Nick had once thought the ultimate spine-tingling view was a football stadium packed to capacity because his name was on the marquee outside. He'd once imagined that the most chilling roar he'd ever heard was that of the fans chanting for an encore - BACK! STREET! BOYS! BACK! STREET! BOYS! He had once believed that flying felt the same way as it did in a plane or like it had felt when the Boys had 'flown' over the audience, suspended by cables, during the Into the Millennium tour. He'd thought that he'd never see, hear or feel anything that could top those phenomenons. He was wrong. And he discovered that very quickly as the Hummer rolled, became airbound off the end of the high pier, and he looked through the windshield to see the Hudson River's currents below him. He felt weightless as the vehicle careened, topping and flipping over as it fell, and the water hit the car with a deafening rush, and the Hummer began to sink, filling from the engine, the water rushing in from the floor by the driver's seat and the passenger seat, eeking through the cracks at the doors and even leaking just a bit in the seams of the windows. It felt a bit like outer space, looking out the window and seeing water - dark, green, murky water which he couldn't see through. He had to find a way to get untied.
Desperately, he kicked his shoes off and tried to wriggle the rope from his ankles at least. The wrists were bound too tightly, but perhaps if he could get his feet untied he could at least kick against the current and perhaps be able to stay afloat enough to get the air he needed to survive. He thought fleetingly of a cat he had once found, half dead on the shore of a river behind his grandparent's house in New York state. The cat had obviously been thrown into the river by it's owners, expected to drown, and it had somehow managed to survive long enough to be washed up on the river bed. He'd found the cat and pulled it from the mud and carried it home. Gramma G had lovingly bathed it, washing away the mud, and they'd fed the cat pieces of trout that his grandfather had caught that weekend. He'd wrapped it into a blanket and sat with it, telling it that it was going to be okay. That cat had lived, and so could Nick.
He managed to get the rope from his left ankle and began pushing at the rope tied about his right ankle with his left foot. The water was filling the Hummer steadily, and he knew in a few minutes he would have to think about how to get the doors opened or how to break the glass. The oxygen was beginning to run out. He hoped that he could still hold his breath as long as he used to be able to, and began breathing in shallow, steady breaths to prepare himself. As the rope gave way around the right ankle, the water reached him, and he gasped sharply. It was freezing. "Fuck," Nick whimpered as the icy water engulfed him, rising quickly to his knees. It seemed to be flowing harder now, and Nick realized the car was probably going deeper, and the water pressure was probably pushing harder against it. He had to get out now or it would be too late -- if it wasn't already. He kicked at the window he'd been leaning against in the parking lot, but it resisted. "C'mon, please..." he kicked harder, throwing all of his weight into it the very best he could. He fell backwards, landing in the pooling water underneath him. "Fuck that's cold!" he yelled.
The car began to nose dive, standing what felt like perpendicularly in the river. The water rushed to the front seat of the car, and Nick found himself standing on the back of the passanger seat, kicking harder at the window. "Break, damn it! Break!" He realized the irony of the situations: how many windows had he broken as a kid playing baseball? How many times did he break glass things in stores and have to pay for them? Now that he was trying to break something it just wouldn't give. The water continued to rise higher and higher against him, it was now to his chest, and he struggled to gain any momentum at all to kick with, the water's pressure keeping him from being able to swing his limbs with any real force. "Break!" he begged the window, tears beginning to fill his eyes.
The water was now to his neck. He kicked to rise higher, and grabbed onto a garment hook in the back window of the Hummer. He pressed his feet against the furthest side window and began kicking that using his heels, hoping the bone would weaken the glass. Suddenly he found himself looking up at the back window, less than an inch of air remaining. He could see the faintest glow of the moon through the foggy water above him, and swallowed the deepest breath he could manage before ducking under the water. He blinked, trying to adjust to the sensation of the water in his eyes, then struggled to reverse his direction, putting his feet where his head had just been by the back window of the Hummer. Then, telling himself this was his last hope, he put every single ounce of himself into the kick.
He wasn't sure if it was the kick or if the water pressure had finally got to the window, but it burst, water flushing into the vehicle, shoving it down further. The car hit the bottom of the river bed, nose embedding itself into the muck. Nick kicked against the rush of water coming into the car and managed to squeeze out of the window into the current of the river, which instantly picked him up and began to carry him. Once he was freed, he realized he was disoiented, unsure which way he was facing, which way was up and which was down. He kicked aimlessly, reaching and trying to find any source of air. His cheeks and lungs burned and his heart pounded in his ears.
Suddenly, he felt something wrap itself around him. He kicked at it, sure it was a man-eating octopus or a squid, clawing the water as though he might find something to hold onto to help pull himself away. He turned to look to see, at least, what was taking hold of him, and found himself face to face with a man who, to Nick's panicked mind, looked an awful lot like the Grim Reaper. He gasped, and bubbles rushed from his mouth and nose, and he felt water he'd inhaled rush down his throat. The Reaper reached to his face, and pulled out a mouth piece, pressing it into Nick's mouth, and Nick felt oxygen fill his chest. The Reaper wasn't the Grim Reaper at all, he realized, but a scuba diver... and one who had just happened to save his life.
Saving the Day for Blondes (AKA How Nick Carter Became Involved in a Terrorist Mob, Quite By Accident Really!, And Thereby Managed To Save The World For The First Time Ever, Much To Kevin's Surprise.) by Pengi
