Just then, movement behind him drew her gaze. There was water, lots of water, flowing across the driveway of her rented house, heading right for the man’s feet. He had on rubber boots, but still… surely even a psychotic serial killer wasn’t crazy enough to be out in this?
She quickly closed the door, only to whip off the security chain, then open it again, wide enough to admit the man. “Come on in,” she said, her heart pounding. Christ, she hoped her instincts were right—if he was lying, it’d be the end of the week, when she was due to vacate the premises, before anyone even knew she was missing.
He hurried in, then spun on his heel and quickly closed the door behind him. He then turned back to her, but remained standing on the doormat. Water dripped off his clothing and his hair, which had become soaked in the mere seconds he’d had his hood down before she’d let him in. “Thank you,” he said, smiling again. “I’m sorry to drop in on you like this. I understand your reticence to let me in. In most cases, I’d agree that you shouldn’t allow a stranger in to your property, but this is an emergency. We need to get your belongings upstairs, then get out of here—preferably in your car, so we can get it to higher ground.”
“Are you sure? It’s just a bit of a storm. It was forecast. I wasn’t planning on going out in it.”
The man, who’d remained relatively cheerful—considering he was wet and had to be cold—now sighed and rolled his eyes. “Yes, I’m sure. And yes, it was forecast. That’s why I’m here. I’m from the army. This area, and this house, are incredibly prone to flooding—and I’m not just talking about roads being blocked off. I’m talking ground floors being submerged. We’re being deployed to all the at risk places in the area to check on the residents, make their properties as flood-proof as possible, then escort them to safety.”
“So why haven’t the owners of the property been in touch with me?” she asked, folding her arms across her chest.
The man narrowed his eyes. “Because they’re busy doing to their main residence what we should be doing here! That’s why they sent me to help you. Please, I don’t mean to be rude, but we need to get a move on here, otherwise it’s going to be too late.”
Well, it explained why he was so confident she had a car—he’d already spoken to the owners of the property, and they’d told him. “A-all right. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be difficult, I just… I didn’t realise. So, what do you want me to do? Do you need a hot drink? You must be freezing.”
He shook his head again, sending droplets of rainwater flying around. “I’d love one, but we seriously don’t have time for that. First of all, you need to go and get changed into the warmest, most outdoor appropriate clothing you’ve got with you. And waterproofs, if you’ve got them. Then you need to start moving what belongings you’ve got down here up to the first floor. As fast as you can. It won’t be too much longer before the lane is flooded and we won’t be able to get your car out. If that happens, we’ll have to walk all the way to the main road and get picked up there.”
“Okay. I definitely don’t want to have to leave my car.”
“Understood. Where is the key? I’m assuming it’s in the garage.”
She nodded. “The key is in my handbag.”
“Get it. I’ll drive it out of the garage.”
“W-what? Why do you want to drive my car?”
“For fuck’s sake!” he snapped, his dark eyes flashing. It seemed he’d finally lost his cool. “I don’t want to drive your bloody car! I don’t want to be here at all, but I am. People need help, we got called out, end of. We need to make a quick getaway, so the nearer the car is to the front door, the better. Plus, the sandbags are in the garage, so it’ll be a damn sight quicker for me to get them out and start putting them in position if your car isn’t in the way. This isn’t some kind of elaborate car theft—it’s a dangerous situation! And if you keep questioning me instead of getting your bloody arse in gear, we could end up stranded here until the flood waters recede.”
His harsh words finally penetrated the brain fog she’d been experiencing, triggered by panic and disbelief. How the hell was this happening? Her heart raced. “Er, yes… right. Key. I’ll get the key.”
He gave a small smile now. “That would be great.”
She scurried into the living room and retrieved her handbag, then jogged back into the hallway, digging around for the key as she did so. She made a sound of triumph as she felt cold metal against her fingers, and she quickly withdrew the bundle—which also included her house key and a bunch of key rings—and handed it over.
Taking the set with a murmur of thanks, the man opened the door and stepped out. Just before the door closed behind him, he called out, “If I’m not back by the time you’re done, please come out and help me.”
“All right!” She all but ran up the stairs, still clutching her handbag, and into her bedroom. Fortunately she was the organised sort, so she knew exactly where everything was, and within a couple of minutes she’d replaced the clothes she’d been wearing with lined waterproof trousers, a couple of warm layers on the top, and thick socks. She also had a hat, coat, scarf, gloves, and wellington boots at the ready, but figured they could wait until she was actually heading outside—they’d only slow her down in the meantime.
That done, she grabbed a large, strong bag and jogged down the stairs. Back in the living room, she made the mistake of glancing out of the window. The rain was now coming down so heavily she could barely see past it, but she could see enough to realise that her rescuer—shit, she had no idea what his name was—had been telling the truth. The water level had already gone way beyond the first waves that had spurred her on to let him in the house. Bloody hell—this is serious.
She jumped as a shape hurried past the window, until she realised it was him, carrying what she assumed was a sandbag. The reminder spurred her back in to action, and she began dumping her stuff into the bag she’d brought down. The more she could carry in one go, the better. As she worked, she thought about what else needed to go upstairs. There wasn’t much, actually, since her clothes and painting stuff were there already.
