Page 2 of Lone Star Longing
Water poured in through the opening, filling the bus and sending it spinning.
A jolt sent Con underwater as the bus collided with something—tree? creek bank—crushing the roof near the doorway.
“Here! Here!” Poppy shouted, and cranked the lever on the door on the side of the bus, that was now the top of the bus.
Yes. Up. That was the direction they needed to go.
Rain poured in, but it wasn't nearly as bad as the brown rushing water from the roof hatch. Poppy pulled herself up and out, and reached her hand down into the bus. Lacey was closest, and took it.
Now the seats were helpful, but the vinyl was slick as she tried to find a foothold and heave herself up and out of the bus, which was swirling again in the current. No way was Poppy going to be able to help the boys out, not without losing her own purchase on the slippery side of the bus, so Lacey knelt on the other side, holding on for dear life with one hand, and reaching back into the bus with the other.
A wet hand closed around her wrist and the weight of the person tugged at her tender skin, but together she and Poppy pulled Austin out. He took her spot and she edged along until she found a window open enough that she could slip her fingers in and hold on.
She watched as Austin and Poppy pulled out Con, who took Poppy’s spot and lifted out Britt and Javi. Lacey’s fingers were numb from the cold water and her tight grip. She tried to flex them, and saw blood running into the water, down the glass of the window. Was the window broken? She wanted to check but didn't dare let go as the bus went into another spin, and Javi went into the water.
Lacey screamed, and lurched toward him, but the bus was already swirling the other way. She couldn't rescue him, only hoped that he could get to a tree and hang on until the water went down or help arrived.
“Mom!” Austin shoved his head into the opening of the bus and shouted. “Mom!”
Lacey held her breath as she waited for him to emerge holding his mom’s hand, but instead he pulled out Sofia, before swinging his legs over the opening and disappearing back inside the bus, while Con and Sofia yelled at him.
Lacey’s attention was on the drama of Javi’s disappearance so she didn't see the tree looming in their path, until the bus collided with it, turning the bus onto its roof and dumping all of them into the churning water.
Lacey’s scream was silenced by a mouthful of dirty water, and she sank, thinking the creek bed couldn't be too far beneath her. But the roiling water wouldn't let her reach the rocky bottom.
She wasn't a particularly strong swimmer in the best of times, but she thought she’d read somewhere that when one is stuck in a current, one should float, so she rolled onto her back, squinting against the pelting rain, and tried to see the bus.
It was downstream from them, with Austin and his mother inside. At least it wouldn't roll over her as she tried to hold her head above the water, tried to see if anyone else was around.
She couldn't tell which were heads above the water, and which were rocks, or branches, or other debris. She tried to imagine, in her mind, where the creek would turn, where there would be something she could grab onto to stop her free-tumbling. She coughed and choked while the water spun her around. She kept her arms wide, hoping to catch something or someone that would stop her. All she wanted was to stop.
The motion, combined with the water she was swallowing, twisted her stomach and she vomited into the water, her head submerging before she fought her away back up. She was surprised that she had the presence of mind to be disgusted as she swirled forward, the vomit swirling with her.
Then she saw her salvation—a scrub brush sticking out from the side of the creek. So weird that it was sticking out of the side, but she tried to paddle toward it, hands outstretched to grab the spindly branches. First she grasped air, then leaves, a few of which tore off in her hand, before she was able to latch on to the narrow bendy branches. Her fingers hurt where the wood cut into them, but she would not give in to the impulse to let go. She would not let go.
Fighting against the current that flowed over her chest and churned up toward her face, she struggled to climb closer to the bank, where the branches were thicker, sturdier.
She had almost worked her way to the slick caliche of the bank when she heard her name, and turned to see Poppy struggling in the water, arms flailing. She was going to sweep right past Lacey unless Lacey did something.
With the last of her strength—she couldn't remember ever being so exhausted in her life—she gripped the spindly branches with one hand, praying they didn't snap, and flung her other hand toward Poppy.
“Here! Here!” she cried, though she could see Poppy was struggling to reach her, that Poppy knew Lacey was trying to help.
And then Poppy’s nails were digging into her wrist. Lacey felt the branches bend under her hand, ready to snap, and she opened her hand only enough to grasp a cluster of branches instead.
Poppy’s weight dragged both of them downstream, and only Lacey’s tenuous hold on the branches kept them from tumbling after the bus. Lacey’s grip, plus Poppy’s weight, eased Poppy toward the bank, and since the scrub brush was taking the brunt of the current, Poppy was able to work her way toward the brush and grab on with Lacey. The girls wrapped their arms around each other as they held on, held on and waited for help to come.
She didn't know how long they clung to the scrub brush before a large hand thrust in front of her face. She didn't know how long it stayed there until she was brave enough to let go of her anchor and grab onto it. She felt the strength in it, in the forearm she grasped with her other hand, and looked up against the rain into the face of Beck Conover, kneeling on the bank, his hair plastered to his head, his clothes plastered to his shoulders and chest as he pulled her up onto the bank, out of the water.
She lay gasping on the soaked ground, her fingers digging into the mud, and it took her a moment to realize another man was there with Beck, and together they pulled Poppy out. Once both girls were safe, panting for breath against the sobs that tore from them, Beck and the other man—his dad, Lacey thought—tried to get them to their feet.
Lacey couldn't have walked if the ground was on fire beneath her. She had no strength left. Her legs and arms were noodles. She couldn't even push herself up out of the mud.
She didn't know which of the men realized that, but one of them did. Beck reached beneath her and lifted her into his arms, snug against his broad chest. She didn't know where he was carrying her, but she was willing to let him do it, letting her head rest against his shoulder in exhaustion and relief.
Behind him, she glimpsed Poppy getting to her feet, aided by Beck’s dad, and staggering after them with his arm wrapped around her, guiding her.
Then Lacey saw the truck parked nearby. Beck opened the door and set her on the seat, then helped Poppy in beside her before he went to the driver’s side and turned the ignition, blasting heat in their direction. The two girls clung to each other as the warm air blew over them, and the two men went back to the gully.
