Page 5

Tory

A thick, golden-brown cloud burst through Ladybeetle’s shattered windshield, billowing into the battered cabin like a ghostly explosion.

My thoughts spiraled into panic as sand churned in the murky water, scraping against my face and stinging my eyes.

Visibility vanished, replaced by a suffocating, swirling haze.

Fuck! I’m going to drown. Move, damn it. Move! Clenching my teeth, I forced my eyes open. The gritty water sliced by eyes like tiny blades and the pain burned, sharp and unrelenting.

I reached for the jagged opening in the windshield and shards of razor-sharp glass sliced my palms and tore my uniform. Gritting through the agony, I dragged my battered body through the gap.

Free of the wreckage, I swam to the undercarriage and found Ladybeetle’s left float had miraculously survived the crash. The metal groaned under the pressure as I launched myself off it. Clawing through the water with every ounce of strength I had left, I focused on the shimmering surface above me.

When I finally broke the surface, I sucked in a desperate gasp, filling my lungs with the sweetest oxygen I’d ever tasted.

The world roared back into focus in a chaotic blur of sound and motion. The shoreline was closer than I’d thought, but the water around me felt alive, rippling and shifting as if something massive stirred just beneath the surface.

My heart pounded as the thought seized me: Crocodiles.

I didn’t dare look.

Fearing one was already eyeing me for lunch, I kicked hard as adrenaline ignited every muscle in my body. My legs churned the water, and each stroke was a frantic battle against the terror scraping at my mind.

Every yard stretched into an eternity.

The mangled bushes ahead took shape, revealing a thin, unwelcoming veil of sanctuary. The ripples around me seemed to close in, tightening like a noose, but I didn’t stop. Couldn’t stop.

When my feet finally hit the muddy shallows, I stumbled forward, collapsing onto the gritty, wet earth. My chest heaved, and every muscle trembled uncontrollably as I rolled onto my back and stared up at the overcast sky.

I just lay there, the wet mud clinging to my skin and the sound of blood rushing in my ears.

The urge to look back pulled at me. I forced myself to turn my head toward the water.

Bits and pieces of Ladybeetle floated on the surface, bobbing like scattered debris in a storm. The rest of the wreckage was gone, swallowed by the depths.

From the air, though, Ladybeetle would stand out like a massive yellow X marking the spot.

That was my one lifeline. If I stayed near the wreck, someone would come. Someone had to come.

But movement on the horizon turned my stomach into ice. A sleek, dark shape cut through the water like a shark’s fin. A boat was heading this way.

“Oh fuck.” Panic gripped me.

Those bastards are coming to finish me off.

My breaths were ragged gasps as I stared at the jagged shoreline where I’d gone down, and my brain struggled to catch up. Eight years of flying, and I’d actually fucking crashed.

Panic burned in my chest. My body begged for rest, but if I didn’t get moving now, I was dead. That speedboat knifing through the water was closing the distance fast, and if they had binoculars, they already knew I’d survived.

“Move,” I growled to myself.

The sticky mud clung to me as I rolled onto my hands and knees. As I pushed my fingers into the sludge, blinding pain ripped through my left hand. Howling with agony, I yanked it free from the mud and nearly gagged. My left pinky was bent sideways like a damn coat hanger.

Fuck!

My finger’s dislocated. Perfect. Just what I need.

Still, I was alive. That was more than I could say for my parents after their crash.

A pang hit me in the chest, but I shoved it down.

I’m alive. And I need to move.

I let out a shaky breath, resisting the urge to snap my pinky back into place.

Every muscle protested, but I clutched my injured hand to my chest, gritted my teeth, and plunged my right hand into the mangrove muck to pull myself forward.

The mud made a loud schlurp as I freed my knees, and the sound would be hilarious if I wasn’t so terrified.

Ahead of me, a patch of dense mangroves promised cover.

It wasn’t much, but it was all I had. I forced my legs to move, ignoring the burn in my thighs and the sharp sting of cuts on my hands.

Twisted mangrove roots snaked through the black mud like gnarled fingers, forming a dense maze at the water's edge.

The mud was deep, almost to my elbows, and every movement was like the sludge was trying to swallow me whole.

Behind me, the boat loomed close enough that I could make out the shapes of four men crowded on the rubber raft. The one at the front peered through binoculars. The other three gripped rifles. Ice shot through my veins.

“Fuck!”

The mangrove trees loomed over me and thankfully, their twisted branches wove a dense canopy that swallowed the sunlight and draped everything in shadows. The air was thick with the stench of rot and brine, and the mud stuck to me like a second skin, warm and heavy.

Thank God I’d chosen my dark blue uniform today. If I’d worn the white one, I would stand out like a beacon. My blonde hair was another story. I grabbed a fistful of the sticky muck and smeared the slimy weight over my hair.

The low growl of the boat engine cut through the humid air, drowning out the faint, rhythmic lapping of the waves against the muddy shore. My pulse hammered in my ears.

They’re close. Too close. And I’m still too exposed.

Clawing forward with my good hand, I fought the greedy pull of the mud.

Each time I grabbed a gnarly root, the cuts on my palms stung like a bitch.

The finger-like roots jutting up through the sludge stabbed my palm and scraped my knees, and my mind screamed at me to move faster.

The mud had other plans. It sucked at my limbs, pulling me down, sapping what little strength I had left. Every inch was a battle I was losing.

The stench of decay and brine filled my lungs. I paused, chest heaving, and dared a glance behind me. The boat had shifted course, angling away from me.

