EQMM, July 2010

by Dell Magazine Authors

  The head of a local environmental organization had been called to the mayor's office because certain neighborhoods had been built on loose ground and were at high risk of being washed away by clay landslides if the river overflowed—particularly those neighborhoods near the city's large quarries, which had destabilized the slopes beside the river.

  She had spoken to Jack about it last weekend, before he went off on his hunting trip. She despised hunting and had shared her disapproval with him. He had sent her packing with an intensity that left her feeling shaken all day. He hated it when people disapproved of him. She thought it was because his job demanded that he lead a team of “lame excuses,” as he called his sales reps.

  As for the possible flooding, he dismissed it, saying that the environmental activist was just a pothead looking for an opportunity to get ahead, but, as far as good old Jack was concerned, he couldn't care less since he knew how to swim anyway.

  * * * *

  The lights went off all of a sudden and the house shook from an enormous gust of wind. She quickly got up and raced towards the window in a panic.

  The neighborhood had been plunged into darkness, but she could see the trees twisting along the avenue as though they wanted to free themselves from the mud. The rain intensified again and started to bang against the windowpanes with such force that she thought they might shatter.

  The lights went on again and the television, which she'd had on, started up without any problem. On the TV screen, she could see a map of their area that highlighted all the flood zones as a voice off-screen announced that the low-lying areas were already being affected by a precipitous rise in the river's water level within the last hour.

  They lived just above the lowest-lying areas.

  She rushed to the phone to call Jack. When he finally answered, on his cell phone, she could hear from the thickness of his voice that he was drunk.

  "What'sa matter?"

  "Listen, they've just said on the news that the river's overflowing and that there's some major flash flooding in certain neighborhoods. I'm worried that we'll be next."

  "What are you talking about?"

  "You know very well what I'm talking about. Those quarries near us could shift at any minute. There could be a landslide and the river will wash it all down our way."

  "Did that jackass environmentalist fill your head with that nonsense? Come on, nothing's going to happen. Just go to bed."

  "Jack, I'd rather you were here in case something does happen. . . . “

  She could hear him swearing.

  "Why don't you stop being such a pain in the ass? I'm right in the middle of a party for one of the reps. You want me to tell them that my wife is afraid of getting her feet wet and that I have to leave them so I can go console her?"

  "Jack, if the river rises a bit more, it could carry big chunks of rock or clay from the quarry along with it. It's not just the environmentalist who's saying it, but everybody."

  "Oh yeah? Then don't listen to everybody. I'll come home as soon as I'm done here."

  "Jack, really, I'd rather you came home now."

  "Stop bugging me, I'll come home when it's time to,” he shouted as he hung up on her.

  She stood there with the receiver in her hand. The wind was blowing even harder and she heard what she thought was roof shingles loosening, but didn't know if they were hers or her neighbors. She hung up and felt a violent spasm rip through her stomach. She belched and doubled up in pain. What a time to get sick.

  She made it to the kitchen and got some candles out in case the power went off again. The pain would not let up and she had to sit down. She thought of Mrs. Clarys all alone in her house and how she must be trembling with fear. She told herself that she really ought to give her a call, but what kind of help could she be to her in her present state? She knew that Mrs. Clarys slept in a tiny room at the back of her house. She never fully understood why.

  The reporter came on, replacing the stationary image of the map.

  "City officials have just issued an evacuation order for the lower northern sections of the city. Anyone living in those districts [he read off a list of neighborhoods] should evacuate their homes, as there is already severe flooding in several areas. All those in the affected areas are urged to go to the nearest shelter while the roads are still functioning and to shut all their doors and windows with care. People should bring only warm clothes and essential items such as important documents or light valuables. Everything else will be provided for at the shelters.

  "The fire and police departments will help guide cars along the roads and the National Guard will be sent to the evacuated areas as a precaution against vandalism or looting. Districts near the Norwich quarries are particularly threatened. . . . The need for immediate evacuation is especially urgent in those neighborhoods."

  She just stood there. Stunned. That was them! She started to shake uncontrollably. My goodness, she had to evacuate her home! And Jack wasn't there! What should she bring with her? Documents and valuables? What were their valuables? She was on the verge of fainting. She would drown and be swept away by the torrents of mud that she had already seen in action on television. Her house destroyed, her possessions gone, a whole life blown away without her being able to do anything about it! And Jack wasn't even there!

  She saw the Robertses moving around their house. Clara was going up and down the stairs while her husband went out to take care of the car.

  The car! Hers was at the mechanic's, and, of course, Jack had the other one!

  A stream of bile rushed up to her mouth, practically choking her. But what would happen to her? She had never been so sick in her life! Impossible . . . she must have been poisoned! Yet, she ate the same food as her husband and he seemed in great shape.

  She tried to catch her breath. She would ask the Robertses to take her with them. They couldn't turn her down. She thought of calling Jack. But of course he knew what was happening. And he didn't care.

  She saw that the Robertses weren't ready yet. She had time to collect a few of their things. She remembered that he'd put important documents in some file folders on one of the shelves in the closet. She'd better take the right ones, she thought.

