It is night. The floodlight is mounted on a tripod and lights the scree.

The river is sixty metres away and cannot be seen. It can be heard.

On the scree there are three hundred and fifty people sitting. Each has a thermal blanket over the shoulders. The blankets are gold. They catch the floodlight all at once.

In the tunnel of the power plant there are still more than a hundred people.

The water came on the morning of the twenty-sixth. It came down seventy-two kilometres along the river. It rose nine metres in half an hour. The villages of Rasuwa and Nuwakot are no longer there.

Upstream, on the plateau, there are two helicopters standing with their blades tied down. They do not fly at night.

On the dirt road, behind the barrier, there are people standing. They have been there for hours. A man holds a phone up above his head. The phone has no signal.

A woman in a white vest passes between the rows with a crate of water. She hands out one bottle for every two. Whoever has already drunk raises a hand and she moves on.

The officer has a plastic clipboard with sheets of paper. He passes between the rows. He bends down. He asks the name. He writes. He asks the same man his name twice, because the first time he did not catch it.

Bikash is sitting in the third row. He holds the blanket closed in front with one hand. The blanket rustles at every movement. It is the only sound nearby.

He has a lighter in his trouser pocket. He has no cigarettes.

Bikash works the conveyor belt. The belt is upstream of the store. Upstream of the store is the rock face. In the rock face is the service door. From the service door you go out to smoke, because inside there is no smoking. Whoever goes out to smoke knows the door.

The men of the team carry the hoses towards the main entrance, the one that can be seen from the road. They set up the pump on the level ground. The pump runs on petrol. They start it to test it and switch it off at once.

The main entrance goes down. The access tunnel goes down for two hundred metres and then curves.

Two men go into the main entrance with a lamp. They come out after four minutes. One takes off his helmet and holds it in his hand.

The team leader opens a map on the bonnet of a pickup. The map is a plan of the power plant. He holds it down with two stones. There are three men around it. No one points at anything for half a minute.

On the scree a woman is sleeping sitting up. The blanket has slipped down to her elbows.

A man in the third row takes off his blanket and puts it over the shoulders of the woman beside him. He is left without.

Bikash rises to his knees. He raises his arm. The officer is eight metres away and is looking at the clipboard.

Bikash says one sentence. He says: behind the store there is another one.

The officer lifts his head. He says: sit down.

Bikash says: there is another one, it is sheet metal, it is low.

The officer says: sit down.

The officer moves on two rows. He bends down. He asks the name.

On the reference post, twenty metres from the water, there are three marks of white paint. The first mark is covered. The second is not. At ten past eleven the second mark is half covered.

Bikash stands up. His legs hold. He takes the blanket off his shoulders. The blanket slides onto the scree and stays where he was sitting. It is heavy with water. It does not blow away.

He walks. Not towards the officer. Towards the dark to the left of the floodlight.

A soldier sees him. Calls out. Bikash does not stop.

Eighty metres of scree. The stones are as big as fists. He walks slowly because he is barefoot on one side.

He passes the store. The store is a long container, open, with the hoses inside in bundles and the straps hanging.

Behind the container the ground rises. There is a rock face. In the rock face there is a sheet-metal door a metre and a half high, closed by a horizontal bar. The bar has a padlock. The padlock is open and hanging from a ring.

From under the door comes air. The air moves the dust on the threshold.

Bikash puts his hand on the sheet metal. The sheet metal is cold.

The two soldiers arrive after thirty metres. They run. Then they no longer run. They walk behind him.

One speaks into the radio. He says four words.

They reach the container. They pass it. They see the rock face and the door and the bar.

The first soldier puts his ear to the sheet metal. He stays like that. He raises his hand.

The second goes back ten paces and calls towards the floodlight. The floodlight turns. The beam reaches the sheet-metal door and stops there.

On the flat ground the men detach the hose from the pump. They coil it badly, in a hurry, and six of them load it on their shoulders.

The rows on the scree all turn the same way. The blankets make a single sound.

The officer crosses the scree. He does not go towards the door. He goes towards the spot where Bikash was sitting. He bends down. He picks up the wet thermal blanket. He shakes it once. He folds it in four. He puts it over his arm.