They made their way slowly through the water, staying low and moving carefully to prevent splashing. As they reached the bank, Nicolas eased his body, belly down, into the mud and began to inch his way over bare ground. Dahlia swallowed convulsively and followed his example. It was impossible to keep physical contact with Nicolas while she crawled in the muck, easing her body over the strip of bare ground to get to the alligator slide. The sickness slammed into her hard, burning through her body, roaring through her head. White spots danced in front of her eyes. She bit down hard on her lip, determined not to lose consciousness.
Nicolas knew they were fully exposed as they inched their way over bare ground. It required patience to move in the open. The natural inclination was to run, get past an open area, but movement always drew the eye. He had deliberately chosen this section as an exit because it was open and they wouldn’t expect him to use it.
He could hear Dahlia fighting to breathe. The heat shimmered around her, waves of energy so strong he could actually feel them battering at her. Tuned to her now, he felt her level of exhaustion, knew she was nearing the end of her endurance. It didn’t stop her from following him, inching her way through the mud, across the bare ground to the slide. His respect for her grew. She didn’t complain even though her world had been torn apart.
She made a small choking sound. He knew she was fighting off the waves of sickness rolling over her. He breathed, air in and out, in an effort to help her. As he slid into the water of the channel, he kept his rifle above water, using his legs to keep him up. He turned back to wait for her. It was going to be impossible to keep his weapon dry, but until they were away safely, his rifle might be the difference between life and death.
Dahlia slipped into the water. There was a measure of comfort in seeing him waiting. In the dark, his striped face should have appeared frightening, yet she only felt relief looking at him. She touched his arm, needing the contact, trying to breathe down the rising bile. “There’s a small island no one uses, if we swim in that direction.” She pointed the way. “It isn’t far and there’s a boat we can use. I know of a trapper’s cabin that’s usable a few miles from there.”
Nicolas nodded and laid out across the water on his back, low so that most of his body was submerged. He propelled himself using his legs beneath the water in a strong frog kick so that no sound could be carried in the night. Dahlia followed his lead, turning over, looking up at the smoke-filled sky and then over to the burning island. Everything seemed on fire. Her vision blurred and she blinked rapidly to clear it.
Nicolas didn’t make a sound as he moved through the water. It should have been awkward as he kept his rifle out of harm’s way, but he moved efficiently as if he’d done the maneuver a hundred times. Dahlia did her best to swim in silence and look like a log. She splashed a few times but was too sick to care.
“Just a little longer,” he encouraged. “You’re doing great.”
“You do know there are snakes in this water.”
“Better than bullets. We’ll make it, Dahlia.”
They were out in the middle of the channel now, and Nicolas wanted to put some distance between them and the island in case the moon came out from under the clouds. Exhaustion lined Dahlia’s face. Her breathing was ragged. He noted her swimming was becoming clumsy as they made their way through the open water. “Don’t quit on me,” he said, a deliberate goad. He couldn’t imagine Dahlia quitting anything.
She wanted to glare at him, but couldn’t muster up the strength. It took every ounce of self-discipline she had to keep going. She followed him across the channel and through a short, weed-choked canal. Dahlia lost track of time. The water helped to dissipate the energy surrounding her, but she didn’t dare allow what was inside of her to escape and give their position away. Her churning stomach helped her to stay awake.