It was after midnight last December and we were driving home from a party. The weather in Devon had been awful, with heavy rain on our 40-minute journey there, though not enough to make us worry about the drive back. We were in our Ford Ranger pick-up truck, which always felt safe. Paul, my husband, was driving and my seven-year-old son, Silas, was in the back.
What was so frightening was the speed of it. One minute we were halfway home and driving up to a familiar bridge, the next there was water rising over the bonnet. Deep floodwater was coursing across from a nearby railway line and surrounding fields, and we were caught in the middle of it. The volume of water lifted our car up and pushed it back against a hedge. We were silent; I felt over-awed by the power of the water, and Paul was trying to control the truck.
Water was instantly around my ankles. I reached my hand back and felt it around Silas's, too. Paul climbed out through a window, at which point Silas woke up, confused and disoriented. I managed to pass him through the window to Paul, who was now on the truck's roof.
Paul told me I needed to get out, but I couldn't open my door or window. I managed to push my body though the driver's window and was left clinging on to the support between the windows. I was terrified the truck would capsize, pinning me beneath. Paul was incredulous, asking me what I was doing in the water, and telling me I needed to climb on to the bonnet, but I couldn't reach. He grabbed my hood to help, but he was at a precarious angle and I could hear Silas crying, so I told him to let go – Silas needed him. He refused, but I insisted – I wanted to know Silas would be OK. As I saw his empty, outstretched hand, the water took me away. I'm a strong swimmer, but had no option but to shoot down the rapids. Shocked, tossed and buffeted, I gasped for breath and tried to keep my head above water. There was a horrendously loud noise, like a huge wall of bubbles swirling in my ears. Bewildered, I remember saying, "Oh God, oh God, oh God!" I never expected to die of drowning.
Washed over a garden wall, I joined the River Taw, 3.5m higher than normal and flowing at about 14mph. It was extremely dark but I could just make out trees. As I passed, I reached out and grabbed two branches no bigger than my index finger, with a perfect tight grip. Somehow my feet wedged in a firm foothold and I hugged the tree with my knees. One minute longer and I'd have been sucked beneath a railway bridge.
My plan was just to hold on. My body went into shock a few times and I would tremble involuntarily. I told myself it was a natural response, to conserve my energy and concentrate on not losing my foothold. Not knowing if Paul and Silas were dead or alive, I thought that if they did survive they would need me. After nearly 40 minutes, I saw a small spotlight. I started to shout for help. Someone glimpsed my movement and a firefighter tried to talk to me, but I couldn't hear her above the roar of the water.
The light of a helicopter made me out in the tree. Their heat-seeking equipment had traced me, but they could see I had no warmth in my lower body. They were concerned I would become hypothermic and lose my grip. The decision was made for the RNLI flood rescue team to get me. My husband, who had been rescued with my son in the bucket of a JCB, was nearby with a policewoman. She reassured him that so long as they could hear me, there was hope.
Guided to me by the helicopter, the rescue team managed to steer the boat to my shoulder. Four strong arms lifted me into the boat and I felt sheer relief and utter safety. As I kneeled to get out, I hugged one of my rescuers, Martin. I looked up to see an amazing array of 50 service personnel. I had no idea such activity had been taking place for me. I felt so high, I thanked everyone and wished them all a merry Christmas.
My rescuers were volunteers who have since received medals and I have an incredibly deep bond with them. In the isolation of that tree, I found a strength of character I didn't know I possessed – but I'm still flabbergasted I survived at all.
• As told to Sarah Smith.
For in-text citations using MLA format, the correct answer would be A because you cite quotes using (last name, page #). So in this case, you would use the authors last name (Krakauer) first, and follow it with the page number from the page you are going to use (page 42). So, the citation should look like (Krakauer 42) and go at the end of the cited quote.
