Cardboard and River Mud

The convention center smelled like hot plastic, body sweat, and stale energy drinks. Larry stood in the middle of aisle four. The room was too big. The ceiling was a metal sky painted black, covered in giant lights that hummed so loud his teeth hurt. He held his visitor badge tightly. The plastic edges dug into his thumb. He was looking for a gap. A missing piece in the crowd.

He wanted to find Stan.

Larry had not been back to Winnipeg in three years. Toronto was tall and fast. Winnipeg was flat and wide. Coming back felt wrong, like putting on a shoe that belonged to someone else. The summer heat outside was brutal. It baked the sidewalks. Inside, the air conditioning blasted so hard Larry’s arms were covered in goosebumps. He walked past tables of dice. Tables of comic books. Everything was brightly colored. Neon greens. Shocking pinks. The colors yelled at him.

He found Stan’s booth at the back. It was empty.

There was a folding table covered in a black cloth. Three miniature painted dragons sat on the corner. A half-empty bottle of water rested next to them. But the chair was empty. Larry stared at the empty chair. His stomach flipped. He shouldn't have come. He should have stayed at the hotel.

Then, the floor shook.

It was a deep, heavy vibration. It traveled up through the concrete, through Larry’s sneakers, and into his knees.

"What was that?" a girl next to him asked.

"I don't know," a man replied.

The giant lights overhead flickered. Once. Twice.

Then, a loud pop echoed through the massive hall. It sounded like a giant stepping on a balloon.

The lights died. All of them.

The hum of the air conditioning stopped. The silence that followed was heavy and thick. Then, the screaming started.

It was totally dark. The kind of dark that feels heavy on your face. Larry held his hands out. He couldn't see his own fingers. The crowd shifted. Bodies bumped into him. Shoulders hit his chest. Someone stepped on his foot.

"Hey," Larry said. His voice was small in the massive dark.

Red emergency lights kicked on. They were weak. They cast long, scary shadows across the walls. The giant convention hall suddenly looked like a cave. People were pulling out their phones. Little white squares of light popped up like stars.

Larry pulled his phone from his pocket. The screen was cracked. He opened his flashlight app. The beam cut through the dusty air.

"Stan!" Larry yelled.

He pushed forward. He used his flashlight like a sword, slicing through the dark. He walked around the empty table. He checked behind the black curtain. Nothing. He checked the fire exit door.

Then he heard a loud, metallic clank.

Clank. Clank. Squeak.

Larry swung his flashlight. The beam hit a wall of silver and grey.

It was Stan.

Stan was wearing full dwarven battle armor. It was made of thick EVA foam, painted to look like rusted iron, mixed with actual metal chainmail. He had massive shoulder pads. A giant helmet sat crooked on his head. He looked like a walking mountain.

"Stan," Larry said.

Stan squinted against the flashlight beam. He raised a thick, foam-covered arm to block the glare.

"Larry?" Stan asked. His voice was muffled behind the fake beard attached to his helmet.

"Yeah. It’s me."

Stan lowered his arm. The armor squeaked. He looked at Larry. He didn't smile. He didn't look happy. He just looked tired. The empty space between them felt ten miles wide.

"You're here," Stan said.

"I said I was coming."

"People say a lot of things."

Larry swallowed hard. His throat felt tight. "What happened to the lights?"

Before Stan could answer, every phone in the hall buzzed at the exact same time. It was a loud, ugly, harsh sound. An emergency alert.

Larry looked at his screen. The text was stark black against a bright white background.

EMERGENCY ALERT. ASSINIBOINE RIVER HAS BREACHED THE MAIN SUBSTATION. EXTREME FLASH FLOOD WARNING. SEEK HIGH GROUND IMMEDIATELY.

Larry read it twice. The words didn't make sense. It was summer. Floods happened in the spring.

"The river," Stan said. His voice changed. It wasn't flat anymore. It was tight. Panicked.

"It says seek high ground," Larry said.

Stan grabbed Larry’s shoulder. The metal rings of his glove dug into Larry’s collarbone.

"Rosa," Stan said.

