Vee dived into the pool. The tide of brown water closed its hands over her head.
She blinked into the murk. She couldn’t see shit. She stretched her toes out, reaching for solid ground. There was nothing; she was too far out. The dimensions of the pool came screaming to the front of her mind, and she fought a burst of panic. Her arms arced through the water in a basic stroke, and her heart dub-dubbed in triumph as her body moved forward in response. She took a few more strokes, coasted, lost her air and pushed to the surface.
Spluttering, she looked around until she glimpsed Rosie, thrashing up a vortex of panic. Vee doggy-paddled nearer, gulping down huge breaths and bracing for the worst the closer she got. Rosie’s hand smacked her all over the face, desperate for a hold on anything that would keep her from sinking, and finally latched onto her shirt.
Always remember: a drowning person is desperate. They can’t swim, but survival instinct means they’ll try, even if it means wasting all their energy and oxygen.
Rosie whinnied, her eyes darkening with terror. Her kicks and struggles got feebler as she clung to Vee, her weight an incredible drag with each passing second. Vee gulped some more, ballooning her lungs and forcing herself to relax and resist fighting back as Rosie wrapped both arms around her, pulling them both under.
That also makes them dangerous. By the time you make it to them, they’re practically worn out. When they grab on to you, don’t fight. You’ll both drown. It’s tough, but just go down with them.
They sank.
Lumps of dark matter floated past. Vee hastily squeezed her eyes shut, sparing herself the trauma of watching her last moments go by in what was essentially effluent.
Hold your breath for as long as you can. When you feel the person go limp, grab on tight and swim to the surface.
Pulling Rosie was like hauling a small barge to shore with one finger. Vee’s burning lungs nearly ruptured in gratitude when she hit the surface. She paddled and breaststroked the best she could with one arm. Within a couple of feet of the rim Chlöe and Serena splashed in, grabbed them and dragged, the four of them trundling towards the edge like an unsteady raft.
‘I don’t know CPR!’ Serena screeched.
Rosie saved them the trouble, vomiting on the concrete. Drained, sodden and panting, they huddled near the edge of the crater, listening to the sound of a siren in the distance. Vee didn’t want to think about which of them would eventually have to hobble to the front entrance to bring in the cavalry, but she had a feeling she already knew the answer. She rolled onto her back and stretched out her legs, catching her breath first.
‘It’s stopped raining,’ Chlöe observed softly, looking up at the sky in wonder.
‘Yeah, it has.’ Wheezing, Serena followed her gaze. ‘Fucking Cape Town.’