The Drowning (24 page)

A cluster of onlookers is gathered along the water’s edge — it’s way over both banks.

“The bridge is closed, mate,” one of them says to me. “There are cracks in the tarmac. It’s going to go.” He’s got his camera at the ready. One for the album.

I carry on running and try to dodge past the cop. “Oi! Slow down! You can’t go over there!” he shouts, lunging toward me and catching my arm.

I wrestle myself free, losing the phone as I do so. It slips out of my fingers and plops into the ankle-deep water.

I leave Officer Plod behind and run onto the bridge. The road rises out of the flood as I reach its humped back. And now I can see that everyone’s right. The surface under my feet is tearing apart. There’s a crack right across the middle. I can feel it moving and I run faster so my feet are hardly touching the ground. I’m heading down the other side, back into the floodwater. There’s a soft noise behind me, a slurping, slushing sound, almost a sigh. A chorus of shouts goes up. I’m on the other bank now and I glance behind me.

One side of the bridge has gone, collapsed into the swirling river, just a gap where the road should be. Another second and I would have gone with it.

I’m not far from Neisha’s now. The townscape’s utterly changed. Half the familiar landmarks have disappeared. It’s just a series of islands occupied by houses and trees.

I’m wading through knee-deep water. It’s cold and thick and brown. I can’t see what’s under the surface. Each step forward is a step into the unknown. I try to follow the line of the road, trusting my instinct. The ground slopes down and the water travels farther up my legs. The water’s not still, it’s flowing, and the movement is surprisingly strong. It’s buffeting against me and now I’m glad I’m not wearing jeans — there’s nothing extra to drag in the current. I’m moving with the flow, which should be easy, shouldn’t it? But when I lift one foot up, the water tries to push it forward, suck it away from me. It feels like there’s
someone in there, pulling at me, trying to knock me over. I peer at the water around me. It’s so muddy I can’t see past the surface. Is Rob down there?

My foot searches for solid ground, toes clawing at the unseen lumps and bumps. I’m losing my nerve — I have to plant it down firmly, believe that there’s something there to plant it on.

There are other people wading through the water, making their way out of the cottages, heading for higher ground. One guy’s carrying a toddler on his shoulders. She’s laughing, patting his head like this is all a game. He’s grim-faced, holding on to her legs. He shouts at her to sit still. Her face changes as he grips harder, and she starts to cry.

The guy shouts over to me.

“It’s rising too fast! Go back, son!”

I look past him to the terrace of houses beyond. The water is up to the downstairs windows. Did Neisha make it upstairs?

“I’ve got to get in there!” I shout back. “My friend’s in there!”

He shakes his head and struggles on.

I’m opposite the house now. The garden wall is somewhere under the surface. I edge forward, anxious not to clatter into it, trip over it, cut myself open.

The water’s up to my waist.

A branch a couple of feet long is floating toward me. I grab it and use it as a probe, poking it into the water ahead. I find the wall and manage to clamber over. Something tears at the skin on my legs. I think of Rob’s nails, the mud caked underneath them, but I keep going, ditching the branch so I can use my
hands to paddle through the water. I’m still on my feet, but only just. It’s almost chest height here.

“Carl!”

I look up. Neisha’s at the top window. It’s open and she’s leaning out.

“Get in!” I yell, waving my arms at her. “Keep dry!”

“What?” She doesn’t move. Instead she’s craning forward. “What’s that in the water?” she shouts.

I look around. I can’t see anything apart from the branch I chucked away, and that’s rapidly floating off past the houses.

“Nothing!” I shout back.

“In the water behind you! What is it?”

I check again. Apart from the people making their way out of the flood, I’m on my own. Maybe it’s a trick of the light on the water or something. Maybe there’s some debris that I can’t see.

“I’m stuck, Carl! I can’t get out! The water’s coming up the stairs! Should I jump?”

“For Christ’s sake, stay there! You’ll be okay! I’ll try and find my way in!”

She leans forward, farther out into the rain.

“Get back in!” I scream. “Get back in! I’m coming to get you!”

