Whoosh. Whoosh.
This was all William Clark could hear. The rush that would have become imperceptible but for it's increasing pressure. It pushed against his eardrums and threatened to fill his nose. His sinuses already felt near-explosion, and knowledge of his previous mission was swept away with the rush.
Cold air hit his face. Gasping, he slapped at the water desperately, trying to pull himself to the surface. Of course it was a useless attempt; the weight of the river simply pulled him back down.
Strangely, despite that he was drowning, Clark could only think about how filthy the river was. He had never been much of a neat-freak. In fact, his disorganization had become a problem before he began the search. His humble home had been crowded with knickknacks of all sorts: The product of a long-term bachelor. It was almost impossible to keep the house completely clean without basic necessities such as a broom, especially when trying to survive in the center of a dense, Vietnamese jungle. So he did without.
She had never liked it, though.
Abigail had always despised disorganization. Even in her dirt-soiled clothing, she would desperately try to organize as they jumped from house to house, though it was a useless ambition. Clark guessed it was a way for her to hold onto who she was and that pieces were not left behind in their temporary homes. She may have been forced to act like an adult, but Abigail was still just a child.
The memory of missing Abigail gave him the will to survive. He could not leave her to whatever fate she had been taken to.
Clark attempted to use his gift to assist him. Forming his hands into claws, he used the few moments he had to tense his already-tight muscles. He smoothed his spinning body and flattened his palms. He felt the familiarity of his blood expanding.
But Clark did not succeed. The river was pushing at him from all sides, so he had no idea where to use his ability. His pathetic try at reversing the river's energy ended up only hurting him. It made the ordeal all the more terrible; the confusion of the spinning water, and the helplessness that ate him up.
Not to mention he was out of oxygen.
When he went under again, Clark got enough equilibrium to know where to kick. It strained the muscles in his legs, and Clark knew what he would say if his life weren't in peril. I'm getting too old for this.
Breaking free once more, he forced his eyes open, blinking past the dripping brown water. Spitting, he saw where he was headed.
There wasn't even time to groan.
Panic had already set in ages ago, yet this was different. The falling water ahead of him sent an ice that flashed his body- it was a feeling that was not unfamiliar.
Clark took a final gasp of oxygen as he was sent tumbling into the merciless churning depths of water.
He woke much later.
All was dark, and his back was bare. The air that hit it was cool, so he immediately guessed himself wet. His limbs were very tired, so even the smooth, flat surface he was sprawled over seemed extraordinarily comfortable. He didn't even want to wake up.
Clark flexed his fingers to see if they were as heavy as they felt. The surface beneath them felt like granite; they were even more laden than he had expected. He breathed deeply and tried to pull his head up, which felt like it was loaded with bricks. He wiggled his bare toes, and they were stiffer than he had ever experienced.
Drugged. I've been drugged. He realized.
Swearing loudly, (His throat was sore and dry.) Clark tried to sit up. He was stopped when a gloved hand pushed down the back of his neck. It crushed his nose and made it difficult to breath.
Clark had been fighting all his life. He could handle this stranger who was trying to sedate him. Teeth coming together, he tried to flip onto his back to properly face this unseen enemy. Perhaps if his system had been clean, Clark would have been able to fight him off; but his body felt as if it weighed a thousand tons.
More rubbery hands came and held down his wrists. He growled and pushed against their hold, but he was barely conscious. The instinct to survive was even stronger now than it was in the river.
The buzzing, spinning sound of surgical equipment vibrated his bones. William Clark let out a cry of mortal terror as impossible pain entered his cervical spine.
He thought no more.