Free The Terminals by Royce Scott Buckingham Page A

the lagoon, which was shallow, sunny, and teemed with life. The dimness went on as far as he could see, and he couldn’t help wondering if this was what death was like. Silent, endless, solitary, eventually a hell of self-awareness without any stimulation. He also realized that he was beginning to get tired and slow down. They hadn’t even made the buoy yet. He decided he needed to “focus on the task at hand,” as Ward had said several times, and he kicked hard after his team. Perhaps they would surface and rest at the buoy before turning back. But when he looked up, they were gone.
    The word “shit” made a lot of bubbles underwater. Cam rotated in place. The dark and distant ocean floor was no longer a good guide for direction. He could surface and find shore, he thought, but the entire point of the exercise was to stay out of sight underwater. He suspected Ward would be watching with the binoculars he’d been wearing around his neck. Drifting with the tide and turning in circles, Cam stupidly and completely eradicated his sense of direction. He chose a heading and kicked for a time, but after several minutes of swimming he still saw nothing.
    The surface was toward the light. He knew that much. He cursed himself and kicked upward, careful not to rise faster than his bubbles, and he broke through the waves with a feeling of both failure and relief. The beach was distant, much farther away than he would have guessed. The condos were mere dots on a ribbon of tan below the cliffs. He was also well past the red buoy, which bobbed in the dark blue swells midway between him and the shore. It receded even as he floated in place. I’m being swept out to sea , he thought. With the tide against him, the swim back would be harder. He stroked, but made no headway. Kicking with great effort, he found he could make some gains, but if he stopped to rest, he lost all of his progress and more. Soon he was exhausted and farther out than he had been before.
    Suddenly, something rose from the water behind him and clamped around his torso. Cam panicked and fought, squirming in its grasp. Shark! he thought. He felt a flush of warmth on his upper legs. I’m bleeding!
    â€œCalm down! I can’t save your worthless ass if you struggle.” Donnie’s voice was agitated and smug at the same time. He held Cam under the arms in a lifesaving carry and stroked toward shore. “Go limp, and I can drag you.”
    Cam couldn’t decide whether he was relieved or mortified, but he had no options. He had to let the arrogant jerk save him. At least Donnie had no way of knowing that he’d peed himself. Cam relaxed and let Donnie haul him toward shore, trailing behind like a jellyfish. Halfway there, Donnie handed him off to Tegan. And, finally, Zara took him the rest of the way, which was almost as humiliating as having Donnie rescue him in the first place. All three of them still swam strong. Cam was not a bad swimmer, but they were exceptional. Unnatural.
    â€œI can take it from here,” Cam yelled when they got into the surf. He didn’t want to be dragged before Ward like a prisoner. Zara shrugged and dropped him.
    But Cam was unprepared and inexperienced in the surf. A wave picked him up like the wind might lift a leaf and bore him to the beach, tumbling him over and over and then depositing him on his head in the packed surf sand, which Cam was rudely reminded was much firmer than the fluffy stuff people kicked up in vacation videos. Rolling over with a groan, he found himself lying at Ward’s feet.
    â€œAre you injured?”
    â€œYeah,” Cam said.
    â€œWhere?”
    â€œMy ego.”
    Ward nodded, but didn’t allow himself to smirk, staying focused on the task at hand.
    â€œSo,” he said, “not the scuba squad, eh?”
    â€œNo!” It was Donnie stomping up the beach, no longer smug. He was worked up and looked angry. “Total fail! He’s not