Inspirations: Jurassic Wet

Claire glanced around furtively. She had escaped for now, but she knew time was not on her side. Her reconnaissance told her that there was only one safe way forward, and safe was a very relative term here. Lowering herself into murky, swampy water, the bottom of which was totally obscured, would not strike her as safe on a normal day. Alas, this was no normal day, and needs must.

Behind her lay destruction and horror. In front of her lay, well, who knew? More horror, quite likely, but a slim chance going forward was better than no chance going backward.

She lowered herself to the jungle floor. It was already wet from the earlier rain, to say nothing of the humidity, but since she was geeing herself up to plunge into water of unknown depth, a little thing like a wet bum was the least of her worries. She sat there a moment, dangling a boot over the surface, wondering if even disturbing the surface of the water was a bad idea. Should she remove the comparatively heavy boots in case it was deep? All the while, she knew she didn't have time to dawdle.

Fuck it, she thought, and removed her left boot in one fluid motion, followed by the right. Her socks were uncomfortably damp already, so off they went, too. Still sitting, she pushed both feet beneath the surface and held her breath. Nothing terrible happened immediately, so she figured that -- safety being a relative term -- she should make her move while she still could. Using some faintly remembered technique from swimming lessons long since past, she lowered herself inch by inch till her feet squelched on the muddy bottom of the swamp. It was disgusting, to be blunt, but the water only came up to the lower part of her thighs, and she could deal with a bit of discomfort if it meant getting out of this place in one piece.

She squelched along for several worryingly slow, wading steps, cringing each time her foot sunk into the malleable, muddy mush beneath her. Every step sent silt, sludge and god only knows what else sloshing between her toes and all over her feet and calves. It was vile, but it had to be done. Progress was slow but steady and the opposite bank of the swamp didn't seem impossibly far away. Maybe she would be okay after all.

Then she heard it: a loud, predatory roar. The source was unmistakable, and its proximity was ear-splittingly close. Claire froze a moment, and not because of the chill of the swamp water. Terror threatened to overwhelm her, but she knew she had to keep her wits about her. The monster was close, but a glance over her shoulder told her that it wasn't too close just yet. She couldn't see it yet, which meant she had time. Breathe, she told herself. Breathe and think.

An unwelcome realisation dawned slowly on her, like the sun interrupting a much-needed lie-in. If she was under the water it wouldn't be able to see her, nor could it smell her. Still wading noisily, she looked down. Fuck. Another painfully loud roar was all the convincing she needed. Pinching her nose, closing her eyes, Claire let herself fall to the bottom of the swamp, steadily so as not to cause too much of a splash, but as quickly as she dared.

It was horrific, of course. What hit her first was the cold. It made no sense, given the climate, but submerging herself in it was a completely different experience to wading through it. That unpleasantness was followed immediately by the slimy, almost gelatinous feeling. She didn't know if it was algae or something else, but whatever it was it was almost unbearably unpleasant. If she had had any choice in the matter, she would've jumped right back up again, but she had to fight her body's natural urge to get out of the gross fluid and stay hidden.

It got everywhere immediately. Her clothes were instantly soaked, clinging to her slimy-wet skin. She could feel the icky gunk everywhere, especially in places she wished she couldn't. Her underwear was drenched, too, and perhaps the worst part of all was that she felt as if she was slowly sinking into the silt-rich mud. The water was practically alive, as was the muck, and neither thought helped her state of mind.

Her next thought, once she had got her disgust somewhat under control, was how long she could hold her breath. Would she know if and when the beast had moved on? She would have to come up for air, and soon, and giving herself away would mean all of this was for naught.

Luckily -- again, a relative term -- she felt the ground rumble beneath her. She knew it was here, now when would it leave? Could her lung capacity outlast its patience? She tried not to think about it, reasoning that drawing attention to it made it harder to maintain any composure, but the only alternative her mind could muster was "eww, eww, eww, I swear something just moved."

Whether she imagined something slithering between her swamp-soaked breasts or not, it was a distraction she didn't need. Her heart was already drumming loudly in her ears, and the more she added to that with wriggly panic, the harder it would be to hold her breath.

The ground-shuddering stomps continued the whole time, but were they getting further away? Was it just wishful thinking? Claire's lungs were burning and she knew that she was going to find an answer to that question soon, whether she liked it or not.

Seconds later, she emerged in an eruption of murky water, gasping deeply in a desperate bid to refill her lungs with oxygen. Utterly bedraggled, hair clinging to her head, clothes clinging to her curves, she blinked her eyes open and found that she was seemingly safe.