The raging waters thundered through and against it relentlessly. Cracks had already appeared along its length and some stonework had long since washed away. The bridge's architects had not made provision for a flood of this magnitude all those decades ago. The car park of the nearby pub was completely swamped; the fields on the other side were now a vast lake. It was like the end of the world. The pub owners were staring at the waters swirling around the ground-floor bar, wading around in their wellington boots and wondering if there was actually anything they could do. But once the sewage-tainted water was in, that was it. The path that ran along the river towards the park was no longer visible. Nearby, the supermarket was flooded with over a foot of water. Packets of noodles, crisps and other light debris floated lazily around in the muddy, smelly water, as the shop's manager swore and went on trying to get his superior on the phone. His staff were waiting to be told what to do, some of them wishing they'd gone home when their shift finished instead of agreeing to stay and help.