I wade to the front of the house, using my arms to get me through the water. I look through the living room window. A coffee table is floating forlornly in the middle of the room. The water level seems slightly lower than outside,
but it’s at least two feet. The window is an old style, the sort where the bottom half slides up. Used to be Rob’s favorite kind. Much easier to break into than modern double-glazed plastic jobs. Trouble is, I’m not at a great angle here for getting a purchase on anything. I have a go with one, but I can’t get it to budge. I’m cursing myself for letting the branch go. I could have used it to lever the window up or smash my way in.

I look around, but there’s nothing useful floating anywhere near now. Then I remember that there were some stone pots of flowers near the front door. They’re underwater now, but I’ve got a good idea where they are. I bet one of them would do the trick.

“Carl! Carl! What are you doing?”

Neisha’s leaning right out now, craning to see me.

“I’m going to get one of those pots, smash the window.”

“Don’t do that! Dad’ll go mad. Maybe I can let you in. I could try the door. I’ll come down.”

“No! Don’t come into the water. Neisha, please! Stay where you are. For God’s sake, get your head in. Keep dry!”

I edge my way to the right, holding on to the front wall, feeling for the pots with my feet. My toe hits something hard. I take a breath, duck under the surface, and reach for the pot. It’s really heavy and I can’t get a good grip on it. It moves a little but not enough. The water over my head is freaking me out. I’m trying desperately not to think of that other time, but I can’t help it.

A confusion of arms and legs, hands and feet, all mixed up in the water. He must have taken his hands off of her because he punches me in the face, then he grips my neck and squeezes. He forces my head under the water. I panic and lash out, trying to hit, scratch, tear, kick — anything that will make him let go.

I stand up and flick the water out of my hair, rub my hands across my eyes. For a moment I don’t know where I am. I stand and suck air into my lungs. Then I remember — this isn’t a nightmare, it isn’t a dream. The river is flooding. Neisha’s in danger.

“Are you okay?” she shouts down.

She’s leaning way over the window ledge now. Her wet hair falls forward like a curtain on either side of her face.

“It’s heavy, that’s all!”

“You can do it between you. The two of you could manage.”

“What?” She’s not making any sense.

“You can do it together! You and … you and whoever’s behind … Oh my God. No, no, no!” She’s staring at the water behind me. “No, no, no! Oh my God, oh my God!”

She’s terrified of something she’s seen down in the murk. Rob? I look around wildly, but there’s nothing there.

She’s gone back into her room like I wanted her to, like I kept telling her to — but her face, the last glimpse I got before she retreated, was a picture of horror. Is Rob here? Can she see him? But how is that possible? She’s never been able to see him before.

If I was scared before, it’s ten times worse now. I’ve got to get in there. She needs me.

I take a deep breath and go under again, bending all the way down so that I can get a better grip and use my legs more in the lift. And now the pot shifts. I take the weight of it squarely in
both hands, push up with my legs, and I’m there. I stagger through the water to the window, grunting with the effort. This is a one-shot deal. Trying to keep some momentum going, I thrust the pot up and away from me with every ounce of strength that I’ve got left. It thuds against the glass but doesn’t go through. It drops into the water and I leap back so it doesn’t land on my feet.

“Shit!”

I’m gasping for breath, disappointed and angry at my failure. I look at the window again and see that the glass is cracked. I’m halfway there, I just need something else to finish the job. I bunch my fist up and wonder if I can do it on my own. I need something to wrap around to protect it, stop myself from slicing an artery open — the only thing I’ve got is my shorts …

Without warning, there’s a sharp pain in my shoulder. I turn my head. There’s a wooden chair barreling over in the water next to me and I’m bleeding from a nasty flesh wound.

“I’ve called the police!” Neisha shouts. “I’ve called my dad! They’re all coming, so you’d better get out of here!”

It was her; she threw the chair.

“Get out! Get out now!”

“I’m trying to help you!”

“You filthy lying bastard, Carl Adams! Fuck off! Fuck off before they arrest you!”

She’s gone mad. But there’s no time to reason with her. She’s given me the tool I need to get into the house, and I’ve got to get to her before Rob does.

I grab the chair and swing it above my head, aiming at the cracked glass. It smashes and I’ve got my way in. Above me, Neisha’s screaming at the top of her voice. Something else comes flying through the air and plops into the water a few inches behind me.

