Spilled Blood

by Brian Freeman

  ‘I shot Johan,’ Lenny said.

  ‘That’s why we need to get out of here right now. He needs a doctor.’

  ‘I don’t care about him.’

  ‘What about Olivia?’ Chris asked. ‘Do you care about her?’

  Lenny blinked in rapid succession. He cocked his head as if his neck were in spasm. ‘She hates me. She wishes I was dead.’

  ‘That doesn’t matter. If you care about her, then you won’t hurt her.’

  Chris watched fear and indecision play across the boy’s face. He studied the small patch of dirty wooden floor between them and knew he could jump for the gun, but he’d probably take a bullet in the stomach as he did. Lenny was alone and had nothing to lose. He looked at the floor and saw that Lenny had an arsenal here in guns and ammunition. The boy could hold out, firing, for hours if he chose.

  They didn’t have hours. They had minutes. He had to go.

  ‘That’s it,’ Chris said. ‘I’m done with you.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Lenny asked.

  ‘It means I can’t stand here trying to convince you that a real man would help me. You’ve got to make that decision for yourself. I have to get to Hannah’s house. I have to get to my family. If you want to stay up here and shoot me, go ahead.’

  ‘I’ll do it,’ Lenny swore.

  ‘Go ahead. That’s what Kirk would do, right?’

  ‘Kirk wasn’t afraid of anything.’

  ‘Good for him. Me, I’m scared, Lenny. I’m scared of losing my wife and daughter, and that’s why I’m leaving. You do what you have to do.’

  Chris turned around. He tensed, awaiting a paralyzing shot into the center of his back. He could hear Lenny panting behind him, torn with doubt. He left him alone. He took the first step through the trapdoor without looking back, and he disappeared down into the black confines of the tower. Lenny didn’t move, and he didn’t fire. That didn’t mean the kid wouldn’t change his mind and pick up the rifle again while Chris was in the no man’s land between the church and Hannah’s house.

  He reached the base of the stairwell, and his feet landed in icy water. The river had risen into the belly of the church. He kicked his way toward the doors and had to throw his shoulder against the glass to force it open. Outside, he stared in disbelief at the inland sea running wild over the town, chocolate-brown, surging and tumbling over itself in deep swells. The water was thick with debris: chunks of concrete, whole trees, remnants of walls and windows carried from houses that had been eviscerated. The air bristled with the noise of impact, wood on metal, metal on wood. The short distance to Hannah’s house was a minefield, virtually impossible to cross.

  In the middle of that minefield, he saw something that made his whole body turn cold with despair.

  No, no, no, what did you do?

  On the street in front of the house, Olivia clung to the few dry inches of metal pole on a STOP sign protruding out of the water. It was a fragile life raft, and the sign flapped as the river roared by, threatening to peel away her hands and carry her downstream.

  He saw her, and she saw him, and her voice erupted in a desperate scream.

  ‘Dad!’

  53

  Chris shouldered into the water, which rose above his waist, and the chill hit him like a thousand needles. The current was ferocious, threatening to launch him off his feet, but he realized that the worst danger was invisible, hidden underneath the surface. Branches, glass, and rocks punched and cut him as they whipped through the water, as fast and sharp as knives. He didn’t have far to go to reach Olivia, but the distance looked overwhelming, and his main concern was that the swirling currents would sweep him past her, and he wouldn’t be able to make his way upstream.

  He eyed the flow of the water. Two branches of the river had joined here, rippling together in curves like ribbons, moving in different directions. Among the tumbling flotsam, he saw the lid of a garbage can spinning toward him, and he snatched it out of the water. He tossed it like a Frisbee toward the trunk of a huge oak tree in front of the church, and as it landed, the lid swooped into a giant arch that carried it within five feet of the sign where Olivia was trapped. That was the route he needed. That was how to get close to her.

  He couldn’t walk. He swam. On the surface, he could see and avoid more of the debris flowing toward him. The river smelled as fetid and poisonous as a landfill, but he couldn’t avoid toxic mouthfuls as he fought upstream. He felt as if he were swimming in place, taking strokes and getting nowhere. When he stopped, the water carried him farther away, and he had to redouble his effort to make up lost ground. His heart hammered with the exertion, and his muscles screamed in protest. By the time he reached the oak tree, he needed to hang on to the low branches and rest. He felt as if he’d been in the water for hours.

