Thirty people. She had been reminded of this limit by the angel who appeared briefly in her otherwise dreamless sleep the night before. She'd pleaded with him to tell her why, give her some reason for the set figure. But the dream faded, and Margaret had awoken only momentarily, wondering if she and her fellow humans weren't the only ones having to accept so much on faith.
Thirty. She played the number over in her head as she worked with the waterlogged but still beautiful student Fae draping another blue tarp over a pile of two-by-fours.
One o'clock in the afternoon. The swirling vortex in her gut increased as the rain fell harder. Puddles on the grass, water waiting for an opening in the already saturated ground. Three more cars. Some people with ineffective umbrellas strolled out, approached, wandered to the side,
The weather kept the news crews busy with other matters, watching the rising levels of rivers and creeks. Flash flooding in the long-dried arroyos were the highest concern. The Channel Two van had pulled in by mid- afternoon to film her but, seeing nothing interesting, withdrew its crew and moved on to greener, and wetter, pastures.
Their departure was ill-timed. Twenty minutes after the van pulled away, a drove of cars pulled alongside the common. Margaret wondered if perhaps their occupants had waited for school to let out. It didn't matter.
It -- whatever
As the newcomers stumbled from their cars, splashing into the hundreds of puddles across the ground, those waiting in and around their own cars saw any earlier opportunity they might have had slip away. They raced out into the storm and ran for the ark. Women in trench coats, newspapers over their heads, sometimes children in hand, men in business suits or jeans, umbrellas sagging from the weight of the water, teenagers whose fear shone brightest in their young eyes, all moving with distinct purpose across the lawn.
The rain fell in sheets across Margaret and her crew. They all wore rain slickers and hats, bought after David's initial warning. They watched the approaching mob, for that's what it had suddenly turned into.
Even as the first people reached them, more cars arrived. Their headlights were weak through the rain.
“Please,” the first woman said, “is it too late? I didn't know what to believe; it's all so insane, but now, the rain –” Her hair was in her face. She’d donned only a light windbreaker. The woman was pushed aside by a bald man in full outdoor attire, including crotch-high hip boots. He began to climb the ladder, trying to work himself under the flapping blue tarp.
Al Hawthorne grabbed one of the man's boots then stepped back as the guy lost his footing and fell. He scrambled to his feet, almost falling again as he fought against the awkwardness of the boots. “What the hell are you doing? I was here first. You touch me again and -”
“You want to sign up with Mrs. Carboneau,” Al said, quietly but with a fire in his gaze Margaret hadn't often seen. “She's over here, and if you wait your turn, we can see if there's room.”
His statement wasn't just to appease the other man. Already more than a dozen people were trying to get Margaret's attention. Those they'd arrived with, teenagers and spouses and small children, circled the ark and its flapping blue tarp as if searching for alternate routes inside.
Margaret thought of the story of Christ crowded with followers wanting to be healed. She felt herself drowning in the rain and the surge of fear and desperation of the crowd. Faces pleaded; angry words spoken she couldn't concentrate on long enough to understand. The ring of people, thicker every moment, closed in.
Through the bobbing of heads, she saw others try to climb the ladder. A sneaker came down from beneath to stomp on someone's fingers as a woman gripped the rungs. The rest of Carl jumped down, barely missing the girl he'd kicked away, and Margaret lost sight of him as the wall of people closed in.
“I was here first!” one man yelled and pushed another away. The latter’s place was filled with a crying woman. The first man shoved himself in front of her.
“Please!” Margaret yelled. She was caught in a stampede, all rushing headlong her way. “One at a time. I don't have enough room for all of you!”
Too late she realized the mistake in saying that. The crowd exploded in panic, arms pushing faces aside, reaching out. A fight broke out less than six inches from her. Someone grabbed Margaret's hair from behind. She found herself staring into the rain as she opened her mouth to scream. The person behind her pulled harder. She stumbled backward, away from the center of the human flood, lost her balance.
The world went out of focus. A teenager appeared above her, half-kneeling on her chest. She didn't recognize him, but wondered if he knew Carl or Andy. Then she saw the knife. A long woodsman's blade.
“Stop this rain now,” he hissed, “or I'll cut your heart out.” He flicked the flat side of the blade across her chin for effect. Margaret heard someone scream, but could only focus on the boy. Rain poured into her eyes. She saw his liquid shape fly off her, felt the sudden loss of his weight. A second shape passed overhead, then was gone. Margaret rolled onto her belly. The first thing she saw was the knife on the ground. She grabbed for it, tucked it beneath her.
Carl knelt over the boy, one arm then the other raised in a crooked arch, slamming down into the boy's face. “Carl, no! Stop it!”
Al roughly knocked Carl aside then checked on Margaret's attacker. The boy was dazed and bloody, flailing his arms. Al rolled him roughly aside and lifted him, arms pinned against his back. The boy's nose was a mass of blood. He screamed, “Stop it! Make it stop!” For a moment, Margaret thought he meant Carl's punches, then understood.
Al shoved him towards an approaching police officer.
Margaret stood slowly, after pressing the knife into the soft, wet earth, point first. She cried out of fear and exasperation, then turned to face a worse nightmare unfolding.
It happened quickly but her brain tried to slow events down. How long had this been going on? Five minutes? People had forgotten about her and were pulling each other off the ladder to make room for themselves. The ark rocked back and forth on its tentative perch. Margaret heard screams from inside.
The girls.
“Stop it!” she yelled. “Get away from there! This is not the flood; it's only a warning.” She pushed past two people, but her presence only blended with everyone else’s, contending for passage on the ship. Still, she pushed and shoved her way through dozens of people. Someone elbowed her in the face. For the second time, Margaret found herself stumbling back. She put a hand to her mouth, felt pain. Blood on her fingertips.
Katie and Robin still screamed from inside. More voices. Carl tore into the crowd in a blind rage, forearming and shoving men and women, scraping them off the hull like barnacles. Someone hit him. He kicked backwards. His attacker screamed and fell.
When Margaret heard the heavy groan and creek of the wood, she knew what was going to happen.
“Katie! Grab Robin and hold on!” The rain swallowed her words; the screams of the mob swallowed her words.
The ark tipped towards the crowd, rolled back on its supports, and this time did not stop. Even as people continued to scale the sides, the ark rolled away from them, listed on its side and hesitated for an eternal moment. Then it fell. The supports along the bow and port side snapped. The side of the ship hit the ground with a thud, then seemed to sag into the grass.
The screaming inside stopped. People outside fell or rolled away in confusion. A few turned and stared at Margaret as if just seeing her for the first time. She pushed them away. The realization of what their panic had caused took the fever from some of the people's eyes.
The blue tarp was partially detached and fluttering in the wind. Even as Margaret and the others climbed over the side, more cars approached, squeezing past those crowed on the sidewalk, joining the cars on the grass in a makeshift parking lot. It wasn't over yet.
Katie poked her head from behind the tarp. “Mom! Mom!”
“Katie, here. I'm over here.” Margaret crawled along the upended side of the hull and waved. Katie saw the motion and brightened. She looked back into the chaotic interior of the capsized boat and said, “It's OK, Robin. Mommy's here.” Robin's cherub face poked over the hull, crying, but unharmed.
Margaret pulled her daughters from the opening and held them. They were followed by other angry and frightened people who had been inside. David Whitman's face bled from a gash just above his thin hairline.
It wasn't until Margaret worked with Carl and others to remove more of the tarp that she realized someone
