Chapter Text
“In early 1862, a storm of biblical proportions struck California, dropping more than 120 inches of rain and snow on the state over two months. The entire state flooded, but nowhere was the deluge worse than in the Central Valley, a gash of fertile land that runs down the middle of the state between two mountain ranges. In the spring, as melting snow mixed with torrential rain, the valley transformed into “a perfect sea,” as one observer put it, vanishing beneath 30 feet of water that poured from the Sacramento and San Joaquin Rivers. People rowed through town streets on canoes. A quarter of all the cows in the state drowned. It took months for the water to drain out.”
~The Great Flood of 1862
Part I
The day started damp and blustery forcing Heath to pull his coat higher to protect himself from the elements. Charger, his horse, was gamely pushing up hill, despite the mud. Weeks of rain had made every trail a soggy mess. The snow pack was near record levels and the warm mid-winter thaw wasn't helping the situation.
Every person in the valley hoped and prayed they wouldn't have a repeat of '62 when the whole valley flooded, but it wasn't looking good. Heath was only nine at the time but he remembered the devastating floods that created a lake 20 miles wide and 300 miles long in the central valley, making it unlivable for months.
Nick wanted him to ride the east range to see how high they could move the cattle and still have enough grazing with all the snow. Moving them to high ground was a risk if the weather shifted to cold again but keeping them in the lower pastures was a bigger risk. The Sacramento and San Joaquin rivers were already running bank to bank.
Tom Barkley had wisely moved the orchards and vineyards to higher ground when they'd lost half their crops the last time it flooded. He'd also put in levees but they'd never really been tested so they had no idea if they would help ease their flood concerns or not . Jarrod was making trips to town to pick up sandbags and several hands were filling them to reinforce the levees, hoping they would help should the flood waters rise. They were as ready as they could be. All that was left was to move the cattle to higher ground.
Lost in thought, Heath didn't see them right away but the sight of cattle tracks drew him back to the present and he pulled back on the reins, stopping Charger as he looked at the sodden ground and deep cattle tracks. Dismounting, he sunk an inch into the soggy ground. Frowning at his mud caked boots, he walked further off the trail, trying to figure out the tracks. He looked down the mountain towards the ranch then glanced upward in the direction of the tracks. It made no sense. Why would there be cattle tracks this high up, especially this time of year? And it wasn't just a stray or two. The trail was wide from several cows and they were tracked over, meaning there was a herd being moved.
Taking off his hat, he wiped his brow. It didn't make no sense. Deciding to follow the tracks, he remounted his horse and followed them up into the higher hills. He followed them all the way to the east mountain dam. The reservoir been dammed up years ago and was a good source of year round water if there was a decent snow pack. Turning Charger, he grabbed the trail going north around the dam to see if there was already melt water in the little lake.
Between one second and the next he heard a loud explosion and dirt was launched into the air. Instinctively bringing up his arm to protect his face from flying debris, he tried to turn Charger away but the horse was startled. Bucking wildly, while trying to outrun the explosion, Charger headed downhill, snorting and wheezing in a wild frenzy. Heath was helpless to calm him and was just trying to stay mounted. His knees clenched tight around the panicked horse, he was holding his own until a wall of water hit both horse and rider, throwing them both off their feet.
Struggling to get free of stirrups, Heath was fighting the horse and the threat of drowning as he was engulfed by the deluge. The power of the raging water was stripping him his senses and he was fighting the disorientation. He no longer knew what was up or down in the dark muddy water.
Flailing, he tried to go in the direction he thought was up, desperate for air. The icy water was making him sluggish and he could feel himself slipping into a place from which he'd never return and he fought harder. He needed to breathe and his body was ready to take a breath with or without his permission when he finally broke the surface. Gasping for air, he caught sight of the waters raging around him and he turned his head side to side, trying to find the closest dry land to get free of the bitter cold threatening to take him.
A large log was bearing down on him from upstream and he tried to swim clear of it, but his strength was gone. He did the only thing he could and grabbed for it as it swept by. Snagging a broken branch, he fought to hold on. If he could climb atop the log it might be enough to keep him alive but he was fading fast. The last thing he remembered was flopping over the log before he lost consciousness.
