The Flood

by John Creasey

“It’s the craziest thing,” Woburn went on, with a little, foolish laugh, “but until you’ve seen one, I don’t think you’d believe it. A—er—creature that spouts water.”

  She gave him a quick, sidelong look, but didn’t answer. He opened the driving door for her, and she got in.

  “Shall I follow you?” Woburn asked. Whether intentionally or not, she had made him feel foolish.

  “Your machine will be all right here, I’m sure,” she said. “Why not come with me?”

  “Thanks. I will.” He rounded the car, and slid into the luxury of the seat next to hers. He wasn’t a poor man, but was a stranger to this kind of wealth.

  “What kind of thing?” the woman asked, abruptly.

  “It looked rather like a crab. Crustacean of some kind, anyhow.”

  “No, I haven’t seen one,” she said. “I was going to the post office in the village, and when I reached Red Deer Point, I saw. . . the unbelievable. The dreadful thing is—”

  She broke off.

  Woburn understood why; and now he could begin to comprehend the effort she was making to hold her emotions in check, and conceal her own horror.

  They went on for a few minutes along the narrow, winding road, with flagged metal posts sticking up at intervals, indicating the passing points. If another car came towards them, there would be no room to pass on the road; one or the other would have to reverse to the nearest point. The need for constant watchfulness forced the speed down to thirty miles an hour.

  Woburn felt spray on his forehead. Eve Davos glanced at him quickly, at the same time.

  “Feel that?”

  “Yes.”

  “I didn’t feel it coming,” she said. “It hadn’t spread so far then.” They turned a corner and a sharp hill faced them; she changed gear smoothly. “The dreadful thing is that the village seems to have vanished.”

  They reached the top of the hill, and were now in sight of Red Deer Point itself, the best look-out over the loch, the village and the distant firth with its hundreds of small islands. For those few who came this far, the view was a reward in itself. Walkers, cyclists and the rare motorists stopped here, but today no one was in sight. They saw the signpost which read: Red Deer View Point”, and Eve Davos slowed down, then turned the nose of the car towards it. As they went off the road, Woburn looked down on to the village; on to the surging, boiling mass of water and the loch beyond.

  There was no village.

  Eve stopped the car and switched off the engine. They sat together, in a strange oneness; as if they alone shared the awfulness of this spectacle, and they alone could measure its horror. Spray fell about them like rain, although to the West the sun was high and warm, gleaming on the car and on the spray, dancing, colourful, gay as sprites. But down by the loch there was only the turmoil.

  Woburn felt choked.

  “It’s like. . . Niagara,” Eve Davos said.

  “You feel like that, too?”

  “Yes, except – it’s coming out of the earth, it isn’t just falling over—” Eve Davos stopped. Her mouth was set very tightly. Her hands, folded in her lap, looked white from the tension. The roar was thunderous in their ears and they were coated with the spray – and then, out of the sky, something heavier fell, into her lap.

  She stared at it.

  Woburn cried: “Don’t touch it!” He sat poised, with hands raised, feeling new horror. It was one of the ‘things’ lying upside down, little legs writhing, underbelly like a pale, shimmery jelly. Eight legs. Eve raised her hands away from it, and cringed back. Woburn licked his lips. Slowly, he took out his cigarette-case and opened it; three cigarettes fell out, sprinkling tiny shreds of tobacco. He slid the thinnest edge of the case under the wriggling creature and gradually eased it underneath, until the thing was on the case, covering half of its length and overlapping the edges. Then he tossed it over.

  It struck a rock.

  A stream of water gushed out, smacking against the side of the car.

  Eve didn’t speak and didn’t move, except to relax a little. Woburn felt better with the thing out of the car; but if one could fall, so could others.

  He said abruptly: “We want one of those things as evidence. Is there a box of any kind in the car?”

  She looked at him, as if she had to fight for words, then nodded; then found her voice.

  “In the boot, there’s a – there’s an empty tin.”

  “Think we might put the hood up?”

