The Carnivale slept. The crowds were gone, the rides shut down, the night dark and still.
In their tent, Jonesy and Libby lay tangled in each other's arms, clothes discarded on the floor. Jonesy's gunshot wound had turned out to be a flesh wound, and had healed quickly, remarkably quickly. They were making up for lost time.
Across the campground, Rita Sue and Stumpy slept too, backs stiffly turned, after an argument about the day's profits. In Management's trailer, even Ben slept soundly, a change from the restlessness that had disturbed his sleep since New Canaan. All was quiet.
The Carnivale had arrived in Ararat, Arizona, two days earlier. The town welcomed them, especially the local sheriff, who shook hands with his right hand and pocketed his "gift" with the left. He waved them on to the campground, surrounded by excited children craning their heads to see inside the trucks and trailers.
The location was ideal. The town was on a nearby rise, and the Carnivale set up on a stretch of flat, grassy land in a loop of what had once been a river, now a trickling creek. Squirrels and rabbits that came to the water to drink had become dinner for the lean, rangy dogs that hung around the Carnivale; a couple of the rabbits had even found their way into Possum's stew that first day.
The town itself was hungry for entertainment, and they even had some money to spend, thanks to a still-thriving silver mine. It had been a profitable couple of days, with more to come.
But for now – sleep. No sounds but the rustle of small creatures, the whistling sounds of bats hunting insects in the dark, and the occasional snore.
In her trailer, Ruthie woke with a start. She was a light sleeper these days, one part of her mind always on the lookout for Lodz's ghost. She was determined not to let him take over her body again – enough was enough. This time, however, there was no shadowy spirit beyond the lace curtains of her bed. For a moment, she wondered what had woken her, then she heard it again – a sound on the roof of the trailer. Her heart skipped a beat, then she realized what it was. Something she hadn't heard in a while – a raindrop. A big splashy raindrop, followed by another, then a third.
Rain! She leapt out of bed, grabbed her robe, and threw the door open. Sure enough, it was raining. She laughed with delight, waking Gabe, who slept under her trailer most nights. Gabe stood out in the rain, arms outstretched, catching the rain in his big hands. Others were waking, too, children running out onto the grass, chasing each other in the rain. The dogs ran in circles around them, enjoying the excitement.
An impromptu party erupted. People lit lamps and gathered under the cook tent to watch the rain, chattering and laughing. It was Samson who, realizing the rain was not going to be stopping soon, called for attention.
"Listen up, children! We gotta make sure everything's OK. Jonesey, get your crew to check the tarps, make sure we don't have no equipment rusting when the sun comes out tomorrow. The rest of you, check your stuff. Get everything up off the ground if you can – this looks like it's gonna be a soaker."
Grumbling a little, people dispersed to their quarters. . Gabe took his bedroll to the ten-in-one, higher on the slope, where the ground was still dry, and Ruthie went back to bed After a while, most were asleep again, lulled by the steady sound of the rain.
Samson, Jonesy, and a few others stayed in the cook tent, watching the rain, smoking, and reminiscing.
Jonesy: "People see strange things in the rain. Especially at night. Lights where there shouldn't be lights. People follow lights out into the rain, and don't come back."
Samson: "At least it ain't snow. People from the old country used to talk about getting snowbound when the weather turned. People die in the snow."
Burley snorted. "Stupid people die in the snow."
The rain went on. And on. They could hear the creek flowing now, and down near the water, where Management's trailer was parked (and Ben still slept), an inch or two of water covered the ground.
Samson: "I'm gonna get some shuteye. See you in the mornin'." He walked away into the rain. Burley stubbed out his cigarette. "Yeah, me too."
It happened in a moment. The noise came first – thundering, rushing, roaring, the sound of water at its most dangerous. In the moment it took them to realize it was coming from upriver, the flood was there. A torrent of water, rocks, branches, and small drowning animals roared down the river bed, smashed through the bank where the streambed curved into a loop, and swept across the campground.
The sleeping camp turned to instant chaos. People suddenly drenched in cold water shrieked. There was sudden darkness as lamps were doused. Children screamed and clung to their mothers. In the cook tent, pots and pans clanged as they were swept off benches. A dog, struggling frantically, managed to climb safely onto a table and crouched there, shivering and white-eyed.
There was no light to speak of. Rainclouds blotted out the moonlight, and in the dark, people grabbed at their belongings as they washed away, and at tent poles and each other to keep their balance in the rushing water.
The dark looming mass of the ten-in-one shook, and one corner collapsed as a tent peg loosened by the force of the water gave up the struggle. Gabe scrambled from under the canvas, yelled "Momma! You all right?" and made for Ruthie's trailer, struggling through the knee-deep water.
