And it Rained by John Powell (rosie project TXT) 📕

By May, the flowers should bloom, the sun diluting clouds into long, stray wisps; everything bright, flourishing, alive. But April is the rainy month. Snow melts into muddy-white islands along roads slathered in gray goosh, all the beauty of winter pooling onto mushy grass. April. Stubborn, saturated April.
Zach knew the expression about showers and flowers. He was twenty-two. He had seen his share of stormy Aprils. He, like every other college student that had to commute across the campus green for class, watched weather updates online closely, even routinely, throughout a single day. The day when boots were exchanged for sneakers, everyone would stroll to class across the dry grass with grins on their faces, summer just around the corner.
April first, an absolutely clear sky day, students stepped outside in thin coats or heavy sweatshirts, still chilled. The five-day forecast predicted progressively obnoxious weather as the week continued. Zach, in love with warm weather, disliked the notion of prolonged wet days. New York winters lasted at least four months, most of them without frequent enough snowfalls to make the freezing temperatures worth coping with. Snow would fall but it wouldn’t stay. In fact, it melted and froze at night, converting the main green into an ice skating rink.
Overhead, gloomy clouds formed, Zach envisioning their soundtrack, ascending scales from a plunky piano and whining cello. He pulled his collar up and went to class.
His friends grumbled to lunch together. They grumbled to the mailroom. They grumbled to the library. They grumbled to their beds. The forecast predicted slightly warmer weather, but New York had forfeited its trustworthiness, too unpredictable, and Zach, having lived in New York for his college career, and in Kansas before then, wasn’t willing to put his heavy pants away for good. He pushed his head out his window and looked at the sky. The sheets of clouds looked like undeveloped film rolls held up to the light. Beyond the thin veil of grey the sky cleared away to blue, but the clouds kept connecting, slowly, patiently awaiting their orders.
On Monday, chilly mist slithered along the walkways, down the street. Students left their umbrellas inside, faced the humid afternoon in windbreakers.
Tuesday rained like Monday. On Wednesday, it rained throughout the afternoon. At night it poured. Zach turned away from the window, back to his work.
He didn’t feel well. Something about the rain made him uneasy.
Zach studied Theater, so he was known to over-dramatize most situations. He would think one way about something so intensely that he couldn’t be convinced otherwise. Even when it began to rain across New England, and beyond the Southwest, and Europe reported record rainfall, Zach didn’t mention it to his friends. They enjoyed mocking his theatrics, and even he would admit his overreaction, that he didn’t draw a line between the stage and the outside world. A feeling in his gut told him to prepare himself, so he hoped for sun but prepared for rain while his friends noticed his increased peculiar behavior, his collecting newspapers, reading up on current global weather conditions, how he tuned in on his AM portable radio between classes. The usually chatty junior stopped socializing. He packed a suitcase with extra raingear. He read up on historical weather phenomena until he understood the theories of air pressure, cold fronts, and could list the qualities of different kinds of clouds.
Like sweaty churchgoers finished with the sermon, rain burst from the clouds, crashing into buildings, slapping students as they rushed to the bookstore to buy umbrellas and ponchos. The power flickered, the wind crushing debris against trees. Students sought cover beneath awnings and gazebo, but the semester wasn’t over. Essays and finals wouldn’t wait for dry weather. They turned their backs to the driving rain and went to class.
Forecasters were baffled. They checked the radar, consulted all the other networks, and after they sent their best researchers into the field to collect solid data, they had run out of tests. Each team held a meeting, the facts lain out on conference room tables. The storm defied logistical science; see, weather generally moved from one end to the other. This particular rain spread. Out. Around. Everywhere.
Zach returned his books on weather to the library and checked out books on zoology. He had an idea, but he didn’t want to get ahead of himself.
That night Zach stayed nestled in bed. His roommate nearly fell into the room, slamming the door behind him, his soaked pants clutched his legs and his shoes squished on the floor. He shook like a dog. The spray peppered Zach’s sheets with droplets. John, the roommate, explained to Zach that the campus had flooded. The roads looked more like rivers.
“I think the world’s starting over,” Zach said. “We’re getting flushed out.”
John squeezed the edges of his pants and laughed. “Come on, dude; get real,” he said. Zach’s eyes focused on his reading.
“Look, maybe it’s not supposed to be history,” Zach added. “Maybe it’s a weather prediction.”
John smiled. “Is this a bit,” he asked, “for your comedy class?” He took his shoes off, and taking on Zach’s expressionless face, mocked, “When the world begins anew, I will be king of all the land!”
Zach smiled at John. “It’s okay,” he added. “I don’t expect anyone to believe me.”
“I believe you,” said Zach, pulling on dry pajama pants. “I just think you’re an idiot.”