  “Yes,” she said, and seemed glad that he’d suggested it. “It works at a switch. You get. . . you get the tin.” She waited until he was out of the car, and then touched a switch. The hood, folded at her back, began to rise slowly. Woburn didn’t spend much time looking there, but glanced at the cauldron of the loch, licked his lips again, and felt something brush against him. He shivered. ‘It’ rolled down his trouser leg on to grass, and didn’t burst. He stepped over it, carefully, and then tried to open the boot; but it was locked.

  Eve was hurrying towards him.

  “I’ve the key,” she said. She scanned the ground, as anxious as he not to tread on one of the things, but her voice was quite steady. “Here it is.” She handed him the key, and he opened the boot, to find a few oddments there; tools, two expensive rugs and two small, round toffee tins. “Use one of those,” Eve went on, and Woburn picked one up and took off the lid. It wasn’t empty, but contained two spare lamp bulbs, resting on cotton wool.

  “Couldn’t be better,” he said gruffly.

  He didn’t fancy doing this, but it had to be done. Eve Davos watched him. He approached the ‘thing’ and knelt down on one knee, put the open tin on the ground near it, then pushed his cigarette-case under, exactly as before. The eight short legs wriggled wildly, and Woburn couldn’t stop a shudder.

  He got it.

  “Be careful!” the woman exclaimed.

  He gritted his teeth as he lifted it over the edge of the tin, and then lowered it cautiously on to the cotton wool. It started to wriggle again. He put the lid on, quickly, and pressed it tight. Then he stood up, gulping.

  “One – sample – crustacean.”

  “I hope— I hope it doesn’t burst,” the woman said, in a low voice. “I wonder how long the police will be.”

  “Not long.”

  “And I wonder—” she began, and stopped.

  He was thinking exactly the same thing, was quite sure about it. She was wondering if there was any hope at all for any of the people of the village. He glanced down again. The flood was perhaps a little less violent than it had been, but still wild and turbulent, the whole valley was filled with raging water, and the level of the loch was much higher than usual. It was thrusting its way against the rocky sides.

  The level of the seething water seemed to settle for a few minutes, the turbulence was quietened until it looked no more than a rough sea, smacking like angry waves against the rocks. Here and there they could see the walls of buildings. The church spire was leaning over, at a crazy angle. No single building, no cottage, no house, no shop, no shed or barn, not even the church, the schoolhouse or the village hall, still’ had its roof. Some had part of four walls, still standing; most had only one or two walls, and they were already half-demolished, with water sweeping over them. It was impossible to be sure where the streets and the roads had been. The road to the sea had vanished. The boats were gone. A car lay on its side.

  Woburn was aware of the woman gripping his arm.

  He could understand her horror and despair, and he had a strange wish; that she would cry. She looked as if the sight of disaster had drawn the life out of her, and stared with almost lifeless eyes into the village which had been wiped out.

  A body, of a child, was swept out of the corner of a wall, and carried towards the loch.

  “No,” Eve Davos gasped. “No, no!”

  “I think we ought to get back,” Woburn said. “Nothing we can do if we wait for the police.” There was nothing anyone could do, it had been a sweep into utter des
truction; deadly. “Let’s get back. You are from the Castle, aren’t you?”

  “Yes,” she answered. “Yes.”

  “We can go the long way round,” he said, “and probably meet the police. Or we can go the short way, and miss them.”

  “I don’t think I want to see the police now,” Eve Davos said huskily.

  Woburn put the tin gingerly down in the boot, packed it round with rugs, to save it from being jolted, and then closed the door. She’d left the key in it, with the ignition key. He locked it, and said:“Like me to drive?”

  “Perhaps it would be as well.”

  He pressed the self-starter, and as he did so, the car trembled.

  Woburn did not understand that, and put his foot on the accelerator; the engine was all right, he could hear the hum. The car trembled again, more violently. He was looking at the notice board saying: “Red Deer View Point”, and saw that it was swaying up and down; the car was swaying too, because the earth beneath them was shaking. Shaking.

  “Hold tight,” he cried. “Hold tight!”

