Raincatcher (Part 2)

There was no absolutely no conceivable reason why there should be a house here, he told himself. The nearest city – or at least what was left of it – was over forty miles away. Everyone had long since left the countryside, sought refuge in the higher places. Mountains.

At the time, his parents had said there was no need to leave. God will protect us, they said. He is always watching.

He shivered, both from the cold and from the rage that now boiled from his belly. Lies. Blind, worthless lies.

There was no God. Anyone who had lived through the hell of the last twenty-two years knew that. And if there was, he certainly was not paying attention to anything going on down here. He certainly hadn’t watched over his parents well, either, now had he? Of course not. After their death he had remained in the countryside less out of a desire to stay near home than out of an enraged need to prove God – or whatever evil created these rains – would not drive him out. Bring your rain. You’ll have to drown me before I leave.

If there is a God, he thought, he hates us. He hates us all and now he’s drowning the whole world.

And yet, despite the certainty that everyone had long since fled to the mountains, there it was: a small house in the middle of nowhere – in the middle of a floodplain. No stilts. Impossible.

He coughed and began dragging his foot again. The pain was quickly becoming unbearable. Soon he would go into shock, either from the wound itself or from the loss of blood from the laceration in his chest. Air continued to whistle through the punctured lung. Breathing was becoming more difficult.

Just a little further, he prodded himself. Almost there. He grunted and hopped one step forward, dragging his useless leg.

And then he saw it, and his blood ran cold.

No. His mind screamed. It’s not possible.

There was no rain falling on the house.

No, that wasn’t quite true.

The rain was falling above the house, just as everywhere else. But it stopped several feet above the roof as if striking an invisible sheet of glass, rolling down the sides and flowing off unseen eaves in a sheet. A waterfall of liquid diamond.

How? HOW? He stared in awe. How was this possible? He blinked several times, certain he only had water in his eyes. But no – the small, wooden house was dry. Bone dry.

He stared at it for several moments, taking it in. It was an unpainted, one room cabin. The windows were small and square, and thin curtains hid the view inside. Warm, orange light burst from the window that had drawn him here, cutting into the dark night and piercing the blackness without hesitation.

He hopped once more, and finally he could go no further. Exhausted, he collapsed to the ground, landing directly on the wound in his chest. He grunted in pain as the wind was knocked out of his lungs. Lying there on the ground, soaking wet, mere feet from the front door, he gasped for air and began to moan.

And then the door opened.

A shaft of light burst from the threshold and blinded him as he lay sputtering on the ground. He tried to hold up a hand to shield his eyes and squinted to make out the immense figure in the doorway. It was a man, and he was big. He filled the frame.

The man wore large brown boots laced up over his trousers and a huge blue parka with the hood pulled up over his head. He stepped off the stoop and out into the rain. Slowly, deliberately. The mud squished out from under his boots and the rain quickly filled in the deep impressions left by his soles.

The tall man stopped inches from the man lying in the mud. Now the thick rubber soles of the boots were larger than ever.

Holding one hand over the wound in his chest, he turned over in the mud, peering up at the figure standing above him. His face was largely concealed by the shadows, except for his eyes. Two brilliant, bright brown eyes. The tall man leaned down closer and his lips spread into a thin, knowing smile.

“Hello, David,” he said softly. “I’ve been waiting for you."