The Flood (Part Three)

 

"Blast!  We've got to move quick! yelled Thornbriar.  "Help me push it into the water!  We've got to get away!"

     "Why?" said Bear,  doing what he was told.  The heavy craft slowly inched into the flood.  "Why don't we simply get aboard and let the water carry us as it comes?"

     "Because, you ninny, it'll take us smack into that stone house and we'll be smashed to flinders!"

     Bear gasped as he realized the situation.  They had built their craft on the head of the island so that it wouldn't be swept away.  But if the flood should catch them now...

     He put his back into it and the makeshift vessel wallowed its way into the raging stream, the elf and bear climbing out of the water and scrabbling aboard just as it began to pick up speed.

     Thornbriar grabbed the rudder and Bear a pole, frantically trying to steer clear now of their former island of safety as the rumble of the rushing water grew louder and louder.  The raven landed,  perching on top of the henhouse cabin,  and squawked encouragement and warnings to the two rafters.

     Suddenly his croakings became more urgent.  "It's coming!  It's coming!  Look!"

     The elf and bear turned and looked fearfully over their shoulders.  A ten foot wave of black water with a foaming crest was sweeping down the valley,  roaring and smashing whatever was in its path.  Trees that had withstood the flood so far splintered with thunderous cracks as the sheer weight of the water lay them flat.

     "Hit the deck!" yelled the elf.  "Hang on to the lashings!"  We'll have to try to ride out the wave!"

     He threw himself to the deck of the raft.  The bear did the same, twisting his claws deep into the tough fibers of the ropes that held the logs and door together.  With teeth clenched and eyes shut, for what seemed like a long moment they lay waiting for the raging torrent to overtake them.

     With a crash that tore the breath from their bodies,  the wave hit, and for another suspended moment the world was all the rushing of many waters,: the sting of the water as it struck them, the singing of water in their ears, and the headlong push of it thrusting them forward.

     The bear opened his eyes,  but could see only the swirl of muddy water all around him.  He felt the tug of the current trying to snatch him away,  and his suddenly emptied lungs felt as if they would explode for want of air.

     After several panicky, eternal seconds, he felt he could stand it no more and would have to breath in even if it drowned him;  then suddenly the raft broke the surface in an eruption of light and sound, and he found himself gasping, both lungs full of blessed air.

     As the water streamed out of his ears,  he could hear Thornbriar coughing and wheezing beside him.

     The bear staggered to his paws and moved shakily over to the elf.  The big animal helped the little man to stand up,  and pounded his back to force the water out.

     "Good to see you fellows made it," croaked the raven, neatly landing back on the roof of the cabin.  "But there's still a rough ride ahead, I'll warrant.  You'd better man the boat."

     "That's true," said Thornbriar, walking unsteadily over to the makeshift rudder.  The raft was pitching and bucking on the wild water like an unbroken horse.  "You should take a pole in front, Bear, to fend off anything dangerous."

     "Aye, aye," said Bear, promptly moving to take up his position.

     For the next half-hour, they rode the waves, the bear pushing off logs and branches, the raven calling out directions, and the elf doing his best to steer the clumsy craft along the safest course.  Twice they scraped bottom over some submerged stumps or stones which they were unable to avoid, and the timbers of the raft strained and creaked along its joints and beams.  It was still holding together, however, and Thornbriar was just beginning to think that they were over the worst, when the raven gave a startled cry.

     "Look!" he said, pointing to the left with a gnarled claw.  "Off the starboard bow!  Castaways!"

     Bear peered over, trying to make out what the old bird was so excited about, and then he saw them.  Revolving around and around in the floodwaters, in danger of being overwhelmed at any moment, was a snarled clump of brush.  Huddled on top of it was a very wet and frightened mother rabbit, who, with staring eyes, sat protectively over four, bedraggled young rabbits.

     "By the Great Bee Tree!" roared Bear.  "Left, Thornbriar!  Turn hard left!"

