I broke the surface and puked water. Coughed. Heaved in air. Puked some more.
With every violent move, pain radiated from the knife wound in my chest, and brain hunger twisted my gut. The vibrant green of the grass and trees dulled to grey. The pain faded to the background, and the distant birdsong grew flat and toneless. Shit. My parasite was shifting all resources to the task of keeping me alive.
The current had carried me at least a hundred feet, to where the bayou widened and the banks sloped gently down to narrow beaches. Treading water and hacking up mucky phlegm, I turned to make my way upstream—just in time to see Brian sail over the side of the patrol boat with Rachel tucked under his arm.
He surfaced and stroked one-armed toward where Pierce’s flatboat had wedged itself in brush along the bank. Pierce shifted a little, though sluggishly, and a teensy bit of my worry eased. He was alive, and Brian would get him and Rachel the brains they needed.
A rifle cracked, then again. Water sprayed up a few inches from the Saberton boat. Marcus was shooting right below the waterline, trying to hole the vessel enough to sink it, or at least slow it down.
The shots sounded muffled and distant to my dulled senses. I needed to get my ass to land and brains in my mouth before I lost too much blood, but my feeble doggie paddle barely held me steady against the lazy current.
A powerful motor roared to life, and the Saberton boat leaped forward, heading upstream—away from me, thank goodness. I was still screwed but not as quickly.
A grey plastic bag floated by a couple of feet away. No, not grey. Yellow. And not a plastic bag. My lifejacket! I seized it with a groan of relief and looped my arm through a strap. Getting it on all the way wasn’t going to happen, but at least it kept my head above water. I doubted the water-breathing trick would work if I went under for good.
The sound of another, smaller, motor reached me as our other flatboat came racing around the spit of land with a grim-faced Marcus at the tiller. Rosario crouched in the bow, with Marla right beside him.
“Angel!” Rosario called out, scanning the water frantically.
“Here,” I croaked then realized he’d never hear it in a million years. Plus, he wasn’t looking far enough downstream. With every ounce of effort I possessed, I lifted my hand and waved. “Here!”
Marla’s ears perked up, then she started a frenzied barking. Marcus angled the flatboat in my direction, and in no time at all, the guys hauled me into the boat.
I slumped across a seat. “Drowned.” I coughed. “Sucks.”
“Dante, grab two brain packets,” Marcus said, taking in my injuries.
“I killed her. The diver,” I managed, throat tight, then focused on draining the first packet dry. I knew it had been self-defense. Didn’t matter.
His eyes darkened with sympathy. “I’m sorry that it was necessary,” Marcus murmured then jerked his head up at the sound of a quickly approaching boat.
I struggled upright, only to see the damn Saberton fake Sheriff’s Office patrol boat racing around the curve and toward Pierce’s flatboat.
Gunfire spit from a Mac-10 in Baldy’s hands, even as Pierce and the others threw themselves flat. The patrol boat zoomed past them then veered straight for us.
“Get down!” Marcus shouted. He snapped the rifle up then dropped it and crumpled, blood blooming on his chest.
“Marla!” Rosario threw himself over the dog to shield her, and I threw myself on top of him. I could survive most bullet wounds, but Rosario didn’t have that luxury. His head was right beneath my crotch, which meant my head was right by his very excellent ass, affording me the perfect vantage to see a bullet whiz past my nose and hit his gorgeous glute. Too damn close to a fatal headshot for me.
Rosario jerked and gasped a curse, but kept himself wrapped around the dog. A bullet punched my thigh, but I stayed glommed onto Rosario. A wave rocked us, then something big slammed into the boat and everything went sideways. As we all went flying, I had an instant to realize the Saberton assholes had deliberately sideswiped us. Then we hit the water, and I had to focus on not drowning all over again.
I’d lost hold of Rosario but
by some miracle still had an arm looped through my life vest. Marla bobbed in her doggy life jacket a couple of feet away and gave me a single excited bark. Marcus popped up a second later as his vest inflated, with Rosario right behind him.
Rosario spluttered. “They . . . gone?”
“For now,” I said with a glower.
Together we helped Marcus to the narrow beach. Of the three of us, he seemed to be the worst off, with blood frothing from a sucking chest wound. Since he was still mostly conscious, I grabbed his hand and slapped it over the wound.
“Hold that there,” I ordered then stripped off my sodden jacket and shoved Rosario onto his side. “And you, hold this on your ass.”
Hunger rolled over me in a slavering swell at the scent of a fresh, warm brain. Rosario’s brain. I gritted my teeth and backed away, then did a quick personal inventory. The one packet of brains I’d managed to down had taken care of the godawful burning in my lungs and slowed the bleeding from the stab wound, but now I had a bullet hole in my left quadricep. No visible exit wound, which meant the damn thing was still in there. But at least I’d successfully stopped it from hitting Rosario’s vitals or Marla.
Upstream, the other flatboat remained wedged in the brush. No sign of movement within. I swallowed the worry and focused on our own situation. We needed brains, which meant I needed to find our cooler.
Only one teensy weensy problem. Our boat was nowhere to be seen. I stared in horror at a spot ten yards downstream where bubbles lazily popped on the surface.