I put my hands on the window ledge, checking quickly for jagged glass, and, with a little jump, I bring my legs up to perch on the edge. I launch myself into the living room and wade through the water across the room to the hall. Except it’s not just water. There are bits of paper and all sorts of debris mixed up in it. I try not to think what else is in there. I look up instead of down, expecting to see Neisha at the top of the stairs, but she isn’t there.

The house is eerily quiet. Water slops gently against the stairs. Furniture thuds softly against wallpaper. Rain patters on the windows.

“Neisha?” I shout.

No answer.

The silence makes this whole thing feel wrong, like I shouldn’t be here.
But I’m here to save her
, I tell myself.
I’m here to be the hero she thought I was.

“Neisha?”

I glance around. Still no Rob. I’m at the bottom of the stairs now. I start climbing up, emerging from the water step by step. I nearly bust a gut to get here, but now I’m creeped out. My heart’s beating like mad in my chest. I’m straining my eyes and ears for some clue as to what’s going on. My legs are scratched
and bleeding. There’s blood dripping down my chest, too, from the cut on my shoulder.

At the top of the stairs I hesitate. She was in the front bedroom when she was shouting at me. She must still be in there …

“Neisha, it’s me. Carl. Where are you?”

I start padding along the landing. The doors are all open except the one to her room, and I peer in as I pass. They’re empty, each room as beautifully neat and clean as the next. Up here, there’s no sign of the carnage outside and downstairs. It’s bizarre that somewhere can look so normal when only a few feet away the world’s being swallowed up, wrecked, changed forever.

I’m dripping onto the carpet, leaving wet, bloody footprints in the soft pile. On the scale of things, it doesn’t matter, but it adds to my unease, the sense that I’ve got no right to be here, that I’m trespassing, spoiling things.

I stop in front of the door to Neisha’s room and knock gently, calling out her name.

There’s no response. I reach for the handle, turn it, and inch the door open.

I can’t see her. The window is open and I can hear the wind and rain outside, but nothing inside. It’s almost like the room’s holding its breath. I push the door open wider and step in.

There’s a flash of recognition. I’ve seen this room before. The bed. It’s where the photos were taken. It’s where —

Something hits me on the side of the head. Everything turns red, then black, as pain explodes inside my skull. I stagger to the
side but manage to stay on my feet, and as my vision starts to clear, I’m hit again, this time across the top of my back, catapulting me forward. I put my hands out to break my fall and crunch down on the carpet next to her bed.

“I told you to fuck off!”

Holding my hand to the side of my face, I twist around and look up. Neisha’s standing a couple of feet away from me, holding the metal stand of a bedside light as if it were a baseball bat. She sweeps it through the air in front of her, frowning with the effort, swiping it from side to side like a kid fighting Darth Maul with a toy lightsaber.

“Jesus, Neisha!”

She turns her attention back to me, raises the lamp up again, steps forward, and brings it down on my side with full force, knocking the breath out of me.

“I don’t want you here! Either of you. Get out! Get out!”

I move my arm to try and shield as much of my head as I can. “Okay, okay!” I yell. “I’ll get out! I can’t if you keep hitting me, though. Give me a freakin’ chance.”

I start crawling toward the door, watching her feet retreat, keeping her distance from me now. In the doorway, I stop.

“What have you seen, Neisha? Is it Rob? Look, you asked me to help you. That’s why I’m here.”

“You lying bastard!” She’s shouting at me, spit coming out of her mouth as she does. “You said you’d changed, but you’ve been lying to me the whole time!” Her eyes are wide and wild, the muscles in her arms tense, veins standing out like whipcords.
“Why did you bring him here, Carl? Why would you do that to me again? I was ready to trust you!”

“Tell me what you’ve seen, Neisha. I didn’t bring anyone. It’s just me.”

She steps forward again, and I stop crawling and cower closer to the floor, bringing my knees up to my chest.

“You’re lying! He’s there!” She points wildly to a patch of thin air. “That bastard brother of yours! He’s there, right next to you! At least, he was. I … I can’t see him now. Where’s he gone? Oh God, where is he?” She twirls around, sweeping the lamp through three hundred and sixty degrees. “He was here, I swear he was.”