A few minutes and a couple of journeys up and down the stairs later and everything important was safely on the first floor. Her rescuer hadn’t said anything about moving any furniture or anything that belonged to the house—so she hadn’t. She figured it was probably more helpful to go outside and help him with the sandbags than do that—it was better to try to keep the water out altogether, surely? She wouldn’t be able to move much of the furniture by herself, in any case.
She dragged on her outer layer and her wellington boots, then gritted her teeth and headed outside. Immediately, she was almost blown off her feet by the force of the wind, which also drove what felt like a hundred needles into the exposed skin of her face. Muttering and cursing to herself, she pulled the drawstrings of her hood tighter around her face. Now wasn’t the time to give a shit what she looked like.
Her car, as promised, sat on the driveway, pointing towards the exit track. The water level was already worryingly high on its tyres. Gulping, she hunched over and hurried around the side of the house in search of the army guy, clocking the multiple sandbags he’d already placed next to its walls. He wasn’t messing around.
She almost bumped into him at the corner, and stopped abruptly.
“Hey,” he said, raising his voice to be heard over the weather. His hood was back up and secured around his face now. “You all right?” He held a sandbag in his arms as though it weighed nothing.
She nodded. “Yes. I’m done in there. What do you need me to do?”
“Can you help with these?” He pointed with his chin to the sandbag.
“Yes, of course.”
“Great. They’re in the back of the garage. You can see what I’m doing with them, how I’m laying them out, so just continue with that, all right? It’ll be much quicker with the two of us. Once we’re done with that, we’ll jump in the car and head into the village and the community
centre.” He glanced around, then down at the brown water swirling around his boots. “I know it looks bad, but we’ll be all right to get out at the moment. Just be careful, all right? They’re pretty heavy.”
She nodded again. “All right.”
He continued on his way, and she splashed to the garage and immediately homed in on the pile of sandbags. She hurried over and braced herself for the weight—glad her rescuer wasn’t there to see her struggle. Bizarrely, in the circumstances, she remembered what she knew about lifting, and she bent her knees, hooked her arms under the topmost bag, then straightened her legs. It was incredibly heavy, particularly given her lack of upper body strength, but she managed it, letting out a grunt as she turned and walked back around to the front of the building, trying not to panic at the sight of the water, the volume and ferocity of which appeared to be increasing by the second. God, what would happen if her car couldn’t get through it? Would they get swept away? She’d seen it on the news before—people stuck in their cars in flash floods, being rescued by firemen, and others not so lucky.
With a shudder, she picked up her pace. The sooner they got out of here, the better. She had no idea where the community centre was, but it seemed it was being used as a base, so it was presumably safe and on higher ground.
She and the man shared a smile—which was actually more like a grimace of shared discomfort—as they passed each other, and Cecelia moved to where he’d left his last bag and plopped hers down next to it. Then she spun around and prepared to repeat the whole action all over again. And again—however many times it took to position all the bags, and hopefully keep her lovely holiday home safe from the increasing flood water, which was now lapping against the first layer of sandbags.
After about fifteen minutes, when she and the army bloke passed again, he stopped. “Do you need to get anything from inside? We’re almost done now—there’s only the front door to go.”
She thought for a moment. “Yes, if there’s time, I could probably do with grabbing some stuff, since I don’t know how long I’ll be away from the house.”
He nodded. “Go for it. There’s a little time, but not much.” He glanced at the wheels of her car, which were nearly half covered with water. “Hurry.”
“Okay.” She moved as fast as she could through the water and headed back into the house, her mind racing. What did she need? Really need? Her rescuer would probably throttle her if she came out carrying her paintbrushes; though it would be a wrench to leave them behind, common sense told her that they’d be perfectly safe where they were—there was no way the flood water would reach the first floor.
She decided to rely on her instincts, and grabbed her small wheeled suitcase and threw in toiletries, clean clothes and underwear, her pyjamas, and the book she was reading—telling herself it was right next to the pyjamas, so took minimal extra time to retrieve. Then she zipped the case almost to the top and scurried back down the stairs to the kitchen, where she stuffed a bunch of food and snacks through the gap she’d left in the zip. She had no idea how the community centre was set up—she’d never been in this kind of situation before—so it seemed like a good idea. Bags of crisps, crackers, and chocolate could be just what she and the other refugees needed as they waited out the weather and the havoc it was causing.
Finally, she zipped up the case and hefted it, along with her handbag, which she’d also brought down, to the front door. She opened it to find the army guy had stacked a load of sandbags, ready to be piled in front of the door once she was out of the house. Just then he appeared with another in his arms.
She barely made out the querying raise of his eyebrows within his hood as he called over the still-howling wind, “All ready?”
She nodded and indicated her case. “Yes. Do you have my keys? I’ll put this and my bag in the car and come back to help you.”
He dumped the sandbag he was carrying on the top of the pile and shook his head. “No need. Put your stuff in the car, then get in and wait for me. Start the engine. I won’t be a minute now.” He dug his hand into his coat pocket and removed her keys.
