She's in.
Cold. Dark. A very small room. Very low ceiling. Dwindling light, through the broken window. Water gets to Elizabeth's chest.
The head of the little boy is hardly visible, Darcy is deep in the water, holding him.
"His foot is stuck in..." Darcy starts, Elizabeth tries to look, "No," Darcy whispers, "hold his head, let me."
She holds the child. She's so cold. She talks to him, trying to reassure him. Darcy dives into the grey, muddy water, once, twice. "Can't see anything," he grumbles, and suddenly – something must have happened, somewhere, maybe uphill – maybe another dam has broken, because of the rain - there is a wave, water bubbling by the entrance. Darcy has dived again, the child gasps, he's free, Darcy reappears, "The water is rising!" Elizabeth cries, in case Darcy is too dazed to notice.
"Fuck," Darcy mumbles, then "Go!" he orders, the boy dives down in the direction of the door and disappears, they hear him yelling something outside, he sounds safe, Darcy turns to Elizabeth – but it's already too late.
The current is too strong. They see it by the window. The river has gotten huge. The water is rising fast. Soon it will touch the ceiling.
"Fuck," Darcy repeats. Elizabeth's feet hardly reach the bottom. She's shaking from the cold. He takes her in his arms. They stay immobile for a moment, heads very close. Even her thoughts are frozen.
"Elizabeth," he begins. Then, "wait."
He disappears underwater.
She stays alone.
He reappears.
"Do you know how to swim?"
She shakes her head. "No."
"There is a passage down there, leading to the wine cellar. You have to dive down, and then up. I will help you."
"No. I cannot do it. You should go. You will come back later," she lies. "With help."
"Down, and up. I will hold your hand," he repeats. "Now."
Underwater they go. It's not difficult. Now they are in another room, looking exactly like the one they just left. Stone walls, low ceiling, the water is even higher.
"We will have to do it again," Darcy explains. "The wine cellar is connected to another, and then I think we can reach the Jones' farm. It's on higher ground."
She cannot protest anymore. She follows him. Then they have to do it a third time, going through a completely flooded room, no air at all.
Underwater. For an eternity. Oblivion. She's moving through living darkness.
The underworld. Liquid.
They get out in what was a courtyard, and is now a lake. She can breathe again. The world is real again. They move forward, holding onto the walls. They get into the (flooded) farm.
The water is still rising. It's almost night.
Darcy disappears for the second time.
"To the east," he says when he comes back. They make progress, along the walls, going east. He's right, the ground is rising. When they arrive in the other part of the farm, Elizabeth's feet touch the ground.
It lasts for another eternity, following him, going from house to house. Soon they can walk, waist high in the cold water, and suddenly they are on dry land (not dry, very muddy) on an island (not an island, a hill, now surrounded by water.) There is a house. They run. Well, she tries. In truth she can hardly walk. Her dress is so soaked, she's carrying lead.
Then Darcy breaks something, a wood shutter maybe, they get inside.
...
A drawing room, lost in shadows. Maybe a rich farm, or some nice cottage, deserted. The air is humid. Darcy fumbles in the shadow, looking for the tinderbox.
"Get out of your clothes," he orders.
She doesn't demur. It's life or death. Except, she needs him, because she can't get out her dress alone, he helps her, then he starts the fire, soon she's down to her (soaked) shift, she looks around, climbs on a table, she reaches the curtain, pulls it will all her might. It comes crashing down.
The flames are getting higher.
"I will help you," she says in return. Men's clothes are so tight. She helps him out his boots, out of his pants.
He gets totally naked. He puts his clothes and hers to dry.
The fire is burning brighter, but she's still shaking. She grabs the curtain. "We should try to keep warm," she says. He nods. He gestures at her shift. "You should take that off."
She does. He put it to dry also. He takes her in his arms. They wrap the curtain around them.
They sit down near the hearth.
...
At first she doesn't think.
Exhaustion doesn't even begin to describe it. Cold doesn't even begin to describe it. She is not even really conscious.
...
Slowly, it gets better.
...
Her thoughts were frozen too. They begin to wake up.
She's naked, in the arms of a naked man. She should be horrified. She's not.
It's not important.
What's important if they are both alive.
Getting warmer.
...
Time passes. One hour, maybe two.
Her eyes are closed, but she can see them from afar, like she is a bird. The two of them, near the fire, both naked. She imagines the light of the flames dancing on their skin (in truth, they are huddled under the curtain, but that is how she sees them.) She pictures the yellow, orange lights, the infinite nuances of their flesh, the shimmering of the velvet curtain.
Then (in her mind) they are not in a drawing room anymore, but in a cave, deep down into the earth. They are near the fire - another fire. Strange paintings on the wall, bronze and ochre and coral.
...
Time passes.
...
He is in the first circle, and she is in his arms.
He feels the grass under their feet, the crude grey stones around. The night and the Scottish stars. It is raining, softly, but they are somehow protected. Or maybe it is raining for real, outside.
The other circles don't even exist. They are alone, on the top of the hill, under the white moon.
...
Now she begins to feel conscious of him.
His legs against hers. Her back against his chest. His head touching hers. His stubble, caressing her cheek.
His heart beating.
...
He feels her skin under his fingers. Her breast, above his wrist. The softness of her belly. He imagines the whiteness of her thigh.
He feels her breathing.
…
Their right hands are so close to each other.
Elizabeth takes his.
Their fingers intertwine, and his whole body tenses. Then he kisses her neck, her right shoulder, he's feverish, desperate. Her cheek, her temple. She leans into him. He moves a little, she turns to her left, she nuzzles her head into his shoulder. (He is kissing her head, her brow, her face.)
She falls asleep.
