Cheryl Tardif - Submerged

“No, but I feel her. She’s―” Colton gasped.

Oh God… Ella’s hurt. “ What? What’s wrong?”

“It’s wet back here, Mom. On the seat.” He sounded dazed, scared.

“Maybe your drink spilled.”

She had to get her children out of the car. Now!

“Mom, you need to call 911.”

“I know, Colton.” She closed her eyes, trying to remember whether she’d put the cell phone in her purse or if it had been in the cup holder. Had she used it while they’d been on the road? No, she was sure she hadn’t.

Her gaze swept across the front seat and down to the passenger seat floor, where her purse lay, some of the contents scattered about like pieces of shrapnel. “I think my phone’s in my purse, on the floor.”

“Can you get it?”

She reached out, ignoring the shooting pain in her fingers. After a few tries, she gave up.

Ella let out a whimper.

“Ella? Are you awake, sweetie?”

No answer.

“Colton, check your sister again.”

A few seconds later Colton said, “I think she’s bleeding.”

“Where?”

“Her face.”

Rebecca muffled a cry with her good hand. “Wake her up. Right now.”

“Ella,” Colton said, his voice breaking. “Ella, wake up.”

“Ella, honey,” Rebecca called. “Wake up, please.”

“She won’t wake up, Mom.”

“Okay, as long as she’s breathing, she’s fine. Do you know where Puff is?”

Colton rummaged around in the back seat for a few minutes, long enough for Rebecca to start panicking again. If Ella woke up and realized what was going on, she’d have a major asthma attack. They needed that inhaler.

“Found it, Mom.”

She blew out a pent-up breath. “Keep it in your pocket.”

“Now what do we do?”

“Can you climb into the front seat?”

“I’ll try.”

She could hear her son moving, the seat belt releasing, then a sharp yelp.

“What’s wrong, honey?”

“My leg’s stuck. I can’t get it out from under my hockey bag because the seat in front is pushing on it.”

She surveyed the front passenger seat. It had shifted, slid back toward Colton. At some point during the rough ride, his hockey bag had slid toward the back door, lodging between the front passenger seat and his legs, trapping his right foot beneath it. There was no way she’d be able to reach the lever to move it forward and release Colton.

Dizziness rolled like a wave over her body. She couldn’t help the small moan that escaped her lips.

“Mom, are you okay?”

“I’m a bit sore, but don’t worry about me.”

“We have water at least,” Colton muttered. “I saw on a survival show that we have to have water or we’ll die—”

“We’re not going to die, Colton.”

“—so we have to ration the water bottles until we’re rescued,” he continued as if she hadn’t interrupted.

She wondered if he was going into shock. “We can do that, honey. Ration the water.”

“And any food.”

“Okay. Now let me think for a minute.”

She was pinned behind the steering wheel with possible broken ribs and a useless hand. Colton couldn’t move because his leg was trapped. Ella was unconscious, maybe with a concussion. And Rebecca’s cell phone was either in her purse on the floor or somewhere else in the car.

The phone was their only answer. She had to find a way to get it. But how? She would need something long, something she could hook her purse with.

The hockey stick!

“Colton, can you reach your hockey stick?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. Pass it to me.”

She had to take the stick with her injured hand and gasped at the agony this caused. Stretching her left arm over the steering wheel, she transferred the stick to her good hand and stretched as far as possible, ignoring the throbbing in her ribs. The tip of the stick rested on her purse.

“You can do it, Mom,” Colton said.

She hoped to God he was right.

Another wave of faintness swept over her. Her head felt thick, and the hand holding the hockey stick shook. How long could she hold out before she passed out?

The purse slid inches closer. She prodded the handle, attempting to slide the tip of the stick underneath. “Got it!”

From the back seat, Colton let out a relieved breath. “Careful not to drop it.”

She pulled the purse up from the floor and over the passenger seat. With a deep breath, she reached out with her other hand. “Damn.” She couldn’t reach the purse. The window blocked the other end of the hockey stick, and there was no way she could maneuver it enough. “I can’t reach my purse.”

“Hold the stick up more so your purse can slide down it.”

She smiled. “You’re a genius, Colton.”

There was hardly enough room in the front for Rebecca to hold the stick out and tip the end up. With a few light flicks of her wrist, the purse began to slide down the stick. When it was close enough, she switched hands and slipped the purse off the stick.

“Got it.” She let out an exhausted sigh.

Since she was pinned by the steering wheel, she had to change hands again, although her right hand was numb. With her good hand, she opened the zipper and reached inside. She felt her bank book, credit card holder, lipstick tubes. Come on. Where’s my phone?

“Check on your sister again,” she said, wanting to keep him busy.

She shoved her hand deeper into her purse. No cell phone.

When she was sure she’d checked every inch of the purse, she muffled a small cry. Where was her phone?

She swallowed hard. “My phone’s not in my purse. It must be on the floor somewhere. I’ll check up front, and you try to wake Ella so you can give her Puff.”

While Colton called his sister’s name, she leaned forward as far as she could. On the floor of the passenger seat was an assortment of empty bank envelopes and a notebook. She grabbed the hockey stick and poked at the envelopes. Nothing underneath them. She pushed aside the notebook. Her cell phone lay underneath.

“Found it.”

“Mom, Ella’s wheezy, and she’s still sleeping.”

“Try to give her a puff anyway.”

She wasn’t sure that would do much since Ella wouldn’t be inhaling the medication like normal, but they had to do something to keep her breathing under control.

She tried to ease the tip of the hockey stick beneath the phone, but it only pushed the phone farther away. What she needed was something tacky.

She stared at the tape wrapped around the blade of the hockey stick. It was something the players did to give the blade extra support. Something Wesley had shown Colton. One of his good fatherly deeds.

“Colton, where’s your hockey tape?”

“I had it.” A few seconds went by before he shouted, “Found it!”

“I’m going to hold your hockey stick out toward you, and I want you to put some tape on the end. But as you wind it, twist it so the sticky part is facing out. Understand?”

“No problem, Mom.”

She maneuvered the stick toward him once more. Minutes later, the task was completed and she drew the stick back and over the passenger seat. Then she carefully held it out so the tip of the blade hovered over the floor of the passenger seat.

Her vision swam and she paused. Please, God, not now.

“Did you get it?” Colton asked.

“Not yet.”

A few more inches and the stick made contact with the phone. Now all she had to do was navigate it so the sticky part of the tape would rest on the cell phone.

“Almost got it. There!”

With the phone securely stuck to the tape, she rolled the stick slowly until the phone rested on top of the blade. “I’ve got it, but I can’t reach it because the stick’s too long, so I’m going to pass it to you.”