His shin was now drenched with oil and the chill of the water still took it's effect through the oily texture. His right foot began to slip, as the oil rose up to his foothold and created a lubricant making it hard for him to stand. He began to struggle, realising that if he slipped he, and all the defenceless people hidden in their houses were to suffer a painful death. His fear quickly was replaced with adrenalin and he put himself into a safer position, on top of the now oily stump. Glancing around he noticed that the huge group of WRACC members were beginning to leave. They obviously thought he didn't have a chance. He also noticed that the other broken surface of the bridge had become completely submerged, leaving no route to Orroway, or even worse, Launceston...
If only he could return there... The chances of that were slipping and he realised he needed to do something before he plunged into the depths of the oily water, but he was urged to go on. He needed to return to his rightful position! It's where he belongs! Not in this hellhole, which will soon cease to exist at this rate.
A huge burnt out shell of a car scraped past him on it's roof, drawing his attention back to his current situation. The rotting bodies had begin sliding down the bridge, making a huge hazard for him to climb up the top, and even then, there were still twenty to thirty WRACCs standing about, waiting for something interesting to happen. He looked around the water and noticed that there was a large wooden billboard and, realising it was his only chance now, he stood up on the stump, which was now almost vertical. The billboard was about four metres away but he was about one metre away from the surface of the water so there was a chance he could reach it. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the flame-orb. He passed it from hand to hand, avoiding the searing heat and thought. The bright light of the orb shone out like a beacon, drawing the attention of the remaining WRACCs and intriguing them, both at the same time. He decided it was now or never. The bridge was falling, faster than ever, towards it's disappearance and he quickly reassured himself he would be okay.
He grasped the flame-orb tightly in his right hand and, holding back the searing pain of the glass burning his palm, crouched and jumped as far as he could towards the billboard. He quickly twisted around, while in the air, to land on his back and he thrust his hands in the air, keeping the flame-orb out of danger and his left hand free of oil, because the pure heat of the orb would set alight the oil. He landed with a thud on the billboard and, to his advantage, it carried him, thanks to the wooden frame beneath it. The landing plunged his head ten to twenty centimetres under the water's surface and he quickly closed his eyes, shut his mouth tightly, milliseconds before his face was submerged beneath the water. He held the orb up in the air as high as possible and fought the urge to lean upright, as it would pivot the billboard to too much of an angle sending him into the solution which would seal his life forever.
He waited, letting the time pass by, making sure he levelled out. Time passed slower than he thought and he seemed to be below the surface for minutes, although it was only for a few seconds. He felt that the steady rocking of the billboard had stopped, so he sat up and wiped the oil away from face with the sleeve of his left hand and checked the orb for oil. It was okay for now so he calmed down. Suddenly a huge crack, once again, echoed across the lake as the final rope snapped plunging the second piece of the bridge deep into the water a wave emerged and he attached himself onto the billboard by wrapping his already soaked legs around underneath the wooden frame. The wave picked him up and dragged him across the lake, although only a few metres. He settled, leaving twenty to thirty metres of water from him to Benevaar and about seventy to Orroway. The WRACCs were now cheering and hurling stuff at him from where the bridge was once proudly suspended.
Those bastards, he thought as he checked his sword, which was now covered in a thick layer of oil. He left it, as he expected it would get another coating before he was off the billboard and oil would probably be rather painful on a wound. He unwrapped his legs from around the billboard, lay down on his back, held the flame-orb high above his head and began to kick his feet. He picked up speed and began moving towards Benevaar - as Orroway was much too far away at this time - making sure he avoided the projectiles of concrete from the bridge's broken edge being thrown by the WRACCs.
The light from the flame-orb flickered, pointed out his trail and burnt his palm further, until he had to switch the hand he held it in. He eventually arrived near the edge, roughly ten metres away from land and he needed to make sure he could get there before the WRACCs could. Luckily they were still throwing stuff from their earlier place and didn't realise the situation properly. He kicked harder than ever as what was happening dawned on him.
Get to land and you will have a higher chance of living
He reached the rocky edge of Benevaar and clambered out of the Marlton River, onto the solid area he could reach. He decided it would be a good idea to drop his coat, since it was soaked in oil and would only weigh him down. He climbed up the small earthy ridge separating the lake from the city, crawled over behind a large brick building and collapsed behind a large crate, covered in parcels. He checked the flame-orb, staring directly at the blinding light shining from it, and rubbed it with his clean right sleeve, making sure any chance of oil was removed before he continued.
He pulled himself up onto his fatigued legs and crept up against the wall of the building. He slid across the coarse brickwork of the building and slowed to a stop at the end. He peered around the corner and looked around the street he had come to. There appeared to be no sign of WRACCs anywhere so he crept out from his position and stealthily crept up to a house. He opened the polished oak door slowly, making sure it didn't creak too loud. He walked inside and slowly closed the door behind him.