First of all, what the heck was going on with these drivers?
Sure, it was country driving. And country driving was long and often dull. These were all roads that the folks out this way could drive blindfolded. The problem was that people were driving by rote, not paying a lick of attention to what was out in front of them.
From either side of the bridge, there had been a string of squeals and strikes.
Luckily, that had stopped.
By using her mirrors and phone, Auralia could see other cars sticking up at odd angles. It was like playing her beloved childhood game of pick-up sticks, only these results had to be devastating.
The pile-up was catastrophic.
That shift in the probability of getting some support was certainly one of the reasons that Auralia was rethinking her strategy.
The other was the wind.
It had picked up considerably. And her car, with its flat bottom sitting up there like a sail, would feel the sustained press. One good gust and she’d go over.
Over might be fine.
Might even be preferred.
With the passage of time, her calculations were changing. Not only were the water levels creeping higher, but equally concerning, the sun was setting.
In the water in daylight? A crisis.
Trying to survive rushing white waters under the dark skies of a new moon? Possibly cataclysmic.
Yes, over the rail might have been fine, unless her car flipped and she was trapped upside down in the cab.
Over the rail might have been fine when there was enough water to act as a sort of cushion to ease her down.
But she’d missed that window of opportunity.
Not only was the water higher, but it was also faster.
What she could see of the shoreline had been gobbled by munching waves. The water had risen to a point where the drop off was sheer and slick with clay. No one was moving up or down that slope. She’d have to find some bit of land that still rose above and perch there and make a new determination.
And because hypothermia fogged the brain quickly, she’d have to be aggressive about her actions to stay warm. And that meant she couldn’t sustain any injury.
Now, like all the Rochambeau children, Auralia could swim before she could walk. But fast water with only a black bag of air shoved under her chest and held in place by her armpits, dragging her clothes along wasn’t ideal.
She had her phone. Her phone still worked.
She’d avoided all but that one, brief check-in with Creed.
If she got hold of anyone from Iniquus, they’d stop what they were doing and prioritize her.
Did she love that idea? Yes!
In fact, no.
Still, she’d call even if it was selfish because she didn’t want to die.
She was privileged in that she had the connection.
Auralia didn’t want to go in. Survival seemed improbable.
She needed to chance the back window and see if there wasn’t a handhold she could grab onto.
