They made a break for it down the river. The ancient railway bridge which had served as an escape route for some of the lucky ones had been dismantled by the council, and now the raging waters were the only option, an option deemed suicide, and consequently it was rarely patrolled.
It was the remains of that very bridge that now disturbed the flow, the huge pillar compressing and forcing the rushing water to either side. As hard as they paddled it was like an infernal magnet, and as they the struck the towering buttress the fugitives were launched around the hull like loose change thrown to eager children at the church door by the groom after the wedding. No one aboard even felt the hull ground and tilt violently to one side.
Hours later he slipped over the edge and onto the stony river bank, his vision was blurred and he was cold, so incredibly cold. He could see the rising sun through the holes torn in the hull as he lay on his back. There was no other sound, even the water had become more reserved since it’s outburst after the previous days rains.
Who else was alive, how far had they come, what the hell was he going to do now? Standing was the first thing, and getting into the trees.
He tried to stand as his heart raced…