I look around to get my bearings and push off of the truck and swim for shore. I try to climb up the side of the canal but the sides are smooth, wet concrete, sloped at a 45-degree angle. I go back to the truck, sit on top, and rest a while. Stormy has clawed her way to the top of the bank, but when she sees that I can’t make it she comes back to join me at the truck. When she swims alongside, I pull her up and notice that my hands hurt. The tips of my fingers have worn off, I have multiple cuts from ripping the camper shell door open, and there’s a hole in my right palm the size of a quarter. The glass breaker had punched a hole in my hand down to the bone. I can’t feel or move the middle and index fingers on my right hand. When I try to move my fingers, the hole in my palm makes a strange sucking sound, like someone chewing with his mouth open. In all of the excitement I had not felt a thing, but now my hand starts to throb.