Larry’s heart stopped. Auntie Rosa. She lived in Osborne Village. She lived in a basement apartment. A basement apartment that was three blocks from the river.

"We have to go," Larry said.

"Now," Stan agreed.

They pushed through the crowd. It was hard. People were confused. Some were crying. Some were just standing still, staring at their phones. Larry led the way with his flashlight. Stan followed. Every step Stan took was loud. The armor clanked and dragged.

They reached the glass doors at the front of the convention center. The doors were jammed. People were pushing against them.

Larry looked through the glass. The sky outside was wrong. It was three in the afternoon, but it looked like midnight. The clouds were bruised purple and sick yellow.

And the street was gone.

York Avenue was a river. Thick, brown water rushed past the glass doors. It was carrying garbage cans. It was carrying branches. The water was angry. It slammed against the side of a parked car, pushing it up onto the sidewalk.

"We can't walk in that," Larry said.

"We have to," Stan replied. He pushed a guy in a wizard robe out of the way. "Rosa is down there."

Stan hit the emergency release bar on the door. It popped open. The summer heat rushed in. It felt like opening an oven. The air smelled like wet dirt, gasoline, and dead fish.

Larry stepped out. The water hit his shins immediately. It was freezing cold despite the hot air. It soaked his sneakers. It pulled at his ankles. It felt like a giant hand trying to drag him down.

He looked back. The convention center was a dark, dead cave. He looked forward. The city was a giant, dirty lake.

"Keep moving," Stan yelled over the roar of the water.

Larry stepped deeper into the dark.

York Avenue River

The water was loud. It roared like a jet engine. Larry kept his flashlight pointed down. The beam caught swirling brown mud, white foam, and floating trash. A plastic cup hit his knee. A soggy piece of cardboard wrapped around his ankle. He kicked it off.

"Stay on the sidewalk!" Stan shouted from behind him.

Larry looked back. Stan was struggling. The dwarven armor was a nightmare. The foam soaked up the water like a sponge. The metal chainmail weighed him down. He was moving in slow motion. Every step was a battle.

"Take that stupid stuff off!" Larry yelled.

"No!" Stan yelled back. "I spent eight months building it!"

"It's going to drown you!"

Stan didn't answer. He just kept walking. His face was red. Sweat poured down his forehead, mixing with the dirty rain that was starting to fall from the purple sky.

They reached the corner of Memorial Boulevard. The water here was deeper. It was up to Larry’s thighs. The current was stronger. It pulled at him. He had to lean forward to keep his balance.

There was a massive ditch where the road dipped under a train bridge. The water there was a dark, boiling pit. Cars were completely submerged. Only the roofs of a few vans stuck out like little metal islands.

"We can't cross that," Larry said. His chest felt tight. The world was too big. The water was too strong.

Stan stopped beside him. He was breathing hard. The armor squeaked as his chest heaved.

He pointed a thick finger to the left. "There. The construction site."

Next to the bridge, an office building was being built. The fence had washed away. Floating in the eddy were wooden pallets and a massive vinyl banner. The banner read: 'QUESTCON 2026 - YOUR ADVENTURE AWAITS!' in bright, happy letters.

"Grab the banner," Stan said.

They waded over to the debris. The water was freezing. Larry’s toes were numb. He grabbed the edge of the vinyl banner. It was slippery.

"Pull it over the pallets," Stan instructed.

They worked together. It was hard. The water fought them. But slowly, they dragged the massive banner over three wooden pallets that were jammed against a concrete barrier. It made a slippery, unstable bridge over the worst of the deep water.

"You go first," Stan said.

Larry stepped onto the banner. The pallets underneath groaned. He kept his arms out for balance. He walked slowly. The bright happy letters of the banner squished under his wet shoes. He made it to the other side and stepped onto higher ground.

"Okay! Come on!" Larry yelled.

Stan stepped onto the banner. The extra weight of the armor was too much. The pallets sank instantly. Water rushed over the vinyl.

Stan slipped. He fell backward with a massive splash. The brown water swallowed him.

"Stan!" Larry screamed. His stomach dropped. The cold fear hit him hard.