  ‘Olivia, are you hurt?’ he called to her. The roar of the water made him shout, as if he were trying to drown out Niagara Falls. He choked and coughed.

  His daughter shouted back. ‘I think my ankle’s broken. I’m sorry, Dad, I thought I could help if I got to the church.’

  ‘Just hold on.’

  She had both arms wrapped around the quivering STOP sign. He could see she was tiring. He watched the water and knew she was in a place where the current was particularly strong. There was no time to wait. He braced himself against the tree trunk and launched himself into the rapids. This time, with the flow propelling him, he moved at startling speed, and he was practically on top of Olivia before he had time to react. He careened toward the sign, and he was afraid he would swoop past it. He kicked to his right and stretched his arm as far as it would go. The damp metal pole slapped his hand, and he clawed at it with his fingers, curling three fingers around it. His body kept traveling, and as he swept downstream, he felt his grip loosening, but then Olivia grabbed his shirt, and his body spun. He cocked an elbow around the pole, and he shoved two fingers into one of Olivia’s belt loops and pulled her into his chest. She let go of the sign and hung on to him.

  ‘Nice day for a swim,’ he murmured into her ear. He didn’t want her to be scared.

  His daughter laughed and clung to his neck. Her wet hair pushed against his face.

  He had no idea what to do next, other than to hang on for both of their lives, but then he heard Hannah shouting and saw her in the first-floor window of the house, no more than fifty feet away. The river was immediately below the sash; she had to be up to her knees in water inside the house. She had a coil of heavy white twine from a clothes line in her hand. She flung the coil toward him through the window, hanging on to one end, but it didn’t travel nearly far enough. The rope fell in the water and washed away downriver. Quickly, she wound it back up before debris took hold of it and ripped it out of her hands.

  ‘Are you in a lot of pain?’ he asked Olivia.

  ‘It feels like an elephant’s standing on my left ankle.’

  ‘Can you put any weight on it?’

  ‘No way, Dad, sorry.’

  ‘That’s okay.’

  ‘I’m so stupid. I knew it was Lenny. I thought I could talk him down.’

  ‘He’s too far gone. How’s Johan?’

  ‘Not good, Dad.’

  Chris saw Hannah in the window again. This time, she’d tied one end of the rope around the handle of a heavy white coffee mug. Inside the house, she wound up and threw the mug toward Chris. He reached for it, and almost grabbed it, but it fell six inches short in the water, and Hannah had to reel it in again, pulling the mug out of the water.

  The metal signpost wobbled. It wouldn’t last much longer under the assault of water and debris.

  Hannah threw again. She threw like a World Series pitcher. She threw like a Super Bowl quarterback. The mug flew out of the window, hard and strong, unwinding the rope like fishing line. It overshot Chris by six feet, landing in the water and carrying the rope into his hands. He wound it around the pole and knotted it tightly. On the other end, Hannah secured the rope inside the house. She pulled as much tensi
on into the line as she could, but it sagged and sat atop the water.

  ‘Time to go,’ he told Olivia. ‘Can you pull yourself across with just your arms?’

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘I’ll make sure the knot holds. Go as fast as you can.’

  Olivia draped her left arm over the line and used her other hand to drag herself forward. Her legs fluttered invisibly under the water. He held onto her as long as he could, and then she was on her own, creeping closer to the window. She moved an inch at a time. He watched her hold her breath, and her body floated up like a cork. Floating, she moved faster. She was halfway home.

  His daughter looked back over her shoulder. She gave him an encouraging smile.

  Then she screamed, and her scream cut off into a gurgle as she was sucked under the water.

  ‘Olivia!’ he and Hannah shouted simultaneously.

