Blood Water

CHAPTER 4

Feeling lazy, Sean slept most of the following morning. After lunch the rain eased up a little, and by then he was desperate to get some fresh air; he felt like a prisoner. Mum would be home from the hospital at about three, so he had over an hour of freedom before she got back to insist that he should rest. He needed to get out, but he was also curious to see how high the river had risen. He put on his jacket, then his boots, opened the back door and stepped outside.

It looked like the end of the world had begun. Water streamed over the slabs in the back garden and large muddy pools had already drowned the flowerbeds. The sky was unbroken grey clouds. The weather reports had been right: this was really bad. God, Sean thought. If it goes on much longer we’ll all be submerged.

Although the rain was definitely stopping, the water was taking a long time to drain away into the already sodden ground. Sean locked the back door, then turned and splashed his way to the gate, stepping onto the driveway and looking to see if there was anyone else around. Unsurprisingly, there wasn’t. He crossed the end of the cul de sac and went down the small path that led to the main road, hoping no cars would race through the deep puddles by the kerb and soak him.

As he passed the hospital and the New Inn, he wondered how much damage the rain might do, and if it would be permanent. It wouldn’t be the first time the river had burst its banks, but it had rarely reached the high street. If it did so now and flooded the shops and houses of Orchard Wells, they would be in trouble.

When he reached the petrol station he was able to see the bridge and the river, and what he saw made him stop and stare. The river was far higher than he had expected; it raged under the arches of the bridge and was no more than a metre from the road. The foaming muddy water swirled as it hit the bridge; large branches and foliage were sucked under the torrent to emerge in pieces on the other side. He’d seen the river high, but never this high.

He walked on and saw a crowd of people gathered by the bridge, marvelling at the spectacle. As he moved among them he watched them shake their heads and laugh or just stare at the water surging past. He looked up into the sky and groaned as the rain resumed; how long would it be before the water rose up over the bridge? It had already swamped more than half of the field on the side of the river he’d just left. On the other side, the town side, it was nearly up to the car park of the Bridge Hotel.

After Sean’s eyes had taken in enough, he walked on over the bridge, and instead of continuing up the high street he turned and followed the path along the river, towards the park. He couldn’t take his eyes off the raging water, mesmerized by the little whirlpools. Two women with small children passed him, the children giggling and whooping with joy at the swollen river, their mothers markedly less impressed. Sean looked up to see lighter patches in the sky. Perhaps the sun would make it through after all.

As he entered the park, he kept his eye on the river. A huge branch bobbed above the surface of the torrent as it was hurtled downstream. He watched it until it disappeared from view, then walked on, turning right by the pagoda, where the river met a stream. The stream was also swollen and muddy, the water rushing by. Then he saw something that made him slow down and stop. There was movement between the trees on the slope leading down to the water. It looked like someone on his hands and knees, crawling slowly up the muddy bank away from the swollen stream. He seemed to be in a bad way. He was drenched, hair and clothes dripping as he struggled up the slope.

Sean continued to stare, slack-jawed, at the figure several metres below him. Finally he shook himself and started to stumble down the sodden slope towards the figure at the bottom. He didn’t quite know what he was going to do when he reached him. It would be hard to help anyone up the wet, slippery bank, but if he left him and went to get help he might fall back into the stream. Sean held onto branches and tree trunks as he made his way down, terrified of losing his footing. When he was a couple of metres away he stopped. The figure was no longer moving.

The man was now lying face down on the muddy ground. Sean swallowed and started to shake. Was he dead? God no, don’t let him be dead! But maybe Sean could still save him… Just as he was trying to work out what to do, he heard a low, drawn-out moan; it grew louder and the man started to raise his head.

As he caught sight of the face, Sean’s concern turned to shock, then repulsion and fear. The man’s skin looked yellow, sagging and corpse-like. His eyes were bloodshot, and had what looked like blue specks in them, though it was hard to be sure from this distance. His eyes held Sean’s for several seconds; then he coughed and vomited into the long grass. Sean backed away instinctively, his own stomach heaving at the sight of the man emptying his. Before turning away he noticed that the vomit was red, like blood. This man was in a bad way, and it was nothing to do with the flood. He was trying to stand up, but seemed to have lost all sense of balance: he swayed on his feet and toppled over again. Sean wanted to go down and help him, but all that stuff the man had brought up had put him off. He could smell it now too – strong, pungent, with a distinct metallic tang that could have been the blood.

The man was dying – Sean knew this instinctively. He attempted to get up again but just slumped back to his knees. He was clearly in great pain and struggled to speak. The words Sean could make out seemed meaningless. Then the man vomited again, this time violently and for a long time. Sean couldn’t understand how anyone could hold so much in their guts.

Convulsions rocked the poor man’s body. He glanced pleadingly up at Sean, shook his head, then his eyes rolled around and his mouth gaped open to give a low moan and a sound like a distant hissing. Sean could only watch in horror as something black and slimy wriggled out of his mouth; it slid out, then fell with a splash into the foul mess the man had just disgorged.

He rose to his feet, staring at Sean, and said: ‘The… the centre… ‘ before falling backwards into the raging water with a huge splash.

Sean was all set to rush to the water’s edge to try and help the man out – but then he noticed the black slug-like thing move. In two minds, he glanced at the ferocious torrent and realized that he couldn’t have saved the man anyway – even if there had been any life left in him. He looked down again – and screamed as the black thing started sliding, snake-like, towards him…