Nine: Stranded

I made my way back toward the shops by a roundabout route, meaning that I got lost and somehow found myself back in the shopping district near the train station. In an arcade, I could see some people looting the shops for clothes, jewelry and food. Avoiding that dangerous looking area, I returned to the road by the train station. There, I joined the other lost people hiding from the rain. I sat under the overhanging front of a closed shop, leaning against it's corrugated front, too tired to do anymore. I hugged my knees, shivering in my dripping wet clothes and wringing out what I could. It didn't help much. All that running around in the dark, the fear and the soldiers had exhausted me. It was hard to believe that it was already late night. I hadn't had dinner but I wasn't hungry. I was too scared and cold to be hungry.

It was strange. The soldiers had disappeared, but then, so too had most of the train station. The majority of it had been submerged under water and only its roof could be seen shining under the dim yellow street lights.

Us miserable people huddled together in miserable small groups. Nobody really talked much. I could see abandoned and smashed mobile phones littering the ground here and there. What a waste. Mobile phones might start working again and still be usable.

Somehow, I drifted off, dreaming of falling into the bathtub at home while still fully dressed and Henry laughing at me for being so stupid. I woke with a start to find myself leaning against a man. My head rested on his comfortable, well muscled arm and his coat covered me, protecting me from the worst of the wind and spray. It was still pouring and I could feel the light sprinkle of rain in my face every time the wind blew.

"I'm sorry," I said at first, giving his warm coat back and feeling confused. He looked cold in just a shirt. I didn't recognise him right away, but then I did. What was he doing here? "You. It's you."

In the dim light of the nearby streetlight, I recognised the wide faced Bosky soldier. The man who looked like a mountain climber and might have been a plainclothesman with his serious action boots. The one who had saved me from a trolley, hugged me when I'd been pushed into his arms by the crowd and that I'd been attracted to. The man I had imagined would be nice to have as a boyfriend. He was back in normal clothes, looking like an ordinary, buff guy, stranded like the rest of us. Knowing who he was now, I wasn't attracted anymore. I was repulsed.

"It's all right," he smiled, patting his shoulder and holding out his coat again. "You can go back to sleep."

People around us stirred, but nobody else seemed to recognise him. I recognised none of the other soldiers who had been in the train station with us earlier among the people huddled under the shelter of this shop front. If they had disappeared, why hadn't he gone with them?

"You," I gasped, standing up, unable to find words at the moment, my brain still feeling scrambled. The world seemed to reel around me.

He stood up and stepped toward me, slinging his jacket around his shoulders, a warning in his eyes. Spinning on my toes and ducking away, I ran back out into the rain. Passing the train station, I realised that even the roof had been submerged now and that the water was starting to spill over the tops of the banks. That was fast. The electric wires were partially submerged and I hoped that somebody had turned the power off or the water would be charged. Anyone who touched that water would die.

Just outside the pooling light of a streetlamp, at the riverbank, I heaved for breath and let the rain wash the saltwater away on my face. Terror clawed at my chest and throat. Despair weighed my body down more than the rain and my wet clothes did. At least with this freezing rain that felt as heavy as angry hail, nobody would be able to tell whether I was crying or not. I wanted to go home. I wanted Mum and Dad. They must be so worried about me right now. My heart beat painfully in my chest. It thumped as if it wanted to escape my ribcage.

Caged. Trapped. That's right. That was what I was feeling.

"The bridges are flooded. There's no way back across," the Bosky soldier said, holding up his coat to shelter us a bit from the rain and I stepped backwards. I didn't want his kindness. I wanted to go home. He caught my arm and pulled me toward him, away from the water's creeping edge before I fell into it. "Careful. Don't touch the water," he warned me. "It's dangerous. We shouldn't stay here. The police are patrolling the area and the army is on its way. They've told us to stay away from the floodwater. We should stay with the other people. It's safer."

"You're a Bosky soldier," I said, craning to look into his face. He didn't seem that tall anymore. Perhaps it was my small stature that made even him seem taller than he was. He wasn't much taller than Henry in reality. Had I been imagining his height earlier? Or was it the lack of boots? He was wearing dress shoes now. "You're stranded too."

"Yes," he said, not denying anything. His facial expression was straight. Unchanging. There was no way to guess what he might be thinking or whether he might be lying. 'Unfortunately."

"Where are the other soldiers? Did they make it back across? The hippy musician and all?"

"Yes," he said, looking at the other bank with steady, unreadable eyes.

"How come you didn't make it?"

"I stopped to rescue a lady who fell in the water and couldn't swim. There was a wall of flood water that rushed in just after that and the bridge collapsed."

"You'll get caught if anyone recognises and reports you."

"I think you're the only one who has recognised me so far," he said, a strange look on his face. "You're very observant. Are you going to report me?"

"Are you going to kill me?" I asked, having a feeling that he wouldn't hurt me unless he absolutely had to. His face twisted through several emotions, before settling in resolution and he answered me.

"I'd rather not have to," he reached out to touch the dripping ends of my hair and I shied away. He scratched the scar on his chin. "I won't have to if you don't give me away. Don't make me have to. You're drenched. I don't want you to catch a cold. Come on. Let's go back. I'll look after you and keep you safe. There are looters and opportunists out at the moment. It'll be safer where there are more people."

Ducking his reaching arm, I ran away again. I kept running, although I was so tired already. I ran until I ran into a police patrol that was handing the situation over to the newly arrived army types. Late. Why was our army so late to arrive? It was nearly midnight. The Boskies had taken over the train station somewhere between five-thirty and seven o'clock earlier this evening. What had taken the army so long to get here?

"What's wrong?" they had stopped me.

"A man was chasing me," I sobbed. "I don't know why he was chasing me. I can't get home. I'm so scared."

They had spread out to search, while a kind policewoman had wrapped me in a shiny thermal blanket and directed me to the nearest emergency shelter. It was a gymnasium hall that smelled of sweat, dirty socks and wet dogs.

I didn't stop crying for the rest of that night, but then, I wasn't the only one. The shelter was full of sopping wet, blubbering people.