  She clung to the rope with one hand, her face trapped below the surface. Something was dragging her, trying to cart her downstream. He saw a thick tree bough breach the water, straining like a whale with the current, and a torn white bed sheet flailed behind it, wound around the wood and twisted into a knotted tail. When Olivia’s leg kicked out of the river, he saw the other end of the sheet coiled around her broken ankle, trapping her in a tug of war. She thrust her face above the surface, gasped for breath, and cried in agony, and then she sank out of sight again, with only three fingers clinging to the lifeline. He saw blood as the rope ate through her skin.

  Chris threw himself onto the line and scrambled hand over hand to pull himself toward his daughter. Behind him, the STOP sign squealed as the metal weakened and bent. Twenty feet along the rope, he reached her and dragged her head out of the water by the neck of her shirt. She spat water and croaked as she sucked air into her lungs. Her mouth made a huge ‘O,’ and her eyes went wide with terror and relief. Her brown hair draped in tangles across her face. He only had one hand to hold her; the other was locked around the rope, keeping them from being dragged down into the river.

  He couldn’t go forward. He couldn’t go back. He simply held on.

  ‘Mr. Hawk.’

  Chris wrenched his head around as someone called him. They weren’t alone any more in the wreckage of the town, stuck in the flooded river. Instead, he saw Lenny Watson hanging on to the STOP sign. The water was up to the boy’s neck.

  ‘Mr. Hawk, tell me what to do.’

  ‘Olivia’s ankle is caught,’ Chris said immediately. ‘You need to free it.’

  Lenny nodded. ‘Okay.’

  Kirk’s brother abandoned the signpost and inched onto the rope stretched loosely like a snake on the water. Behind him, the knot held, but it looked fragile. Lenny half-swam, half-dragged himself to the middle of the rope. When he reached the two of them, he met Olivia’s eyes, and Chris knew he was right. She couldn’t hide that she hated him. Right now, it didn’t matter. Her life was in his hands.

  ‘Can you hold us both?’ Lenny asked.

  Chris nodded. ‘Make it fast.’

  Lenny clung to Olivia’s clothes and floated down the length of her body. He grabbed hold of her legs as the water tried to whisk him away, and Chris saw Olivia’s face contort in pain as her ankle twisted. Lenny braced himself with an arm around her knee, and with his other hand, he bent her left leg so that her foot was above the water. The sheet was wrapped several times around her ankle. He tried to unwind the cloth at her foot, but the tension of the ten-foot tree branch straining with the speed of the river made the wet, knotted sheet as taut as a high wire.

  He scraped at it. He bit into the sopping fabric with his teeth. He couldn’t tear it. Chris felt his arms going numb as he tried to hold onto both teenagers against the strength of the current.

  Lenny reached into his back pocket, fumbling to remove something without losing it. It was a switchblade. He punched the button, and a sharp, fierce blade shot from the handle. With one awkward hand, he sawed at the cloth. Olivia’s mouth clenched, and her eyes squeezed shut as every slash of the knife wrenched her ankle bone. Lenny bit his lip as he worked the blade, severing wet threads. When the damp sheet resisted, he stabbed at it with the point of the knife. The cloth frayed, stretched, and finally snapped apart. Olivia’s ankle came free.

  ‘Yes!’

  The tree bough, as if fired by a gun, shot downstream. Chris dragged his daughter toward him, and she wrapped her arms around the rope and breathed heavily. Her eyes were closed. Lenny clutched Olivia’s jeans pocket, and then her wet shirt, to pull himself back to the rope. He closed the knife and tossed it into the water. Chris used his free hand to squeeze the boy’s shoulder in thanks.

  ‘Go,’ he told his daughter. ‘Hurry, get inside.’

  Chris watched Olivia swim her way along the rope toward the window. Hannah waited inside for her. The water had climbed nearly over the bottom of the sash. As Olivia reached the house, Hannah squeezed outside and grabbed their daughter under the arms and pulled her through the frame. He felt himself start breathing again, seeing her safely out of the river.

  ‘Come on, Lenny,’ Chris said.

  He headed for the house, but when he looked back, he saw that Lenny hadn’t moved. The boy still clung to the middle of the rope, with the peaks and troughs of whitewater surging around him. He looked small, and in the midst of the flooded streets, he might as well have been the only person alive.

