Page 22 of Kai
Swoosh. Down. Glug, glug, glug. Lungs about to burst. Air.
We did this again. And again. I followed Kai’s instructions. He was at ease in his natural habitat. Me?
Not so much.
I was a terrestrial animal and way out of my element.
The next underwater part seemed to last forever. I had plenty of time to ponder the horrors of mermen, sirens, sharks, lost sailors, giant squids, and women drowning in the depths of a dark and unforgiving ocean. Terror filled me. I wanted to scream. In the recesses of my mind, the sinister notes of Jaws played in a closed loop.
“It’ll be easier once we’re out of the bay,” Kai informed me when we surfaced yet again, kicking away as if one puny human could defeat the sea. “The current will be with us then. You’ll see.”
“No, I won’t.” I coughed up a bunch of foul-tasting saltwater, wheezing for breath. “I’ll be dead!”
“Breathe,” he announced. “Going under.”
Swoosh.
“See?” he pointed out as we reemerged. “You’re not dead. That’s a scientific fact.”
“I hate you.” I swore to hell and back. “I’m going to kill you for this!”
“Charming.” His chest chuckled against my back. “You swear like a proper Marine.”
“I’ll slice your balls—”
“So bellicose.” More chuckles. “I love it. Breathe.”
We dove under again. I had no time to tell him all the painful ways in which I was going to murder him.
Slam.
The full force of the sea pressed down on me, a brutal punch. Saltwater crammed down my throat and nose, and yet, when we came back up, I’d gotten the hang of it. My body fell into some sort of pattern, and my lungs turned out to be smarter than me. I even had enough air left in my lungs to insult him some more.
“I’m going to rip out your eyes.”
“I’ll let you.” His perpetually calm smile permeated his voice. “Ifyou take another breath… now.”
Splash. Down. Through the wave.
“You’re doing great,” he announced when we came up the next time.
With a gasp, I took a huge, greedy breath. I did it on my own. He didn’t have to tell me to do so. I figured it out. When to breathe in. When to breathe out. How not to drink the entire ocean in one long, salty, suffocating gulp.
“We’re out of the bay now,” he announced as a swell lifted and lowered us without the drama of the ruthless waves behind us.
“Those waves were savage,” I muttered.
“Meh.” He shrugged at my back. “I’d call it a moderate chop.”
A moderate chop, my ass.
Paddling with his hands, he swam us out to sea, thenturned us, heading north. I don’t know how he did it, but he angled the board with the current so that the smoother swells and the tide propelled us forward. He kept kicking and paddling as if his body housed a motor that never ran out of gas.
His stamina never wavered. He’d had a hard landing at the foot of the lighthouse and had repelled an attack, and yet he didn’t seem to be hurt. Meanwhile, I felt beaten and exhausted. Strands of wet hair stuck to my face, and a gritty coat of sand and salt covered me inside and out.
I probably looked like a drowned cat.
Under the moonlight, I craned my neck and glanced back. In the distance, I caught a glimpse of the burning lighthouse. From afar, I saw no mercs, no signs of life. No one had witnessed our escape. We’d gotten away.
