Oliver Finch's Arc

Chapter 2 of 9

Oliver clung to the thin top branches while the water climbed. The bent root that had carried him up was gone under the dark flood. Below him the swamp had turned into a slow black lake. His arms ached. The blue flower pressed against his chest inside his vest pocket. He had won it, and now he might drown with it. He looked down the trunk. The lowest branches he had climbed were already underwater. There was no dry path left. If he waited, the flood would swallow more of the tree. If he jumped, he would hit water with no bottom he could feel. Then something moved on the bark near his hand. The little centipede, its ocean-blue eyes bright, hurried along a branch. It had guided him up before. Now it ran outward, away from the trunk, along a long limb that stretched toward another tree. Oliver followed it with his eyes. The limb reached out over the water and nearly touched a branch of the next giant tree. He had not seen it before. From up here, the trees stood close, their branches almost woven together. He could cross from tree to tree without ever touching the flood. He edged out along the limb after the centipede. The branch bent under him and dipped low. His red sneakers slipped on the wet bark. He wrapped both arms around the wood and pulled himself forward. The gap to the next tree was two feet wide. He breathed, then lunged, and caught the far branch with both hands. He swung, kicked, and hauled his body onto it. The centipede was already ahead, choosing the next crossing. Oliver understood now. The little creature was not climbing higher this time. It was leading him sideways, toward the swamp's edge, tree by tree. He crossed six trees this way. Each jump made his heart slam. Twice a branch cracked and dropped him lower, but he caught the next one. The water shrank below as the ground began to rise beneath the flood. At last he saw a low hill breaking the surface, and on it stood a small crooked cottage of mossy stone. The last tree leaned close to dry land. Oliver climbed down its trunk until his sneakers found solid mud. He let go and dropped to his knees on the grass. The flood lapped an arm's length away. He was down. He was alive. He reached into his vest and drew out the blue flower. Its petals were crushed and torn from the climb and the jumps. Half the bloom was gone. His mother had said the biggest, most perfect flower paid the most. This one was ruined. Oliver stared at it, then at the strange cottage on the hill. Warm light glowed in its crooked windows. Someone lived here, out past the swamp, far from his family's tall green townhouse. He was safe, but he was lost, and his prize was broken. He stood and walked toward the light.