Slow Burn (Book 5): Torrent (5 page)

I worked my way around the nearly submerged Humvee until I was on Murphy’s side. The pontoon boat was tied to a dock at least a hundred feet from that side. The mob of Whites collecting on the shore was growing rapidly. I took my pistol and extra magazines out of my pocket and lay them on the roof of the Humvee. The extra pounds of grenades in my Hello Kitty bag would make for hard swimming so the bag stayed on the roof of the Humvee. I kept the knife.

I inhaled deeply three times before submerging and using my feet to push myself off of the Humvee’s fender. I intended to cross the distance completely underwater. Any surfacing would get the attention of the White mob and might lead to their welcoming me when I reached the boat.

Staying just a few feet beneath the surface, I stroked with my arms and scissor kicked my legs. The wails of the Whites barely transmitted down to me through the water, which was noisy with raindrops falling on the surface.

Surrounded by cold green, I had nothing to guide me but the hope I could swim in a straight line.

As the distance dragged at me, my lungs cried out for oxygen.

The need for breath grew and doubt sat itself on my shoulder and whispered faithless, discouraging words.

But to come up for air was to advertise my presence to the Whites. To come up for air was failure. It was tantamount to stranding Murphy in the Humvee in the middle of the river.

I stroked through the cold green.

I thought about my buddy, Benny, the one I’d eventually beaten up in junior high. The summer before that, we were at the community pool with a couple of other kids from the neighborhood. We were all standing on the side when somebody said, “I’ll bet you can’t swim all the way across underwater.”

Without even taking a moment to brag, I dove into the pool and glided under the surface, kicking with my legs and using my arms to pull myself along as I watched the black lane markers pass beneath. I reached the other side of the pool, popped up and turned around. It was easy but my friends were amazed. I swelled with pride.

Benny, however, was having none of it. “I can do that.” He dove into the water and followed my path.

My pride dribbled quickly away as Benny’s wiggly form beneath the water closed the gap between us. The last smidgen of that pride winked out of existence when Benny’s grinning face popped out of the water beside me.

The little fuck had made it.

The guys on the other side of the pool started to talk. I climbed up out of the pool, looked at all my buddies and said, “Well, watch this.” I drew a deep breath, dove back in, and swam the width of the pool again. Only this time, instead of stopping at the other side, I turned, pushed off of the wall and, starting to feel a compelling need for air, swam across the width of the pool again.

I made it all the way back across and popped up next to Benny, breathing deeply to get some fresh air back in my lungs. The guys were back to being amazed.

But Benny wasn’t giving up. He’d felt the pride too when the boys seemed amazed at the initial feat. The chance to feel like a winner is a rare thing. Benny was determined to feel it again. He climbed up out of the pool. The boys were making noise. They were spectators to a challenge and loving it.

Benny drew a few deep breaths just as I had, shot me a defiant look and dove into the water.

I climbed up and sat on the edge of the pool, so I could better see Benny’s shimmery form beneath the wavy surface. Just as before, he made it to the far side of the pool without coming up for air. And just as I had, when he reached the other side, he turned underwater, pushed off and swam the distance back.

On the way across, I wished he’d come up for air and grant me the victory. But he didn’t. He wanted victory as badly as me. Or so he thought.

When Benny emerged from the water below me after swimming two widths of the pool, the boys cheered and shouted. They were impressed with us both, but I wasn’t willing to share the victory. I drew in deep breaths and prepared myself to try for three.

Benny saw what was coming next and climbed up beside me.

It was then that one of the kids from across the pool scoffed, “You can only do it because when you dive in, you go halfway across the pool before you have to start swimming.”

True. But fuck that kid, anyway. I shrugged and jumped down into the water. “I can do it either way.”

Some other kid said, “At the same time. Do it together.”

I looked at Benny.
Do or die, buddy.

Benny, with a touch of worry on his face, jumped into the pool beside me.

I hollered back across the pool. “Somebody has to say ‘go.’” I grabbed the lip of the pool’s edge with one hand, pulled my legs up, planted my feet on the wall, and positioned myself for the biggest push I could.

Benny watched me and followed my example, letting no advantage slip by.

From across the pool, I heard, “Ready. Set.”

I looked at Benny. He looked at me. I didn’t know what he was thinking. It didn’t matter. I was going to win the challenge or I was going to suck in a lung full of water trying.

“
Go
.”

Off we went.

In an ideal world, the challenge should have been each of us against ourselves to see how far we could push ourselves beyond our beliefs and fears. But that world is a fantasy. Nothing like it has ever existed, nor will it.

Under the surface, I watched Benny and kept even with him as we swam across the pool.

When we reached the other side, it had indeed taken longer without the advantage of diving in. I was feeling the stress of insufficient oxygen in my blood.

I made my turn and started to swim back, expecting Benny to quit at the turn. When I looked though, he was coming up beside me. He hadn’t quit. Persistent fucker.

No biggie. I could make another lap. Benny wouldn’t make it to the other side. No fucking way.

The black lane lines passed beneath us and kept passing until I saw the bottom of the pool curve up to the wall ahead of me. My lungs were screaming for air. But Benny was still beside me.

He would stop at the wall. I was sure of that. I only had to make the turn, swim a few strokes and I’d win.

I could to it. I knew I could.

I hit the wall, negotiated my turn, pushed off with my legs and glided over a few of the black lane markers below. Just before I surfaced to finally grant relief to my lungs, I saw Benny glide on past me, stroking as he went.

