Extract from the novel "After the Flood"
(awaiting publication)
Shane Joseph

Prologue – Samson’s Diary

May 12, 2012

When the two black-suited men came to our door that morning, I knew it was time to leave. They were Witnesses, one tall and black, the other short and white, prowling the neighbourhood with increased frequency. They looked confident as they stood on the doorstep with the rain pelting down behind them, shaking the water off their trench coats and umbrellas.

I interrupted their usual opening spiel. “Same answer this week, I’m afraid—we have religion in this home,” I said.

 “Yes, brother,” the black man said. “But the kingdom of God is now at hand. In fact, it’s down on Kingston Road, not a half mile from here.”

“That close, eh? I thought we would have more time.”

“Are you ready to receive?”

“We have received. My folks are packed to leave. I suggest you do the same.”

“God be with you, brother,” the short one said. “Many have joined us today—the culmination of our work is at hand. It’s a day of great fulfillment!”

“Good. You’d better be off then. And don’t leave it too late either,” I said, shutting the door on them. Their smugness bothered me. Through the window I saw their companions swarming across my neighbour’s waterlogged lawn. My van, packed with our belongings, stood in the driveway. Dad’s boat was on the trailer in the backyard, but it would have to stay where it was—we were not going to be slowed down. In hindsight, the boat may have taken us farther.

 “Time to go folks—the flooding has reached Kingston Road,” I said, rushing down to the basement. Dad was packing his fishing rods; he had four of them already on the roof of the van. The damp patches in the basement floor had widened since my last visit half an hour ago. “Dad, come on, there will be plenty of time for fishing.” I threw his raincoat across his shoulders and gently moved him upstairs.

“I’m not so sure about that anymore,” he said shaking his head and muttering under his breath. “Hope there isn’t too much water damage to the house. You think my tool shed will be okay?”

“Sure,” I lied. I was worried about the shed too. About everything. But there was no use in showing it.

“Help me get the baby’s things in the van, Sam.” Adele slowly made her way from the bedrooms upstairs; she was six months pregnant and beginning to look a little weak in the mornings. Cole, carrying a small suitcase, shut the door behind them. They had abandoned their waterlogged apartment downtown to hole up with us these past two weeks. Cole was good for Adele, obedient, respectful and kind; he had been that way ever since they’d met in high school.

“Not much more we can take, I’m afraid—the van’s packed—even the roof.”

“But we have to take the baby’s things, no?”

“Sure we have to,” I said, and helped her down the stairs. It was nice embracing my kid sister. We didn’t do that much anymore.

“Not taking your jazz collection?”

“No, there’s no room. It’ll be safe when we return.”

“Samson Arthurs! You never let it out of your sight.”

“It’ll be okay. Where’s Mum?”

“Watching TV again.”

When I went into my parents’ bedroom, Mum was indeed watching TV and wiping her eyes. Tissues littered the floor around her.

“Why do we have to leave, son?” she said, staring into one of those riveting news broadcasts that ran non-stop now. I went over and switched off the TV.

“Come on, Ma. It’s time.”

“But the house—thirty-five years of our lives are in this house.”

“We’ll come back when the emergency is over Ma. I promise you. And we’ll fix the damage, if there is any.”

“You promise?”

I didn’t say anything but herded her out to the van. Dad, Cole and Adele were already inside, squished amidst the food containers, clothing and memorabilia threatening to burst the van at its seams. I checked the tarpaulin over the ski rack and it looked like it would hold, even though the wind was beginning to pick up. The newer models of the Montana didn’t have ski racks built in anymore as the snow had stopped calling in recent winters. I was soaked by the time I slid into the driver’s seat. When we left our street and joined the throngs of cars headed north for the highway, I didn’t realize that would be the last time I would see the old house on Saddler Street, where I had lived my entire life.