Dean Carter - Blood Water

After Sean’s eyes had taken in enough, he walked on over the bridge, and instead of continuing up the high street he turned and followed the path along the river, towards the park. He couldn’t take his eyes off the raging water, mesmerized by the little whirlpools. Two women with small children passed him, the children giggling and whooping with joy at the swollen river, their mothers markedly less impressed. Sean looked up to see lighter patches in the sky. Perhaps the sun would make it through after all.

As he entered the park, he kept his eye on the river. A huge branch bobbed above the surface of the torrent as it was hurtled downstream. He watched it until it disappeared from view, then walked on, turning right by the pagoda, where the river met a stream. The stream was also swollen and muddy, the water rushing by. Then he saw something that made him slow down and stop. There was movement between the trees on the slope leading down to the water. It looked like someone on his hands and knees, crawling slowly up the muddy bank away from the swollen stream. He seemed to be in a bad way. He was drenched, hair and clothes dripping as he struggled up the slope.

Sean continued to stare, slack-jawed, at the figure several metres below him. Finally he shook himself and started to stumble down the sodden slope towards the figure at the bottom. He didn’t quite know what he was going to do when he reached him. It would be hard to help anyone up the wet, slippery bank, but if he left him and went to get help he might fall back into the stream. Sean held onto branches and tree trunks as he made his way down, terrified of losing his footing. When he was a couple of metres away he stopped. The figure was no longer moving.

The man was now lying face down on the muddy ground. Sean swallowed and started to shake. Was he dead? God no, don’t let him be dead! But maybe Sean could still save him… Just as he was trying to work out what to do, he heard a low, drawn-out moan; it grew louder and the man started to raise his head.

As he caught sight of the face, Sean’s concern turned to shock, then repulsion and fear. The man’s skin looked yellow, sagging and corpse-like. His eyes were bloodshot, and had what looked like blue specks in them, though it was hard to be sure from this distance. His eyes held Sean’s for several seconds; then he coughed and vomited into the long grass. Sean backed away instinctively, his own stomach heaving at the sight of the man emptying his. Before turning away he noticed that the vomit was red, like blood. This man was in a bad way, and it was nothing to do with the flood. He was trying to stand up, but seemed to have lost all sense of balance: he swayed on his feet and toppled over again. Sean wanted to go down and help him, but all that stuff the man had brought up had put him off. He could smell it now too – strong, pungent, with a distinct metallic tang that could have been the blood.

The man was dying – Sean knew this instinctively. He attempted to get up again but just slumped back to his knees. He was clearly in great pain and struggled to speak. The words Sean could make out seemed meaningless. Then the man vomited again, this time violently and for a long time. Sean couldn’t understand how anyone could hold so much in their guts.

Convulsions rocked the poor man’s body. He glanced pleadingly up at Sean, shook his head, then his eyes rolled around and his mouth gaped open to give a low moan and a sound like a distant hissing. Sean could only watch in horror as something black and slimy wriggled out of his mouth; it slid out, then fell with a splash into the foul mess the man had just disgorged.

He rose to his feet, staring at Sean, and said: ‘The… the centre… ‘ before falling backwards into the raging water with a huge splash.

Sean was all set to rush to the water’s edge to try and help the man out – but then he noticed the black slug-like thing move. In two minds, he glanced at the ferocious torrent and realized that he couldn’t have saved the man anyway – even if there had been any life left in him. He looked down again – and screamed as the black thing started sliding, snake-like, towards him…

Sean panicked and turned, scrambling up the bank to get away from the creature and back home as fast as possible. Then he could tell Mum and Dad what had happened and let them decide what to do. But would they believe him after the way he’d been behaving since the run? They’d think he’d imagined it all – and he wouldn’t blame them. But that was something to worry about later; right now his main concern was getting home – it seemed the waters were rising by the minute. He managed to climb back up to the path, getting his clothes filthy in the process, then jogged away from the bank, past the pagoda, and back in the direction of the bridge, his breathing laboured and his mouth dry. He had to stop for a moment or two when a throbbing began in his head followed by a wave of nausea.

The pain reminded him a little of what he had suffered just after collapsing at the end of the race. Then, it was due to dehydration, but now it had to be something else. Perhaps he still hadn’t fully recovered from the ordeal. He leaned over, his hands on his knees and took several deep breaths. Images flashed before his eyes – the course, the other runners, the iron railing flying towards the grass, the black car, Mum and James rushing towards him, concerned, and the oxygen mask going over his mouth time and again until he began to feel better. Dizziness came and went, as did the pain, and it was several minutes before he could think clearly again.

He stood up straight, looked at the park around him and was suddenly overcome with a sense of dread about what he’d seen by the edge of the stream – had any of it actually happened? Against his better judgement he walked briskly back and looked down the slope towards the water. He couldn’t tell from where he stood if there were any marks in the mud – there were no signs of vomit. But he wasn’t prepared to go back down, so the doubt would have to remain for now. But could he really have imagined it all? It had all seemed so vivid. The sight, the sound, the smell. Weren’t a lot of dreams convincing though?

He gave up worrying about it and made his way back down the path. A figure carrying a large black umbrella was approaching, head down so that Sean couldn’t see his face properly. As he drew closer, however, he recognized his form teacher. Mr Phoenix might be wondering why Sean was outside in the rain and not at home resting, but it was too late to turn round or hide now.

‘Sean?’ Mr Phoenix asked.

‘Hi, sir.’

‘Shouldn’t you be at home? I thought you were recuperating after what happened on Sunday.’

Sean didn’t have time to think up a decent story, and he’d always found that honesty was the best policy with parents and teachers, regardless of the consequences. They always managed to find out the truth in the end.

‘I was going mad in my room so I decided to get some fresh air before Mum got back. Wish I hadn’t now.’

‘I see,’ Phoenix said. ‘Well, you should probably head back before she catches you. Fresh air is one thing, but dehydration can really upset your system. You should rest.’ He started to walk on, then stopped and added: ‘What do you mean you wish you hadn’t? Did something happen?’

‘Well, I think I might have had a pretty vivid hallucination just now.’

‘Really?’

‘Yeah. I thought I saw a man crawl out of the river and fall back in again.’

‘Are you sure it was an hallucination?’

‘I think so. He looked like he had some disease or something. He vomited this black thing, then fell back into the river. It was mad, you know… It seemed real but… Couldn’t have been.’