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Devi stood up to her chest in the flooded salt pan, a car's length away from where Nigel pressed himself against the bank.
"Be ready," he told the driver. "They will lift the car back onto the road."
"Gracias," she murmured. Even in the short time he'd been there, the water level seeped higher in the car, sloshing against her lips as the crew arrived and took up their posts. Near the hood, bracing it against sliding further down, Joe stared back at him, with Smitty behind.
Devi's hands gracefully called their salvation. Or possibly their doom, given the trembling in the car and the trickle of dirt that steadily ran along Nigel's collar.
The shadow loomed closer, then the bucket itself appeared over the car, if he turned yet further left. He brought his left hand to the edge of the door, hoping to hold the gap open against whatever shook loose in the moment to come.
Searching his face, Devi finally closed her hands. The teeth of the bucket hooked into the back window, shattering glass that skittered down his back. With a crunch and a grind, the car shifted away.
Earth rushed into the void and water swept out from the vehicle. His hand slid from the woman's back as the force of the water streaming out struck his chest, then the avalanche knocked him under.
As the violence wrenched them apart, Nigel and the driver screamed in the same moment. Not the sort of harmony he preferred.
Salty water and crumbling earth choked him in the next instant, driving him down, plunging him under.
Voices echoed through his skull and his eyes burned.
He gagged and could not clear his throat. His vision closed in, gray and stormy, swirling with the foul liquid around him as he tried to thrash free of the rubble.
Arms seized him, wrapping his chest and hauling him back. Hands turned him, his head tossed back onto Joe's shoulder as he coughed. Devi's hands stroked over his face, wiping away the muck. "Nigel. Are you hurt?"
Joe staggered back under Nigel's weight, then came to rest against the slope, holding on. Devi followed along, guiding Nigel's head. He sagged into Joe's grip, coughing hard, finally clearing his throat. Tears streamed from his stinging eyes. "Water," he gasped.
"Plenty of it. Wrong kind." Devi's hand stayed at his jaw, likely checking his pulse rather than deliberately comforting, but still.
"You're okay, Mr. Nigel," Joe said. "And look, look!" He turned a little toward the road, its surface about on a level with his shoulder.
The car sat on its tires again, the driver's door wrenched open. The woman lay on her back on the road surface while Flick and Tyrone worked over her, tending her leg. Her son flopped onto her chest, clutched in her embrace. Nigel's head sank back to Joe's shoulder.
"You have my undying thanks," he murmured, working to get the strength to separate from the young man's protective arms.
"Guess we're even now."
"Verily, it's true."
"Somebody call for water?" Gator's legs strode into view, then he squatted down, holding a thermos jug. "Found it in the cab."
"Please." Then Nigel lifted his gaze. "Has the victim already—"
"Don't worry, Monty's on it. Hold still." Gator splashed warm, fresh water over Nigel's face, washing his eyes and mouth. "You all right there, man? Thought we'd lost you."
"Not rid of me that easily." Nigel managed a smile.
"Let's get you out of there."
Joe's grip shifted, and with Devi to his other side, Gator clasping his arms, Nigel scrambled up the bank to collapse next to the driver. He accepted the water jug and drank deeply, as Devi patted firmly down each limb and scanned for signs of injury.
"Does it hurt anywhere? Any numbness?"
"Thank you, no."
Her head tilted as she regarded him, what he'd come to think of as the classic "Oh, Nigel," expression.
"Seems like we're a pretty good team." Gator sat cross-legged next to Nigel, grinning and high-fiving Joe. "Good job, Joe. I like a guy who takes the initiative."
This seemed a dubious claim, but Nigel was in no condition to judge. "What shall we do for an encore?" He asked the clear blue sky, and somebody laughed.
"Well, we're supposed to pick up some dune buggies and have a ramble," Gator said. "Wanna come?"
Nigel took another, deeper breath. "I might need a moment."
The laughter swelled. "But seriously, you're both welcome to join us."
"You might need a shower, Nigel, and a change," Devi pointed out. "At the very least. And you'll want to swap the batteries."
"Very true."
Monty's face appeared, dark and handsome—even Nigel could see that. "Tyrone and Smitty are gonna deliver her to her family—that's where she was headed this morning when the road went out."
"Somebody should get her to the hospital for that leg." Flick's voice.
"Are you headed for Malarimmo with your dune buggies?" Nigel found Gator's face, his red hair plastered down in curls at his temples.
"Haven't decided. Where is that?"
"South of the lagoon. It's the part of the peninsula—" Nigel lifted his hands, his shoulder throbbing (again) and pointed to his thumb—"that juts out. Tends to catch the flotsam of every storm. Who knows what the winds have carried?" He started coughing, and Devi pressed the water jug into his hand. It tasted of old plastic, and rather heavenly just then.
"Plus the waves strip back the sands and reveal, well, all sorts of things." He wafted his hand through the air, thinking of the lost ship. "Next low tide's around eight."
"So we'd have plenty of time for exploring." Gator bobbed his head. "Sounds groovy."
"You ready to get up? We should clear the street in case of emergency vehicles," Devi pointed out.
"Right." Nigel took another long swallow, feeling as if the salt still clung to his teeth. "Let's give it a go."
She bent next to him, taking his arm over her shoulders, and they rose together as the crew broke up. Monty and Joe pushed the damaged car out of the street while Gator started up his backhoe. A good team? Perhaps. At the least, they seemed not to be seeking his demise. He got his feet under him and let Devi go, waving as Gator drove slowly by.
"How about a barbecue?" Gator hollered. "At Malarimmo. We're cooking this time!"
"Excellent, that would be lovely."
"Pick you up at four, near the dock!" Gator rumbled on by, his crew slowly catching up as Devi and Nigel made slow progress back into town. Crews of local citizens worked over the damaged houses, some of them waving. Nigel waved back, of course.
"I need you to stop jumping in," Devi said, leaning her hips against the Jeep.
"Surely a sunset barbecue isn't beyond the pale, even for you. Especially with the strong and handsome Monty along for the ride." He patted his pockets, in search of the keys, but of course, they'd been in the water-proof box in his drybag. His brow furrowed.
She scowled. "Not that. The salt pan. Would've taken two minutes for me to scout the risks, but you were already in it up to your hips. If the car had slid right then, you'd both be dead, and I'd be out of a job."
"Ah. I appreciate the clarification. So." Nigel raised his fingers, enumerating. "Don't talk to strangers, don't go places with them, don't accept their food, don't save their lives."
She straightened, squaring off in front of him. "Two minutes, Nigel. I'm not here to ruin your life, or to watch people die—especially you. I know this stuff is like catnip for you, or maybe like a lure to a trout, but you could curb your impulse to jump for at least two minutes next time. Can you do that for me?"
He sighed heavily. Both were tired, unaccustomed to the excitement of the last twenty-four hours. "I shall do my level best to comply. P'raps we can set a timer on my phone at the next emergency?"
The adjacent shop door opened and Arryo emerged, carrying a familiar rucksack and drybag, which he held out to them. "I have also the cameras."
Nigel lifted the drybag, sorting out his wallet and keys. "Muchas gracias, Arryo. Thank you for looking after our things."
"My mother is well, but I must see to la Allianza Conserventia. Tomorrow, the turtle?"
"Tomorrow." Nigel shook his hand. He'd finally view the famous turtle and see if it knew the way to Spanish gold.