The soldier took one last step, then collapsed into the boat, exhausted. I could hear his breathing—deep, heavy, like he’d just run miles. He didn’t say a word. He just looked at the mother, then at the baby, and let out a breath of relief.
I wanted to ask him his name, but before I could, he sat up straight and scanned the water.
“There’s more people,” he muttered. Then, just like that, he pushed himself up, ready to jump back into the flood.
I grabbed his arm. “You sure, man?”
He gave me a look—one I’ll never forget. Determined. Tired. But not stopping.
Then he was gone, wading back into the flood, searching for more lives to save.
I remember holding my breath, wondering if he’d come back. The engine of my uncle’s boat was sputtering from the debris-laden water, so I asked my uncle, Travis, to keep it running. We had to stay alert in case more people appeared. My cousin Rowan was trying to comfort the mother, who was trembling and repeatedly kissing her baby’s forehead.
“Is the baby okay?” I asked gently, leaning in.
“I… I think so,” the mother replied, her voice shaky. “She hasn’t cried once, and I don’t know if that’s good or bad.”
Rowan took off his sweatshirt and wrapped it around the woman’s shoulders. “We’ll get you all somewhere warm and dry,” he promised. “We’ve got a community shelter set up at the high school gym. They’ll have food, blankets, everything you need.”
Before we could reassure her any further, I heard voices in the distance. I grabbed the binoculars hanging around my neck, squinting through the sheets of rain. And there he was again—the soldier—this time guiding an older man in a wheelchair and two little kids clinging to his sides. A woman, possibly the kids’ mother, was struggling to push the wheelchair through the floodwaters. The soldier kept one hand on the wheelchair handle and another around the shoulders of one of the children, who looked about seven or eight.
“Swing us around, Uncle Travis!” I hollered. “He’s got more people!”
We maneuvered the boat as close as we could without risking the propeller. Water was creeping up to where the older man’s shoulders would have been if he weren’t hunched forward. Every few seconds, a chunk of floating trash bumped the side of the wheelchair, forcing the soldier to stop and clear the path. Despite the cold wind and the biting rain, he never let go.
Rowan and I hopped into the waist-deep water, carefully securing the wheelchair’s wheels so it wouldn’t tip. The soldier nodded in gratitude, stepping back so we could help lift the older man into the boat. The woman and the two kids climbed in next, teeth chattering as they huddled for warmth.
“You got room?” asked the soldier, turning to me.
I checked our capacity—Uncle Travis’s boat could seat about eight comfortably, and we were nearing that limit. But there was no question: we’d take anyone who needed help.
“Always,” I said. “Hop on.”
The soldier shook his head. “There’s a few more folks down this block. That big truck got stuck on the corner, and some people are sheltering in an upstairs apartment. Water’s getting high, though. They need a boat.”
I glanced around at the anxious faces. The old man, the mother with her baby, these kids—all of them needed to get to safety soon. The soldier was right. More people were out there, and they were running out of time.
“I’ll go with you,” I offered. “Rowan can help Uncle Travis get these folks to the shelter. Then come back for more.”
Uncle Travis gave me a careful look. “You sure?” he asked.
I nodded. My stomach fluttered, but I knew I had to do something. Just standing by while others risked their lives didn’t sit right with me. The soldier gave me a brief, grateful smile.
“Let’s do it,” he said.
Rowan and Uncle Travis took off toward the main road, the engine chugging through the flooded street. The soldier and I waded in the opposite direction, the water swirling around our hips. Every now and then, a surge of water from who-knows-where would push me sideways, but he grabbed my arm to keep me steady.
The current was stronger than I expected, even though this was a residential neighborhood full of houses, trees, and parked cars. In some places, the water was nearly level with the top of SUVs, and random debris floated by—a plastic doll, a soccer ball, even a computer keyboard.
“Name’s Brandt,” the soldier finally said, his voice low but clear. “U.S. Army.”
I introduced myself. “I’m Adrian. My uncle Travis and I came down from a drier area of town to help. Rowan—my cousin—he’s been my right-hand man. That was him in the boat.”
Brandt nodded. “Good to meet you, Adrian. Let’s hope we can save a few more lives.”
A rumble of thunder cut the conversation short. We kept walking, calling out to anyone stuck in their homes. Some shouted back from second-story windows, asking for updates. Were the shelters open? Did we have enough food, blankets, or baby supplies? The questions came so quickly, I could hardly keep track.
When we rounded the corner, we saw the truck Brandt had mentioned. It was a huge pickup, lodged crookedly on the curb with water halfway up the doors. A man was standing on the roof of the cab, waving frantically.
“There’s a family in the upstairs apartment!” he yelled. “They said the water’s coming in, and the baby’s only six months old!”
Brandt immediately set his jaw, scanning the building. There was an external staircase leading to the second floor, but the lower steps were already submerged. We splashed over, testing each step carefully until we reached the top landing. The apartment door was slightly ajar, and we could hear rushing water inside.
“Hello?” I called, pushing the door open.
Inside, the living room was flooded ankle-high with brown, debris-filled water. A single light flickered overhead. In the far corner, a woman stood clutching a bundle of blankets. An older teen—maybe her daughter—was by her side, trying to hold up a suitcase that looked heavy.
