THE HEROES OF HURRICANE HARVEY

The water was rising at an unprecedented rate, far faster than anything I had ever witnessed. Streets that had once been defined by curbs had now turned into rivers of murky water, engulfing cars and creeping steadily toward rooftops. People waded through the flood, the water reaching up to their waists, holding onto anything that could float.

I was on my uncle’s fishing boat, assisting with rescue efforts when I spotted him—a soldier, fully outfitted in his camouflage uniform, slogging through the deep water with a woman clinging to his shoulder. In his other arm, he held a tiny baby wrapped in a soaked pink blanket.

The woman looked terrified, her face streaked with both rain and tears. The baby wasn’t crying; it simply gazed at the overcast sky, unmoving.

“Over here!” I called out, steering the boat toward them.

The soldier didn’t hesitate. He pushed forward through the water, which was almost at his chest, until he reached the side of the boat. My cousin quickly reached out, taking the baby and wrapping her in a dry jacket. The mother followed, shivering as she climbed into the boat.

The soldier took one final step and collapsed into the boat, worn out. I could hear his breath—deep and heavy, like he had just run a marathon. He didn’t say a word. His eyes flickered from the mother to the baby, and he exhaled with visible relief.

I wanted to ask his name, but before I could, he sat up, scanning the water.

“There are more people,” he murmured, then, without hesitation, he pushed himself up, ready to return to the flood.

I grabbed his arm. “Are you sure?”

He looked at me, a look I’ll never forget—determined, exhausted, yet unyielding.

Without another word, he disappeared back into the water, searching for more people to rescue.

I held my breath, wondering if he would return. The engine of my uncle’s boat sputtered from the debris-choked water, so I asked him to keep it running. We needed to stay alert for anyone else who might need help. My cousin Rowan tried to comfort the mother, who was still shaking, repeatedly kissing her baby’s forehead.

“Is the baby okay?” I asked, my voice soft.

“I… I think so,” the mother replied, her voice trembling. “She hasn’t cried at all, and I’m not sure if that’s a good or bad sign.”

Rowan removed his sweatshirt and draped it around the woman’s shoulders. “We’ll get you somewhere warm and dry,” he promised. “There’s a shelter set up at the high school gym with food, blankets, everything you’ll need.”

Before we could reassure her further, I heard voices in the distance. I grabbed the binoculars hanging around my neck and peered through the sheets of rain. And there he was—the soldier—this time guiding an elderly man in a wheelchair, with two children clinging to his side. A woman, likely the children’s mother, was struggling to push the wheelchair through the flood. The soldier kept one hand on the wheelchair and another around the shoulder of one of the children, who appeared to be about seven or eight.

“Swing us around, Uncle Travis!” I shouted. “He’s got more people!”

We maneuvered the boat as close as possible without risking the propeller. Water was creeping up to where the elderly man’s shoulders would have been if he hadn’t been hunched over. Every few seconds, a piece of floating debris would bump against the side of the wheelchair, forcing the soldier to stop and clear the way. Despite the cold wind and relentless rain, he never let go.

Rowan and I jumped into the waist-deep water, carefully securing the wheelchair so it wouldn’t tip. The soldier nodded in gratitude, stepping back to allow us to help lift the elderly man into the boat. The woman and children climbed in next, their teeth chattering as they huddled together for warmth.

“Do you have room?” the soldier asked, turning to me.

I quickly assessed the situation—Uncle Travis’s boat could fit about eight people comfortably, and we were nearing that limit. But there was no question in my mind: we’d take anyone who needed help.

“Always,” I said. “Get on.”

The soldier shook his head. “There are more people down the block. A big truck got stuck on the corner, and some people are sheltering upstairs. The water’s rising quickly, though. They need a boat.”

I looked around at the worried faces—the elderly man, the mother with her baby, these children—all of them needed to get to safety soon. The soldier was right; more people were out there, and time was running out.

“I’ll go with you,” I volunteered. “Rowan can help Uncle Travis get these people to the shelter. Then we’ll come back for more.”

Uncle Travis gave me a concerned look. “You sure?” he asked.

I nodded. My stomach fluttered with uncertainty, but I knew I had to do something. I couldn’t just stand by while others risked their lives. The soldier gave me a brief, appreciative smile.

“Let’s do it,” he said.

Rowan and Uncle Travis headed toward the main road, the engine churning through the flooded streets. The soldier and I waded in the opposite direction, the water swirling around our hips. Every so often, a sudden surge of water would push me sideways, but he grabbed my arm to keep me steady.

The current was stronger than I had anticipated, even though we were in a residential area with houses, trees, and parked cars. In some spots, the water was nearly at the tops of SUVs, and random debris floated by—a plastic doll, a soccer ball, even a computer keyboard.

“My name’s Brandt,” the soldier finally said, his voice steady but low. “U.S. Army.”

“I’m Adrian,” I replied. “My uncle Travis and I came from a drier area to help. My cousin Rowan—he’s been a huge help. He’s the one in the boat.”

Brandt nodded. “Good to meet you, Adrian. Let’s hope we can save a few more lives.”

A rumble of thunder interrupted us, cutting our conversation short. We kept moving, calling out to anyone trapped in their homes. Some shouted back from second-story windows, asking questions about the shelter. Were they open? Did they have enough supplies for babies, enough food, or blankets? The questions came so fast I struggled to keep up.

