The 4x4 was snatched from its tires and turned against the current, rolling violently as the thick waves carried it under.
"Brady!" Angela was out, rope in hand, running to the embankment. "Marc!" She leaned over the edge, eyes frantic as Dog yapped furiously next to her.
"Here!"
Her eyes found his arm and head still above the churning, rising water, and she threw the long cord hard, landing it on his outstretched fingers.
She saw him double it around his wrist, and then she was moving, tying the other end to the bumper hook of her Blazer. She headed for the driver's seat, not thinking, just doing what the Witch told her to.
Marc held the rope and then his breath as the water closed over his face, body submerged, scraped, bumped, sliced, battered.
The rope tightened, jerking his shoulder brutally, and then he was out like a fish caught by a boater, gasping for air. He coughed violently, feet and hands digging into the mud, clawing at the grass for purchase as she hauled him up.
The angry roar of the water echoed in protest at the escape.
Angela saw him collapse in her mirror and had her bag in hand as she rushed back to him. "Brady!"
She saw him move and remembered to breathe. "Are you hurt?"
Marc shook his head, pushing up onto his knees as he coughed out mouthfuls of diseased river water. She ignored his protests, running her hands over him to check for injuries.
"...finger or should I give you something?"
Marc looked up, confused as he tried to get his air back, and she gestured at the rising water that was rushing loudly by. "Some of that's inside you now. We have to get it out before it can settle in and do damage. I've got a shot of something that'll do it."
She set a tiny vial on the ground by his feet, swatting at thick flies hovering around them. "I'll get camp set up."
Marc stammered as he blew out a disgusted sigh, pushing up onto shaky legs. "Fucking quake. Some great joke."
"...swallow it all and then take a deep smell of the bottle. Are we okay here?"
Marc's blurry eyes looked over the muddy ground and a park-like area about 200 yards away. No buildings in sight, crooked elm and willow trees behind plum fields, and thick, lush grass sprinkled with poppies. It actually looked pretty good.
"Over... there. Should be... part of the Brownville... State Rec area. Leave my duffle bag... couple jugs of water. No fire ... stove's okay."