EMMETSBURG: Fifteen

The current dragged him down, and spun him wildly as he banged and bounced painfully against all manner of things. Mud and debris obscured any light at all making it impossible to be sure if he was reaching for air or driving himself deeper into the creek, and towards certain death. In an instant he was sucked and tumbled beneath the front axle of the car.

John was caught, bent with his head towards the slick bank, and his back wedged up against the bottom of the auto. His legs kicked uselessly, and his fingers dug madly at a muddy back that came away in cloudy chunks through his fingers. They dissolved raging current, pelting his face like a thousand angry insects.

He fought harder, his cheeks puffed, eyes pressed tight in a vain attempt to hold back the air wanting to explode from his lungs. Something deeper inside came upon him. It was a stillness compelling not to fight any longer. He had seen it in dying men’s eyes during the war, and in the face of a young German boy as John plunged a bayonet into his chest in a fetid French crater. It was a voice that compelled a body more gently from this world. At the end of that voice was Anna's face. He could see her there, standing over his grave.

He could not. He could not bring that grief upon her again, and not so soon. He cried out, mud and water rushing into fill his mouth as quickly as the air left him. He knew he was losing the battle. Without air the creek would quickly overwhelm him. John twisted his body sideways, enough to get his legs around and push off the right front tire. His powerful legs propelled him out and into the torrent once more.

For an instant he was up, his face out of the water, gasping for air before being dragged down again. In that final instant before going under he spied the great roiling mass debris crushed up along the bottom of the bridge, and knew if he was carried into that he hadn't a chance.