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Kick.
The water got cold again.
The dolphins got bored.
They were alone.
Kick.
He snapped open his eyes. He’d fallen asleep. He’d fallen asleep and they could have drifted—they were right under the cliffs.
The current had brought them home.
Calm, the ocean now only licked gently at the soaring whiteness.
Kick.
He could see the little concave indentations at the base of the cliff.
Kick.
Seabirds dived.
Kick.
There was a hollow booming from somewhere.
Kick.
The sun was already directly behind them. It was almost evening.
Kick.
At the end, he let the current take them where it would.
Fortunately, it pushed them in and carried them to the sandy beach of the dunes.
* * *
Ben recovered before he did.
It was the age thing, Aleksey supposed.
He lay there, only semi-aware of what was going on until he tasted water and although he did not have the energy or the will to drink it, was forced to until he retched and retched until he felt tears of self-pity, so drank some more until his body accepted it and kept it down. Then there was water all over him and for one awful moment he thought the tide had risen and he was in the ocean, but it was pure water and Ben was pouring it onto him.
Then he was able to sit up and watch the process: the return to the spring, the filling of a milk carton, the carrying it back, the pouring it over and in him and then on one return he grabbed Ben’s arm and pulled him down alongside him. They shared the water, taking it in turns until the bottle was empty once more.
It was almost dark. The sky was shot through with turquoise streaks in the west. Aleksey began to shiver.
He did not have the strength to get to the house, he just didn’t.
He didn’t really want to see what he might find.
The dogs had been without food or water for three days.
Ben heaved him to his feet.
His legs were as wobbly as they’d been the first time he’d tried to walk after they’d taken him out of traction.