He ran to the edge. He plunged his hands into the dark water. He couldn't see anything. He felt around blindly. Mud. Trash. Then, he felt cold metal rings.

He grabbed the chainmail and pulled. It was incredibly heavy. Larry planted his feet and yanked backward.

Stan broke the surface, gasping for air. He spit out dirty water. Larry grabbed his foam shoulder pad and hauled him up onto the concrete.

Stan lay on his back, staring at the purple sky. He was coughing violently.

"I told you," Larry said. He was shaking. "Take it off."

Stan didn't argue this time. He sat up. He unbuckled the massive foam shoulder pads. He threw them into the water. They floated away, spinning in the current. He pulled off the helmet. He unhooked the heavy chainmail skirt.

He left the pieces on the concrete. They looked like the shell of a dead bug.

"Let's go," Stan said. He sounded empty.

They kept walking. The rain was steady now. The fading light made everything grey and sad. They turned onto a side street and saw a bright yellow glow.

It was a Tim Hortons.

The water here wasn't as deep. The store was built on a slight hill. The lights inside were on. They had a backup generator humming loudly in the back alley.

Larry and Stan pushed through the glass doors. It was packed. People were sitting on the floor, on the tables, everywhere. They were wet. They were quiet. It smelled like wet dog and stale coffee.

The counter was abandoned. The workers were sitting in a booth, staring at their phones.

Larry walked up to a man sitting near the door. The man had a yellow raincoat and two heavy-duty black flashlights sitting on the table in front of him.

"Hey," Larry said.

The man looked up. His eyes were red.

"I need those flashlights," Larry said.

"They're mine," the man replied.

"My aunt is trapped in Osborne. We need light."

"Not my problem."

Larry reached into his wet pocket. He pulled out his wallet. The leather was soaked. He opened it carefully. Tucked behind his driver's license was a plastic sleeve. Inside the sleeve was a trading card.

It was a 'Dragon's Breath' holographic card. First edition. Mint condition. Larry had brought it to the convention to sell. It was worth five hundred dollars.

He pulled it out. The holographic foil caught the yellow light.

"Do you play?" Larry asked.

The man looked at the card. His eyes went wide. He knew exactly what it was.

"Yeah," the man breathed.

"Take it," Larry said. He slapped the wet plastic sleeve onto the table. "Give me the lights. And the coffees you haven't drank yet."

The man didn't hesitate. He pushed the flashlights and two paper cups across the table. He snatched the card.

Larry grabbed the gear. He handed a coffee to Stan. They sat against the brick wall near the washrooms.

Stan held the cup. His hands were shaking. He took a sip.

"You traded the Dragon," Stan said quietly.

"It's just cardboard."

"You loved that card."

"I need to see in the dark more."

Stan looked down at his shoes. "Why did you leave, Larry?"

The question was sudden. It hit Larry harder than the cold water.

"What?"

"Toronto," Stan said. He didn't look up. "You just packed up and left. Three years ago. You didn't even call. You sent a text with an airplane emoji."

Larry looked at his coffee. The dark liquid shook.

"I got a job," Larry said.

"I got a job too," Stan said. "At the hardware store. I still live here."

"It's different."

"No, it's not," Stan snapped. He finally looked at Larry. His eyes were angry. "You just decided we were done. You decided playing games in my basement was stupid. So you left."

"I never said it was stupid."

"You didn't have to say it. You just disappeared. And now you show up today, like nothing happened. Like we're just going to buy some dice and eat a pretzel."

Larry felt a lump in his throat. He looked at the empty space on Stan’s shoulders where the armor used to be. Things were missing. They couldn't be put back.

"I'm sorry," Larry whispered.

Stan finished his coffee. He crushed the paper cup in his hand.

"Save it," Stan said. "We have to get Rosa."

Osborne Village Basement

By the time they reached Osborne Village, the sun was completely gone. The sky was black. The streetlights were dead. The only light came from the two flashlights Larry and Stan carried.

The water was much higher here. It was chest-deep in the middle of the street. They had to walk on the lawns, hugging the sides of the apartment buildings.