“Our phones died!” the younger girl said, voice trembling. “We didn’t know if rescue was coming.”
“We’re here now,” Brandt assured her. “Let’s get you out before it rises more.”
The mother nodded. “The baby’s… she’s only six months. I tried to keep her off the ground, but the water seeped in so fast.”
Brandt moved closer, checking the baby’s pulse and temperature with a quick, practiced touch. “She’s okay for now, but we gotta go,” he said gently. “Do you have anything essential you need to bring?”
The teen gestured to the suitcase. “This is all her medical stuff. She has breathing issues sometimes.”
Brandt lifted the suitcase, ignoring how the water sloshed up to his thighs. I took the mother’s hand, guiding her through the doorway. Outside, the rain whipped around, and the stairwell was slippery. We took each step slowly, and the man on top of the truck cabin reached out to steady the mother’s arm.
“You got ’em?” he asked Brandt and me, relief washing over his face when he saw the baby was safe.
“Yeah,” I said. “But we need a boat to get them to the shelter. The boat I was in is out delivering other folks right now.”
At that moment, as if on cue, I heard the sputter of an engine in the distance. I peered around the truck and saw my uncle’s fishing boat weaving back through the flooded street. Relief rushed through me.
“Uncle Travis!” I called, waving both arms. Rowan was at the front, scanning the water with a flashlight. They pulled up alongside the truck, and we helped the mother, the teen, and the baby onboard first. The man followed, nearly tripping on a submerged piece of driftwood. Brandt handed over the heavy suitcase, then turned to me.
“You coming?” asked Rowan, holding his hand out.
Brandt and I exchanged a quick look. We’d done a good sweep of the block, and the water was only getting deeper. My muscles ached, and my clothes felt like they weighed a thousand pounds. Still, I hesitated.
“Anyone else out there?” I asked quietly.
Brandt scanned the surroundings. The storm clouds were still thick, and we could barely see past the next block. We waited, listening. Only the sound of rain drumming on the boat and the hum of the engine filled the air.
“Think we’re good,” Brandt finally said. “We should get these folks to safety while we still can.”
I took one last glance around the flooded street, took Brandt’s hand, and climbed into the boat. The mother with the baby stared at Brandt with a mix of admiration and gratitude. She tried to say something—thanks, maybe—but her voice cracked, and all she could do was nod.
Back at the high school gym, volunteers swarmed us with blankets, water bottles, and first-aid kits. It was a whirlwind of activity: families reuniting, little kids crying from relief and hunger, and medical teams checking vital signs. Brandt helped carry the older man from earlier inside, refusing to rest even though I could tell he was beyond exhausted.
We finally found a corner of the gym to collapse in. I offered Brandt a bottle of water. He drank half of it in one gulp, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Didn’t expect my leave to turn out like this,” he murmured. “I was home visiting family for a week.” He let out a short laugh, but there was no real humor in it. “Guess you can’t schedule a hurricane.”
I managed a small smile, thinking about how none of us had planned on spending our days riding around in a fishing boat through flooded streets. Yet, there we were, trying to do what we could for our neighbors.
Later that evening, when the rain finally began to slow, I walked around the gym to see if anyone needed help. The baby in the pink blanket was now swaddled in fresh, dry clothes donated by a local charity. Her mother thanked me again, her eyes glistening with tears. The teen girl and her mother from the apartment were sharing a cup of hot soup, looking more at peace than I’d seen them all day.
Brandt stood near the entrance, gazing outside where trucks and boats were still bringing in more survivors. A few camera crews had arrived, capturing scenes of volunteers carrying boxes of supplies, hugging rescued families, and offering hope in every handshake.
As I approached, Brandt turned to me with a tired smile. “I’m glad we got them out,” he said. “You did good work, Adrian.”
It felt odd hearing praise from someone who’d done so much more than I had. “We all did,” I replied, nodding toward the volunteers, my uncle, my cousin, and everyone else who came out to help. “That’s what it’s about—every person doing what they can.”
Outside, the dawn light began to break through the clouds, turning the sky from a dull gray to a pale gold. The storm was still there, but it was weakening. And in its wake, I saw something I would never forget: an entire community standing together, neighbors helping neighbors, strangers becoming friends.
When we go through hardships—whether it’s a hurricane or another crisis—we discover our true strength in coming together. We might not be able to stop every storm, but we can choose how we respond. We can show up, lend a hand, and bring hope when it’s needed most. That’s what it means to be human: to stand by each other in the darkest moments, so we can share the light when it finally comes.
Seeing how many people came out to help during Hurricane Harvey reminded me that no matter how bad things get, kindness and courage can rise above any flood. We might be tired and soaked to the bone, but as long as our hearts are in it, we can weather any storm. Let the story of Brandt the soldier—and countless other men and women who gave their time, effort, and hearts—remind us all of the power of unity and compassion.
Thank you for reading. If this story touched you in any way, please share it with someone who could use a little hope. Don’t forget to like this post, so others can find inspiration in it too. We may not always control the storms that come our way, but when we stand together, we become the heroes we need.