Immobility

Chapter Eight

Before I am even given a fraction of a chance to start processing the information that is rushing through my brain, seeming to vacuum all five senses out of my body, with the only exceptions being the ability to detect the blood pumping in my ears and my heart pounding against my ribs like a hammer, I exert as much force as I can on the waterlogged material of which the foldable mattress of the couch consists, launching myself forward several feet, intentionally away from the edge and into the seething current, virtually unaware of the unsheathed swords plunging deep into my body—hadn't the horror of the nightmarish events unfolding before my eyes shielded me from the pain, I would have likely shrieked as though I were trying to impersonate a hysterical banshee.

The cold shocks me once again, as if a high-voltage electric current is flowing through my nerves, seeming to overstimulate them. Although I am barely capable of seeing through the murky water with my stinging eyes, I somehow manage to make out the shadowy outline of Heather's motionless body sinking deeper and deeper into the nearly total negation of light. I manage to catch a glimpse of a tiny cloud of red streaming from her forehead—like colored smoke erupting from a small circular orifice in those spherical fireworks that you throw and watch in fascination during the summer, specifically around the anniversary of the signing of the nation's Declaration of Independence—and immediately recognize it as blood. I thrash my arms and kick my legs to gain as much propulsion as possible to reach the unmoving form of my companion as efficiently as I can; it is quite easy to determine that she is unconscious. The initial shock slowly wears off, leaving me to feel the redoubled cogency of my injuries; I grit my teeth and struggle to contain my composure. No mistakes can be made, for it may cost me the life of my companion, or perhaps my own.

Come on! I urge myself. Faster! Swimming through the murk, adrenaline coursing through my bloodstream, I finally reach Heather's body. I wrap an arm around her limp frame and begin kicking my legs and thrashing my opposite arm as hard as I can. Although I am making progress, it is maddeningly slow, for the surface seems miles away. My lungs begin to burn, but I refuse to release my companion and resurface to replenish my oxygen supply; I fear that if I let go of her body and resurface to regain control of my deteriorating senses via refilling my lungs, she will be carried away in the current and be overpowered by anoxia—if she isn't already dead. I cannot afford to lose her, for if she perishes, I do not think I will ever escape from the mighty lure of guilt and tormenting grief, let alone forgive myself. My head begins to pound and my lungs seem to catch fire. Dammit, don't let go of her! I mentally command. If she dies, you may as well turn off your lights the same way she did her own!

I momentarily turn my gaze toward the furious thunderheads hovering low in the sky, discovering that the surface is still some eight or ten feet away. Black dots begin to dance before my eyes, instantaneously reminding me of when I initially came close to drowning when the flood hit, and my throat tightens up as the urge to breathe becomes scarcely bearable. I close my burning eyes to prevent damage from extended exposure to the commingled chemicals.

Just when my lips are on the verge of involuntarily parting and letting in the waters of the unhampered lake, my head breaks through the effervesce surface. I suck in a massive lungful of air and shake the water from my face, grimacing from the pain surging through my body. Barely capable of keeping my bottom lip above the water, I open my eyes and swivel my head frantically, searching for a floating object that will support my weight and that of Heather's practically insentient form. After several seconds of panic, I discover the bare mattress of an enormous king-size bed and immediately begin to swim toward it. Hyperventilating from the shortness of breath, indescribable pain, and stabbing cold, I struggle to keep the water out of my eyes as I desperately kick toward the mattress.

Time stretches itself apart across a great distance like a gigantic piece of toffee, making each second seem equivalent to the duration of a midsummer afternoon, but at last, I reach the mattress, my muscles aching miserably. Intertwining my rigid fingers with the flaccid ones of my insensate companion, I grit my teeth and summon every final bit of strength in my body, hauling myself onto the mattress. Raising Heather's other arm, I tightly grip her wrist and hurl myself backward, dragging her body up and over the edge of the mattress, toward its center. I lay her on her back and place my index and middle finger against her wrist, checking for a pulse, but I cannot detect one. My stomach slowly twists itself into a knot. I press my ear against her chest and strain to listen. No pulse. I raise my fingers to the side of her neck and press them against the skin. No sign of a heartbeat.