Meteorologists were more baffled than ever. They checked their equipment. They called a national convention. The president was invited, and the all members of the United Nations, as well as the most brilliant minds in the earth sciences. Fortunetellers were asked to look for omens. Were there any shamans in the area? Plans to accommodate for total flooding were initiated immediately.
But results never changed, so on the third day they had no option but to report:
According to professional weather predictors, the rain wasn’t supposed to end for at least one hundred and five days.
Students still went to class. Professors still taught them. What was there to do but continue on normally?
Zach didn’t panic. He had known all along what was coming. While at the library, he’d been drawing plans on large butcher paper taken from the newspaper offices. He rolled them up and slid a rubber band around them, and then he put them into a garbage bag. He packed his snacks. He went to the bookstore and bought a Bible.
Then Zach went to the harbor.
Scrap wood was everywhere. It took little convincing of the building operators to take the wood; the buildings were leaking and soon the scrap would rot and mold, and be no good to anyone.
Zach picked up hammer, nails, and saws, and in the quiet corner of an enormous, classic harbor warehouse, he went to work, diagrams out on a desk.
John called him. Zach described where he was. He said he was working hard and shouldn’t talk long.
John went to the harbor. He found Zach organizing wood scraps.
“What are you doing?”
Zach looked up from his work.
“Oh,” he said with a smile, “hello, John. I’m building an arc.”
John blinked.
Zach had worked without a break for nearly two days. “It’s weird,” he said. “I’m not tired yet. I’m pretty psyched I took those set design classes.”
“You have until Friday,” John said. “After that, I’m taking you home.” He paused. “Is this a bit?”
Zach looked up. Friday was plenty of time. At the rate he worked, things would be nearly complete by then. He shook his head.
John went home.
The college made necessary adjustments to accommodate the flooded campus. Classes were canceled indefinitely. How could anyone get to class when they’d have to swim to get there? Pictures in the news showed cars half sunk. Houses floated like lily pads. In some places, water was so high that the phone lines were submerged.
Zach’s warehouse was well structured. Water didn’t leak in too badly, but outside the building looked like a turtle being lowered slowly back into his aquarium. Zach’s construction was shoddy. It splintered and snapped and was reinforced with metal slabs bolted in. It was a child’s tree house built in the woods, he mused.
On Friday, John didn’t come. He couldn’t leave his dorm room.
On Saturday, Zach somehow opened the hangar doors of his warehouse. His boat lifted into the water as it filled in. He maneuvered his boat into the streets. Well, there weren’t streets anymore, but we sailed around the building tops.
He had to work quickly.
He took two pigeons from Central Park. He also found the ducks there, and the geese. He found two dogs paddling around. They were completely different breeds, but Zach was new at this, and figured any two would do.
He sailed to the zoo. The animals that survived were brought aboard: Giraffes, whose necks didn’t’ let them drown; and also alligators, crocodiles, pandas, koalas, lions, tigers, leopards, and penguins.
The animals knew what was going on, all of them. They started coming to him, which was good, because honestly, Zach was tired of chasing after them.
They piled on board. Usually there were more than two, but at this point, Zach didn’t have the heart to deny any of the animals.
Space aboard the arc was, obviously, finite. Zach rationalized. He had less warning than the last guy. It had already started raining when he began building. He hadn’t found one of every animal but had most of the important ones, including chickens, cows, and pigs. He had some that were unique, the llama and the peacock, but had a hard time collecting lizards and sheep. He lost track and count, and didn’t care. He’d done enough.
By the next Monday most of the United States was completely underwater. Europe came next, and Africa, and Asia, and Zach sailed as far as he could and took as many as he could. He was so thankful of zoos for herding them together that he would have told someone about it, had there been someone to tell.
You see, he forgot humans.
He sat on the edge of his ship, completely unaware of where in the world he was. It had stopped raining. The sun was gorgeous. It dried his clothes. It felt unreal.
Animals had built their own rafts, tethered to the sides of the arc. There were hundreds of them. They didn’t seem to need food or fresh water. The polar bears somehow got along with the rats, and the monkeys got along with the panthers. They sat idly, watching Zach.
There had been no divine intervention. Zach had just remembered the story of Noah. He read it in the Bible, but it was actually very unclear. Plus, Zach didn’t remember the story ever noting any other humans that were to be brought on board, although he should have guessed.
Zach sat alone in the middle of Earth, which was now just an ocean. He had nowhere to go. He had nothing to do. He didn’t know what came next.
Luckily, when packing for his trip he’d taken an extra box of chocolate chip granola bars. He tore the corner of the silver wrapping and folded it down.
It tasted great.
He put the Bible on his lap and opened it up to see what else was in there that might be helpful, but the pages had gotten wet, the text very difficult to read.