Yes! They haven’t seen me. Yet!

The bastard at the bow stood motionless with his binoculars raised and his long black hair whipping behind him like a war banner. His presence commanded the others, and there was no doubt he was their leader. He swept the shoreline with mechanical precision like a predator hunting wounded prey.

Me.

I grabbed a handful of mud and pasted it over my cheeks and chin, hoping like hell it was enough camouflage. My grotesquely bent pinky screamed in agony and was already swelling and turning blue. I forced my eyes away from the mangled finger and risked another glance at the boat.

The leader's binoculars swung toward my position with uncanny accuracy as if he could smell my fear.

For one heart-stopping moment, those black lenses seemed to pierce straight through my pathetic camouflage and pin me like an insect to a board.

His arm jerked upward and his shout echoed across the water to me.

Oh shit!

I threw myself forward, clawing at the mud as panic surged through me. The roar of the engine drowned out everything but my own ragged breaths and my blood pounding in my ears.

“Move!” I hissed, a desperate plea to my failing body.

The mud was relentless, dragging at my limbs, sucking me down like it wanted to eat me. My muscles burned and every movement was a war against nature.

The boat was closing in. I could feel it, like I had a fucking bullseye on my back. My lungs screamed for air but I couldn’t stop. Not even for a second.

Then the mud began to firm, just enough to give me a chance to reach the thicker mangroves ahead. With a frantic effort, I finally pulled myself out of the sucking mire and into their shadows.

I collapsed behind the trunk of a massive tree, pressing myself against the bark. Every nerve in my body was on fire, screaming at me to rest. But I couldn’t. Not yet.

A crack of gunfire shattered the air. The bushes around me exploded in a violent storm of bark and leaves, raining splinters down on my head. I stifled a scream, biting into my lip until I tasted blood.

My heart was a jackhammer, slamming against my ribs, and each breath was a knife slicing through my chest.

They’re going to kill me. They’re going to fucking kill me.

I couldn’t stop shaking, but I had to keep moving. Staying here was death.

Keeping low, I shoved off with every muscle trembling. The ground was a battlefield of sucking mud, tearing thorns, and slick roots. My sneakers slipped and skidded, and my arms stung as branches clawed at my skin, but I didn’t stop.

I pushed forward, pure desperation fueling me. Every step was agony. Every breath tasted like raw, metallic fear.

Just a little further. Just a little further.

A burst of gunfire ripped through the air, wild and reckless, shredding a branch inches from my head. Splinters rained down, stinging my face. I screamed, veering hard to the left. Ducking low, I forced my trembling legs to keep going.

The roar of the boat engine got louder. The boat was slicing through the water like a shark, churning white foam in its wake. The men onboard shouted with sharp, guttural voices, and though I couldn’t make out their words, their intent was crystal clear. They wanted blood. My blood.

Then, the engine cut out.

Silence spread over the swamp like a suffocating shroud, thick and poisonous. My heart pounded harder, and the absence of sound was more terrifying than the noise.

A man shouted orders through the vegetation, sharp and brutal, and I jolted.

Shit. They’re coming.

I needed cover. Now. Clenching my jaw, I shoved off from the tree, pushing my burning legs onward. I scanned through the maze of mangroves, desperate for a place to hide. Several yards ahead, to my left, a massive tree rose from the muck, and its twisted roots formed a natural fortress.

Heading toward it, I forced myself to slow down, staying low despite every instinct screaming at me to run. One wrong step or slip in this hellscape of roots and mud would slow me down or cripple me. The muck was only ankle-deep now, but each step was like wading through wet cement.

I had no weapon or phone. But I did have one advantage . . . this godforsaken mud. Those bastards would have to slog through it just like me, and every trace of my passage quickly vanished beneath the hungry sludge.

Finally reaching the ancient tree, I scrambled over its massive, blade-like root. The rough bark shredded the backs of my legs as I slid down behind its protective trunk. Safe. Hidden. For now.

This is good. They can’t see me behind here.

I just had to survive long enough for the rescue party to reach me.

My relief evaporated in a flash as reality hit me: for my friends to find me, I needed to stay near Ladybeetle’s crash site.

My rasping breaths clawed at my throat, but the sudden, suffocating silence of my pursuers was far more terrifying.

Where are they?

Panic seized me, and each ragged inhale was a struggle against its icy grip. Closing my eyes, I forced myself to listen, to let the swamp speak .

Like a switch had been flicked, the mangroves blossomed into a cacophony of sounds: the sharp squawk of a bird, a guttural croak barking from soggy depths, a strange, rhythmic clicking that I couldn’t place, and the soft plop of water or maybe a frog, or something far more sinister.

Then, cutting through the chaos, came the unmistakable snap of a branch.

The wet squelch of mud followed, soft but deliberate. I could see it in my mind, a boot dragging free of the muck, heavy and slow.

I hear you, you bastards.

When I opened my eyes, my gaze drifted down to my throbbing dislocated finger and then to the indents in the mud near me. My heart just about ripped through my chest. The biggest crocodile footprints I’d ever seen were right next to my leg.

You’ve got to be fucking kidding.

I shot my gaze through the bushes, scanning for the prehistoric predator that had just walked this way.

My mind splintered in two.

Should I head deeper into the bushes and risk becoming a crocodile snack? Or double back to the shoreline where rescue might actually find me?

Another spray of gunfire shredded the branches over my head.

“Fuck!”

I bolted into the bushes.