The River Itself

I used to love water. Swam in it, boated on it, admired sun diamonds dancing on its surface, took baths in it.

Until last week. Now I can barely bring a glass of water to my lips, allow that slippery liquid to slide into my mouth and down my throat, invite it inside of me, swallow. I shudder and tense at the very thought, and have to force myself to drink water to survive. I've even started carrying a reusable straw with me, drinking everything through that! As if that could stop the water. I know better, after what I saw, what I lived through, but we all have our little delusions to help us cope with this life. Allow me mine. It keeps the 'in' out of my sanity.

Unless I am already insane, and what happened last week was all a delusion, didn't happen at all. I like that idea. I find comfort in it. I would rather my mind had snapped than that the world had.

I know, I'm starting to ramble. It seems that's all my mind does these days, ramble from one idea to the next, dwell over-long on inconsequential details, avoid any serious thinking or reflection. Especially reflection, because that leads to scenes of people screaming...water frothing...people dieing...

I better just get on with it, and tell you what happened:

Carver, the small town I was living in up until five days ago, decided to dam the Two Sisters River for power, pleasure, and safety. The river was strong, and infamously dangerous - its rapids claimed a life nearly every other year.

Only a few permanent homes found solid ground in the marshy flats of the gully floor, while its walls were too steep and rocky for easy development. The best use of the land was clearly as a lake, with a beach, boating, even power generation for the entire town. We could be independent of the grid, maybe feed back into it, generate municipal income as well as electricity. What could be better?

A free, untamed river, some said. They lamented the loss of tumbling rapids, torrents and cascades, sprays of white and swirling dark pools. Others deplored the destruction of habitat for flora and fauna. And then there were those who lived there.

Most vociferous of these was Mad Maddie. She had lived in the same house on a small rise in the flats her entire life, and had no desire to move. She was there brandishing her staff at every town meeting, letting council know in rich language exactly how she felt about the destruction of her home, meaning not only her house, but the wildlands of the entire gully. She even remonstrated against "rousing the quiescent ire of the river itself," a warning we couldn't imagine we should take seriously.

We decided to go ahead with the project. Yes, I was part of the council that voted to flood the gully and control the river – with the backing of the majority of my constituents, I might add. It truly did seem like a beneficial project for the town. How could we have for-seen what happened?

The river was diverted, and construction of the dam undertaken. The project proceeded smoothly, for the most part. There was the incident of a worker swept away crossing rapids while on lunch, but that was put down as another loss to the river, and all the more reason for flooding the rapids. A co-worker who saw it happen, though, swore the river reached up and grabbed his friend, said it wasn't a random swelling wave that swept him from his feet, but an unnatural surge in the flow that snatched him and dragged him away. Of course the witness was considered overwhelmed with shock. But he stayed well away from the river after that.

The dam got built. The day to begin filling the lake arrived, bright, sunny and full of scheduled events. A festival air brightened Carver as residents and out-of-towners thronged towards the river. Dignitaries, myself counted among them, clustered on the dais constructed for the occasion over-looking diversion tunnels and dam. Townsfolk and visitors flocked to the soon-to-be beach, built up of sand trucked in from the next county. The high school band tuned up in the park, instruments flashing in the sun. Chatter, laughter, and shrieks of children rang into the air. Balloons arched above the ribbon-cutting dais, bobbed above darting kids.

At noon, with a fanfare from the band, beaming widely, the mayor cut the ribbon. The final diversion gate was dropped into place, breaking the river's flow. The crowd murmured as the river hit the heavy gate and swirled back, frothing whitely in the growing pool behind the coffer dam. It didn't take long for that strong flowing river to reach the top, once it had no way out. A cheer rose at the first wave over the temporary dam. The wave became a rush of water gushing across the flats to the new, dry dam.

The river slammed into the solid barrier blocking its path, climbed as high as it could, and fell back. It sprang again against the steep wall, continuing to pour down the hill on itself, trapped, frothing back and forth, white foam clawing to be let out, to run free, and fell back again. Another surge against the wall, and the water began to swirl in the pool growing at the foot of the dam. There was something odd about the developing whirlpool, but I couldn't quite put my finger on it.

“It's spinning the wrong way!” gasped a voice beside me.

“What's that?” I asked, turning to Carla for her explanation.

“Coriolis effect,” she obliged distractedly, eyes still intent on the water. “The water should be spinning clockwise, if it's going to spin at all, and I don't see - What the – ?” Her eyes almost popped out of their sockets, I swear, and I spun to see why. I'm sure my eyes bulged as large as Carla's.

