Chapter 2 Nick Ryker
Nick Ryker
“Reckless” by Seth Anthony blares over the radio as I slide around the deep curves of this backcountry road headed back to the coast. I went to see a man about a horse at some backwoods county fair earlier.
I might’ve had a little too much to drink at that giant house party and didn’t want to risk running through a roadblock on a main highway.
If you’ve never been to Mississippi in July, you aren’t missing a damn thing.
It’s hotter and muggier than Satan’s ass crack.
If the heat doesn’t kill you, the humidity will.
However, if you want to feel like you’re trying to breathe with your head in a heated fishbowl, it might be the place for you.
The air conditioner in my car picked a great time to call it quits.
The visibility on the red dirt roads is bad on a normal night. I can’t see for shit and can’t roll the windows down because it’s pouring rain.
Fuck me.
As I near the shithole town of Whiskey Rivers, the smell of heavy smoke fills the air. I’m met with cops, fire trucks, and ambulances coming from all directions. I honestly wouldn’t be surprised if someone tried to burn this town to the ground. Nothing good has ever come from here.
I swerve and take another route, away from all the law enforcement. My cherry-red Ford Shelby GT 500 would attract too much attention in this podunk place and I’ve got a trunk full of illegal weapons.
If I don’t make it back to my office in Gulf View early in the morning, the prosecuting attorney, Karen Smith, is going to have a field day with the gun trafficking case I’m defending. She already hates me.
As I round the curve to the Whiskey Rivers Bridge, movement from the railing catches my eye. I stare through my foggy window, trying to make out what it is. It’s too big to be an animal.
As I get closer the image is clearer. Shit. What looks like a young woman is clinging to the trusses. My headlights illuminate her bony figure. She has the wildest look in her eyes. I hit the brakes and slam my car in park.
What the fuck is she doing out here? I slowly exit my car. Shit, I bet she’s about to jump. Even from a distance I can see desperation in her eyes.
Sure enough, before I can speak, she dives into the water.
Dammit. I don’t know what comes over me, I’m never one to try to save someone from dying. I run to the ledge and jump in after her. The cold water hits like a shock wave through my system, taking my breath away. Water shouldn’t be this cold in July.
I frantically dive in and out of the raging current, sweeping my arms and legs, searching for her. I’m left empty handed several times before being slammed into something soft under the water.
I think it’s her body.
Ducking under, I maneuver her so I can free her from the current keeping her pinned while grasping the rock and keeping us both from being carried away.
Gasping and coughing, I fight to clear my own airway while pulling our heads above water. Brown hair clings to her face, almost completely hiding her blue lips—the color a stark contrast to the paleness of her skin.
She’s not breathing.
I cling tightly to her lifeless body as the severity of everything sinks in. My heart races with fear, an emotion I’m not used to. This was a terrible idea, if I can even call it that. It was more of an impulsive reaction.
Everything happened so fast, I didn’t have time to think. Now, I have no clue how I’m going to get us out of here.
I could always just let her go and save myself. I should let her go and save myself. She might have injuries from being crushed against the rock that I can’t see. For all I know, she might not be able to be saved and this could be a wasted effort.
Is it really worth risking my own life to save hers? Fuck. I let go of the rock and hope there’s something down river to grab on to so I can pull us out. If not, I might let her go and save myself.