Elizondo, site of Iban's abduction is both a town exposed to recurring floods and the setting for a night when rising water magnifies the danger of a violent intrusion. The river’s bend, streets already under water, and an earlier flood recorded in the town’s landscape make the storm more than a backdrop: as emergency services contend with the inundation, a home is attacked and Ibai is abducted.

River and remembered floods

Montes describes the river as rising and recalls an earlier major inundation while walking toward Jaime Urrutia Street. A plaque on the former Serora’s house marks how high the water reached there. The old church once stood beside the spot that is now a plaza with a fountain; a flood destroyed it. These landmarks preserve flood history in the ordinary fabric of the town: the plaque records the water’s reach, while the church’s absence marks what it carried away.

The earlier disaster, Montes explains, was intensified when trunks and stones formed a blockage upstream. When that barrier broke, the water rushed down with enough force to sweep everything before it. He doubts that the dam would have made the disaster substantially different, and instead points to the bend in the river as the reason water spills out in this area. The account distinguishes between measures intended to manage the river and the local geography that directs its overflow. It also gives the present storm a history: the danger in the streets is familiar, but not therefore predictable or easily controlled.

The town under the storm

During the later storm, rain falls through the day. Although it eases at one point, it does not stop, and thunder repeatedly gathers strength again. A report from Jaime Urrutia Street and the plaza puts the water at about a handspan deep; later, the estimate rises to two handspans. Those reports track the changing threat through the town’s central streets rather than describing a single moment of flooding.

The storm also interrupts daily routines. After bathing Ibai, the household loses electricity and settles by candlelight and the warmth of the fireplace. Meanwhile, the bakery’s work is at risk: Ernesto calls Ros there while they are baking, and the batch has been ruined. Firefighters are moving from one emergency to another as thunder sounds overhead. At home, however, Ibai feeds from a bottle and sleeps, an intimate measure of calm set against the growing water outside. James, who has not yet gone out, hears from Ros that the streets are flooded; the report offers no reassurance that the rain will end.

A home exposed

When Ros runs through the dark town with a lamp, the storm makes familiar streets difficult to recognize. Elizondo has no power; only lightning and the hurried movement of flashlights briefly reveal it. Ernesto follows her. At the house, the door stands ajar, and the sight of it makes Ros’s strength give way. The place had represented shelter from cold, rain, loneliness, pain, and the feared night spirits of local belief. Its open entrance signals that this refuge has been violated.

Inside, the house remains warm, but the darkness, the sharp smell of recently extinguished candles, and the dim glow from the fireplace expose the disorder in fragments. A chair is overturned beside the table. The flowers Engrasi habitually keeps there lie scattered as shards of their vase, and an armchair has fallen toward the hearth. The damage is specific and domestic: familiar objects show that a struggle has reached into the space that had seemed protective.

Abduction and the cost of the flood

Engrasi is alive, but has suffered a severe blow to the head, and Ernesto calls for a doctor. When Amaia’s call comes through, Ros struggles to speak through her crying. She reports that Engrasi has been badly injured, that the house is wrecked, and that Ibai is gone. Her description that Engrasi fought fiercely conveys resistance, but cannot undo the abduction.

The flood compounds the immediate crisis: ambulances are already out dealing with the inundation, and even the firefighters may be unable to reach the house. The town’s rising water thus changes the consequences of the attack, constraining the family’s access to help at the moment Engrasi is bleeding. The remembered destruction of the old church and the water-marked plaque establish flooding as a recurring feature of local life; on this night, that recurrence intersects with a private catastrophe. The streets are not merely submerged. They are the conditions under which an injured woman may wait for care while a child has been taken.