She looked at the sky. “You better finish those steaks,” she said. “I’m afraid it’s going to rain.”
“Gail,” he said, pointing. They watched as a deer, then two others, came over the hill into their yard. She covered her mouth with her hands. The animals studied the two humans warily, then walked nervously towards the other side of the hill. In a few minutes they returned. By then other animals had appeared: a fox and her cubs, a racoon, two possums, several squirrels, little creatures in the grass and, most surpising of all, a cow.
“We’re so sorry,” said Gail. “Tell them, Ed,” she asked him softly. “You say it, too.”
But she saw that he couldn’t speak. She felt him almost crushing her.
They went to the edge of their yard again and looked into the valley. Only the tallest treetops still rose above the water. Far across the valley, towards the west, they saw where the ocean was pouring in between two hills. Gail yelped.
“Hail,” she said.
They saw smoke rising from the grass. “Not hail,” said Ed. “Get in. Hurry.”
They turned on the news. “The only thing left for us to do,” said the president of the nation, sitting beside his wife, “is to ask forgiveness of almighty god and pray that mankind, or something better, may yet live wisely on this good earth. May we all —”
“This is fine,” she said.
The man and the woman drew close as the image went noisy and then dark.