  She dragged herself up to the second floor, doubled over by an intolerable pain in the pit of her stomach. She could hear the sound of her other neighbors’ cars starting just as a deafening boom erupted from the basement. What could it be? The phone was ringing downstairs. Jack.

  She went back down, hugging the rail as the roar became louder and louder, as though a dozen trucks were rumbling through together. The phone stopped ringing just as the power went off. She felt suddenly stuck in the thick, asphalt-like darkness.

  She forced herself to go back upstairs and pushed herself all the way to the window by the landing. Her eyes were wide with horror. Streams of mud tore down the street. For the moment, they stayed within the boundaries of the road, but they would soon be all over the place.

  Petrified, she realized that the Robertses had already left. She looked up and down the road. Not a soul. The street was completely empty. The rain became twice as violent as the clayey earth began to swell and run between the houses.

  She was all alone, everyone had abandoned her. Nobody had even bothered to check up on her to see if anyone was still at home. As she stared out the window, she saw an uninterrupted line of red dots. People had taken off like rabbits.

  She let herself drop to the floor, along the wall. Her hand tried to contain the pain that was eating her up as though crabs were ripping through her skin. Crabs? Cancer. A wave of despair engulfed her. She was going to die in any case. Death from cancer or death by drowning. The doctor had told her she didn't have cancer. Could he have made such a big mistake? Not likely, she had seen a specialist after all! His walls were covered with diplomas. So, if it wasn't cancer, what was it?

  She had an idea that she had been trying to stifle for some time now. From the moment she had accidentally stumbled on that
container . . . Why had there been rat poison in the basement? Wouldn't Jack have told her if he had found the filthy things in the house? More than once, he would have! So what was that poison doing there?

  Dull thuds were making the walls rattle. The night was so black that she could barely see the houses on the other side of the street. She had to get ahold of herself.

  But what was the point? If Jack had only made an effort to look for her . . . but what's the point of living if nobody loves you? Maybe she could solve a few problems just by dying. When her mother was alive, she would never have thought such things, her mother had needed her. Who needed her now? No one. Quite the opposite.

  Jack had asked her many times why they couldn't just go over to their lawyer's office and put the house in both of their names. For no particular reason, she decided not to. She regretted it now. If she had gone with him, maybe she wouldn't have been in the midst of such a slow but steady death.

  And wasn't it true that rat poison, with its arsenic, left no traces whatsoever? Besides, who would even think of performing an autopsy on her?

  Everyone would think that she had died of some sort of undetected illness.

  She leaned against the wall, faint with the dread of it all. She hadn't done a thing with her life.

  At school, she had been everybody's punching bag, then, when she was old enough to raise a family, it was as though she'd been a slave to her mother. At work, she was the one assigned all the busy work that no one wanted to do, or who would be used as an alibi for colleagues when they needed one. The good girl.

  And then, the late marriage. What an idiot! How could she have believed that a man could love her for who she was? Her mother had often told her that being by her side saved her from being miserable with a man. How right she was.

  "Men look for pretty little faces, good cooks, or women who have a lot of money. You don't fit into any of those categories, my dear,” she would sigh.

  She looked out the window again. The mud, as she had predicted, was already smothering the gardens. The river water would soon be added to the mix. And so the trap would close in on her. Jack must have known what would happen. The others must have told him. Everyone in the city was talking about the flooding.

  He would inherit the house and, with the insurance money, would be able to put it back into shape. He had been homeless after his divorce, and she knew what a shock that had been for him. Years on the road had given him the urge to stay put. That must have been why he married her. Otherwise, what would have attracted him to her?

  Her pain had subsided a bit, but not enough for her to take action. In the medicine cabinet, there were some sleeping pills that she had taken when she could no longer stand listening to Jack's snoring all night.

  She could hear some honking in the distance, a whole cacophony of noises. She thought about all the traffic jams out there. It couldn't be any worse than being left alone in the middle of all that water.

  Suddenly, she was overwhelmed by a deafening humming. She put her hands over her ears. What now? Was the street paving coming apart? She cowered by the wall, waiting to be hurled into the raging waters at any moment, when she realized that the infernal sound was coming from a helicopter.

  Just as a brush of light was beginning to swash across the fronts of the houses, she jumped up and ran towards the window, screaming and waving her arms in the air, but the helicopter, after a brief moment of inaction, flew off towards the highway. She froze, numbed by her own stupidity, realizing that she had just blown her last chance at survival. She couldn't even muster an iota of resistance. This last blunder epitomized her whole life.

  Jack didn't have to worry about anyone being even the least bit suspicious. She was going to die all alone and finish the job for him.

  She went back down to the living room and groped her way to the sofa. Perhaps it would be less painful to die by drowning than by poisoning. She would down the sleeping pills as soon as the rising waters reached a level of no escape. She would fall asleep and float away until the waters receded and someone eventually found her. By then, her body would be so damaged that no one would know who she was.

  Jack would report her missing and everyone would assume she had drowned. That was fine with her. If cancer or the rat poison hadn't killed her, she would have died from grief and boredom anyway.

