The Usk after the Flood


The storm was a day late. When it came, it brought the promise of the chill winter to come with it, emptying from the clouds and fuelled by the wind. It rained. It rained for three weeks. At night, the houses around the village were battered by the storm, window panes threatening to smash and the sound of air rushing was behind everything. An ancient whisper heard in sweat soaked dreams that ripped a man from sleep.


Jack Williams walked across the flood plain, wellies sloshing shin deep in the river water. The Usk had burst her banks, the first time in over fifty years, Nigel ‘two dogs’ had said, bleary eyed over a Hanbury pint,


“As far as you could see.” he began again at the end of the bar, “There was water. It flooded right through the village. Houses, shops were ruined. I remember, the mud was caked all over...” Jack has sipped his wine, book limp in his hand, listening and drunk too,


“Never seen a thing like it. Had to rescue people in boats. Cattle drowned or lost, shops ruined....” He pointed a crooked finger aloft, as if pointing out a fading memory and may have had a tear in his eye, but Jack couldn’t be sure. So, he had walked home towards the house he shared with Rachel, who was expecting their first. Did newly weds continue to have cold feet? Jack knew he would love the child but still fretted about being a bad father. He sloshed, lost in thought and numb to the cold. The moon shone white, casting the world in an eerie glow. It hung there like a mute observer of his musings. In the light, the flood plain was a dark expanse, broken by the gentle sheen on the water, rippling here and there as if taking a breath. Jack stopped and lit a cigarette to take it in.


The Usk itself was barely discernable, as was the danger to venture too close. The flood had filled all the lagoons that channelled off the main river and so the treacherous banks lay unseen; a thick and ancient mud, worse than any quicksand. Cattle would simply get stuck and drown as the huge tide rushed in. To his left was the railway embankment. A train suddenly roared past and shocked Jack, who dropped his cigarette and lighter into the water, “Damn” he muttered and stooped down. Rachel had been onto him to quit smoking now that the baby was on the way and maybe this was a sign to do just that. His fingers clasped the Zippo, a present when he was a student he remembered absently. A sharp pain stung his hand. He cursed and pulled his hand up. He saw what looked like a thin nail, about an inch in length, stuck to the side of his thumb. Except it started moving, writhing as if in a frying pan. He grabbed at it and it bit again. With a shout, he hurled it across the water and sucked on his thumb. Grass snake? A water snake of some kind? Igniting his lighter, he examined his thumb. There were four perfect puncture marks, no blood, but the thumb was swelling already. A sudden wave of nausea rushed over him. Coupled with the wine it was all he could do not to topple forward to the dark water.


20


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