Just as fast, it was over. The water pooled a few inches deep across the campground, forming a shallow lagoon in the loop of the river. Slowly, people calmed down. Jonesy gave quick orders to his men to check all the trailers and the ten-in-one, to make sure everyone was all right.
Jonesy: "Hawkins! Anyone seen him?" The group now gathered in the cook tent looked at each other. "He never come out of the trailer," Osgood said.
Jonesy: "I'll check on him." He took one of the newly lit lamps, waded across the camp, down to the river bank where Management's trailer was parked. The water was deeper here – up to his knees – but the trailer itself was high off the ground.
He opened the door and shone the light inside. "Hawkins? You here?" From the curtained section, he heard a moan.
"Shit!" Jonesy shone the light on Ben, who struggled to sit up. "Are you all right?"
Ben: "I guess so. Something hit my head."
Jonesy shone the light around. On the floor was a ceramic urn, which had apparently fallen from a shelf when the first wave had jolted the trailer.
Ben: "I gotta get out there. Anybody hurt?"
Jonesy: "No, stay here. You're not well enough yet to be up and around. I've got guys checking on everyone. It looks like no one's badly hurt."
Jonesy splashed back to the cook tent. The rain had almost stopped, and everyone had gathered under the tent, looking at each other in bewilderment at the suddenness of it all.
It was Lila who said it. "Where is he?"
Jonesy: "Who?"
Lila: "The little runt. Samson."
They looked at each other. Blank looks, shrugs.
Burley: "He went back to bed."
Jonesy: "He wasn't there when I looked in on Ben."
Lila: "The water was pretty deep down that end."
Jonesy: "Oh, shit."
No one remembered seeing Samson after he started back to Management's trailer.
Jonesy: "OK, everybody out and look for him. Now! Move it!"
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Samson swam back up to consciousness. For a minute, in the pitch darkness, he wasn't even sure if he was conscious. He had no idea where he was, but he knew he was cold, very cold. He was lying in water, he realized. He knew he had to get onto his feet and out of the water, but he couldn't move. Everything hurt.
He struggled for a moment. Something heavy was on top of him. He probably wasn't badly hurt, he realized – his legs hurt, but he could feel them. All too well. So probably nothing was broken, and nothing was paralyzed. He just couldn't move. He was lying on a stony stream bed, rocks poking into his back, and he was getting colder and colder.
A wave of panic came up. He fought it down. He took a deep breath and tried to get a hold of himself.
Call for help? It wasn't in Samson's nature to ask for help. He'd got himself out of situations before. He would get out of this himself if he could. He was a former strong man, after all.
He tried to figure out what had him pinned. A branch. Not a very big branch – he should be able to move it. He tugged at it. Nothing. He felt along it in the darkness, scraping his hands on the bark, and his heart sank. The branch was attached to a fallen tree, lying half in and half out of the water. Even if he had the strength to move it, he couldn't reach it.
His legs had stopped hurting. He felt a moment of relief, then realized the cold water had numbed his legs. Not good. He was feeling sick and faint. If he passed out, he was done for. He struggled to stay conscious, summoned the strength to call "Help!"
Again. "Help!" This time, his voice sounded louder. He tried once more, but nothing came out.
It seemed to be getting even darker. Shapes in the dark, but he couldn't distinguish them. One seemed to be moving, looming. He was cold, so cold…
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In the morning light, the devastation looked even worse. People roamed over the ground, picking up their belongings, wringing out clothing, matching broken pieces to see if they could be repaired.
Improvised clothes lines were rigged everywhere, strung with drying garments and blankets, steaming slightly in the morning sun.A child cried over the loss of a doll washed away in the flood.
Jonesy knocked on the door of Management's trailer.
Ben's voice: "Come in."
Jonesy: "Mornin'. How's the patient?"
Ben: "Asleep."
Samson's voice: "No, I ain't. What the hell happened? One minute I'm on my way to a good night's sleep, and the next I'm in the river."
Jonesy: "The river broke the banks, flooded us, washed you downstream. Nobody else really hurt. We found you about a mile down. You're lucky to be alive."
Samson: "So who found me? You?"
Jonesey. "Nope. Burley. He found you in the river, half-drowned, slung you over his shoulder and brought you back here."
Samson: "Burley? You tellin' me I owe my life to BURLEY?"
Jonesey (grinning): "Guess so."
Samson. "Jeez."
Jonesy left the trailer to look for coffee. An hour or so later, Samson was up and about. He took a slow, painful walk around the grounds, checking that everybody was OK, then found Burley hammering tent pegs back into the sodden earth.
Samson: "I hear you're the one saved my neck last night."
Burley: "Yeah, it was me, I guess."
Samson: "Well…er…thanks. I owe you one."
He turned and walked away, still moving stiffly.
Burley looked thoughtfully at Samson's retreating back, and a slow smile spread over his face. "Yeah. I know."