Feels like Rain (Lake Fisher 3)

“We’re fine now,” she says, tears streaming down her face. I turn and watch as the rail on the bridge finally gives way and her car teeters on the edge. “But the other one—” She extends a finger to point toward the bridge just beyond her car and I see the taillight of a car that’s completely submerged as it blinks twice and then goes dark.

“Is someone in there?”

She nods. “A woman!” She now has both her children clinging to her. She’s shaking and shivering, her teeth chattering as she looks beyond me toward the car.

The lights on the car are out, and the rescue team hasn’t gotten out of their vehicle yet, so I start toward the car. I half jump and half swim to the submerged car, and I realize that I can’t open the doors of the car against the rush of the water. A woman is slumped in the seat, as the car has already filled with water. I hold on to the car as I make my way around to the other side, using the remaining submerged rail as my guide. I can’t open the door on the other side, either, because there’s no clearance. I climb on top of the car and see that she has a sunroof, so I look around frantically for something, anything, and grab a nearby log as it floats by, lift it, and slam it down against the sunroof as hard as I can.

It takes three nerve-wracking tries before the sunroof shatters, and I kick away the remaining glass from my perch on top of the car, reach inside, and try to pull the woman out by grabbing under her armpits.

She budges only slightly. I tug again, and the constant resistance makes me realize her seat belt is still fastened. Taking a deep breath, I duck inside through the broken sunroof and fumble around until I find the release and depress it. The belt floats in the water and I try again to get underneath her armpits to pull her out.

I groan as I lift her, because she’s unconscious—hopefully still alive—and she’s completely wet, dead weight. By now my lungs are burning for fresh air and I don’t know how long I can last. At last I manage to pull her out enough that her head is no longer submerged. I take deep shuddering breaths to revive myself, holding her all the while, and after a few seconds I’m able to get her out of the car, but I can’t let go because the water is still rushing and it could still carry her away.

So I just hold on, keeping her head clear of the water, until one of the rescue squad members climbs up to take her from me. He hooks a belt around her and secures her with a carabiner.

“Stay put, Ethan,” he says to me. “I’ll come right back for you.”

I nod, and I brush my wet hair back from my eyes. I have long since lost my hat. I sit there on the car, my feet inside the broken sunroof and my hands clinging to the opening. The water is nearly to my waist now. I watch as the rescue squad rallies around getting the woman to safety, and they begin life-saving procedures on her. The man comes back to get me, for which I’m grateful. The water is up around his neck now, and it’s still getting higher. I can barely see the outline of the submerged car.

He’s struggling against the rapid current, and I recognize him as one of the people from the meeting. I don’t know his name, though. “Put this around you,” he calls out as he tosses me a strap. I catch it and slide it over my head and push my arms through, and he tosses me a length of cable with a carabiner on one end. “Secure it!” he yells.

But just as I get ready to hook the carabiner on the cable to my strap, a downed tree sweeps against the car, knocking the cable from my hands. The force is so great it shoves both me and the vehicle and I tumble around, no longer feeling the car under me and thrashing about to grab hold of something. My mouth and nose fill with water and the swift current keeps pulling me under then pushing me back up, and it’s a struggle to keep my wits and not panic, to grab for little bursts of fresh air when I can.

On one resurfacing, I see that the rescue volunteer has been swept away with me, and I reach for him as he rushes past me. I grab on to his jacket, find the cable he’d offered me, pull it through my free hand until I get to the end, and somehow manage to hook us together. We rush down the swollen river, and another tree trunk hits us hard. Suddenly, the rescue volunteer is just bobbing against me, and I can tell he’s been knocked unconscious. I pull him against me, wrapping my legs around him, and hold on tight, trying to keep his face above the water as we rush down the swollen creek—which is now more river than creek. Eventually, the water slows enough that I can feel the shoreline of the lake under my feet as I swim us both toward shore.

I use the last of my energy to drag his unconscious form with me. He’s wearing a life jacket, so at least he floats. I manage to get both of us out of the water, then I listen closely at his chest and I find that he’s still breathing, thank God. He moans softly as I run my fingers across the lump on the back of his head. “You’re going to be fine,” I tell him. “Just fine.”

He moans again, and I lift him with my good arm, because I’m pretty sure my left arm is broken. My side stings like someone poured salt in a wound, and I look down but see nothing. It’s dark now, there’s no moon, and there’s no light here. I wade through the weeds at the bank of the river, pulling the injured man into the tall grass, and I collapse next to him.

That’s when I hear the shouts. “Ethan! Ethan!”

I raise my head and find Jake running toward me. Mr. Jacobson is driving his four-wheel drive truck right over to where we are, shining his headlights so we can see.

“Is he alive?” Jake asks. The water isn’t rushing quite as fast here, so I can hear him.

My breaths heave in and out of me, my heart slamming so hard I can barely talk. “A tree hit his head.” I touch the back of mine. “Back here.”

A few rescue workers rush up with a backboard, and they load him up as I watch.

“What about you?” Jake asks me.

“I’m fine.” But my side is burning like it’s on fire, and I blink my eyes heavily as they blur.

“Ethan!” Jake calls out. I lie back against the grass and stare up at the cloud-darkened night sky. “Ethan!” I hear him call again, but it sounds like it’s very far away. So far.

I try to speak, but I can’t. All I can do is gasp, as the fire in my side moves up and down my body.

“We got you, Ethan,” Jake says as another team arrives. They roll me onto a stretcher, and I try to talk. My son needs to know I’m all right. I need to call Abigail to tell her I’m fine. I need to tell her I love her. I need…her.

But I can’t speak. Nothing comes out.

“Gently, boys,” I hear Mr. Jacobson say. “I’m with you, Ethan. Everything is going to be okay now.”

I try to nod but I can’t. My body feels so heavy. I can tell they’re loading me in the back of an ambulance, and Mr. Jacobson climbs in with me. He never lets go of my hand. He barks orders at the ambulance workers, and he curses when they don’t move fast enough.

I want to laugh, but I can’t. I can’t do anything.

And then it all goes dark.