Going Under (Wildfire Lake 2)

It’s not your time, he tells me. You’ve got this.

I guess he knows better than I do.

I shut down the fear ringing in my brain and tune in to my body. I pick up on the deliberate surge of the ocean. Watch the timing of the waves dumping onto the tide pool shelves.

This feels a lot like gauging the speed and trajectory of double jump ropes, attempting to enter the pattern without getting whipped.

But a jump rope doesn’t threaten to kill.

Just go for it, I tell myself. It’s not like things will get better anytime soon. Cyclones can last hours.

I watch behind me for the next wave. It’s a monster, at least eight feet. I turn back toward the island and kick hard. The wave picks me up and carries me into the air toward land. Everything shifts into slow motion. As I rise, the resort grows small, then, like a roller coaster, the water drops, and I free-fall.

Instinctively, I curl into a ball and cover my head. I hit the tide pool shelf so hard, all my bones jar, my teeth snap together. All my air releases like a shot, and my regulator pops out of my mouth. My mask flies off my head, and I bounce—once, twice. When

I finally land, I don’t think, just roll to my butt, rip off my fins, and scramble along the shelf, using the jagged rocks to pull myself forward.

Look out!

I don’t know where this voice comes from, but it’s not my dad’s. I don’t have time to think about it, because I look back and find a wall of water headed toward me.

This is gonna leave a mark.

There’s nowhere for me to go, nothing for me to do. I’m completely at the mercy of the ocean. Usually, I love communing with Mother Nature, but she’s in a seriously shitty mood today.

I tuck into a ball again and fill my lungs with as much air as they’ll hold. The wave picks me up and tosses me around. I have no sense of up or down, no way to gauge time except the burn of my lungs. I’m damn sure I can’t hold my breath even one more second, when I hear my dad.

Hold on.

I end up on the tide pool shelf again, but don’t remember how I got there. I’m working on rote survival now. I’m dizzy and weak as I scuttle toward land, but time warps. I don’t think I’m making any progress. I don’t know how much fight I’ve got left.

Then I see the stairway leading from the resort to the tide pools. An instant before the next wave hits, I put all my strength into my legs and push off, lunging for the last vertical iron pipe in the stairway. I lock my arms around the metal and hold my breath.

The surge of water drives me toward the pole, and my head slams against the metal. For an instant, I realize I’m going to black out. And when I do, I’m going to drown.

Hang tough, baby. You’re almost there.

At this point, I want to tell my dad to go fuck himself, and I wonder if I’ll get the chance to say it to his angelic face.

When the wave recedes, I’m dumbfounded to find my body still intact, still clinging to the pole. I’m even more shocked to see a woman rush down the stairs toward me. I’ve seen her during the retreat, but can’t remember her name. She fists one hand in the shoulder of my wet suit and the other around the pole. There’s so much I want to say—where the hell did you come from? What in the hell are you doing out here? You crazy bitch, get back to the resort. But I know I only have mere seconds to speak.

“Lock your arms around the post.” When she does, I twine my arms through hers, then around the pole. “Hold on through the next wave, then run like hell—”

A punch of water steals my words. I pray this woman can hold on. Can hold her breath. How shitty would it be if I survived, but the one person who tried to save me died? I couldn’t live with that kind of guilt.

The water recedes, and we’re both still holding on. Both still breathing. I use the pole to get to my feet and cling to the other woman as we climb the cement stairway until we’re out of the ocean’s reach.

I collapse on the stairs, arms doubled around a vertical iron post. She does the same, one pole ahead of me. And when our terrified eyes meet, her name fills my head: Laiyla. But that’s all I know about her, and I can’t fathom her risking her life for me.

Then someone else comes down the steps. The blonde. An instructor. She pulls on my arm, and I get to my feet. I’m so heavy, I can barely stand. I reach for the strap across my chest holding my oxygen tank and release it.

Before the metal can hit the ground, a gust of wind catches me, spinning me like a top. My tank collides with something behind me, and I’m hoping it’s the iron rail, but when I look, Laiyla is on the stairs, out cold and bleeding from her head.

“Fuck.” I pull my arms from the straps and let the tank roll down the stairs and back into the sea while I tap Laiyla’s face. “Wake up, Laiyla. Come on.”

“Grab her arm,” the other woman yells. Chloe. Her name is Chloe.

We get Laiyla between us and start up the stairs. I’m ready to drop to my knees and crawl when Laiyla comes around and gets her feet under her.