The Flood (3 page)

“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.

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.”

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.

Ten minutes later, a dozen police had arrived, including Inspector Campbell, big, tweed-clad, almost completely bald and obviously shaken. There were the ambulance men, two doctors and four nurses.

Woburn himself felt dazed and dizzy from the reaction, just muttered, “see you later,” to Eve, and watched her go. She hadn’t spoken; now she gripped his hand and gave a strangled “Thank— thank you,” and then turned away and allowed herself to be helped into a police car.

Then came Campbell, with his questions, a doctor with brandy, the doctor again with a sharp instruction: “It’s time ye took a spell, Mr. Woburn. Ye can answer more questions later on this evening, if needs be. Will ye arrange for a car to take Mr. Woburn back to the farm, Inspector?”

Campbell said: “Aye, for sure.” His pale eyes looked shadowed. “You’ve been a great help, Mr. Woburn. If there’s anything at a’ I can do, you’ll let me know.”

“Of course,” said Woburn. He had told Campbell about the ‘crabs’ but that had made little impression; they had to be seen.

Woburn felt better as he neared the farm. Jenny would have a shock, and he wanted to pull himself together, anyhow. He got out of the car, half expecting Jenny to come hurrying; but she didn’t. No one was at hand. This was Thursday, the two dairymen were out, the one maid in Scourie. His brother-in-law wouldn’t come back until seven or even eight o’clock. Only an old shepherd, now odd job man, would be about.

Jamie.

The unbelievable thing was that Jenny should have been here, busy with her cooking, while it had all happened.

“Manage all right now, sir?” the driver asked.

“Perfectly, thanks.”

Hadn’t Jenny heard the car, or was he wrong in thinking that she would come hurrying to see who it was? Woburn walked towards the kitchen door, glancing at his watch; it was half past five and he had been gone about two hours. He was at the door, which stood ajar, when he heard Jenny’s voice.

“Is that you, Bob?”

“All present and correct, ma’am,” he said, and felt a sharp relief. He pushed the door wider open. Jenny was coming from the hall, brisk and eager and obviously anxious.

“Bob!” she exclaimed.

“It’ll all wash off,” he said.

“You look as if you’ve been rolling in mud!”

“It rolled on me.”

“What
did
happen?” she asked, and the anxiety showed again. “I had a telephone call from Scourie, they said there’d been a landslide in Wolf, I was afraid you’d got mixed up in it. And—”

“I did,” said Woburn, and forced a grin. “Just skirted the trouble, though. It hasn’t been so good—”

He told her.

He felt more relief from tension, as he sat in an old rocking chair in the kitchen, a cup of tea by his side and a large slice of rich fruit cake, than he had had all the time. Jenny was that kind of person. He had never known her any other way; Jenny for comfort. His earliest memory, as a toddler, was of Jenny soothing, bathing injuries, helping. And she had always been a wonderful listener. He talked, now, with a vividness which brought the picture home to her; he could tell that by her expression. He felt the words coming out, and could do nothing to stop them. He told her everything; the creatures in their crunchy shells, the seething water, the way it had burst out of the hillside. He told her of the smashed buildings and he told her of the little child.

“I’m glad it was you who saw it, not Reggie,” Jenny said at last. “We’re going to have bother with Reggie. There’s a lassie in the village he’s sae fond of.” She paused. “I think he is really fond of her, tae, it’s going to hairt him. It’ll be the first time he’s really been hairt, too.” She paused again, then looked into Woburn’s face intently: “Did
all
the village go?”

“Everything; everyone who was there.”

Jenny stood up, slowly.

“I suppose it’s no use talking about it,” she said, “and you ought to get a bath, dear. I hope Bill and Reggie aren’t late tonight, but they won’t be when they hear of this. They’re out on the south side of the glen, cutting the corn, it’s been such a lovely day—”

She broke off.

Woburn stood up, without speaking. The mud had caked on him, and he was more conscious of it now than he had been all the time. He was stiff, too. There was the big bruise at his knees and others on his elbows which he hadn’t noticed.

“I’ll put a clean towel out for you,” Jenny said, and went ahead of him.

Everything seemed to take twice as long as usual, and all hint of light-heartedness had gone. Woburn felt as if it would be impossible to recover the mood in which he had left the farm; as if he had stepped out of one age into another.

He heard the telephone bell ring, three times.

He was half an hour in the bathroom, and then he dressed in a pair of slacks, heel-less slippers and a T-shirt, and went downstairs. The bruise at his knee was still painful.

He was in the wide, stone-flagged hall when the telephone bell rang again.

“I’ll answer it,” he called.

Jenny appeared. “It’s probably another newspaper,” she said.

“Newspaper?”

“The
Globe,
the
Cry
and the
Clarion
all telephoned from London while you were in the bath,” she explained. “Some daft lad in Scourie was wi’ the police told the papers ye were on the scene. I told them that you wouldn’t be home until late tonight, I thought if you did want to talk to them, you could ring them back.” Her voice was low-pitched, the anxiety was still in her. “Of course, if you’d rather—”

“Tell whoever it is that I’m out, will you?” Woburn asked.

She passed him, nodding.

He wished he could shake off the flatness, a kind of emptiness, but there it was.

“It’s Hamish Campbell,” Jenny said, more brightly, “the Inspector. You know him. He’d like a word with you.”

“Oh, would he?” Woburn said, and forced a smile as he went to the telephone. “Hallo, Mr. Campbell.”

“Sorry to worry ye so quickly,” the Inspector said, “but this is rather an urgent matter.” He hesitated, and seemed to be swallowing words. “Aye, so it is. We’d be very grateful if you would say nothing to anyone, not even the newspapers, about what you saw, until we say it’s all richt . . . . Just a minute.” Now Woburn guessed that the other man was on two telephones at the same time. “Hallo again – sorry to keep breaking off. The thing is, ugly rumours could get about, and we don’t want them to, until the experts have had a chance to see what’s happened and what those creatures are. Can we rely on you to say nothing?”