A stream had shot off from the whirling water, and was running back from the dam, tumbling up over the denuded terrain, above the river rushing down. It didn't run straight up, but meandered quickly along the valley side, winding through the slashed forest we intended to be a lake bottom. Exclamations rose on every side.

I couldn't take my eyes off the un-natural stream, though I felt Carla jostle me as she jumped from the dais and ran. Smart woman. The stream seemed to be pulling more water up behind itself, growing wider, faster, less meandering. Its leading edge paused for the briefest moment, then swelled towards the beach-in-waiting.

The stream reached the piled sand in seconds, and though some water seeped away, the flow grew ever stronger, fed by the furious river, surging up towards the shifting, murmuring crowd. People at the front tried to back away, but were pushed forward by those behind, who wanted a better look. Not many were as quick as Carla to recognize the danger. A wave surged up past the head of the stream, washed around hopping feet. There were gasps at the coldness of the water, some laughs, and then rivulets began to run up the legs of those the wave had touched.

People gaped at the water flowing up their legs, then slapped at it, tried to brush or shake it off, but it kept crawling inexorably up. When they tried to run out of the water swirling around them, break away from the rivulets running up them, a surging wave swept many off their feet, buried them in foaming white. Amid shrieks and screams, the crowd tried to scatter.

Someone bumped into me as they leapt from the back of the dais, breaking my transfixion. While I had been rapt by the incomprehensible events on the beach, another stream of water had broken off from the river that was now running up the hill from the dam, a mind-boggling, seething mass on top of the ground, and was flowing quickly towards the dais. I was bumped again as more decided now was the time to run. I knew I should move too, but my brain just couldn't comprehend the danger. It was only a stream.

The crowd on the beach surged and shouted, in as much turmoil as the churning water, desperate to get away from it, but water was everywhere now, waves and creeks gushing in every direction from the impossible river, white turbulence where there should be brown sand and green grass. More people were swept from their feet, thrashing, splashing, struggling, but going under. Even those standing, those who kept their feet after the water touched them, after it had swarmed up their bodies, soaking their clothes, flowing up their legs in waves that just kept coming no matter how they pushed it away – they were drowning! Standing in ankle-deep water, drowning. The water kept flowing up their bellies over their chests, and though their brushing at the water was desperate, though they slapped and plucked and tried to thrust it away, how can you grab water? How can you hold it back, push it away, when it just flows through your fingers?

People jumped and shrieked and ran, but once it made contact the water kept flowing, around brushing hands and over heaving chests, up tense, strained necks and around chins round or square or double, into screaming mouths. Then eyes bulged fear soared and they spat and spat and refused to swallow but the water poured relentlessly in. Not just into mouths but noses too and then breathing was plugged and terror spiked, but there was no stopping the water.

I finally realized that anyone the water touched was doomed.

My head snapped around at a gasp from the mayor, in her position of honour at the front of the dais. She was staring down aghast at her wet pumps, the water sloshing over their toes. Her aide screamed and started grabbing at those on the middle tier, trying to pull himself up , but another wave swept across the dais, and they both went down, while those they had grasped tried frantically to free themselves before being pulled into the water as well. I turned and leaped as far from the back of the platform as I could, landing just clear of the spreading water, and sprinted towards my car, joining the rush away from the river.

I didn't get far. Another stream of water surged out of the wide valley that was meant to contain it, cutting off our escape. It didn't head directly towards us, but ran off across the park towards the street. This stream moved faster than the first one up the slope to the beach had, and wasn't led by a small tentative trickle as that had been. This was more like a narrow wave rolling across the grass, a white-fronted ridge leading clear water running forward. Not lapsing back as a wave would, though, but pulling forward, drawing water behind it, an ever-growing swell, a wide stream no-one dared to wade across. No-one who had seen what happened to those the water touched. Not all had seen.

The stream curved in front of us, and two women ran into it, trying to cross the shallow flow. They fell in a violent swirl of water, and thrashed and screamed as it piled on them. A man following them skidded to a halt just before reaching the foaming mass. He paused only a moment, wailed “Clarissa!”, and reached towards a grasping arm to pull the nearest woman to safety. The water lapped his toes, swirled up his arm as he clasped the woman's hand, and pulled him into its flow. Their screams became gurgles that were quickly silenced, but other screams and wails were rising all around.

