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Amber slowed her jog to a fast walk, then to a steady stride, then to a thoughtful stroll until at last she stopped. She’d not noticed just how far Ocean Beach was from Bascath Beach until she had the terror of the undead snapping at her heels. Ethan’s horror had transmitted itself to her without reservation, fuelled by seeing a sarong like Jasmine’s. But...really? Really to all of it, even the sarong. Like – really?
The perfectly ordinary dirt track through the steep hillsides of the saddle path had seemed oppressive under the low cloud. Entering on her own, and pushing herself around every blind curve had taken more courage than she knew she had. Who knew if any of the walking ocean people – clearly dead because no one could breathe underwater – had beaten her here? Maybe Ethan had seen the last stragglers? She’d felt trapped in a nightmare, panicked and claustrophobic with the path ahead of her hidden by its twists and turns.
But now that the beach was just yards away, familiar territory once more, Ethan’s claims seemed...bogus. And the sarong - could be just a sarong. She shivered again, recalling Ethan peeling it from its stranglehold on the propeller, slapping it dripping onto the side of the IRB. Where was that girl? One hundred percent not drowned. She had to believe that.
Her pounding heart had begun to slow while she stood still, but even with the soft chirping of insects and cheerful twitter of birds in the hillside foliage, the horror she’d felt seeing that sarong, and the terror she’d seen in Ethan’s eyes... She drew in some deep breaths, pressing her hand to her thudding chest, telling herself she was not drama queen Skye, turning every little ocean excursion into a look-at-me-fest. Calm. Down.
Feeling a little less hysterical, she continued slowly along the deeply worn dirt track. What was she supposed to do when she got back anyway? She believed Ethan believed what he’d seen one hundred percent. It didn’t mean it was true. He’d said tell no one. No problem there, that was for sure.
Who would she tell anyway? Her grandad would be only too happy to hear this, but he was miles away, literally and metaphorically. In this whole crazy town, she couldn’t think of one single person who might believe her. Even if it was true. God, please don’t let it be true, she begged, whipping around for the hundredth time to make sure nothing or no one was reaching for her. Calm. Dammit all. Down!
But say it was true...if it was, who could she tell? Only one person came to mind. She groaned out loud. The idea of fronting at Bliss and asking for Skye of all people. No way. She just wouldn’t. Morgan? Maybe. Morgan was a rock, the sanest person she knew, and she hung out with the lamest sap she knew, whose dad was currently committed due to exactly this kind of nonsense. Morgan could be the perfect candidate for insane confidences.
Amber jumped off the track onto the fine white sand of Bascath beach and crossed towards the comforting sight of the village. Civilisation, thank God. She tried to ignore her thudding heart, tried to avoid looking at the sinking tide – anything to delay a return to Ethan’s world of crazy. But it was impossible; she had to just see... Her beach, just the way it should be. She almost sagged in relief, feeling an unexpected burst of joy. The sea was just the sea, the sand was just the sand. Jasmine was probably just holed up somewhere with Harvey. Everything was just fine.
Then she stopped, staring, as she saw a dark head appear in the rolling surf. She froze. Just a swimmer leaving the water? Beyond the dark head, another rose, and further along she glimpsed another rising between the busy waves. A line of swimmers who hadn’t been there a moment ago, rose slowly in the choppy surf, moving towards the beach.
Terror flooded Amber with adrenaline. She ran for it, panic burning at the suddenly vast distance to the steps. The loose sand hampered her pace, making her stumble. With sobbing breaths, she reached the stone steps to the street and took them two at a time. At the top, she paused, gasping, and looked back at the water. A line of people, clothed, sodden and dripping, walked one slow step at a time through the low waves towards the sand.
To her utter amazement, she recognised two of them. Instinctively she started back down the steps, hope and relief fighting her terror. Jasmine. Harvey. They were all right.
Or were they? She stopped, gripping the railing with a shaking hand. The pacing line of swimmers stopped above the wash of the surf, immobile, silent in the cold wind. Amber took a step backwards up the stone steps. And then another.
Jasmine’s sarong wrapped around the IRB propeller... This line of...people, like the drowned returning to shore. Horror hit her so hard that her stomach heaved. She didn’t wait to see more. Hurling herself up the steps, she sprinted along Marine Parade towards Bliss.
