Retaliate by Alex Albrinck

Author:Alex Albrinck [Albrinck, Alex]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Fabinarium Publications, LLC
Published: 2017-04-23T22:00:00+00:00

—15—

WESLEY CARDINAL

IF IT WAS HIS TIME to go, he decided, then there was no real rush to succumb to the inevitable. Might as well hold out as long as he could and hope for a miracle. He couldn’t move his arms or legs as they’d gone numb, and while his core muscles seemed to work, he couldn’t think of a way to use them in a manner that would keep him afloat and breathing without his arms or legs.

He’d give it a minute, he decided, feeling the water cover the top of his head. He closed his eyes and tried to focus on nothing, while ensuring he didn’t open his mouth and try to breathe in air that didn’t exist. He let the scant air in his lungs trickle out through his tightened lips a few bubbles at a time. He’d forgotten to start counting to sixty. Should he start now? Estimate how long he’d been below the surface and start from there?

He wondered how far he’d sink in sixty seconds.

His shirt, saturated with the salty water and clinging to his skin, suddenly constricted. His sense of direction told him he was moving up, toward the surface.

His head breached the surface and he exhaled quickly and inhaled again, wondering how close he’d come to sixty seconds. Whatever had grabbed his shirt hadn’t let go, and he felt himself surging out of the water, into the air that felt cooler now that he was sopping wet.

He grunted as he hit solid ground. No, not ground. Some type of alloy or plastic polymer. It was a boat. He’d been pulled out of the water and tossed into a boat.

He gasped again, felt tremors in the floor that protected him from the water that had nearly ended him, and sensed he was moving. Quickly. He heard the throaty roar of engines, getting louder and louder. In some distant place, he heard a deep roar, another engine, probably several, moving something much bigger than he was in now.

He felt pain in his arms and legs; the numbness was fading now, replaced by pain that he found oddly comforting. He flexed his fingers and coughed, then managed to roll over.

John squatted low, just tall enough to reach the engine throttle and the wheel used to maneuver the craft. His breathing was heavy; his shirt was drenched. Wesley’s eyes trailed down and he saw the thick rope around the man’s ankles, the other end tied to the steering column. Wesley’s mind pieced it together. John had gotten this boat close enough and anchored himself, then dove in after Wesley. He’d then managed to haul himself and Wesley out of the water with only one free hand.

Damn. Impressive.

John felt eyes on his back and turned around, still panting, but with a pleased look pasted across his face. “Sorry about the rough entry,” he said. Shouted it, actually, so he could be heard above the cacophony around them. “Bad guys have rifles now and aren’t happy with us, so no time to prop you up and strap you in.

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