Free The Pandemic Sequence (Book 3): The Tilian Cure by Tom Calen Page A

gulps of the sea invaded her mouth as she forced her way through the water. Matt, alongside her and propelling her forward, pulled her close and whispered with panic. “Take a deep breath, we have to go under!”
    Filling her lungs in the split second before he pulled her beneath the surface, Michelle panicked when the darkness of the water and the burning saltwater blinded her. She could still feel Matt’s hand on her wrist, though she could not see him beyond his elbow. It seemed somewhat easier to move through the water now that she was fully submerged, but her already weary lungs worried her. At first counting the seconds, painfully holding in that last gasp of air, she could feel the strain of the task. She abandoned ticking off the numbers, as it had quickly become a further source of panic.
    At last feeling she could resist no longer, a stream of bubbles rushed from her mouth and nose. Instinct demanded she inhale, but Michelle fought the urge with a steadily depleting cache of will. Once darting specks of light began to flash in her vision, she knew she had to resurface. Angling her body upward, she could feel Matt’s hand gripping even more tightly, and worse, continue its constant pull forward. He’s not letting me go up!
    The burning in her chest had taken on a new urgency, and Michelle could feel her body rebelling against her mind. The drive was beyond her control now. She would take a breath, even though she knew doing so would be death. In one last surge of energy, she tried to pull her arm free of the clasp that would be her end. For an instant, she thought her freedom had been won, but with a glance discovered Matt’s hand was still firmly attached. He was, she realized, pulling her towards the surface with him.
    Unsure if the expanding brightness before her was a sign of the surface or simply her mind slipping, the young woman felt a relief with both possible outcomes. Death would mean failure in avenging Andrew’s death, yet it also meant freedom from the horror of emptiness that now ached within her. Michelle could feel herself surrender to the inevitable needs of her body. She would inhale, she knew with a smile, and she would be free. As lips parted and water rushed in, her head broke the surface of the water. With a sputtering gasp, partially to expel the sea, and also to take in the much need air, her vision cleared and she saw Matt’s head bobbing beside her own. For the first time since entering the water, the blood pounding in her ears was overcome by the eruption of bullets from their boat’s machine gun.
    In confusion, Michelle twisted in panic to locate the boat, but then she recalled Matt rigging boat line to the weapon’s firing mechanism. Without delay, Matt dropped the cord and pulled himself up on the ladder of the ship to which they had swum. Correctly assuming she would be unlikely to have the strength to climb the ladder on her own, he extended a hand and pulled her up beside him. There would be little time before their pursers located the other craft.
    Matt had hypothesized correctly. Not only had the phantom gun-fire masked their gasps for air upon resurfacing, but the sound had lured the Mohawk-men. In relative safety on a different ship, they watched as the inflatable filled with five armed men pulled alongside their now-empty boat. Matt had secured it to a larger boat, by its size Michelle assumed it would be called a small yacht. By cutting a small gash into his palm, he had left a “trail” that indicated that he and Michelle had boarded the yacht. But, Michelle wondered, would these guys fall for it?
    In response to her silent question, the men rose to stand as they cautiously attempted to board the tethered vessels. With their targets now exposed, Matt settled his rifle along the rail and aimed into the distance. Michelle had to rely on her handgun and her once accurate aim. Firing from a water-tossed boat, at moving targets some hundred yards away, was likely beyond