He drew his knife, ready to cut himself free if it came out of the ground. The pole shifted suddenly, tilted, and then he could breathe again, as the first tall wave went by.
Coughing, spitting, sliding in the gelatinous slop, the Sergeant cut himself free, moving to safety as quickly as he could. Yet another lesson learned in this harsh new homeland - bridges were not safe here, either.
Marc moved to higher ground, shivering in the cold wind, as Dog danced in the mud around his ankles. Lungs aching, he stumbled away from the crumbling bank.
Quickly jerking on his long coat from his kit, Marc's eyes watched the fast-moving water. With the barrier gone, it would now flow downstream and rise up to spill over weakened banks before seeping into the next town, the way it had been in every other place he'd come through. Nature was quickly reclaiming her property.
Marc took a long look around as he got his breath back, deciding where he would make camp and wait out the water. The Blue Ridge Mountains were east, rolling peaks of foggy blue under a wide, purple and yellow sunset that was marred by angry gray layers that never went away. South was dipping valleys and hills full of tobacco fields and Virginia white pines. It was the way he had come and those empty, snowbound towns had given him nothing to take hope from.
West was another community whose name he'd seen on the map, but couldn't recall, and the newly released water was already overwhelming it. He saw no one fleeing the filling houses and businesses, though, and grunted unhappily. The sitrep was bleak. North, then.
Maybe a full click above him, a small white building with a large, silver cross beckoned in the dim distance, looking pristine perched on top of a large, muddy hill. Backdropped by cherry and wild crab apple trees, again, only the gritty sky spoiled the perfect picture of safety in the wilderness.
Shrugging at the irony - Marc hadn't been in a church since being robbed of his dreams - he headed that way with his eyes and ears open for anything that looked like trouble. Seeming empty didn't make it so.
Dog, who came almost to his hip, stayed close, occasionally growling his dislike at the now softer rumble of the river.
Head starting to hurt, Marc foraged in his kit for a pain pill, and swept the small town around him. The outskirts of Franklin (identified by the sign on a nearby street corner) looked mostly untainted. Surrounded by neat white homes and white picket fences, his eyes flicked from untouched manger scenes to the Christmas lights that still decorated most of the area. Not much damage. Were there people here?