Shit
.

Every muscle in my body demanded I surface and breathe, but every ounce of my soul refused. Win or drown. I swam on. I sped up and came up beside Benny.

I’d laid claim to something when I’d jumped into the pool the first time, and whatever it was, whether pride or something less tangible, it felt better than anything I’d ever felt before. I would not lose. No matter how much my muscles begged to quit.

We made it to the halfway point and we were still underwater. Despite my resolve, I silently begged Benny to quit and end the irrational pain screaming in my head
. Surface. Surface. Breathe.

But Benny swam. And swam.

I swam.

At three quarters of the way, my prayers were answered and I saw Benny’s body change its position in the water just before he pushed his head above the surface.

Victory.

But not enough victory, not yet.

Only a quarter of the way to go. I swam on.

I’d make three full widths.

To my surprise, my body complied.

Stroke. Kick. Stroke. Kick.

Black lane markers passed beneath me.

The pool wall curved up and I hit it with my outstretched hand.

But I wasn’t done.

I turned, pushed off with my feet and let my momentum carry me back out into the pool. Three full widths had passed underwater. I knew I wouldn’t make a fourth. But I pushed myself anyway and watched the black stripes slip past. Then I saw Benny, just ahead of me, standing on the bottom with his head above the water, feeling his defeat.

With the last anything that was left, I stroked past Benny and swam another ten feet before surfacing.

I hadn’t just beaten Benny. I’d beaten him in legendary fashion. The boys on the side of the pool were silently amazed.

I felt fucking fantastic.

So in that cold green water with a seemingly impossible distance to swim, I knew I could make it. No matter how much my lungs, my muscles, my brain protested. I knew I could.

I’d made an unspoken commitment to myself and Murphy when I chose to drive the Humvee into the river. And no way was I letting Murphy down.

But i
t was rationalization and the fear that almost beat me.

In the murk, every direction looked the same, just green fading to darker green. Distance passed without measure. Direction existed only in degrees of hope. Had I swam past the pontoon boat? Had I veered so far off course that I was swimming up the boat ramp and into the greedy hands of Whites brave enough to wade into knee-deep water for their supper?

It was at the end of a stroke with my arms back at my sides that I realized how little visibility I had. One of the boat’s pontoons materialized from a lighter green color in front of me into silvery aluminum. Before I could react, my bald head collided with a thin metal fin that ran the length of the pontoon just under the surface. It nearly knocked me silly and pissed me off to the point I grabbed my scalp while yelling my anger into a flurry of bubbles.

I ducked under and quietly surfaced between the pontoons
, beneath the boat’s deck. Neither the burned squatters under the trees nor the infected on the boat ramp could see me. Grabbing onto a piece of the boat’s deck support to catch my breath, I reached up to evaluate my latest wound. The gash felt deep and enormous but probably wasn’t. Warm blood flowed down my face.

Dammit.

After several deep breaths, I slid back beneath the water’s surface, swam over to the far side of the boat and went under the other pontoon, and came up under the dock. I heard feet on the wooden planks overhead.

The footsteps belonged to Whites. Whether they were working their way around the marina trying to find a way to get to Murphy
, or they’d seen me go under water and had deduced my destination, my time had expired. Retrieving the pontoon boat was going to get difficult.

After positioning myself near the rope I’d used to tie the boat to the dock, I
reached up with my knife and started to saw at the rope. I wasn’t quick enough. First one, two, then three noisy Whites jumped from the dock to the boat.

More feet were coming when the rope finally separated. I wasted no time in
using a support post for leverage to push the bow of the boat away. The Whites on the boat’s deck, seeing the widening of the water that separated them from dry land, started a whole different kind of yelling. They were afraid.

When the Whites on the dock reached the end, just above my head, the pontoon boat was ten feet out into the water and drifting slowly toward the center of the marina.

Given that my boat had unwanted passengers, a hard task was ahead. Climbing up onto the deck and starting the engine was not an option.

I swam out to the front of the boat and grabbed the rope. From there, it was slow going, dragging the heavy boat through the water with only the power of my kicking feet and a stroking arm.

After a lengthy effort, the boat neared the submerged Humvee. I looked up and saw Murphy had climbed up on top and had his rifle at his shoulder. With his feet on something solid, his big smile was back. 

M
y three infected passengers were going completely nuts over being surrounded by water.

Murphy gave me a nod and a wink, but waited before shooting.

Good enough for me. He’d taken ownership of that problem.

By the time I was ten feet from the Humvee, the effort of tugging the heavy pontoon boat across the marina was taking its toll. I was starting to wonder whether Murphy was going to deal with my passengers. They were all leaning over the front railing by then, stretching their grasping hands toward me.

“Damn, dude, any time,” I said between breaths.

In rapid succession, three shots blasted across the water.

The Whites onshore started to run up and down the banks, frenzy driving them to find some way to reach us.

I turned back to look at the boat. All three Whites were down. I looked back up at Murphy.

He smiled and shrugged, as though he’d fully expected to get them all so easily.

Between my heavy breaths, I managed to say, “Fuck you.”

Murphy chuckled. He understood it just as I’d meant it. It was a compliment, and I was envious he was a better shot than me.

I stopped swimming, figuring the boat had enough momentum to float up next to the Humvee.

Just to be sure, I asked, “They’re dead, right?”

“Yup.”

“You sure?”

“Yup.” He nodded. “Your head’s bleeding.”