     "Right!" answered the elf, and leaned into the rudder.  Slowly the raft turned towards the endangered rabbits,  and the bear watched tensely with pole in paw,  ready to bring them in as soon as the clump was in reach.

     After a few moments,  Bear snagged the clump and was able to carefully draw it closer to the raft.  As soon as he had hooked it,  however, the opposing force of the water's pull had begun to tear the tangled branches apart.  Just before the clump disintegrated,  Bear reached out and snatched the little family up,  pulling them to safety.

     He carried them quickly but carefully into the cabin,  and lay them gently down in one corner.  The mother was shaking and could hardly speak,  and her little ones huddled close to her.  But when the bear said "There, there...you're safe now," she was able to stammer out a "Thank you."

     Bear had hardly left the cabin,  when he heard another shout.  It came up from ahead.  He rushed forward in time to see a pair of hedgehogs jumping up and down on a spar of rock, waving and crying, "Help!  Help!"

     As the raft passed them, the bear held out his pole,  and the two spiny creatures climbed onto it like burrs on a sticker bush.  He hauled them aboard amidst their profuse thanks.

     It went on like that for at least two hours,  with one or another of them first sighting,  then rescuing some sodden creature in trouble;  eventually winding up with the rabbits, the hedgehogs, a badger, three ferrets, a mole, a dozen lizards, a small knot of toads, and a fox.

     There might have been trouble in such a small space with so various a bunch,  if Thornbriar hadn't promised that he'd have Bear chuck off the first animal that tried to eat another.

     They drifted along,  eventually passing out of the low mouth of the valley and nearer to their home fields.  Thornbriar began to recognize familiar landmarks,  as strange and different as they looked jutting out of the now surrounding waters.

     One of the hedgehogs scrambled over the deck to him.  "Excuse me, sir," he said.  "But the bear told me to tell you that for the last few minutes he's been able to touch bottom with his pole.  It's getting shallower,  and he'd like to know what you think about landing soon."

     Thornbriar looked around,  considering the terrain and the distance they still were from home.  "Tell him 'not yet',"  he announced.  "We'll wait until we get a little closer to home in order to spare us as much slog as we can.  I'll give him the word when I think the time is right."

     "Yes, sir," said the hedgehog,  then hesitated.  "Excuse me, if you please,  but where is 'home'?"

     "Why, it's a snug little house inside a hill only a couple of miles from here.  I'll be glad to see it again,  I can tell you."

     "That sounds wonderful,  sir," said the hedgehog forlornly.  "My own little place was washed away.  I don't know where me and Bertie'll go, now."

     "Yes,"  said Thornbriar thoughtfully.  "What's your name,  anyway?"

     "Hodges,  sir."

     "Well,  Hodges, you needn't mind the 'sir' bit so much.  And you needn't worry where you'll go,  because you and your friend will just have to stay with us until the waters go down.  Yes,  and that goes for all the other castaways as well."

     "Oh,  really,  sir?  Oh, hooray!"  yelled Hodges happily,  and danced a little jig.

     "Yes, really,"  said the elf.  "Now go tell Bear what I've said,  then tell the others.  You can give those berries in the pottles out to those who'll eat them,  because we'll need our strength,  I think.  Off with you,  and see you share them out fairly."

     The hedgehog scuttled off happily,  leaving Thornbriar to muse upon the immediate future.

     Of course it's possible that the Hill itself might be flooded,  he thought.  It's never done it before,  but we've never had a flood this bad before either.  The house is set rather low in the hill.  There might have been a mudslide as well.  What would we do then?

     Thornbriar spent the last miles with such anxious thoughts.  The line of hills of which his hill was a part seemed to grow steadily nearer,  and the water more and more shallow.  When it was only a foot deep,  Thornbriar called a halt,  turning the makeshift raft until it ran aground in a marshy field.  Bear came to the rear and stuck his pole deep in the mud by the rudder,  so that the water would no longer move the raft along.  The sun was setting low in the sky as the elf and the bear assembled their passengers before them,  to get ready to disembark.

     The old raven glided off his perch,  and landed on Bear's back.

