difference between life and death.
Dahlia slipped into the water. There was a measure of comfort in seeing him waiting. In the dark, his striped face should have appeared frightening, yet she only felt relief looking at him. She touched his arm, needing the contact, trying to breathe down the rising bile.
“There’s a small island no one uses, if we swim in that direction.” She pointed the way.
“It isn’t far and there’s a boat we can use. I know of a trapper’s cabin that’s usable a few miles from there.”
Nicolas nodded and laid out across the water on his back, low so that most of his body was submerged. He propelled himself using his legs beneath the water in a strong frog kick so that no sound could be carried in the night. Dahlia followed his lead, turning over, looking up at the smoke-filled sky and then over to the burning island. Everything seemed on fire. Her vision blurred and she blinked rapidly to clear it.
Nicolas didn’t make a sound as he moved through the water. It should have been awkward as he kept his rifle out of harm’s way, but he moved efficiently as if he’d done the maneuver a hundred times. Dahlia did her best to swim in silence and look like a log.
She splashed a few times but was too sick to care.
“Just a little longer,” he encouraged. “You’re doing great.”
“You do know there are snakes in this water.”
“Better than bullets. We’ll make it, Dahlia.”
They were out in the middle of the channel now, and Nicolas wanted to put some distance between them and the island in case the moon came out from under the clouds.
Exhaustion lined Dahlia’s face. Her breathing was ragged. He noted her swimming was becoming clumsy as they made their way through the open water. “Don’t quit on me,” he said, a deliberate goad. He couldn’t imagine Dahlia quitting anything.
She wanted to glare at him, but couldn’t muster up the strength. It took every ounce of self-discipline she had to keep going. She followed him across the channel and through a short, weed-choked canal. Dahlia lost track of time. The water helped to dissipate the energy surrounding her, but she didn’t dare allow what was inside of her to escape and give their position away. Her churning stomach helped her to stay awake.
After a while it felt like a terrible dream, one she struggled to wake from. She drifted, closing her eyes part of the time, trying to keep her mind from replaying the sight of Milly and Bernadette lying motionless on the floor. Had they felt pain? Had they been afraid? Dahlia had been delayed by no more than two hours. She was nearly always on time, but things hadn’t gone exactly as planned. Had she returned earlier, could she have prevented the deaths of the two women and the burning of her home? And Jesse. He had screamed in pain. It had been a terrible thing to hear, to witness. She hadn’t stopped them from taking him away. She’d made her promise to him and she intended to keep it. She would find him and somehow, if he were still alive, she would get him back.
Dahlia was certain she was swimming, moving through the water, yet suddenly Nicolas yanked her up by her collar and she was choking, fighting for air. She tried to push him away, but her arms no longer obeyed her, hanging limply at her sides. “I’m drowning.”
“No you aren’t, you’re falling asleep.” His voice never changed, calm and gentle and so irritating she wanted to scream. She was beginning to suspect he had no real emotions.
And that made it all the more difficult to be showing weakness in front of him. It wasn’t that he tried to act superior, but she felt he was.
“Keep going. I’ll catch up.” She was going to float. Just lie on the water and float. If an alligator wanted her for a late dinner, he could have her and she would just hope the energy inside of her, pushing so hard to get out, would be her revenge.
Nicolas gave up on keeping his weapon dry. He had a choice,
Dahlia slipped into the water. There was a measure of comfort in seeing him waiting. In the dark, his striped face should have appeared frightening, yet she only felt relief looking at him. She touched his arm, needing the contact, trying to breathe down the rising bile.
“There’s a small island no one uses, if we swim in that direction.” She pointed the way.
“It isn’t far and there’s a boat we can use. I know of a trapper’s cabin that’s usable a few miles from there.”
Nicolas nodded and laid out across the water on his back, low so that most of his body was submerged. He propelled himself using his legs beneath the water in a strong frog kick so that no sound could be carried in the night. Dahlia followed his lead, turning over, looking up at the smoke-filled sky and then over to the burning island. Everything seemed on fire. Her vision blurred and she blinked rapidly to clear it.
Nicolas didn’t make a sound as he moved through the water. It should have been awkward as he kept his rifle out of harm’s way, but he moved efficiently as if he’d done the maneuver a hundred times. Dahlia did her best to swim in silence and look like a log.
She splashed a few times but was too sick to care.
“Just a little longer,” he encouraged. “You’re doing great.”
“You do know there are snakes in this water.”
“Better than bullets. We’ll make it, Dahlia.”
They were out in the middle of the channel now, and Nicolas wanted to put some distance between them and the island in case the moon came out from under the clouds.
Exhaustion lined Dahlia’s face. Her breathing was ragged. He noted her swimming was becoming clumsy as they made their way through the open water. “Don’t quit on me,” he said, a deliberate goad. He couldn’t imagine Dahlia quitting anything.
She wanted to glare at him, but couldn’t muster up the strength. It took every ounce of self-discipline she had to keep going. She followed him across the channel and through a short, weed-choked canal. Dahlia lost track of time. The water helped to dissipate the energy surrounding her, but she didn’t dare allow what was inside of her to escape and give their position away. Her churning stomach helped her to stay awake.
After a while it felt like a terrible dream, one she struggled to wake from. She drifted, closing her eyes part of the time, trying to keep her mind from replaying the sight of Milly and Bernadette lying motionless on the floor. Had they felt pain? Had they been afraid? Dahlia had been delayed by no more than two hours. She was nearly always on time, but things hadn’t gone exactly as planned. Had she returned earlier, could she have prevented the deaths of the two women and the burning of her home? And Jesse. He had screamed in pain. It had been a terrible thing to hear, to witness. She hadn’t stopped them from taking him away. She’d made her promise to him and she intended to keep it. She would find him and somehow, if he were still alive, she would get him back.
Dahlia was certain she was swimming, moving through the water, yet suddenly Nicolas yanked her up by her collar and she was choking, fighting for air. She tried to push him away, but her arms no longer obeyed her, hanging limply at her sides. “I’m drowning.”
“No you aren’t, you’re falling asleep.” His voice never changed, calm and gentle and so irritating she wanted to scream. She was beginning to suspect he had no real emotions.
And that made it all the more difficult to be showing weakness in front of him. It wasn’t that he tried to act superior, but she felt he was.
“Keep going. I’ll catch up.” She was going to float. Just lie on the water and float. If an alligator wanted her for a late dinner, he could have her and she would just hope the energy inside of her, pushing so hard to get out, would be her revenge.
Nicolas gave up on keeping his weapon dry. He had a choice,
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