  ‘We have to go,’ Chris called.

  Lenny stared at him ten feet away. ‘I did it, huh?’

  ‘Yes, you did.’

  The boy’s face cracked into a smile. The smile froze there. It was his last expression.

  From the depths of the water, a steel fence post surfed out of the waves, riding the river directly toward Lenny’s head. It had the speed of a javelin, and it collided with his skull, cracking the bone. The boy’s neck snapped sideways. Blood erupted from his hair. His eyes fell shut. His hand disappeared from the rope, and the water poured over his head and buried him under the muddy surface.

  Chris stretched out a hand, but he was too far away to grab him. He watched the current take him. When he saw Lenny again, the boy’s body had made an X, face down, riding the rapids fifty yards downriver. Lenny stayed afloat for ten seconds, but he didn’t move. Then the undertow grabbed him, and he was gone.

  54

  As the river rose, there was nowhere to go but up.

  They climbed from the first floor to the second floor. Hannah cried as a lifetime of possessions floated and sank, but they had no time to do anything but go higher as the water chased them up the stairs. From there, they climbed one at a time onto the overhang beyond Hannah’s bedroom window. Hannah led. Glenn Magnus helped Johan. Chris carried Olivia piggyback. The minister climbed onto the roof and helped each of them follow, and then the five of them waited at the highest peak, overlooking the remains of the town.

  The clouds broke apart into blue sky. Sitting atop the world, they found an oddly beautiful day waiting for them.

  Hannah dialed 911. The circuits were jammed, and it took her four tries to reach an operator. She explained the urgency – one teenager shot, one with a broken leg, one man with a possible concussion. She gave their location. There was nothing to do but wait and hope.

  Olivia lay next to Johan, keeping pressure on his wound, whispering into his ear. Her ankle had swollen into a multi-colored mango fruit, and even a breath of air made her face scrunch up in pain. Glenn sat next to his son, holding his hand. The boy was pale and feverish, but he was conscious.

  They were alive.

  Chris straddled the gable. Hannah sat in front of him, leaning her head against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her chest and held her. From where they were, St. Croix looked like a town built in the middle of an ocean, occupied by nothing but treetops and roofs. There were no roads anywhere, not even signs; they were all submerged. Hannah stared across at the steeple of the Lutheran church, and he heard her whisper a prayer under her breath.

  Twenty minutes later, th
ey heard the throb of the helicopter.

  Chris took off his shirt and waved to attract their attention. The gray behemoth steered from the north, dropping closer and lower, and finally hovering over their heads. He saw the logo of the Minnesota National Guard. The twin rotors of the helicopter were deafening, and he thought he’d never heard a more welcome sound. The whip of the downdraft made giant ripples on the river surrounding the house.

  The side door of the helicopter slid open. A Guardsman rode the harness slowly to the roof. He was young, no more than twenty-two, with cropped hair and a huge smile, the fresh-faced image of a soldier. Chris shook his hand, and the man’s confident grip said everything. Help is here. You’re safe.

  The young Guardsman checked each of them, and in less than a minute he strapped Johan carefully into the harness and gave the thumbs-up to the pilot overhead. Slowly, twisting in the air, Johan rose off the roof and was gently pulled inside the belly of the chopper waiting above.

  The sling came down again, floating in the breeze.

  Olivia insisted Glenn Magnus go next, to be with Johan. In less than five minutes, he was aboard too. The sling came down, and Olivia was next. She professed to be scared to ride the sling alone, but Chris suspected she had other motives, like riding the harness strapped to the young Guardsman. The two of them left together.

  Chris and Hannah were alone, watching Olivia’s hair blow, seeing their daughter smile. She was young. This was an adventure. He looked at Hannah and saw her hands over her mouth, tears streaming down her face. He put an arm around her shoulder and pulled her against him.

  ‘You next,’ he said.

  ‘No, you go.’

  ‘Forget it, Hannah.’

  She looked at him and smiled through her tears. They glanced at the sky. Olivia was halfway to freedom.

  Under their feet, the house growled and moved.

  ‘What was that?’ Hannah asked.