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jeriendhalThe worst was the bit with the reef. The lifejacket’s little AI was bound and determined to keep her facing tail towards the the water, snout in the air, which made it difficult to watch and time the waves, and start kicking in a one armed backstroke as they crested the reef. She only barely managed it, feeling her tail catch in the sharp coral as she swam clear, managing to avoid by some miracle of the Mother Goddess ripping her back open on it. The retreating waves threatened to carry past the boat itself, but she managed to tangle her arms with the sail’s lines, then wrapped her arms and legs around the mast itself.
And now for the really stupid part. Feeling her fingers already growing stiff in the cold surf, she yanked at the manual release catches for the lifejacket. It let out an electronic wail of protest as she slipped off, its complaints soon carried with it away in the waves.
Windskimmer lay canted at perhaps a ten degree angle sideways and twenty nose down, jammed in the rocks. Melanie waited until there was a lull in the wave action, then took a deep breath and dived downward, grabbing the lip of the hatch that led into the boat’s little cabin.
It was an utter mess, loose gear laid out on the cabin floor or floating on the roof, depending on its buoyancy, and dark, the only light filtered through the roiling waters and the open cabin hatch. Fortunately the bright red first aid box was easily visible, still where she’d left it, clipped to the cabin wall. She grabbed it, jamming it between her aching right arm and her body, then pulled open a drawer in the gallery, snatching up a carving knife for a weapon. Then, as her lungs began to burn for air, she popped open another galley door, grabbing a pawful of snack bars and stuffing them into the pockets of her shorts.
There was a terrifying moment when she emerged from the cabin, the waves nearly slamming her against the mast. Then Melanie was popping up to the surface, grabbing a precious lungful of air before plunging back down, kicking in the direction of the beach.
She nearly lost it all when she mistimed the waves and caught her right arm on the coral as she was carried over it again. It ripped open her bicep, almost making her lose her grip on the precious first aid kit and knife, but then she was over it and kicking towards the beach, back scraping along the rough sand and tiny pebbles and shells lining it. She crawled up the beach, until she was clear of the water, then collapsed, panting for breath and spitting salt water out of her mouth.
Can’t rest, can’t rest yet, she told herself. Melanie pushed herself onto her knees, grabbing the crushed energy bars out of her pocket. She’d lost a couple in the swim, but there were four left. She ripped them open and began gobbling them down, the rush of energy as she filled her stomach again almost orgasmic. Bolstered, she grabbed a smart bandage from the first aid kit and slapped it over her wounded arm. It clamped itself in place, injecting mild painkillers into her bloodstream to ease the ache.
Next she gathered up a reasonably straight stick, about a meter and a half long, using medical tape from the kit to secure the knife to one end. As a weapon it was improvised at best, but if it could keep her out of reach of the kinis or wazagan’s claws for even a few seconds it would be worth it.
Her second, much more powerful weapon, she took out of the first aid kit and slipped into her pocket. This one she could only use effectively in stealth, but if it worked as it should, her enemy’s puppets would be disabled quickly and completely.
Finally she ripped open a packet with a pair of stimulant pills, swallowing them dry, feeling the last of her fatigue disappear, even as she silently apologized to her children for this little risk. She needed to be as fully prepared as she could, if she was going to rescue Rolas. He’d been in their hands for a bit less than an hour, and it might already be too late.
Or, it might not, Melanie thought.
She rose to her feet, heading towards the stone stairs.
TBC
And now for the really stupid part. Feeling her fingers already growing stiff in the cold surf, she yanked at the manual release catches for the lifejacket. It let out an electronic wail of protest as she slipped off, its complaints soon carried with it away in the waves.
Windskimmer lay canted at perhaps a ten degree angle sideways and twenty nose down, jammed in the rocks. Melanie waited until there was a lull in the wave action, then took a deep breath and dived downward, grabbing the lip of the hatch that led into the boat’s little cabin.
It was an utter mess, loose gear laid out on the cabin floor or floating on the roof, depending on its buoyancy, and dark, the only light filtered through the roiling waters and the open cabin hatch. Fortunately the bright red first aid box was easily visible, still where she’d left it, clipped to the cabin wall. She grabbed it, jamming it between her aching right arm and her body, then pulled open a drawer in the gallery, snatching up a carving knife for a weapon. Then, as her lungs began to burn for air, she popped open another galley door, grabbing a pawful of snack bars and stuffing them into the pockets of her shorts.
There was a terrifying moment when she emerged from the cabin, the waves nearly slamming her against the mast. Then Melanie was popping up to the surface, grabbing a precious lungful of air before plunging back down, kicking in the direction of the beach.
She nearly lost it all when she mistimed the waves and caught her right arm on the coral as she was carried over it again. It ripped open her bicep, almost making her lose her grip on the precious first aid kit and knife, but then she was over it and kicking towards the beach, back scraping along the rough sand and tiny pebbles and shells lining it. She crawled up the beach, until she was clear of the water, then collapsed, panting for breath and spitting salt water out of her mouth.
Can’t rest, can’t rest yet, she told herself. Melanie pushed herself onto her knees, grabbing the crushed energy bars out of her pocket. She’d lost a couple in the swim, but there were four left. She ripped them open and began gobbling them down, the rush of energy as she filled her stomach again almost orgasmic. Bolstered, she grabbed a smart bandage from the first aid kit and slapped it over her wounded arm. It clamped itself in place, injecting mild painkillers into her bloodstream to ease the ache.
Next she gathered up a reasonably straight stick, about a meter and a half long, using medical tape from the kit to secure the knife to one end. As a weapon it was improvised at best, but if it could keep her out of reach of the kinis or wazagan’s claws for even a few seconds it would be worth it.
Her second, much more powerful weapon, she took out of the first aid kit and slipped into her pocket. This one she could only use effectively in stealth, but if it worked as it should, her enemy’s puppets would be disabled quickly and completely.
Finally she ripped open a packet with a pair of stimulant pills, swallowing them dry, feeling the last of her fatigue disappear, even as she silently apologized to her children for this little risk. She needed to be as fully prepared as she could, if she was going to rescue Rolas. He’d been in their hands for a bit less than an hour, and it might already be too late.
Or, it might not, Melanie thought.
She rose to her feet, heading towards the stone stairs.
TBC