  He was sweating as he moved off – and stalled the engine. He swore under his breath and started again, getting off to a smooth start. They could feel the earth shaking beneath the wheels. Woburn drove fast along the rim of the loch, where the road ran, and as he did so he saw the towering cliffs on the other side of the loch burst.

  One moment, it was grey and purple, with some firs and, a few stretches of barren rock that was almost white. Then it burst outwards, spewing rocks and earth and trees and water far into the loch; and as it came, it gave a deafening roar.

  Here, the earth quivered. Would this side go, now?

  Woburn lowered his head, and raced the car along the road. Just ahead was a little ascent leading to a sharp, rocky spur, part of which had been flattened to make a car park; this was Red Deer Point. On the other side of the view point was a deep, lovely valley with a burn running through it. Mountains rose all around in spectacular grandeur. The road itself ran on a kind of natural ridge, with the loch on one side and the valley on the other.

  The car was close to Red Deer Point when the road in front of it disappeared.

  4

  Woburn drew in a hissing breath as he jammed on the foot-brake. The gap in the road, just a thin line one moment, increased without a pause as the tyres screamed on the smooth, damp road. A great cloud of dust and dirt rose upwards, cutting them off from sight of land. The road seemed to crumble from the wheels of the car.

  Eve Davos was opening her door, as Woburn thrust his back. He jumped out, and ran round to help her. The nose of the car was only a yard from the great gap, and beneath it there was swirling dust and mud and water.

  They met at the back of the car; pale and tense.

  “Only one thing for it.” Woburn said, “down there.” He pointed towards the little river in the valley, looking so serene and flowing quietly. The climb down would be steep and rough. It looked quite normal, with its jutting rocks and dry grass and heather, but any moment it might crumble under the pressure of water. “If we can get to the other side of the valley we may be all right.”

  A stone wall bordered the road, making a large sheep pen. Eve started to climb it, but her skirt was too tight. Woburn moved swiftly, and lifted her over. He followed, in a stride. Behind them, one side of the road was still crumbling, and Red Deer Point was collapsing into the great maw of the loch. Spray, thick with dark mud now, was falling about them, spotting Eve’s cool, clean dress, her face, her dark hair. Woburn felt it sprinkling him. He heard the roar. He could feel the earth trembling. Inside this hill there was the roaring, raging torrent, and if it forced its way through on this side, they could be drawn into it, out of life into death.

  Eve stumbled, in the tight-fitting dress.

  “Take that dress off!” Woburn shouted.

  She stood up for a moment, with a hand at her side, fumbling. She unfastened the dress and started to pull it over her head; precious, vital seconds were swallowed up. She had to hold him, to keep her balance, as she tore at it with one hand. At last, she kicked it free. She wore a nylon slip, which didn’t reach her knees and didn’t hide much.

  “Hurry!”

  She started off again, down the rocky hillside, but no woman had a chance with such ridiculous little shoes, muddy now, and—

  She turned her ankle, and nearly fell.

  “Stand still!” Woburn shouted. “Keep still!”

  He bent down, slid one arm round her legs, about her knees, and lifted her off the ground. On his shoulder, she seemed no weight at all for the first few seconds. He scrambled down, swaying, afraid that he would drop her. She clung to him with her hands tight on his shoulders, and he went on blindly. He wasn’t sure how much farther they had to go, only knew that the roaring was louder in his ears and the ground shook, and that at any moment the earth might open and swallow them up.

  He staggered.

  He stumbled.

  Then, he found himself on level ground, and he dared to stop. He let Eve down, clumsily, sliding her body against his. She didn’t seem to notice, didn’t look at him, but looked upwards; and there was the horror in her eyes.

  He turned.

  The top of the spur at Red Deer Point was vanishing.

  They could see the muddy spray, but nothing else.

  Five minutes ago, they had been up there; but now they were in the bottom of the valley, by the little river. They had time, even if this valley also succumbed to the onrush of the water. Every second counted.

  “Come on,” he said, “we’ve got to run.”

