That wasn’t the only sting he felt. Before his ears were filled with water, he heard the harsh bark of a blaster. From the tone, he figured it was a Glock, and his stalker had time only to loose off a single shot. Just the one, but enough to catch him as he entered the water, a burning needle entering his hip. It felt like a graze. He had to have made the water in time to prevent a better shot. It still hurt like hell, though, the residual impact and the shock making him turn in the water. Somehow his glasses stayed on, although his battered fedora floated past his eyes as he rolled over. He felt his backside and legs hit the muddy bottom of the riverbed, soft and clinging. He kicked, churning up silt as he freed himself from the mud’s grip. He reached out and grabbed his hat, not wanting it to hit the surface.
The dirt in the water stung his eyes and he could only see light reflected against the opaque surface of the river. If he couldn’t see out past the scum and detritus on the surface, then it was a fair bet to assume that whoever was after him couldn’t see in past the same. So unless they wanted to take another random shot, he was safe for the time being.
But not for long. His descent had been too swift for him to do anything other than take a regular breath, and he could feel his lungs burn and burst. He had to let out air and somehow break surface enough to take in more oxygen. He spasmed and coughed, bubbles of carbon dioxide exploding from his nostrils and heading for the surface, giving away his position. He ignored the pain in his hip and the dark stream of blood that colored the water around him. If he was going to break surface soon, he needed to move so that he would be harder to resight and fire upon.
Following the flow of the river, he turned and kicked, propelling himself downstream until he had no choice but to surface and gasp more air into his lungs. He hoped that the others had heard the report of the Glock, and would have headed to the riverbank to investigate. They might not catch whoever had fired, but at least they would scare him away, leaving J.B. to escape the river in safety.
He could hear the blood pounding in his ears and see the black stars exploding in front of his eyes as he stroked, trying to keep low in the water. It was no good, he would have to surface now, before it was too late and his lungs exploded, expelling carbon dioxide and taking in the brackish water instead of fresh air.
Kicking up, careful not get his feet caught in the mud, J.B. broke surface, the air light and fresh after the heaviness of the water, his mouth hungrily sucking in air as his lungs, shot through with the agonies of relief. He couldn’t tell how far downstream he had traveled, and right then he didn’t care. Neither was he mindful of the hidden marksman taking another shot at him. He could breathe again and that was all that mattered.
Spluttering, brackish water running from his nose, J.B. set his feet lightly on the bed of the river. It was chest deep at that point and it buoyed him enough to prevent his heavy boots becoming bogged down in the mud. His ears popped as water ran from them, the sound now piercing and painfully clear and bright.
“J.B.! Fireblast, man, are you okay?”
Ryan was running along the riverbank, leaping over the foliage and twisted tree roots that sprung out into the water in his attempt to reach the Armorer. Krysty was close behind, her hair flailing free behind her, suggesting that the moment of real danger was past. Farther along the bank, back where he had dived into the river, J.B. could see Dean and Doc holding down a struggling man, while the giant Elias, and Jak—who looked even more deceptively small and frail next to the muscular Pilatan—stood guard, holding off a small cabal of wood cutters who were clustered around.