When the recirculating hole allows me to come up for a brief gasp of air, I blink away the glaze of water and search for the encroaching neon green raft, wanting to get eyes on Leo.
But as I turn my head to look, something stops me.
“Play dead,”Parker’s voice prompts. It’s an insistent whisper, the angry edge gone.
I hesitate for just a second, then obey. I draw in a lungful of air then let myself go limp, bobbing face down on the surface. I’m half-dead already at this point, so it’s not difficult to pretend.
The otherworldly, murky sounds of the rushing river fill my ears, merging with the distant drumbeat of oars, drawing closer each time they strike.
My lungs burn with the need for air, but I don’t move a muscle, allowing the river to fling me up and down, back and forth like a rag doll.
The seconds tick past. The light filtering through my closed eyes flashes dark then bright, again and again, the churning hole slowly spinning me. My heartbeat, pounding like a piston in my ears, makes it impossible to hear the sound of the oars in the water after a few seconds.
Is he right beside me, waiting to see if I’m still alive? Watching for a twitch, something to indicate I might still be fun to kill? Or is he moving on, already rowing downriver?
At this point, I can only hope he won’t bother pulling my body into the gear raft to check for a pulse. He knows as well as I do that if I’m not fully gone by now, I’ll drown in seconds. I don’t stand a chance of getting out of this hole on my own, even if I do survive.
I’m already dead, you motherfucker. Just keep moving and leave me here,I beg, and the truth of that statement cuts so deep, I can’t imagine a knife blade would feel any worse.
The shadows shift yet again, dark to light against my eyelids, and I imagine Leo leaning over the side of his boat, that camo-patterned knife in one hand, studying me, making his choice.
He’ll be debating whether I’m worth the time and effort. Especially if he’s still hunting for Allie.
I can’t hold my breath much longer. I have a few more seconds at best, before my lungs seize, forcing me to come up for air. That survival instinct is so deeply embedded in my subconscious that it’s going to override everything else, doggedly trying to save me even when I can’t bear to go on.
Time slows.
I hear Parker’s voice again.“Hang on a little longer.”And despite myself, I listen.
My head feels like it’s going to explode, and my lungs ache, screaming for air. Beneath the water, I open my eyes just a slit to see a blur of neon green within arm’s reach.
Leo is right there, hovering over my limp body. What’s he doing? Why hasn’t he moved on? My head swims toward blackout. I can’t hold my breath any longer.
“You can,”Parker insists.
I squeeze my lips together so tight I feel a blood vessel pop.
As the current swirls me sideways, I keep my blurry eyes fixed on the side of the raft a mere foot from my face.
Then suddenly, just when I’m certain that my time is up, the raft abruptly moves away.
“It’s okay to breathe again,”Parker whispers as the raft disappears from view, but I don’t need to be told. When the churning water rolls my body to the surface, I turn my head toward the light and angle my mouth upward in desperation.
I attempt to grab a stealthy lungful of air, but the breath I’ve been holding comes out in a burst, the next inhale drawing only water into my mouth. The pain in my lungs, my head, reaches a fever pitch, dying for oxygen.
I can’t help it—I sputter loudly, coughing up river water with a violent, barking sound.
The current quickly dunks me back beneath the water, pulling me sideways in time for me to catch a flash of movement from the bright green gear raft. A rotation—a turn.
The guide oars plunge into the water.
He’s coming back.
He heard my gasps, and now heknowsI’m still alive—so he’s going to make sure he hears my last breath.
I kick harder than ever, still starved of oxygen, in one last desperate attempt to overcome the hole. I try to formfists with my numb, useless hands, hoping I’ll at least get a punch in before he ends me, but they’re like unfeeling blocks of clay. I cough again, gulping at the surface, but I’m still swallowing more water than air.
The rush of the river goes silent, then. Even my own gasps for air sound faraway. A warm, fuzzy tingling spreads from my scalp down my spine. The dark and light flashes stop—it’s only bright, radiant light.