Osborne Village was an old neighborhood. The trees were massive. Their thick roots tore up the sidewalks. The houses were brick and heavy.

Auntie Rosa lived in a three-story red brick building. Her apartment was down a short flight of concrete stairs at the side of the building.

Larry shined his light at the side of the house.

The concrete stairs were gone. They were completely underwater. The window well that led to Rosa’s living room was filled to the brim with dirty river water.

"Oh no," Larry gasped.

They waded over to the window. The water was up to Larry’s waist. He aimed the beam down into the window well.

The window was still holding. It was thick, old glass. But the water pressure was immense. Inside the apartment, Larry could see the faint glow of a candle.

He saw movement.

Rosa was standing on a coffee table inside. The water hadn't broken the glass yet, but it was seeping in through the frame. She was banging her fists against the window. She was yelling, but the thick glass and the rushing water outside muffled her voice.

"Rosa!" Larry screamed. He hit the glass with his flat hand.

Rosa saw him. She pointed to the top of the window. The hopper. It was a small section that opened inward. But she couldn't open it. If she did, the entire window well of water would instantly crush into the room.

"We have to drain the well!" Stan yelled.

"How?" Larry panicked. He looked at the massive volume of water. "The drain is clogged!"

Stan aimed his flashlight at the bottom of the window well. Wet leaves, plastic bags, and mud were jammed into the metal grate. It was sealed tight.

"We need a siphon," Stan said. His voice was suddenly calm. It was the voice he used when they played tabletop games. The voice he used when facing a dragon with low hit points. "Or a pump."

"The power is out!"

"Think, Larry. Look around."

Larry swung his flashlight. Brick wall. Floating garbage. A drowned bush. A wooden shed in the neighbor's yard.

"The shed," Larry said.

They pushed through the water. They kicked the wooden door of the shed. It splintered and broke. Inside, it smelled like motor oil and dry grass. Larry's flashlight swept over a lawnmower, some rakes, and a coil of thick, green garden hose.

"Hose!" Larry grabbed it.

Next to the hose was a red plastic hand pump. The kind used to pull gas out of a boat motor.

"Manual pump," Stan said. He grabbed it. "You still remember how to run a siphon trap?"

"Dungeons and Dragons, second edition. The Water Temple," Larry said.

"Exactly."

They rushed back to the window well. The glass was starting to bow inward. It was making a terrifying cracking sound. Rosa was backing away from the window inside, holding a framed picture to her chest.

"Hurry!" Larry yelled.

Stan shoved one end of the green hose deep into the window well, right to the bottom. He attached the red hand pump to the middle. He handed the other end of the hose to Larry.

"Put it down the driveway! It slopes down to the street!" Stan ordered.

Larry ran. The water dragged at his legs. He pulled the hose down the driveway, making sure the end was lower than the window well. Gravity was the only magic they had right now.

"Go!" Larry screamed.

Stan started pumping the red plastic handle. His thick arms strained. He pumped frantically. Up. Down. Up. Down.

Nothing happened.

"It's dry!" Stan yelled. "There's air in the line! We have to prime it!"

Larry knew what that meant. He dropped to his knees in the shallow water on the driveway. He grabbed the end of the dirty green hose. He put it in his mouth.

He sucked hard.

It was disgusting. The taste of rubber, old oil, and dead river water filled his mouth. He gagged. He kept sucking. He felt the air pull out of the tube.

Then, the water hit.

It shot into his mouth. It tasted like mud and rust. He spit it out violently and dropped the hose.

The water kept flowing. A thick, steady stream of dirty brown liquid poured out of the hose and ran down the driveway. The siphon was working. Gravity was pulling the water up out of the well and down the hill.

Larry scrambled back to the window.

Stan was watching the water level. "It's dropping. It's dropping!"

The water level in the window well slowly began to sink. It went from the top of the glass, down to the middle.

Crack.

The glass spider-webbed. The pressure was still too much.

"It's gonna break!" Larry yelled.

The water dropped below the top hopper section.

"Open it!" Stan yelled to Rosa through the glass.

Inside, Rosa reached up. She unlatched the top hopper window and pulled it inward.