“Um, okay.” With a shrug, she took the keys for the holiday home from the hook next to the door. Then she stepped out with her stuff, hurriedly closed and locked the door, pocketed the keys, took her keys from the army guy with a nod, then splashed over to her car, trying hard not to pay attention to how high the water level was on her tyres now. It didn’t entirely work, since a flicker of anxiety worked its way through her body unbidden, but she ignored it and pushed on.
Moments later her stuff was safely in the back of the car, and she was in the front. She pulled on her seatbelt, then put the key in the ignition and turned it, heaving a sigh of relief as the engine instantly fired into life. Then she looked in the rear-view mirror to see how her rescuer was getting on. The window wipers were working hard to clear the still-pouring torrents of rain from the glass, and she could just about make out him placing what appeared to be the last sandbag on the stack in front of the door. He gave a nod, then spun on his heel and strode towards her car.
A second or two later, he opened the door and folded his large frame into the passenger seat, then quickly pulled the door shut behind him. Cecelia hadn’t realised quite how big he was until he did that. Hunched over in her car, he looked like a giant. A dripping wet, heavy-breathing giant.
“Okay, let’s go,” he said.
Tearing her gaze away from him, she put the car in gear, disengaged the handbrake and put her foot down. “You’ll have to direct me once we get to the road. I have no idea where I’m going.”
“No problem.”
A couple of hundred yards down the lane, Cecelia stomped on the brake.
“Oh, shit,” they said as one as they took in the sight before them, then turned to look at each other, wide eyed.
“Er…” Cecelia said, clutching tightly onto the steering wheel, as though that would help the situation any. “What the fuck do we do now?”
Army Guy blew out a breath and shook his head. “Fucking hell, there’s not a lot we can do, really. There’s only one way in or out of this property—in a vehicle, anyway—and that…” he pointed at the mess of bricks and mud which used to be a bridge over a stream, “was it.”
“B-but, my car… and… flooding… and… what the hell are we going to do?”
“Cecelia,” the man said calmly, placing his right hand over her left on the steering wheel. “Try and stay calm for me, sweetheart. I know this is a scary situation, but I promise you everything is going to be all right.”
She frowned. “How do you know my name?” It was hardly important, but the panic whizzing around her body was clearly getting into her brain, too, and messing up her priorities.
He chuckled. “The owners of the house told me. I’m Clark, by the way,” he said with a gentle squeeze of her hand.
“Is that your first or last name?”
“Let’s discuss that later. Right now I need you to reverse the car, okay? We’ll get it back in the garage—which is a fair bit higher than the house, as luck would have it—use the remaining sandbags to block the door, then get ourselves holed up in the house. We’ll have to wait it out. We’re much safer in there,” he jerked his thumb over his shoulder, “than trying to get out of here on foot.”
“O-okay.” She ignored the pounding of her heart and tried hard to focus as she put the car in reverse gear, then slowly manoeuvred it towards the house. It was a narrow track, and reversing along it would be a challenge at the best of times, but with the surface beneath them being more water than ground, the wind buffeting the vehicle, and the rain lashing it, it was a task she was sure she’d never have completed if it hadn’t been for Clark and his constant stream of help and encouragement.
“You’re all right, Cecelia. Just keep the steering wheel straight, and your right foot steady. You’re doing amazingly. Not far to go now. Right hand down a little… little bit more. That’s it. So close. We’re almost onto the drive. Lef
t hand down a touch. Give her a bit more welly… and we’re there. Well done!”
She turned to stare at him through slightly fuzzy eyes. “Shit. I never want to do that again.”
“You won’t have to. Right, I’m just going to jump out here and run and open the garage door, all right? Don’t pull in until I say so, because I need to get the last few sandbags out to put in front of that door, okay?”
She nodded, then waited until he was clear of the vehicle before she slowly reversed it towards the garage. Her heart raced again as she heard and felt the swish of the water around the tyres. God, how much worse was it going to get? So much for heading out and doing some paintings of the aftermath of the storm—at this rate it’d be more like a dystopian world than one with the odd fence or tree blown down.
After a few minutes of gritting her teeth and forcing herself to keep going, Cecelia was safely inside the house. She stripped off her outer layers and left them in a pile on the hallway floor next to her bag and case, then hurried into the kitchen to make the two of them a hot drink while Clark shored up the front door once again. She wasn’t sure, but she thought the rain seemed to be letting up a little. Not that it mattered at the moment, anyway—even if it stopped suddenly and the sun came out, their exit route wouldn’t be magically repaired. No, they were stuck for the foreseeable. Thank God she’d already done the grocery shopping—at least they weren’t in imminent danger of starvation.
She heard a clunk, then some shuffling. Clark joined her in the kitchen. He, too, had removed his soaked outer layer, giving her the opportunity to look at him—really look at him—for the first time. And, she realised with a jolt, he was definitely worth looking at. Despite the dark hair plastered to his head, he was obviously a handsome man, with deep blue eyes and a smile that could melt a woman’s heart. His camouflage gear highlighted his athletic build, and she found herself wondering just what he looked like underneath all that green and brown.
Help Our Heroes: A Military Charity Anthology Page 59