The Flood
Crickets chipped in the early evening, their tune carrying far on the gentle breeze. The light patter of rain began, it sprinkled the ground, darkening the earth and sidewalks. The rain had never bothered Camille, her thoughts a million miles away from the approaching downpour. The family had all left the house, out on some random errand. She liked them gone, the place peaceful and quiet. The dark rooms, still for once, granted a quiet reprieve from family life. The gentle rap of small drops was no cause for alarm. She perched in the window gazing out at the incoming gale. The fading rays of the sun shone lightly through the impending storm. Farther out, just beyond vision the clouds were dark and oppressive, laden with moisture eager to burst forth. The heavy precipitation seemed a world away, as Camille relaxed alone with her thoughts.
Small rivers of dirty water gathered at the curbs of the street. The streamlets slithered like murky snakes along their paths toward the gutter. Leaves and small pieces of grass peppered the rivulets’ surface as it flowed along the culvert then vanished into its darkened maw. She didn’t notice the first small signs that hinted at the ordeal she was about to endure. She mused, content to watch the storm pass from the comfort of her home. The small inlets that graced the curbs suddenly started to deepen, slowly at first, but then with a quickness. She rested contentedly still transfixed by the quaint scene viewed out the window. Quiet houses standing proudly in a simple neighborhood.
The first inkling that something was truly amiss was a hum, strange buzz that encroached upon the serene scene. It soon gathered into a rumble, at first lost in the howl of wind that had kicked up with the oncoming cloudburst. Not until it had become a full roar did the first acknowledgment of danger seep into Camille's awareness. She ruminated, not registering the meaning of the gathering din. It was just as a sense of dread penetrated her idle consciousness, reality exploded. The walls shattered like eggshells.
The house was hit with such force that it seemed to have been impacted by a speeding freight train. This convoy was wrought not of iron and steel, but of a convergence of filthy, scummy water. It obliterated the entire structure with such power that it sent Camille careening through the air, as if thrown by an angry giant. The flash flood ripped its way through the suburb, tearing each dwelling off its very foundation and rendering it asunder within seconds. Though all had seemed to happen in slow motion, she had no time to brace herself as she smashed into the torrent that now rushed through the space where the proud residence had once stood.
The fluid beast, ravenous and unquenchable, enveloped all. Nothing was safe from its lethal jaws. It writhed down streets and erupted through alleyways blanketing the area with its rampant ruination. Instantly submerged, she flailed with frantic panic, not knowing anything of the act of swimming, but even that knowledge would have made little difference. The grimy sludge tasted raw and rancid as she clambered for breath. Her nose was permeated with the dank smell of slimy mud as her lungs screamed for air. Time and time again she plunged back beneath the ragged waves. Her eyes burned as the noxious sewage swirled around her. It choked and threatened to drown her as she struggled with every ounce of her being just to keep her head above the turbid raging stream. Her strength began to fade as she battled against death itself. Her overworked muscles succumbed to the mire's icy embrace.
The vile current was full of all matter of debris, wood, uprooted trees, sad fragments of what once was. They floated along with the surging deluge like monsters out of an ancient nightmare, dragons created by the unfettered destruction of the flood. The devastation continued as logs, branches, remnants of destroyed homes became battering rams, intent on crushing her as she strained just to grasp one more futile gulp of air. The twisted branches became snags hell-bent on dragging her down in their horrid contorted claws. She flailed and labored against the foul liquid that now engulfed her. Her mind was awash with utter terror, her world thrown into absolute chaos. She knew nothing of how or if she would survive.
As the dismal mass was about to swallow her whole, to send her to those tempestuous depths from which few ever escape, she realized that the deadly flotsam adrift in the squall could be her saving grace. Just as a jagged unrecognizable mass of broken wreckage sailed past her, she lurched up with her nails and all her might clung to the drifting rubble. As the murderous flow tugged, unwilling to release its grip on its dejected victim, she heaved herself up from its deadly clutch. This once lethal remnant had now become her life raft, her one chance at survival, her salvation. She collapsed in a miserable pile of exhaustion. Just as she began to float along with all the wretched pieces of a once-regal neighborhood, she gave a haggard gasp and slipped into unconsciousness as her ragged lifeboat continued downstream.
She drifted quickly, night gently approaching, as the carnage reached out on all sides of the flood's merciless path. She was unaware of just how far or for how long she was adrift with the fatal torrent. Just as the light completely started to fade, she sensed movement that came not from the frigid, murky heap, but something warm and firm. She felt herself lifted from her collapsed state, freed from her tattered conveyance and inevitable dreadful demise. She heaved a labored breath as the sensation increased.
The policeman’s strong hands had no problem extracting Camille from her dire dilemma and placing her gently into the safety of the rescue boat. Warm towels swaddled her as her rescuer rubbed her back into consciousness. She could just barely make out a soft voice gently crooning to her, coaxing into wakefulness. She could still feel the firm grips that had pulled her from death's door. Her eyes fluttered, and she could faintly discern the smiling, angular face of her rescuer. Absolute relief flowed through her being, and she laid her head exhaustively on the man’s hand as he held her.
There were no words she could use to express her gratefulness to her rescuer, no way for her to convey her pure gratitude, she would never utter a whispered “Thank you” into the ear of the man that saved her. Simply because Camille was, in fact, a cat. A gentle purr was her only recourse to acknowledge the joy she felt at her rescue and he was content with that...