There was a sudden clamour from across the park. I whirled to see a crowd of people who had been running away up river trying to turn en masse and run away from it, pushing and stumbling and looking over their shoulders. I looked at what they were running from and gasped. The river was spreading out. Not just streams coming up from the dam, but the main bulk of the river was flooding up over its banks into the park and the streets of town, its force and speed turning from its course and sweeping along sidewalks and roads, picking up and carrying along garbage and garbage cans, purses, hats, hotdogs, and everything else dropped by the fleeing crowd, which it was quickly over-taking. It slapped and splashed at their heels, foamed forward. People fell, grabbed at those in front of them, dragged them down into churning turbulence.

The river raged in every direction, striking out at will, having no respect for the force of gravity or the tradition of running along a river bed. It struck down with intent, sweeping people from their feet and pouring itself into their mouths, noses, throats, lungs, choking them on their gasps.

I felt water splash against my ankles. My breath caught, my heart stopped, my mind rebelled. Watching others overtaken by the river, I had fallen victim to it as well. Looking down at the water swirling around me, I struggled not to hyper-ventilate. The water started winding up my legs, and I experienced what I had just seen as others fought desperately, uselessly against the water. My own desperate fight began.

I slapped at the water flowing up me, tried to push it away, block its passage. But this was no mere trickle, and I knew peoples' efforts had been futile even when it was. I was surrounded. I was standing in frothing water that was creeping up my legs, and now my body, on all sides. My body tried to pull away from the water, contracted in on itself in the beginnings of a great spasm. I felt the water's coldness touch my belly, and screamed.

The water surged up towards my open mouth, and I slammed it shut, clenched my teeth tight, then pulled my lips between them. I stopped my useless slapping at the water, and clapped both hands over my mouth instead, making a dam of determination against the river. I felt the water hit my chin. My neck muscles convulsed. My nostrils flared. The water gushed up over my clasped mouth to my traitorous nostrils. At the first tickle of its touch inside, I fell apart completely, swatting at the water, jumping about wildly, snorting over and over, pleading internally “No! No! Please, no!” while trying to keep my mouth firmly shut.

But the water forced its way up my nostrils and into my mouth, forcing through sheer pressure, as if the mass of the entire river was in the creek running up my body. It forced itself past my tightly closed lips and up my nose, seeped through gaps between my teeth, increased the flow, pried open my clenched jaw and poured down my throat and up through my sinuses, down my airways and into my lungs, pressing into me, filling me, pressing life out of me, choking, strangling, drowning me. The world went white, and I fell into the frothing mass of water.

A resounding Boom! shook the earth, vibrated through the water like an explosion. The water quivered.

Another BOOM!

The river fell away from me.

It drained off my body, slackened its grip on my throat, my lungs, my air. Convulsively I vomited, and water gushed out of me. I gasped, heaved, tried to catch my breath. I pushed myself to my hands and knees, and hung there, shivering, unable to move. I was swept by image after image of what I had just witnessed. Witnessed and been through. Been through. Was it over? Was it done?

I looked up – at two bodies: Clarissa and the man who had died for her, clutching each other. I shut my eyes, swallowed, pushed myself to my feet. I turned away from the bodies, and there stood Mad Maddie, staff quivering from the force with which she had stamped it down, the force with which she had compelled the water to release us.

She was dry, I noticed, except the hem of her jeans, alone of anyone I could see, and she was the only one standing firmly, assuredly, solidly. The rest of us who had survived were wet, shaking, shell-shocked. Maddie was fixated on the water, which was flowing back to the river, but not in the usual way – it was hurrying. It still had intent.

I trembled all over, could hardly breath, as water rushed over my feet. It wasn't over yet... But the water ignored me, sped back to the river-bed, where all the water was congregating in one big mass. My traumatized mind boggled, but my eyes confirmed the sight: the river pounding down was piling up, hitting a whirling dam of itself right there in town. And all the water that was left in the pool at the foot of the dam was hurrying back up its old course to join in as well. The river spun higher and higher, towering impossibly above its banks, swirling white foam and solid dark water, spell-bindingly surreal, gathering all of its power from high mountain peaks to far oceanside. The ball of water churned, seethed, gathered itself together - and lunged downhill in a frothing tsunami that rushed madly across the flats and threw itself at the top of the dam, smashing through it. Our beautiful new dam crumbled under turbulent fury.

Two Sisters River flows through the town of Carver. I live here, in the middle of the desert, where the only water in sight is bottled.