The Water Will Catch You by Chase Potter

Author:Chase Potter [Potter, Chase]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Chase Potter Books
Published: 2015-11-02T08:00:00+00:00

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Tenth Grade

Tossing the groceries into the passenger’s side of my dad’s truck, I hop up behind the wheel and slam the door. Why can’t he go shopping for himself? He barely even works. And despite what he says, I don’t believe that cashing a check every month counts as work.

I’m also fairly certain that he only let me get my driver’s license so I could pick up stuff for him, because other than driving to school, those are the only times I get to use the truck.

I turn the key, but I have to wait for the engine to turn over three times before it actually starts. What a piece of shit. I grind my teeth in frustration as I pull out of the parking spot, giving the truck some more gas so it will actually get going. The engine grumbles, echoing my frustration, but reluctantly it moves faster.

Coming to the end of the row of cars, I glance to the left and to the right, and then I force the pedal down and make the turn. I’m just moving past the next row, nearly to the end of the parking lot, when I catch a blur at the edge of my vision.

Something is moving fast. Way too fast.

Adrenaline jets into my veins, and the next half-second feels like much more than that because I somehow have time to understand that the object is a motorcycle. And that it’s going to hit me.

I close my eyes, but it doesn’t matter, because it’s impossible to block out the impact. Metal and glass scream as they’re bent and twisted, and I’m thrown sideways against my seatbelt as two hundred kilos of motorcycle slam into the truck. Like a peal of thunder, it’s over in an instant, but my ears are left ringing.

I hear a shout, and a man runs past the front of my truck. My neck aches, but I lean over anyway to watch him kneel beside someone lying on the pavement on the opposite side of my truck. At that moment, I come to two realizations.

The first is that the person lying unmoving on the black surface of the parking lot is the rider of the motorcycle. The second is that it’s a woman.

The minutes pass, slowly, cruelly. My frantic breathing doesn’t abate, but it has nothing to do with the trickle of blood from my cuts or the soreness in my neck or my buzzing headache. What’s taking the ambulance so long?

Flashing lights of police cars are everywhere, but I can’t seem to concentrate on any of it. My mind is covered in a fog that refuses to lift, and the harder I try to break free, to wake up from this nightmare, the more it presses in on me. And still there’s no ambulance.

People move past, vehicles move past, time moves past. Some things I process, while others don’t make a whole lot of sense.

The first ambulance finally arrives and the woman is loaded into the back.

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