Fear gripped Cameron's heart, squeezing like a snake. He held his mothers hand tightly as they rushed through the crowds of people, many of whom were screaming and crying. They passed another broken down subtrans as they moved along the tracks. His father was right next to them, muttering something indecipherable.

The small group rounded the corner to the subtrans' entrance and finally saw the true terrors of what had happened.

People were everywhere, bleeding, dying. A great deal were already dead. The ones who were still alive huddled in small groups or wandered around, calling the names of loved ones, crying. The most horrific thing, though, was the faces of some. Melted off like that of a destroyed wax figure's, they chilled the young boy to the bone. It was a sight he would never forget, would haunt him until the day he died. Which, he thought grimly, might be today.

Cameron and his family made their way to a seemingly safe corner. The child sat down while his parents spoke softly and rapidly. He couldn't make out the words, but could tell by their tones that they were just as scared as he was.
Suddenly the boy's eyes swelled with tears. He tried to stop them, but it was all just too scary, too confusing. He began sobbing like there was no tomorrow. For all the four-year-old knew, there wasn't.

Cameron's mother was the first to notice, and sat down next to him, pulling him into a warm hug. One time, she would have told him that everything would be okay, but now, she just stroked his hair. She didn't want to lie to her son.
Cameron swallowed back another sob. "Mommy, what are we going to do?" His voice was wavering, and he was evidently on the verge of tears once more.

"I'm not sure, sweetie. But-" She was cut of by a roaring. Both of them jumped to their feet, as did the other survivors.

The young boy saw the crowds running, away from the staircase, away from the noise. The terrible, rushing noise that filled his ears. The noise he remembered from happy days on the beach, from the bathtub, from the waterfall on television. But this, this wasn't happy, peaceful. It was the sound of water. Lots of it. And then, it crashed down the staircase.

His parents should have moved earlier. As soon as they heard the rumbling, the rushing. But they had hesitated, and that was a fatal mistake. They may have all survived. But they were too late now. The only other exit was the tracks of the subtrans, but that was too far away. They wouldn't make it.

The boys father looked around desperately, and saw an old metal garbage can. Quickly, he shoved the lid on as tight as he could and placed his son on top, laying on his stomach.
"Now, Cameron, " his father told him. "Hold on as tightly as you can, and do not let go."

Cameron began to protest. "But-"

Once again, words were cut off by water. As were the lives of Laura and Franklin Matthews. A scream rose in their child's throat as the water slammed into him. He took a quick breath before it washed over his head.

When he surfaced again, his parents could not be seen. He frantically scanned the murky waves for an arm, a leg, anything that could mean his loving mother or kind-eyed father would return to him. Nothing except strangers, their screams echoing off the walls as the vicious current pulled them underwater.

Gripping onto the garbage can with whitened knuckles, the boy called for his parents, but his efforts were in vain. There was no answer except the roar of the water. It carried him out through the tunnels and, eventually, to the surface, where he was rescued by another group of people who survived the flood.

And deep below the water, where the waves crashed in, a mother hoped in her dying moment that her son, at least, would survive.