Jaime's Narrative 20/9

The storm was coming.
All around us was a dome of tall tree, flattened shrubs.. But most importantly, the brown murky water of the rainforest.
The floods had started about a week ago. I still remember when it all happened - my mother, Miki, rushing into our bedrooms where we were sleeping, to scoop me and all my brothers and sisters in her arms, only to drop us outside on the doormat and tell us to run for our lives, the water rapidly rising. So we all ran, from the dusty cream-coloured apartment on the riverside, our socks wet and dripping with water and blood.
Now, with three of my brothers missing, never to be seen again, we were slowly making our way to the crossing at Tamborghini River, days after we’d fled our home, lucky to escape with our lives.
At the front of the group was Rilous. She hadn’t come from our village and was technically illegal to be travelling with us, but she was kind and warm-hearted, and unless the Vanuatu Police was on patrol through rainforests with 24 inch floodwaters, we’d be fine.
Rilous had not been prepared for the floods either; wearing a long black skirt and a white flowing hijab over her head, as well as some sort of American branded black shoes (Vans, I think she said). Oh well, what can I say? I was wearing jeans and a sweater. Most of my brothers were wearing basketball shoes but my sisters were in dresses and tights. I prayed we’d find shelter tonight. But first there was a bridge we had to conquer.
It was right in front of us, through a clearing of trees and grub. I looked back. In the distance, although it was blurry and through the rainforest, I could see the floodwaters slowly catching up. Brown. The colour I now couldn’t bear to see.
There was nothing we could do but cross. If we climbed the trees, the water would surely knock them down… they were thin like flag poles with branches and leaves.
So, I took a deep breath as Rilous slowly stepped onto the bridge to cross. It was old and rackety, the wood looking like an ancient rocking chair, hidden away for years, now dusty and mouldy. In some places the planks were broken and dislodged, the ropes on the sides grey and fraying.
Suddenly, my heart skipped a beat. As Rilous set her right foot onto the bridge, it jolted to one side. The bridge was no longer horizontal, it was vertical, with only the ropes to support our feet, and to hold on to. “We can’t cross this!” My little brother, Brendor, disclaimed in fluent Bislama. I looked back. The floodwaters were coming… and fast. They were about 400m away, faster than ever. “We have to!” I yelled, rushing them along. Rilous gripped the rope and shuffled across the bridge, followed by Rina, Pascaline, Agnes, Pisiv, Jean Regis, and finally, me. The bridge shook gently as I stepped on, and I clung to the ropes as I stood on it with both feet. The floodwaters were coming closer and closer; but as long as we were a good distance away from the sides, most of the floodwater would fall into the already polluted river. Rilous was a good 10m in front of me, safe from the flood.