Page 49 of Shielding Instinct

“Help! Help!” This time, it was weaker.

“We were holding hands,” the woman whispered. “Then we weren’t. I saw him pulled out, and then he went under.” She pointed toward the horizon where no heads bobbled in the surf.

Petra turned to Lucky. “You heard that?”

Lucky shook his head. “I hear nothing but surf and wind.”

Beans scrambled down beside them.

“It sounds like the call for help is bouncing off the rock. Is there someplace like a cave? Someplace where if the first wave dragged a guy out, that the second, or maybe the third wave, could have pushed him in?” When she said that, fear iced her system.

All four turned, with stiff fingers shielding their eyes to scan the horizon.

“Carlos is watching,” Beans said. “He’ll give us a warning if more waves come.” He punched Lucky’s shoulder. “The blowhole?”

Lucky was looking at Petra when he said, “It’s very dangerous. We warn everyone away from swimming near it.”

“Here somewhere?” Petra asked as the next wave receded. And she jabbed a finger into the air and again cocking her head to the side to focus on sounds.

“Agh!”

Petra pointed at Lucky, asking with her gesture if he heard the cry.

Lucky shook his head.

But Beans was moving north along the rocks. “The blowhole is over here. Here and up. And then you can look down.”

Petra raced after Beans as she heard a strangulated cry for “Help!”

Chapter Seventeen

Petra

Realizing there was an emergency, others who had been at the tidal pool were finding their way to the scene.

Carlos maintained a wave lookout.

Beans threw himself down on a boulder and looked into a round hole that looked like an old-fashioned well. A bit wider. Certainly, large enough for even as big a man as Hawkeye to go in.

Looking over the lip, watching the water rush in, Petra formed a picture of what had happened.

The man wasn’t in the chimney. He sounded like he was further under the rock. If he were trying to get out, the waves would keep pushing him in.

These waves weren’t as big as the three rogue waves. But the horse guy that morning at the hotel, while she was waiting for her tidal pool adventure ride to show up, had talked about how difficult the current was and that he had suggested not risking the disappointment of a failed attempt at snorkeling.

Petra imagined that the man had been pushed into a small cave.

At least there would be oxygen between waves.

Possibly.

Probably.

But she remembered being a child on the beach body surfing and what happened when a wave hit, and she was rolled without any power against it. She imagined the guy getting battered against the rocks, then using what time he had to suck in air and cry for help.

He needed to stop using his energy to signal.

“We’re here,” Petra called into the opening. “We’re affecting a rescue. You’re not alone.” Petra got all that out before the next wave hit.

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