  She leaned back on a pillow and remained with her eyes wide open in the darkness as she listened to her heart beat. This was almost a romantic death. In any case, it was the most romantic moment of her life.

  She wondered whether she hated Jack now. He had to be somewhere safe, calmly waiting for the storm to end. Openly lamenting his situation and confiding in anyone who would listen to him. The headquarters of his company was in no danger of being submerged, if that was where the going-away party was being held. Like most of the companies in the city, it was located on top of the hills towards the south.

  She sat up all of a sudden. Mrs. Clarys. That poor lady! Who had thought to take care of her? She threw herself onto the phone and found that the dial tone had come back.

  "Yes . . . ?” answered a trembling voice.

  "Mrs. Clarys, do you know what's going on?"

  "What? No . . . “

  "Did you fall asleep?"

  "All day. My doctor gave me some tranquilizers that put me in a stupor. But what on earth is going on, my dear?"

  She froze. The old lady would also drown. Since she couldn't move on her own, she would watch the water slowly rise and would be totally submerged.

  "Mrs. Clarys . . . Listen up . . . “

  What on earth could she do? The street that separated her house from the old lady's was already carrying along massive quantities of water and mud. How could anyone cross it? And if she made it across, what would they be able to do together, as one was almost as sick as the other?

  "What's happening?” her neighbor asked more firmly. She was no doubt more awake now and she could surely hear the furious sound of the water and the cacophonous din of the honking horns in the distance.

  "We have a problem, Mrs. Clarys. The river has overflowed and we're flooded in. We have to get out of here."

  "That's unbelievable! And what are our neighbors doing?"

  "Our neighbors . . . ?” Could she tell her that they had fled like the cowards they were? Could one tell an elderly lady on the verge of death that nobody considered her important enough to help? But what about herself? She was just like them. She too had almost forgotten all about Mrs. Clarys.

  "Uh . . . Mrs. Clarys, can you get up?"

  "Get up? Sure, of course, why not?"

  "I'm coming to get you."

  "Did you get your car back? You told me you brought it to the mechanic's yesterday."

  The old lady had all her faculties. Cancer hadn't reached her brain apparently.

  "I . . . uh . . . get ready,” she said evasively. “Is your front door open?"

  "Yes, I always leave it unlocked. Are you sure we have to leave?"

  "Certain."

  "Then I'll wait for you. Did the Mitchells already leave?"

  "Uh . . . I think so. Mrs. Clarys, get some warm and waterproof clothes ready. Take your medicines and any documents that might be of importance to you."

  "I'll take care of that, my dear. When you get here, I'll be waiting for you like a good little girl. Honk, that'll save you some time. . . . “

  There was an awkward silence on the other end of the line.

  "Ah? And how do you expect to leave? Hang on, I'm going to see what's going on."

  Before she could answer, the old lady had put the phone down. She came back a few minutes later.

  "I have a good flashlight, and I saw giant blocks of clay hurtling down the street. You can't cross."

  "But you can't stay there, you live in a one-story house!"

  "Don't worry about me, I'm old and sick, but you, what are you still doing at home? Where's your husband?"

  She didn't know what to say to her. C
ould she tell her that her husband, sensing the oncoming catastrophe, had managed to leave her all alone?

  "I . . . I hadn't realized how serious the situation was. Mrs. Clarys, surely you must have some sort of an attic in your house?"

  "Indeed, but not high enough to do much good. It's there just to allow access to the roof."

  At that very moment, a violent jolt shook Mrs. Clarys's house, making a noise loud enough to be heard through the phone.

  "Mrs. Clarys, what's happening?!"

  "I don't know, my dear, I think a piece of rock or something just took a chunk of my wall. I'm going to hang up now, no need to keep you. We're going to be cut off in any case."

  As though it had waited just for that moment, the phone went dead.

  "Mrs. Clarys, Mrs. Clarys!” she yelled frantically as she shook the phone. But she couldn't hear anything. She raced towards the window. Indeed, a chunk of wall had been torn from under Mrs. Clarys's window. Soon, the water would take hold of her living room and she would drown like a rat!

  She watched as tangled garden furniture, tires, bicycles paraded under her window. The water was sweeping through all the garages and sheds. Another violent bang made her house shake. It was time to get going!

  She ran back upstairs, grabbed a particularly comfortable raincoat that Jack hated because he said it made her look fat, some rubber boots that she had just bought, and a flashlight, and quickly ran back down.

  She opened the living room window. Outside, the water had reached a third of the way up the low fence. It wasn't the depth of the water that worried her, however, but its force, and the clay that mixed with it.

  The stream was thick and had the same color as the mustard poultice her mother used to recommend for stomachaches. As she formulated this thought, she realized that she was no longer in pain. On the contrary, she was full of energy.

  She hauled herself up onto the window and let herself drop into the garden. The water practically came up to the top of her boots. Grabbing on to anything she could find that was still attached, she climbed over the fence. Staggering from the strength of the stream, she let go with one hand and attempted to move forward.