Whitewater
Disclaimer: I don't own anything
Dedicated to the victims of Typhoon Ondoy
Philippines, September 26, 2009
"I'm cold," Near whispered into his cellphone. He shivered as the cold wind and rain buffeted him from his spot on the car's roof, and held on tighter to his Transformers action figure. "Really cold," he repeated.
"Near, where are you?" Halle Lidner's voice came through staticky but coherent. "Gevanni and I are trying to get to you now. Rester would, but he's been stuck in traffic for four hours."
Near's teeth were chattering, and he tucked his soaked arm under his armpit in a vain effort to absorb more heat. He could barely see in the driving rain, and the floodwaters were creeping up, swallowing the windows of his car whole. Sooner or later he would have to brave the flood and jump; the car wasn't going to hold on long enough for help. He could hear the panicked screams and pleas for help around him, from people stuck in their cars and others trying to keep their heads above the water. He cringed and tried to shut his ears against them.
"Somewhere in Marikina City... I'm not sure. Please… help. The water's past head level and it's still rising. Bodies floating…and the current…" Near whispered in desperation. Suddenly, he felt something ram hard against his car, and cellphone, toy robot, and Near toppled right into the murky water.
Near struggled for a few moments, swallowing some of the putrid water in the process. He couldn't make anything out, the murk obliterated eyesight. His lungs were burning, he was choking, until his hands broke through the surface and found something to grab on. Using all of his strength Near hauled himself up, and coughed and spluttered, gasping for air. The rain pounding against him was almost as bad as drowning outright, but he sucked whatever oxygen he could get. Shivering and shaken, he dragged himself across his piece of debris - actually a piece of corrugated tin the Metro Manila slums used for roofing, and just lay there, trying to calm down.
Too soon, he felt the current carrying him off, and he held on to his makeshift raft with all his might. Near was a fair swimmer, but his body was no match for the raging flood. The current took him spinning under a bridge and he flattened himself as much as possible so as to not get trapped under the construction. Near was soaked, tired, nauseous, and frightened halfway and a third to hell. His body was numb from exhaustion, but adrenaline supplied his brain with just enough energy to keep holding on.
He spotted people living and dead floating, being buffeted back and forth by the powerful current before being swallowed whole. Everywhere he could hear car horns honking and screams and cries of terror. Some cars were totally submerged, and people, like him, were hanging on to whatever could keep them afloat. The noxious smell of pipe oil choked him, and he could see buildings, massive monoliths and infrastructures, flooded all the way to the second floor. His raft rammed against something and he nearly slid off, but managed to stay on in the nick of time.
Was this how it was going to end for him? After all those years working to be and beat L, all those years of being the best Wammy's had to boast, all those years of keeping secret so he could gauge and watch and solve, all those years of chasing after Kira and winning at the end. What was it all for? Did it all boil down to this? One frightened little boy hanging on for dear life on a tin raft? He was L, for Christ's sake. There had to be something more to this!
He is L now, but what of before? Before L's mantle was pinned around him, before he was the boy Near, the prodigy acknowledged by L himself. Who was he then?
Nate River… written by Mikami's hand, Near had found the letters and syllables as foreign as Light himself was. Different and unknown and perilous and frightening in its simple but all-consuming power. Nate River was the symbol of his past, the present he kept hidden, and the future that would soon fade in time. Nate River was what and who he was, never what they wanted him to be and what he'd accepted. He screamed at himself for never realizing it until it was too late.
Would Nate River die here alone and unmourned? Alone among many?
Please! I don't want to die!
Suddenly, Nate felt himself go under, fingers slipping from his raft. He felt something heavy hit his skull, and darkness closed in.
Last Saturday, Typhoon Ondoy (Ketsana) dumped more than a month's worth of rainfall in just 12 hours on Northern Luzon. More than 246 people have died, and the death toll is still rising.
I left the ending purposefully open. The reader can decide whether he survived or not.