Damn it! The little creek had been flooded from the violent rain. The placid little mountain stream, usually a pleasant, quiet little trickle, was a churning, heaving white water rapid. Foam was splashing up to, onto and sometimes over the old log and timber bridge; our only way out of Randy and Constance's mountain retreat. It was a nightmare scene now caught in my headlights. The forest surrounding us was so dark the hundred foot tall old growth firs crowding the road couldn't be individually distinguished; then this insane travesty of a creek. I had waded there two summers ago. It wasn't ankle deep.
Without light of some kind it would be impossible to move in the rain forest until after daylight, many hours away. When that bridge went, it would be a long hike in that forest.
The bridge was definitely going to go! And soon!
I sat for a moment watching the froth leaping into the air higher than my head from the madly churning rapids. What scared me wasn't the water reaching to less than a foot of the bridge, it was the water now more than an inch deep over the bridge approaches and rising almost visibly.
The creek was just inches below the bottom of the bridge. Eight hours ago I could easily have stood atop any of the shoulder high boulders littering the streambed, and been unable to reach the bottom of the bridge.
Time to forget the beer run Constance and I were on and get back to warn the other guests.
Constance looked scared sitting beside me, clutching my arm. "Peter, I've never seen it this high before! We've never had water over the road." She had to speak loud to be heard over the drum of water thundering onto the roof of my fire engine red Jeep Grand Cherokee.
It had been raining steadily for several days, but shortly after my fiancée Sibyl and I arrived at the party the skies opened and began pouring buckets. I'd never before seen rain like this around Seattle. Sure it rained, but almost always a soft gentle rain. Hard, driving, knock down the cornfield rain like this just didn't happen here; until this afternoon.
Randy, Constance's husband, was giving a weekend party in the mountain 'cabin' that had been in Randy's family for generations. The land around it was all National Forest with no private buildings now being allowed. Except that Randy's great grandfather built a cabin here years before on land he bought before this was declared a National Park. Hell, it might have been his great, great grandfather. In any case, it was a classic case of "Grandfathering" as Randy told us ad naseum. The pun was long dead, but the fact remained. His family, and the branch of the family directly descended from the old man, had a legal right to keep a private cabin on this national land.
The law did not define what it considered a cabin, and over the years it had grown considerably. The main "cabin" was now an eight room, two story house. It was log construction, which was the only thing that came close to making it look like a cabin. In the city it could have been considered a small mansion.
Loosely connected to the main cabin, and connected with covered walkways which according to the law made them all "one building", were four smaller four and five room "cabins". They had been built to house married children and their families. Each had a bathroom with composting toilet, a sitting room and several bedrooms. Kitchen and dining room facilities for the complex were housed in the main cabin.
Sibyl worked for the firm Randy's family owned, and at one time Randy had been her supervisor. Sibyl had told me that Randy had an important job in the company but everyone knew he wasn't going any higher. He was too much of a playboy, too impetuous, and his judgement had proven skewed when he overcame those obstacles. I'd seen some of the chances he took personally, and understood why the staid family establishment had no desire to see him running things. If I had been one of them, I would have been unwilling to have him running the accounting department, which was his job.
It was a trick turning my Jeep around on the lightly flooded road, but I managed and in moments we were back around the bend and parking in front of the main cabin. We had been gone less than fifteen minutes, and several puzzled faces were looking out at us from the windows.
After a jury-rigged beer cooler Randy had devised had been carried away by the river, Constance and I had been commandeered into making a beer run. Sibyl had been in a corner chatting with Randy when the grumbling grew too loud and she or he volunteered my services to drive into town to replenish the supply. I wasn't too keen on going, but this was a weekend party, after all, and taking the two hours out to keep the party going didn't seem too much of a hassle. Randy insisted I not pay for the beer, and donated Constance's services to ride along and use their credit card.
Sloshing through the parking area, we picked our way to the front door through the BMW's, Mercedes, and even one Ferrari. Inside Constance went one way, and I went the other passing the word for everyone to evacuate. We estimated the bridge was going to be washed out, probably within three or four hours. Anyone that had anyplace to go for the next several weeks had best move their sweet patooties and get over that bridge before it disappeared. It was twenty-five miles to what we in Washington State call civilization, and with this flood coming out of the sky it wouldn't be a pleasant stroll.
The first BMW fired up, and drove off ten minutes later. In the meantime, I was getting worried because I couldn't find my fiancée...
I had pretty much covered the main cabin when I realized the party had spilled over into the 'attached' cabins. On my way out to let those folks know about the bridge, I figured I'd find Sibyl.
There were a few couples sitting, chatting and dancing to the stereo in the first cabin but no Sibyl. After checking all the rooms there, I moved on to the next, which was locked and empty. Not finding Sibyl there it occurred to me she had probably been in the john, so I quit worrying. Knowing it was better being over zealous than sorry later, I continued on to check out the last cabin, which also looked dark and empty.
The din of rain on the tin roof of the last cabin made it impossible to hear as I approached and for a moment I puzzled over why this cabin was roofed with tin instead of cedar shakes like the others, then forgot the problem. I was certain it was empty, it was certainly dark, but if I didn't check it out I'd be fretting about it all night. The sitting room was empty and dark. Stepping to the barely seen hall entrance I saw the door to the first bedroom was standing open, the room empty. However, as I hesitated before leaving I noticed a dim red glow showing under the door of the second bedroom at the end of the short hallway.
I felt uncomfortable about opening it, this was a party after all. However the noise on the roof was too loud for anyone in the bedroom to hear me even if I used a bullhorn. The hallway was pitch black except for the dim glow under the door, but suddenly I knew someone was in there. I stumbled over a woman's shirt lying in the hallway. I picked it up, and spotted a pair of women's slacks lying in front of the closed door.
Even in the almost nonexistent light coming from the glow under the door I knew the shirt and slacks. Not thirty minutes before I had been admiring them on Sibyl as she stood chatting with Randy. That had been just before she enthusiastically agreed to my taking the Jeep into town. That was just before Randy asked his wife to go with me on the two-hour drive.
I stood a moment, wondering what to do. It embarrasses me now to recall it, but I almost left the whoever was in that room there as Constance and I evacuated everyone else. I almost left them to hike their way out in the morning. The distance and the damage being done to the sodden forest would make it a miserable two or three day walk. Maybe even a dangerous one. That thought was the one that decided me against trying to ignore what was going on.
Instead I carried Sibyl's shirt and slacks with me as I slowly opened the door to the bedroom.
A small lamp stood on a bedside table, washing the room with a dim red glow. Half way between the door and the bed lay Sibyl's white, frilly, almost transparent bra, torn in half. Almost under the bed were the remains of her panties. I recognized the underwear. They were a lingerie set I gave her as a personal and secret birthday gift Wednesday. For a ridiculous moment all that filled my mind was the thought that I had never seen Sibyl wearing the set; along with the non sequitor that it had cost me $110.95; plus tax.
Snorting I focused my attention on the bed.
Not much was to be seen. The couple was almost lost in a soft mattress, and surrounded by a hugely fluffed quilt. The only thing to be seen were two shapely female legs, spread wide, sticking up in the air and waving back and forth. Between them a large, fat male ass was rising and falling.
They had no clue I was there.
I turned and left.
Bundling up Sibyl's slacks and shirt so they couldn't be identified, I hustled to the main cabin and out to my Jeep. I shoved Sibyl's clothes in the back and out of sight before running back inside to snatch up her coat and purse from the room where all the coats had been left. Most of the coats were already gone.
Armed with Sibyl's coat and purse, I marched back to the scene of the ongoing crime.
.... There is more of this story ...