Meltwater (Fire and Ice)

Range Rover. He started the engine, pulled out of the Skógafoss tourist area on to the main road. And turned
right.
    ‘Hey, didn’t the cop say go east?’
    ‘I need to get back to Reykjavík,’ Magnus said. ‘And I’m not driving all the way around this island to do it.’
    ‘OK, but put your foot down,’ said Mikael Már. ‘The sooner we’re out of here, the better.’
    Magnus did as his passenger suggested. They had been driving for five minutes when the mountain on the right rumbled and then roared.
    ‘Oh, my God! Look at that!’
    Magnus looked. They were only half a mile from the base of the escarpment of the mountains. A small green valley bit a mile into the ridge, and at its head a massive wall of grey and brown water
surged out of the clouds, flinging mud and rocks into the air as it went, and tumbled down the valley towards the highway ahead of them.
    For a second, Magnus just stared. It was as if the volcano had thrust a mighty fist of violent meltwater down the glacier towards the sea, knocking all before it in a churning, grinding tumult
of destruction. He had never witnessed such raw power before in his life. It was magnificent.
    It was also very frightening.
    He put his foot right down. He estimated the jökulhlaup would take a couple of minutes to reach the road. The Range Rover should make it in sixty seconds.
    The churning mass of meltwater and debris gouged its way into a field just by the side of the road, tossing ten-foot circular bales of hay into the air.
    Magnus’s estimate was wrong: they would have a lot less than sixty seconds’ leeway. Either the water was accelerating or Magnus had just misjudged it. He was committed now – if
he braked they would be swept away for sure. He glanced at his speedometer as it edged above 120 kilometres per hour.
    The foremost tongue of the jökulhlaup ripped through the fence by the side of the road just as Magnus sped past, and leaped over the highway and across the flat farmland on the other
side towards the sea.
    ‘Jesus, that was close!’ said Mikael Már.
    ‘Yeah,’ said Magnus. He glanced in his mirror at the long stretch of submerged road behind them, and then fought to control his vehicle speeding at 150 kilometres an hour round a
gentle bend, only just managing to keep the Range Rover on the road.
    ‘You know if there is another one of those ahead of us, we’re screwed,’ said Mikael Már.
    Magnus didn’t have an answer for that.
    A few minutes later, they were at the Markarfljót. The Caterpillar was working furiously at building a makeshift dam over the road. On the far side of the bridge he could see the police
car parked across the road. Road closed.
    Magnus pulled up next to the machine and jumped out.
    ‘Any sign of the jökulhlaup ?’ Magnus asked the operator. ‘We just missed one back there.’
    ‘It’s on its way,’ said the Caterpillar driver, not pausing at his controls.
    ‘Do you know if it’s reached the little bridge up river?’
    ‘No. You shouldn’t hang around here, you know.’
    ‘Should you?’
    ‘Almost done,’ the guy said. ‘I’ve punched a few holes in the dyke to ease the pressure on the bridge. Once I’ve done this stretch it should hold the
flood.’
    ‘Good work,’ Magnus said. He jumped back in the Range Rover and drove north along the track along the bank.
    The river looked calm.
    ‘God, there it is!’
    Ahead of them a broad ridge of brown water about six feet high surged down the river. From what Magnus could see, the jökulhlaup was contained within the river’s banks, and the
road on which they were driving was sufficiently high to keep above the flood. He hoped.
    They could see the narrow concrete bridge ahead when the flood hit it. Remarkably, the bridge held. The water came thundering down towards them and then swept by towards the sea and the lone
Caterpillar. Magnus hoped the guy had done his calculations right.
    Behind the initial surge the river had set up a strange undulation of what seemed to be a spine of static waves in the middle of the flow.
    Magnus reached the little bridge and slowed down. On the other side was another patrol car. A policeman jumped out and waved, both arms crossing above his head.
    The message was clear. Stay back.
    ‘What are you going to do?’ Mikael Már asked. ‘The flood will have weakened the bridge.’
    ‘I’m going across. Coming? You can get out if you want.’
    Mikael Már shook his head. ‘What the hell. Go for