Suddenly, a voice came from behind. David Sullivan instinctively pulled Brian Sullivan and his uncle from the same clan back, shouting, “Get back! Get back! Where did it collapse? Where did it collapse?”

Everyone’s faces turned pale—water and fire are merciless!

“A section above the water has caved in!” Someone to the south shouted with a flashlight: “There’s a breach! Everyone be careful!”

David Sullivan and the others spread out and changed positions, their faces grim.

Right above the pit that David Sullivan had discovered, a hole the size of a long winter melon had collapsed, and under the flashlight, you could still see bubbles gurgling up.

This was an extremely dangerous sign.

Brian Sullivan grew anxious: “Block it with sandbags, hurry!”

This time, David Sullivan didn’t move. If they threw sandbags down, the current would just wash them away. Who knew how many it would take to be effective.

He thought of the fight against Typhoon Lekima before he came here—it was also this long S-shaped riverbank that had problems. A crane lowered several ton bags filled with crushed stone, and the situation was immediately stabilized.

Ton bags, cranes—these were out of the question.

David Sullivan recalled the flood control supplies he’d seen with his own eyes and remembered one thing—a flood control wire mesh cage.

A soldier who fought against Lekima had mentioned that this was one of the lessons learned from the 1998 flood.

“Watch out for the cables! Watch out for the cables!” Stingy Carter dragged a black cable over, with two people behind each carrying a long bamboo pole and holding a 200-watt large light bulb.

They really hadn’t prepared much for this battle. David Sullivan glanced at Emily Thompson, who had come with Uncle Carter. He hadn’t sounded the alarm before—maybe he’d fallen asleep unprepared.

No experience, lack of preparation, and the water kept rising.

It was deadly, but Lujia Village wouldn’t give up!

David Sullivan found Brian Sullivan: “Third Grandpa, I looked carefully—the sandbags all get washed aside when thrown down. I remember seeing on the news that they used iron cages filled with rocks and sandbags for flood control. Even the mighty Yangtze River could be held back with those!”

“Iron cages…” Brian Sullivan perked up, thinking carefully—this method seemed reliable.

“Third Uncle!” Stingy Carter hurried up the riverbank, the radio hanging from his wrist swinging back and forth: “The cables are laid, once the poles are set up, we’ll have light!”

David Sullivan smelled the pungent odor of chicken manure and immediately thought of the chicken farm, shouting, “Uncle Carter!”

Stingy Carter saw David Sullivan staring straight at him and instinctively took a step back: “Dongzi, what are you up to?”

David Sullivan didn’t waste words: “Uncle Carter, we need large wire mesh cages here. I remember your egg-laying chicken cages are big and sturdy.”

Uncle Carter almost jumped: “You melonhead, always trying to take advantage of your Uncle Carter! Those are brand new! What can chicken cages do!”

“They’re useful!” Brian Sullivan said loudly, “Look at the situation! Go get them!”

Quite a few people nearby looked over. David Sullivan quickly explained, “The water’s too fast—sandbags just get washed away. If we put them all in a big cage, the water can’t move them.”

Third Grandpa never lacked decisiveness, but he also had the air of a clan patriarch. David Sullivan added, “Uncle Carter, if the embankment breaks, the chicken farm is the closest!”

Stingy Carter was nearly forty—how could he not understand such a simple truth? But thinking of his brand new chicken cages made his heart ache.

He spoke with a sob, clapping his hands: “No one can stay out of this, it’s life or death!”

No one in Lujia Village could stay out of it!

He must have hit the radio switch, because a song with static started playing.

“You’re always too soft-hearted, too soft-hearted, taking all the problems on yourself…”

Stingy Carter turned and left, a whirlwind of chicken manure in his wake: “Get more people, come with me to the farm to carry cages!”

David Sullivan called out to those nearby: “Don’t throw the sandbags yet, pile them on the embankment!”

Most people looked to Brian Sullivan. The chicken farm was close, a few moments wouldn’t matter. Brian Sullivan said, “Listen to Dongzi.”

He muttered to himself, “I’m fifty-eight and I’ve never seen water this high!”

David Sullivan had seen it twice—once in 1998, and once during Lekima. The latter was even higher, almost overtopping the embankment.

“Second Brother, come here a moment.” Brian Sullivan called over his cousin.

David Sullivan called out, “Second Grandpa.”

Brian Sullivan lowered his voice: “Second Brother, go to the brigade office and call for help from the town and H County. I can’t leave—if I go, people will panic.” He lowered his voice even more: “Make it sound more serious, say the embankment is about to break! Tell them to send help fast. Also, call Dongzi’s uncle Jack, tell him to bring people from the university town construction site—our village has dozens of laborers working night shifts there! Bring sand and gravel! What we have in the village isn’t enough!”

David Sullivan’s uncle was the old town construction station chief, an engineer at the county’s third construction company, and a retired army engineer.

“At this hour, there might not be anyone at the town or H County.” David Sullivan added at the right moment, “The university town is only about ten li away—they can get here in the time it takes to eat a meal. Call Uncle first.”

The person making the calls left, and Stingy Carter led people back carrying six or seven large cages.

These big chicken cages took two people to carry each, made of thick iron wire, very sturdy.

But, having just come from the chicken shed, they were still covered in chicken droppings, and the embankment was filled with a stench.

But these were for saving lives—who cared about that?

As soon as the iron cages arrived, the embankment became a hive of activity. David Sullivan grabbed a pair of pliers, first pried open the top layer of a chicken cage, and called for people to start putting sandbags inside.