Harvey shouted from the fence:
“That's your first one?”
“Yes.”
“Already full!”
Clara ignored him.
The water climbed.
Reached the overflow lip.
For one horrifying second, the basin looked static.
Then a narrow sheet spilled into the channel.
Not over the whole rim.
Exactly through the cut.
It flowed toward Basin Two.
Clara exhaled.
Earl shouted:
“Well, I'll be damned.”
Basin Two filled.
Its overflow started.
Then Basin Three.
Rain became heavy enough that conversation required shouting.
The men at the fence stopped laughing.
Basin Four caught the first muddy surge from the western swale.
Water churned.
The earthen wall held.
Overflow channel worked.
Five.
Six.
Clara moved downhill.
Her boots sank.
Mud stuck to the soles.
Harvey climbed over the fence.
Clara turned.
“I told you stay back!”
“I can help!”
“No.”
“Girl, I'm not letting you drown out there alone.”
Clara almost laughed.
“Then stand there and don't touch anything!”
He followed anyway.
The others remained near the fence.
Basin Seven filled.
Eight.
Rain hammered Clara’s shoulders.
Her braid stuck against her neck.
Mud splashed nearly to her waist.
The system no longer looked ridiculous.
Across the upper meadow, shallow pools formed a chain of dark water.
Instead of one river tearing downhill, dozens of streams slowed, spread, turned.
Water gathered.
Paused.
Overflowed.
Moved.
The soil between basins remained mostly intact.
Harvey stared.
“This is actually working.”
Clara shouted:
“Don't sound so disappointed!”
He almost smiled.
Then lightning flashed.
The crack came less than a second later.
Close.
Harvey flinched.
“Jesus!”
“Fence!”
Clara shouted.
“What?”
“Get back to the fence!”
“Why?”
She pointed downhill.
Basin Nine.
Water nearly overtopping the wrong side.
Clara ran.
Harvey followed.
She reached the basin and found tumbleweed jammed inside the overflow channel.
Water climbed.
She shoved the shovel beneath it.
Pulled.
The weed refused.
Harvey grabbed the dry branches.
Clara shouted:
“Don't!”
Too late.
He yanked.
The tumbleweed released.
Water blasted through.
Harvey fell backward.
Clara caught his shirt before he hit the basin.
The channel cleared.
Water surged toward Basin Ten.
Harvey scrambled up.
“Thanks.”
“Fence.”
He nodded.
This time he listened.
Clara continued downhill.
Ten filled.
Its overflow worked.
Eleven began receiving water.
Clara stopped.
She knew instantly.
Too much.
Basin Eleven had been designed to receive approximately 240 gallons per minute during the predicted peak.
The current inflow looked double.
Maybe more.
Rain was falling harder than forecast.
She looked toward Basin Twelve.
Its wall stood thirty yards farther down.