Page 126 of Fire Island
It is.
Timothy flies through the hut’s weathered door. His usual black sweats and T-shirt hang on his reedy frame. But it’s when the second man appears that my fear spikes. He’s much larger. Last time, I was half blind without my glasses. Now, wearing contacts, I see how muscular he is.
Shit.
They finally see me amongst the brush, and I take off toward the north...
. . . and they make chase.
Both of them.
I pump my arms, putting forest between us. I may be smaller, but I know the island better. And I’m more nimble.
And I have more to lose.
I sprint for the waterhole, ignoring the lancing heat consuming my lungs.
Legs flying over the earthy debris, my crashing echoes through the trees as the wind tangles my hair behind me. Time seems to slow a little. Before I know it, the waterhole comes into sight.
Glancing back, I see the trees moving. I slow to a halt.
They’re yelling.
They’re harried.
They’re right where I want them.
On quiet feet, I slip into the water. Careful not to make large ripples, I move slowly until I’m in up to my waist. I turn to face the forest, and when I hear them closing in, I sink. Drawing in a long, deep breath, I submerge. Hands moving like molasses through the dark liquid, I wrangle my hair around my neck.
I close my eyes, every inch of my body doused.
Their shouting, albeit muted, drifts over my watery hiding place. My lungs begin to shrink, the air turning to ash in between my ribs, so I count.
One Mississippi.
Completely still, I listen over my heartbeat, now thundering through my head.
Two Mississippi.
Their yelling fades, like it’s moving away.
Three Mississippi.
The ash ignites, and I wince, clenching my jaw to stave off the heat. To stop myself from moving.
Four Mississippi.
My heartbeat rattles my skull. My limbs tingle in the coolness, and I don’t dare move.
Five Mississippi . . .
I strain to hear above the water over my mutinous body. But between each heartbeat is now silence. The only sound I can make out is the waterfall behind me, filling its glittering pool endlessly.
Six Mississippi.
Feet pushing into the muddy ground beneath me, I rise. The slow, precise movement takes a moment. As water cascades from my body, I scan my surroundings with one hand behind my back, fingers brushing the handle of the blade. I can make out the men shouting and crashing through the trees to the north.
I glide to the shoreline with steady movements.
