Under the Bridge

Text 1: The Floodwater, by Owen Mercer

An original novel extract.

The stream had climbed over the path and turned it the colour of tea. Beyond the iron railings, Pip's dog was wedged between two branches, its front paws scrabbling at the water. The lead swung from its collar like a dropped kite string. Pip shouted its name, but the wind snatched the sound away.

The current dragged leaves and small sticks past the bridge supports. Pip gripped the cold rail with both hands. Mum was somewhere behind him, calling for him to wait. He knew he should listen. He also knew the dog could not hold on for long. His coat flapped against his back as he edged down the bank, placing each shoe where the grass had not yet slipped away.

At the water's edge he reached for the branch. It rolled under his fingers. Pip pulled back, breathing hard, and looked once towards the bridge. Then he looped the lead around his wrist and tried again. The branch shifted; the dog's paws found the muddy bank. Pip stumbled backwards, and they landed together in the wet grass. Mum was beside them a moment later. Pip's hands were shaking. He kept one on the dog's collar until its shivering slowed.