Page 181 of Revere: A Legacy Novel

She was the thing he most revered.

So she prayed.

She hoped God answered.

Catherine found she was still praying to Cross. He was the only thing she knew how to revere, too.

Cross tried to take in air, and only aspirated on water. Gunfire echoed all around him, and the colors of fire lit up the sky as explosions made the waves choppier. Chaos and confusion surrounded him.

Every time he thought he was gaining his bearings, another swell of water came, and he would be pulled back under. The current was too strong. The waves, too high. The water was too black.

He couldn’t breathe.

He couldn’t see.

He couldn’t swim.

It didn’t help that his shoulder was aching for a reason he didn’t know, and he couldn’t fucking find Catherine. He couldn’t even call out to her.

Cross tried to break the surface one more time as another wave crashed over him, but he only swallowed more sea water.

Exhaustion swelled through his body like the water sucking him deeper. Days of no sleep were finally starting to catch up to him. As hard as he tried to get higher, he could tell he was sinking lower.

He was sure, as his vision failed and water rushed his lungs, the earth finally quieted around him. He couldn’t be sure, but he thought it was silent again.

Yet, he only thought of Catherine.

“Come on, come on … fuck, come on, Cross.”

The sound around him was muffled, as though someone had put ear muffs over his ears. Cross didn’t like that at all.

“Get in this fucking boat, Dante!” a woman screamed.

“I’m coming, Cat. It takes more than three seconds to move fifty feet, okay?”

Cross could taste salt in his throat, and it burned. He wanted to gag, but the reflex just wouldn’t come. He tried to take a breath, but it felt like something was caught in his esophagus, and blocking the pathway for air.

“Cross! Cross, please!”

Why was she crying like that?

Why was Catherine crying?

“Move,” a familiar voice uttered.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” Zeke mumbled.

“That’s the fucking problem. Move.”

Hands on his chest pushed hard.

Hard enough for him to feel it.

Hard enough to hurt.

“If I break one of your ribs, I’m sorry,” Dante muttered.

Three more pushes.