My Dear Laurens (Lams)

J. Laurens

The hands of nature clasped around Laurens' neck and squeezed. The water crashed against his face and grasped his ankles in hopes of pulling him into the depths of the river and beating him into nothing more than fish food. Every time Laurens reached above the water's surface, reaching for anything solid to hold onto, he found nothing but air and harsh reality. He knew Hercules was somewhere in the rapids with him, but he couldn't find him. His elbow clipped against a rock jutting out of the water, and he cringed. Except for the second he spent reacting to his new injury cost him breathing time as the water understood his vulnerability once more and took him into its embrace. Oxygen had left him. He opened his eyes underwater, holding his breath despite the sharp cry his lungs attempted to voice with unwanted liquids pooling inside. Laurens slaughtered the water underneath his arms as he launched himself upward once more. He gasped and sputtered, but it felt so much better than nothing. The rapids still beat him senseless, but he couldn't abandon his mission. Hercules was in the water, except he had a fresh bullet wound in his stomach, and Laurens knew exactly how painful those were. And he also knew how hard it would be to survive that shot if he didn't get medical attention immediately.

Laurens swatted the wretched hands of early death away as he kept his head above water. He scanned the surrounding area, but all he saw were rocks and rapids and a brightening sky. Dawn broke and Laurens could have sworn it was divine intervention because a shred of sunlight peeked through sparse clouds illuminating a body floating above the water for a second then dipping into danger and out of Laurens' sight. But what he saw was enough.

Laurens pulled at the water and for the first time, he dove under willingly, keeping his eyes open wide hoping to catch Hercules' form again. And he did. Hercules looked like a piece of driftwood caught in the wrong wave, and not even able to keep itself afloat. The water beat against Laurens and pushed him forward but not far enough. Hercules was out of his reach, and the pressure took a toll on his lungs forcing Laurens to resurface, take in a breath, then dive back under. Laurens swam and swam, and before Laurens lost all hope of ever reaching Hercules, a large flat rock appeared and caught Hercules' back, stopping him from flowing any further. Laurens watched a burst of air bubbles seep from Hercules's open mouth. He had to grab Hercules now or there would be no point in worrying about healing his gunshot wound any longer. Hercules's arm dragged with the current and Laurens lurched for his wrist. He had to gather Hercules' limp body into his arms and pull him to the surface. The extra weight of another person's body only worsened Laurens's situation. A straight jacket had accumulated around his body and made his movements rigid and desperate. Every thrust of his arm and kick of his leg took all his energy and exhaustion pulled at his muscles like he was a dying snake meant to curl in on himself and turn to stone. Laurens knew even another few seconds of swimming with one of his limbs occupied to keep Hercules close to his body would send him under and dooming both of them to the water's power. But the rapids must have gotten tired of toying with them because the water curled over a small cliff dropping them over a few feet and into a steady current.

Grateful to the calm rippling waves, Laurens' eyes fluttered and closed for a moment. So nice, so comfortable, he thought, until his relaxation put him under the water again and jolted him into consciousness. I can't fall asleep. I have to make it to one of the river banks; I have to save Hercules.

Laurens willed the last sliver of energy tucked away in his body's reserves, and activated it with a surge of strength yanking him out of the water and onto the safety of land. To save Hercules, Laurens had no time to worry about himself, so he began to apply compressions to Hercules' chest. He had seen this strategy used once before when a soldier had fallen into the ice in a New York winter and had lost consciousness when he was taken out of the freezing waters. Laurens tried to mimic the strategy perfectly, his hands clasped around each other tight beating in a strict rhythm against Hercules' chest. Over and over again, he pounded without earning a reaction from his dying friend.