Fight or flight.
But she can’t fight gravity.
A splashing crash shocks all her senses. Where is she? This isn’t Momma’s hospital… or Prickly Pear State… or Burgers. She’s in her car, moving past trees, but this isn’t the road.
Gurgling and sucking sounds bubble from the engine. The car tilts downward as it moves forward. Cold water swallows Cynthia’s toes, ankles, legs–
She tries to open the door, but the water pressure keeps it closed.
Cynthia’s mind panics, but she doesn’t have time for that. Her body takes over. Hands unbuckle the seatbelt, and then fingers press the buttons to roll down the front windows, which begin sliding open with an electronic hum. Cynthia lifts her legs into the seat, preparing to climb out as soon as she can, but the window stops opening halfway down. Then the passenger side window rattles, stutters, and stalls too.
Cynthia’s fingers move to the buttons for the back windows, but the plastic only clicks with no response.
It’s too late. She’s lost power.
Her best chance of escaping the sinking car is through the passenger side window, so she splashes over to it. There is not much space to squeeze through, but it doesn’t look impossible. Water pours onto Cynthia as she clings to the top of the glass and tries to push it farther open. Fails. She shakes it with the hopeful frustration it might break or loosen. It doesn’t budge. Then, face pressed against the car ceiling, she takes the deepest breath of her life, and the river replaces the last of the air.
Cynthia reaches her arms, head, and neck out the window. She squirms and manages to shove her chest through. Pushing with her legs against the seat, and pressing her hands against the top of the door, she fights to squeeze her hips free, bruising like a masseuse applying too much pressure, like being smashed, ripped, but it’s either possibly tear herself in half or definitely drown.
She thrusts through the pain, encouraged by each inch of progress. It hurts worse before it gets better, but the digging and scraping finally release, and she swirls into the current.
Desperate for air, she tries to swim to the surface, but…
She can’t find it.
Water burns her eyes, and the same grayish green shades everything. Tumbling through the current, her smothering hair disorients her further. She flails her limbs in an attempt to gain control, but this exhausts her and fills her chest with fire.
She strains her eyes, unsure of up and down, but for the first time, she sees something different.
A golden glow.
Hope.
That’s all she has left, so she spends her final energy to reach the compass, the emblem, the cure – whatever it is, it is all.
Kayla Cain teaches high school English and journalism in Central Texas. Her passion is inspiring young people to read and write through example. Read more of her work at kaylacainauthor.com.
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