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Ethan had sat on the side of the IRB, his legs jigging impatiently, stomach churning and skin crawling. He kept whipping around expecting heads to rise from below the surface, or to see rotting arms reaching for him. He was wound so tight he felt himself losing it. This was just insane. Nightmare-insane.
And he’d let two girls – people he actually cared about – go off on their own. Hadn’t lifted a finger to help apart from a lame offer. Lame. He was actually a loser. But every time he pictured those blurry people moving through the water, like nightmares he’d had when he was little, terror exploded in his chest, robbing him of anything he could do.
He stared at the curving point of the rocky mound where Skye and Morgan had moved out of his sight. No. This was not okay. No way was he going to sit here like this, doing nothing while Morgan and Skye faced down whatever the hell freaky stuff was going on. Besides, it was always the guy waiting alone that was fully got in horror movies. And usually first. No way, he was not a sitting duck victim.
Decision made, he felt better, stronger. He watched Lithus Rock again for a moment, listening. No sign of movement or sound. He’d have to go around the opposite way. No point in following exactly where they’d gone if they’d found trouble they couldn’t handle. He’d walk straight into it. Better to go the other way and take anyone making trouble for the two girls by surprise. And he’d swim. He had to see what was there beneath him. It was the not knowing that was doing his head in.
He looked over the side of the boat, trying to peer through the textured surface of the water. They had seemed to form a line that crossed the Bay like a net closing on distant Bascath Beach. Which wasn’t distant to where he was right now, and might not be distant to the submerged people now either.
But maybe he was wrong, and they’d already dispersed? Who knew what governed the patterns of creepy underwater people? Maybe they were like fish, scattering and reforming, darting in any directing. Hysterical laughter spluttered up through his chest, and he curled in on himself for a moment, huddled tight, stifling it in until fear brought cold calm to him once more.
This was a surf rescue mission; he did this all the time. Sharks or no sharks, creepy people or no creepy people. Just do it.
He checked the water again, and listened to the quietness. Finally, he spat into his mask and leaned down to rinse it in the water, trying not to think any deeper than the surface. Then he fitted the snorkel to the mask, tugged it on over his head and fitted both into place. Steeling himself with deep breaths and surf rescue focus, he slipped over the edge of the boat and clung to the side, face in the water, looking about him with a shriek of horror ready in his throat. But the cold water remained clear in every direction, apart from the haze of fine bubbles swirling close around the rocks where waves struck.
The familiar water patterns, and fascinating waft of the sea life clinging to the submerged rock ledge skirting the great rock had a calming effect. He could do this. All he had to do was get around to the front of the island to see where the girls were and help them. He could do this. He pushed off and moved quietly through the water.
His progress was cautious. Staying close to the submerged ledge, he raised his face from the water to scan the high rock above him, seeing no one. He used the rough rock wall, and rocks on the ledge close beneath him to propel himself without splashing, even though the waves and wind would probably mask his approach. Rounding the curve of the rock slowly, the open sea spread out before him. Beyond the rock, the sea floor sloped steeply away, the deep water ahead hazy and dark. And then he saw them.
Ahead of him in the deepening water, standing on the seabed. Hazy, hard to make out, but he knew them. Harvey. Jasmine. His heart pounded so hard it hurt, his panicked breath through the narrow snorkel almost choking him. Were they...dead?
Immobile apart from the wafting of their clothing and short dark hair in the current, their faces had been turned up and away, towards the surface, towards Lithus Rock. But now, as if sensing him, as one their heads turned and they both looked at him. Both raised their arms, reaching to him. Wanting him to...what? And how was this happening? How could his friends be here, like those people under the sea? He stared at them, terrified of them, and terrified for them. Desperate to get out of the water, he just wanted to be far away from here. From them. But...but...they were his friends. He had to help them.
He forced his mind to go into rescue mode, blocking out fear-driven instincts of self-preservation, and focused on practicalities. He swam along the surface until he was almost above them. Like waterlilies following the sun, their faces followed him. His skin crawled, but his determination to free them increased. They were too deep for him to reach easily, or maybe at all without help of flippers and weight belt. He had both on the boat. He hesitated a moment more, stomach churning with revulsion, debating how best to help his friends. No. He couldn’t waste any time going back, who knew what the heck was happening nearby on Lithus Rock. He had to try to reach them now.
He pulled off the snorkel and mask, and tugged the snorkel free, leaving it to float on the surface. They were too deep for the snorkel to be useful. He put the mask back on and repositioned it. This time it fogged up immediately. It was worse than not wearing a mask at all. He tugged it off an let it fall, feeling somehow more in control. Why was this easier when he couldn’t see so clearly? Taking a few deep preparatory breathes, he filled his lungs with air and dived, pulling strongly with his arms, propelling down with his legs, squinting against the salt sting. The deeper he went, the dimmer the light became.
As if understanding his struggle, or eager to be rescued, the two figures below him rose through the water, arms extended towards him. In Ethan’s pounding heart was dread, a nightmare horror growing. Every unnatural thing about this and about them screamed at him to flee while his surf-rescue-self wavered, trying to be strong, trying to do what was right for Harvey and Jasmine.
Come with me. Their lips moved, but the words were in his head. Their voices and also another’s, whispering through his mind like echoes in a labyrinth, making him dizzy, disoriented. As the voices echoed through his mind, a beautiful, gloating face filled his thoughts and he smiled. Not breathing; not needing to. Weightless yet heavy as stone, he hovered without effort halfway between the surface and the seabed, his vision clear. Heat swam through his blood, syrup through his limbs.
Come with me. Harvey and Jasmine took his hands, pulling him deeper, away from the surface. He didn’t resist.