~*~
Jack was keeping an eye on the man following the tracks. He kept his distance, darting from tree to tree to keep himself hidden. He liked to keep to himself but the men moving cattle that morning had piqued his interest so he'd followed them all the way up to the reservoir. It was too cold and steep to go any further without a horse so he'd turned back. When another man followed a couple hours later he kept an eye on him. He wasn't about to make that climb again so he watched from the opposite ridge, making sure he was out of sight.
He was absently watching him when the explosion of dirt made him jerk back, landing him on his butt. “Holy cow,” he said out loud, getting to his feet quickly to get a better view.
Dirt and dust were billowing up from the dam. It was like watching in slow motion as the southwest corner of the dam gave way first, pushing mud and water out.. Within seconds the break got bigger until the whole dam was washed away in a wall water. The trickle became a torrent of muddy water taking everything in its path. He jumped up and down, shouting at the man on the horse to get out of the way but he was too far away to be heard. When the man and horse got swallowed up by the water, he took off down the hill.
He didn't expect he could do anything but he had to try. Doing his best to get closer and still be safe from the raging waters, he ran towards a spot that would intersect the water, his eyes darting back and forth for any sign of the man or the horse. He saw the horse first, and watched for only a second as it tried to swim to safety. Scanning the water upstream and down, he held his breath, waiting for the man to appear.
About to give up, he saw a flash of white and ran with all his might to try and get ahead of it, hoping he might be able to help somehow. He had to go down a hill then back up and he lost sight of the man.
Cussing himself out for not staying up higher where he could see., he looked and looked but could see nothing in the water except large trees and branches being pushed downstream. His shoulders slumped in defeat, he'd lost him. The water was still moving fast and the man was probably a mile downstream by now. He felt helpless but figured he'd follow the water and hope something showed up.
Hitching up his pants, he trudged down stream following the path of the water, wincing at the destruction along the way. He'd never seen water cause so much damage, ripping massive trees up by roots like they was matchsticks. Even if he found the man, it didn't bode well.
It took a couple hours to make it down off the mountain and he was ready to go home when he spotted the horse grazing by a dwindling stream of water. The stream bed was gouged deeply in several places by the raging water. Grasses and bushes were flattened for several yards in both directions, showing the height of the flooding. There had been no escape from its destruction. It was still flowing at a good rate but thankfully, the worst had passed. As he approached the skittish horse, he whispered softly, “Whoa, big fella, I got ya.”
Reaching out slowly, he snagged the reins and move closer. The horse shied away and Jack rubbed his muzzle. “Shh. It's okay.”
Working his hands down his neck, he offered reassurances and checked for injuries. The saddle was hanging askew by a frayed cinch so he released it and let it fall to the ground, freeing the horse from the tangled mess. Walking him in a circle, he seemed to be walking fine and appeared to have suffered only a few scrapes, nothing serious looking. Tying off the big, black horse, he dragged the saddle under a big pine, protecting it as best he could with pine boughs and branches, He wasn't big enough to carry it anywhere and it seemed a waste to let it rot in the rain. Throwing the saddlebags over a branch to maybe dry out, he grabbed the bedroll and slung it over his shoulder. It was wet and heavy but might be useful.
Pulling on the horse's reins, he headed towards home. He went slowly, keeping his eye out for the drowned man, hoping he'd somehow survived. Didn't seem likely, but Jack wasn't one to give up so easily. His momma had always accused him of being stubborn. She wasn't wrong.
He rounded a small hill and frowned at the pool of water he didn't remember being there. It took him a few seconds to figure out that the debris from the flood had caused a log jam of twisted trees and branches, creating a makeshift dam. The water had gone down considerably but the dam remained firmly in place, ten feet high in places. It was very impressive and he whistled out loud, startling himself and the horse.
“Sorry,” he apologized out loud, offering a reassuring pat.
He turned to leave when the horse hesitated, pulling back on the reins. Jack pulled harder but the horse refused to budge, digging his hooves into the soggy ground.
Taking a deep breath, he let it out slowly. Planting his hands on his hips, he faced the stubborn horse and asked, “What's got into you?”
The horse neighed at him, but held his ground. Frustrated, Jack let go of the reins and threw his hands in the air. “Fine. Stay here.”