  At first, he held her hand; but that unbalanced them both. They ran over the rough land of the valley; the girl staggering in places. Woburn let her get ahead, just a yard or so; the danger, if it came closer, would come from behind them. The white nylon slip rode up her long, slender legs; the slip fitted her slim waist snugly, her shoulders were tanned a golden colour.

  They could see where the telegraph poles vanished from sight; some should have been visible all the way round Red Deer Point, but many had gone; and the gap marked the spot where the road had caved in. There was just a hole where the road had been, as if some fabulous beast had taken a great bite. Spray, not mud, tossed about and scintillated, but the inundated valley and the dead village were out of sight. In their frantic rush, Woburn and Eve covered a mile or more; but they still seemed very close to the scene of disaster, and spray fell lightly on their faces.

  Eve’s face was spotted with drying mud. So was the nylon slip, her hands, her hair. Woburn knew that he must look as bedraggled.

  They reached the foot of a steep bank which led to the road, and Eve looked at it with a kind of hopelessness.

  “We’re nearly there,” Woburn said, “let me carry you.”

  “No, I can manage, it—” she was almost in tears.

  “Come on,” he said, roughly.

  This time it was even harder. The ground was nothing but stones and there were patches of spiky thistle. Now and again he put his hand against a patch, wincing as he snatched it away. He was much more conscious of the fact that he was carrying a woman over his shoulder; more conscious of her body. Now and again, when he glanced up, the top of the bank seemed as far away as ever. Sweat ran down his forehead and into his eyes, and he couldn’t do anything about it. He began to gasp.

  “Must – rest,” he said, and put her down.

  For a moment he sat by her side, sweat oozing from every pore, drawing in deep breaths; then he mopped his face with a handkerchief which was soon damp and dirty. His shirt was wet, his trousers clung to him at the waist. But he was sitting here, safe, and able to look across the valley to the top of Red Deer Point – which wasn’t there.

  There was no mist and no spray in sight.

  “It’s getting. . . better,” he said.

  She nodded.

  “Listen,” Woburn said, “it’s been a shock, but – don’t take it so hard. We’re lucky. We’re alive.”

&n
bsp; She turned her head, to look away from the valley and across the hills. He saw her hands bunch in her lap. She was no longer trembling, but he could sense the stress of an emotion which was almost too strong for her.

  She said: “My sister was in the village.”

  At the top of the hill, where the road was smooth and friendly, showing no sign of damage, and where telegraph poles were as firm as they had ever been, they could see some distance. Eve put her dress on, as she sat on a big boulder. Then, they smoked. Jerkily, Woburn told her who he was and where he was staying; she knew Jenny, slightly. Soon, they could see cars heading this way – several of them, a van and two ambulances seemed to be moving very quickly. They heard the snort of motorcycles, and two riders turned a corner, travelling very fast. At sight of them, one stopped; the other went scorching on, and Woburn yelled after him: “Road’s gone!”

  “What’s that?” The motor-cyclist who had stopped was a youthful, hardy-looking policeman.

  “The road’s fallen away,” Woburn said, flatly.

  “You mean – we canna’ get into the village?”

  “Not a hope.”

  “My God!” the man gasped. “The other road’s gone, as well. If we canna’—” He broke off, pale under his healthy tan. “Did you two get away?”

  “We weren’t in the village,” Woburn said, “just going to it.” He didn’t try to imagine Eve’s thoughts, and found himself hating the need to use the word ‘village’. All that had puzzled him was now easy to understand. He could imagine how Jenny would feel, knowing that he had gone to the village and wouldn’t come back. Even the others would be badly shaken; calm, steady Bill Robertson, lively Reggie, with his love of speed and his crush on every pretty girl – oh, forget it. It was her sister who had gone.

  “The Inspector’s just behind,” the motor-cyclist said. “I’d better get on.” He started off again, the engine roaring, and it wasn’t until the sound had faded that Woburn realised that the thunderous roar of the water in the valley had practically stopped; it was little more than a murmur, as of water breaking gently against a sandy beach.