     "Well,"  he said.  "I've got to be headed home now,  so I'll bid you all 'farewell'."

     "But I was hoping that you'd fly ahead and see if everything was okay!"  said Thornbriar unhappily.  "Do you have to go right now?"

     "I'm not much of a flier in the dark,"  said the raven.  "I've got to get home before the sun sets."  He spread his wings and was airborne in an instant.  "Goodbye!"  he croaked.  "Come and tell me how it all turned out someday.  Goodbye!"  In a moment he was no more than a black speck flying northwest into the darkening sky.

     "That's a little disappointing,"  said Thornbriar.  "But he was a good help while he was here,  and I wish I could have thanked him before he left.  Now then!  Are we all ready to go?"

     "I think we may have to carry the little ones,"  said Bear.  "There's bound to be puddles and bogs of mud,  and they'd have a hard time keeping up.  Fox and Badger can take care of themselves,  I think.  But what about the others?"

     "Let's see,"  mused the elf.  "The rabbit and her babies can ride in one of my coat pockets,  and the mole in the other.  Perhaps the toads can ride with him,  if you don't object?"

     "Not in the least," squeaked the mole.  "Very happy to be along at all."

     "Indeed," burped the toads.  "Our cousins the frogs might find water delightful,  but we prefer a little damp to a soaking."

     "The ferrets, lizards, and hedgehogs can ride on Bear's back.  You don't mind,  do you,  old fellow?"

     "Not at all,"  grinned Bear.  "Plenty of room.  No running races,  mind,"  he said to the ferrets.  "And if you hedgehogs will be careful not to be on the posterior end when I sit down,  I believe we can get along fine."

     "Very good,"  smiled Thornbriar.  "One last item of business.  Are there any dewberries left,  Hodges?"

     "Just one of those whatchamacallits full, sir," the spiny creature reported, saluting with one of his pudgy little hands.

     "I'll just carry that along, then,"  said the elf.  "Let's get set to disembark."

     In a moment all was arranged as they had discussed,  and they stepped off into the sodden, squelching field and began on their way.  As they slogged and slithered through the growing darkness,  drawing closer to the Hill,  the elf's anxiety mounted,  as he imagined a dozen catastrophes that could await them.  If Bear was worried about anything at all,  he showed no sign of it,  but sang a jolly marching song with the badger joining in on the chorus in a slightly off-key tenor.

     At last they came around the final turn of the road,  and their door was soon in sight.  Thornbriar heaved a sigh of relief.  The flood had indeed surged up the side of the hill,  but he could see from the waterline that it had stopped a good six feet before it reached the house.  The only thing that kept the two friends from running happily to their door was their care for their homeless charges.

     Once inside,  a fire was soon lit and meals cooked for all and sundry.  And then fitting beds were found for the tired refugees.  The bear saw to the needs of the last guests (the lizards, who wanted nothing better than to sleep in the potted arbutus plant in the parlor), then came into the kitchen and collapsed next to Thornbriar,  who was still busy with something in the oven.

     "That,"  said the bear.  "Was certainly the longest and most unusual berry picking adventure I have ever been on."

     "Indeed," said the elf,  peeking into the oven.  He reached over and got two big oven mitts and put them on.

     "What in the world are you still working on?"  wondered the bear.

     "I meant to do this,  and I thought I'd better before I changed my mind."  Thornbriar opened the oven and reached in.  A rich, familiar aroma filled the room.

     "Dewberry cobbler,"  announced the elf,  bringing it out and putting the steaming pastry onto the table.  "Care for a piece?"

     The bear groaned in mock dismay and rolled his eyes.  "Tomorrow,"  he said.  "Cold,  for breakfast,  maybe.  Right now,  I think I could sleep for a week.  As it is,  there will probably be visions of dewberries dancing in my head all night!"

     The elf laughed and placed a tin lid over the cobbler,  then banked the fire.

     Both went to bed,  and as each lay and dreamed,  it seemed that they could still feel the tug and flow of the water in their sleep.