He turned and walked away only to be thrown off his feet by a sideways nudge from the horse. Looking up from where he was sprawled on the ground, Jack said testily, “What is your problem?”
Neighing again, the horse turned back towards the log jam. He looked back at Jack, almost bidding him to follow. Wet and muddy, Jack's mood was on edge but he got to his feet and sighed, “Fine.” He waved his arm forward. “Show me what has your knickers twisted.”
The horse seemed to understand and walked closer to the log jam. As he neared the edge he pawed at the ground with his foot, neighing and looking back at him again. Reluctantly, Jack went to stand beside him as he peered into the tangled mess of logs. Feeling silly, he humored the horse, “Can anybody hear me?”
A sound, barely voiced, whispered on the wind, “Help.”
His whole attention was suddenly focused on the voice, trying desperately to pinpoint it. He called out, “Where are you?”
A mere breathy whisper answered, “Here.”
There was a lot of pain in the voice and Jack zeroed in on it, finding the source near the top of the pile. All he could see was a hand resting on an exposed log, the fingers twitching weakly.
With no regard for his own safety, Jack scrambled up the logs, until he was within sight of the man buried among the branches and trees. He straddled a large log and peered into the darker recesses and spotted the man. “I'll try and get you out, mister. Are you hurt bad?”
“Busted up some,” he answered back, his voice hitched.
“If I can move this top log, I might be able to free you.” Jack looked around the stack searching for something to use as leverage against the big log trapping the man. His eyes darted up and down the pile, until he spotted a sapling, no more than four inches wide. It had been stripped of most of it's branches and was long enough that he had to work to get it free from the pile. He held his breath as he tugged and pulled at it, hoping the whole pile didn't come down on both of them.
When it finally popped free, Jack was caught off balance and tumbled down into the mess of trees, scraping the skin off his arm and busting his knee. Gritting his teeth, he swore under his breath, taking a minute for the pain to ease. Daring to look at it, he noted the blood but it wasn't gushing or nothing so he figured he'd live. His knee was sore but he'd had worse. Gingerly climbing back up, he grabbed for the little tree again and started pulling it higher until he was once again at the top of the pile.
Surveying the log, he tried to figure out where the best place before he picked a spot. Pushing it into place, he used all his weight, which wasn't much in the grand scheme of things, and felt the log lift a bit. His little tree jammed lower and he tried again, getting more leverage this time. He pushed with all his might and nothing was happening. It wasn't working. He just wasn't big enough.
A voice broke through his self recriminations, “Move to the end.”
He looked down the length of the log, thinking the man wanted him to move his pry bar and he was about to move it when he said, “No. Get on... the end... of your branch. Better...leverage.” The pain it took to even talk was obvious and Jack did as he was told.
He took a deep breath, stood up on his tip toes and dropped all his weight on the end of the tree and was shocked when the bigger log not only started to lift, but actually begin tumbling down the other side. Not taking any chances, he used the makeshift pry bar to push it along.
Almost whooping in joy, he remembered his situation and cast his little tree aside and rushed towards the man. He looked in pretty bad shape. His shirt was in tatters, barely a shirt at all. His pants weren't much better and he only had one sock on. There was blood seeping through the cloth in several places but he looked to be in one piece. A nasty wound on his head was dripping blood, making him look ghastly. Jack's hands shook as he pulled his neckerchief off and said, “I need to wrap that head wound. It's bleeding pretty good.”
The man gamely tried to wipe some of the blood away from his eyes, making it worse. Jack winced. “Just sit fer a minute while I get this wrapped.”
He folded the cloth and covered the worst of the wound, tying it in a tight knot to stop the bleeding. “That'll hold 'til we can get you outta here. Can you sit up?”
The man nodded. He was breathing hard and it looked painful just to watch but after a couple minutes he'd managed to sit up, leaning heavily into the log beside him. Jack reached down and tried to help as he asked hesitantly, “Can you help me get you down from here. I got your horse.”
Looking up at him, the man frowned, “My horse?”
“Yeah, found him up the mountain. I'm Jack by the way.”
The man looked like he was going to answer, but he blinked several times and fell silent.
Jack prodded him, “You got a name?”
“Don't...remember,” he replied, just before he passed out.