Page 108 of Undertow

But the boat keeps coming, its occupant unreadable in the thickening veil of dusk.

Adrenaline rages through me as I flail and sob.

“Razor, please! I wasn’t going to run! I swear… Please don’t do this! Please! I’ll stay! Tell them I’ll stay!”

The old man’s jaw is set in determination. He won’t even look at me.

Stroke. Swish.

Stroke. Swish.

Steady, steady—the opposite of my erratic heart.

Will he push me under or use a gun? Or worse, a knife? I’ve spent my life surrounded by both, but it’s the knives I always feared more than the guns. One is a weapon. The other is a grisly paintbrush.

My broken sobs are louder now, skimming along the surface of the water and colliding with the splash of the oar. He’s only a few feet away, his face a cadaverous shadow.

I command my arms to react as he closes the final gap. If I’m going to die, I want it to be as an opponent, not a victim.

But nothing happens when my brain issues the command. My muscles, my limbs, everything is just… depleted. There’s nothing left as my head dips under again.

Rancid water rushes into my lungs. A panicked gasp for air sends another surge down my throat. My brain is screaming for oxygen, but all it’s getting is chaotic flashes of movement and ripples of darkness.

My watery prison becomes infinite as a rough hand grasps my arm to shove me further down.

Tears mingle with the brown water and debris. My heart screams appeals no one will ever hear.

I’m going die. I’ll disappear and be forgotten like they always said I would.

No one will ever know about the tragic boy who never had a chance.

Except…

I’m rising.

Water runs down my cheeks as my starved lungs gag on an overdue breath.

“It’s okay, son,” a rough voice soothes with unpracticed emotion. “It’s going to be okay.”

He’s blurry through a sheen of lake water and tears.

“You’re okay.” His words clash with my choked sobs. “You’re the strongest damn person I’ve ever met.”

He yanks harder and shoves a rescue tube beneath my arms.

“Hold on.”

I wrap my aching limbs around the floating device as he slips into the water. I’m still too stunned to react as he disappears below the surface. The panic returns when pressure around my ankle tugs me down a few inches, but it releases just as quickly. My left leg moves freely for the first time in what feels like an eternity.

Razor resurfaces and climbs back into the boat. He holds out an old, knotted hand.

For seventeen years, I’ve been afraid of that hand. Now, it’s reaching for me with a different message.

Salvation. Hope.

I grasp his palm, and he lifts me higher. His other hand loops under my shoulder to drag me out of the water. I use every ounce of strength I have left to flip myself into the boat.

My chest burns as I shiver against a deep cold. It assaults me from inside and out, coating my body, my soul. I’ve never felt anything like it.