When we turned the corner, we saw the truck Brandt had mentioned. It was a large pickup, tilted awkwardly on the curb with water halfway up the doors. A man was standing on top of the cab, frantically waving.

“There’s a family upstairs!” he shouted. “The water’s rising fast, and the baby’s only six months old!”

Brandt’s jaw clenched as he surveyed the building. There was an external staircase leading to the second floor, but the lower steps were already submerged. We carefully made our way across, testing each step, until we reached the top landing. The apartment door was ajar, and the sound of rushing water could be heard inside.

“Hello?” I called, pushing the door open.

Inside, the living room was flooded with ankle-deep, brown water. A single light flickered above. In the far corner, a woman stood holding a bundle of blankets. An older teenager, likely her daughter, stood beside her, struggling to hold up a heavy suitcase.

“Our phones died!” the younger girl said, her voice shaking. “We didn’t know if anyone was coming for us.”

“We’re here now,” Brandt reassured her. “Let’s get you out before the water rises higher.”

The mother nodded. “The baby… she’s only six months old. I tried to keep her off the ground, but the water came in too quickly.”

Brandt moved closer, checking the baby’s pulse and temperature with swift, practiced movements. “She’s okay for now, but we need to leave,” he said gently. “Do you have anything you need to take with you?”

The teen pointed to the suitcase. “This has all her medical supplies. She has breathing problems sometimes.”

Ignoring the rising water, Brandt hoisted the suitcase, and I guided the mother out through the door. Outside, the rain whipped around us, and the stairwell was slippery. We moved carefully, and the man on the truck’s roof reached down to steady the mother.

“You got ’em?” he asked, a look of relief spreading across his face when he saw the baby was safe.

“Yeah,” I said. “But we need a boat to get them to safety. The boat I was in is already helping others.”

At that moment, the sound of a sputtering engine reached my ears. I turned and saw my uncle’s fishing boat weaving through the flooded streets. Relief washed over me.

“Uncle Travis!” I shouted, waving both arms. Rowan was at the front, scanning the water with a flashlight. They pulled up next to the truck, and we helped the mother, the teen, and the baby on board first. The man followed, nearly tripping over a submerged piece of driftwood. Brandt handed me the suitcase before turning to me.

“You coming?” Rowan asked, extending his hand.

Brandt and I exchanged a brief look. We had completed our sweep of the block, and the water was getting deeper. My muscles ached, and my soaked clothes felt like they weighed a ton. Yet, I hesitated.

“Anyone else out here?” I asked quietly.

Brandt scanned the area. The storm clouds were still thick, and we could barely see past the next block. We waited in silence, listening. Only the sound of rain against the boat and the hum of the engine filled the air.

“Think we’re good,” Brandt finally said. “Let’s get these people to safety.”

I glanced around one last time, took Brandt’s hand, and climbed into the boat. The mother looked at Brandt with a mixture of admiration and gratitude. She tried to speak, perhaps to thank him, but her voice faltered, and she could only nod.

Back at the high school gym, volunteers rushed to meet us with blankets, water, and first-aid kits. It was a blur of activity: families reuniting, children crying in relief, medical teams assessing vital signs. Brandt helped carry the elderly man inside, refusing to rest even though I could see how exhausted he was.

We found a corner of the gym to collapse in. I offered Brandt a bottle of water. He drank it in one gulp, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Didn’t expect my leave to turn out like this,” he said quietly. “I was home visiting family for a week.” He chuckled, but it was devoid of humor. “Guess you can’t schedule a hurricane.”

I managed a small smile, thinking about how none of us expected to spend our days ferrying people through flooded streets. Yet, here we were, doing what we could to help our neighbors.

Later that evening, when the rain finally started to ease, I wandered the gym to see if anyone needed assistance. The baby, now wrapped in fresh, dry clothes from a local charity, was safe. The mother thanked me once more, her eyes filled with gratitude. The teen and her mother were sharing a cup of hot soup, looking more at peace than I had seen them all day.

Brandt stood by the entrance, staring out where trucks and boats were still bringing in survivors. A few camera crews had arrived, capturing volunteers carrying supplies, comforting rescued families, and offering hope with every handshake.

As I approached, Brandt turned to me with a weary smile. “I’m glad we got them out,” he said. “You did good work, Adrian.”

It felt strange to hear praise from someone who had done so much more than I had. “We all did,” I replied, nodding toward the volunteers, my uncle, my cousin, and everyone else who had come to help. “That’s what it’s all about—everyone doing their part.”

Outside, the first light of dawn broke through the clouds, turning the sky from a dull gray to soft gold. The storm was still raging, but it was losing its strength. And in its aftermath, I saw something I will never forget: an entire community standing united, neighbors helping neighbors, strangers becoming friends.

In times of hardship—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, offer help, and bring hope when it’s needed most. That’s what being human is all about—standing together in the darkest times, so we can share the light when it finally breaks through.

The story of Brandt the soldier—and the countless other men and women who gave their time, effort, and hearts—reminds us of the power of unity and compassion.

Thank you for reading. If this story moved you, please share it with someone who could use a little hope. And don’t forget to like this post so that others can find inspiration too. While we can’t control the storms that come our way, when we stand together, we become the heroes we need.