Instantly, the remaining water in the well rushed in through the gap. It wasn't enough to crush her, but it soaked her.

Stan reached his thick arms through the small open window.

"Grab my hands!" he yelled.

Rosa grabbed him. She was small, but she held on tight. Stan planted his boots against the brick wall. He pulled. Larry grabbed Rosa’s jacket as she came through the narrow opening.

They dragged her out of the well just as the main pane of glass shattered completely. A massive rush of mud and water poured into the apartment, swallowing the coffee table and the candle.

They fell back onto the wet grass.

Rosa was coughing. She was soaked. She was still clutching the framed picture to her chest. It was a picture of her late husband.

She looked at Larry. She looked at Stan.

"You boys are late," she wheezed.

Larry laughed. It was a short, wet sound. He hugged her. She smelled like cheap perfume and river mud.

"Come on," Stan said, helping them both up. "We need to get higher."

Parkade Roof

There was a four-story concrete parking garage next to Rosa's apartment building. The ramp was steep. They walked up slowly. Rosa leaned heavily on Larry. Her breathing was ragged, but she was tough. She didn't complain.

They reached the top level. The roof was open to the sky. It was completely empty. No cars. Just flat grey concrete and yellow painted lines.

They sat down near the edge, looking over the low concrete wall.

The storm had stopped. The rain was gone. The purple clouds were breaking apart.

It was dawn.

The summer sun was starting to come up. It was a bright, angry orange. The light hit the city.

Winnipeg was gone. In its place was a massive, brown lake. The tops of trees stuck out like dead sticks. Cars were completely hidden. The river had taken everything. It was quiet now. The rushing roar was replaced by a soft, wet sloshing sound as the water bumped against the brick buildings.

Rosa set the framed picture on the concrete to dry. She pulled her wet jacket tight around her shoulders.

"My furniture is ruined," she said quietly.

"It's just stuff, Auntie," Larry said.

"Stuff is all you have when people are gone," she replied. She didn't look at him. She just looked at the water.

Larry felt a cold knot in his stomach. The subtext was heavy. He knew she wasn't just talking about the flood.

Stan was sitting a few feet away. He unbuckled his thick leather belt. He pulled off the remaining pieces of foam armor from his legs. He dropped them onto the wet concrete.

"I'm selling the collection," Stan said. His voice was flat.

Larry turned his head sharply. "What?"

"The dice. The books. The miniatures. All of it. I'm selling it."

"Why?" Larry asked. The panic was rising in his chest again. It felt worse than the water. "You love that stuff."

"I loved playing it with you," Stan corrected him. He stared out at the rising sun. "But you don't live here anymore. And I'm twenty-four. I work at a hardware store. I can't keep pretending I'm a dwarf in a dungeon. It's time to stop playing."

"Stan, you don't have to do that."

"Yes, I do." Stan looked at the wet foam pieces on the ground. "It's just dragging me under."

Larry looked at the empty space beside Stan. The armor was gone. The games were gone. The past was gone.

He realized then that he had come back to Winnipeg hoping to step into a time machine. He wanted to sit in the basement, roll the plastic dice, and pretend the last three years hadn't happened. He wanted to pretend he hadn't left his best friend behind because he was scared of being stuck.

But the basement was full of water now. The games were over.

The sun rose higher. The light was harsh. It didn't make the city look pretty. It just showed all the dirt. It showed the floating garbage. It showed the broken branches.

Larry reached into his pocket. He pulled out the two plastic flashlights. He set them on the concrete next to Rosa’s picture.

He looked at Stan. "I didn't want to leave you behind."

"I know," Stan said. "But you did."

They sat in silence. The city below them looked like a giant, ruined bathtub. There was no magic left in it. The logic of childhood, where a plastic card could buy a flashlight and a red pump could save the day, was fading away with the dark.

Larry took a deep breath. The summer air was humid and thick. He couldn't go backward. He could only sit on the roof and wait for the water to go down.

"Are you going back to Toronto?" Stan asked finally.

Larry looked at the dirty water covering the streets he used to ride his bike on.

"I don't know," Larry said softly.