Chapter 32 #3
He pushed Moses away, Santos, his designated swimbuddy moving in beside him, before Than and Rowe came together.
They turned toward the shore, striking out together, their strokes long and powerful, the anger a fuel that burned hotter than the cold.
He could feel the rest of the crew behind him, aware of where each of them were.
He had to get them there. He had to get them all there.
He had to save the man who had almost gotten them all killed.
They made it to the beach, a bedraggled, gasping line of men clawing their way out of the surf.
Than was already up, his legs burning, his mind ticking through the names, the faces, the count.
He saw Keene, crawling on his hands and knees to Harris, who was face down in the wet sand.
He saw Rowe, pushing himself up with a grimace.
But Moses and Santos were still out there, two dark shapes struggling in the churning water.
Than didn't hesitate. He plunged back into the frigid chaos, the cold a brutal shock to his already screaming muscles. He fought his way toward them, his strokes powerful and sure. He got to Moses first, a flailing, panicked mass of limbs and gear.
"Moses! Stop! Relax!" Than yelled, his voice ripped away by the wind.
But Moses was lost in a primal terror that had him thrashing wildly, his movements clumsy and dangerous.
He grabbed at Than, his hands like claws, his eyes wide with a fear that had completely consumed him.
Than fought him off, his anger a cold, hard knot in his gut.
He had to get through to him, had to break the panic before it got them both killed.
Santos was a few feet away, his movements weak, his head barely above the water. He was going under. Than had to make a choice. He pushed Moses away, a hard, decisive shove, and struck out toward Santos. He grabbed the front of his life vest, pulling his head above the water.
"Kick, Santos! Kick!" Than yelled, his voice a raw, desperate command.
He started towing him toward the shore, the weight of the other man a heavy drag. He could hear Moses behind him, still thrashing, still panicking. He was a liability, a drowning man who would take them both down if he got too close. Than had to save Santos first.
He got Santos to the beach, pushing him into the sand, before turning back to the sea.
Moses was further out now, his struggles weaker, his movements becoming more erratic.
He was running out of time. Than fought his way back out, the cold seeping into his bones, his muscles screaming in protest. He reached Moses just as his head went under for the last time.
Than dove, chased him down, grabbed him, finding a well of energy inside him he never knew was there, dragging Moses back to the surface.
He came up gasping, his eyes wide with terror, his body limp and unresponsive.
Than wrapped an arm around his chest, holding him up, and started to swim.
It was a slow, agonizing process. The weight of the other man, the cold, the exhaustion, was all a heavy, crushing burden.
Than's strokes were weaker now, his body screaming for him to stop.
But he didn't. He couldn't. He had to get him back.
He collapsed onto the sand, his lungs burning, his body a dead weight.
Moses was a limp, sodden mass beside him, his face pale and still.
Than had just enough strength to roll him onto his side, his own hands shaking uncontrollably.
He coughed, a harsh, ragged sound that sent a spike of pain through his chest. The world was a blur of gray sky and churning surf, the sound of the waves a dull roar in his ears.
Moses drew in a ragged breath.
Then, new figures were running down the beach, their red medical bags a stark slash of color against the muted tones of the day. Two medics skidded to a halt beside them, their movements practiced and efficient.
They were on Moses in an instant, their hands moving with a purpose that was both reassuring and intimidating. One of them helped him to sit up. The other started pulling off Moses's gear, his movements quick and sure.
"He's aware," the first medic said. "Just in shock."
They worked together, their movements a well-rehearsed dance of life-saving precision. One pulled out a blanket and wrapped it around Moses’s shivering body. The other took his vitals.
The second medic turned to Than, his eyes scanning him with a quick, practiced gaze. "You okay? You hurt?"
Than shook his head, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "I'm...fine," he managed to say, his voice a raw, hoarse thing.
The medic nodded, his attention already back on Moses. "Stay put. We'll get to you in a second."
Than watched them work, his body aching, his mind a chaotic mess of images and emotions. He saw Moses's face, his eyes wide with terror. He felt the weight of his body, the desperate, flailing struggle. He felt the cold, the exhaustion, the crushing pressure of responsibility.
Concrete jogged up, his face a stony mask of authority. He stopped in front of Than, his eyes sweeping over the scene, the medics, the bedraggled crew crawling up the beach.
"Head count?" Concrete's voice was sharp, cutting through the wind and the sound of the crashing waves.
"Full," Than's response was immediate, clipped, and clear. He pushed himself up, his body a rigid silhouette against the gray, churning sea. "Full count, Instructor Concrete."
Concrete let out a breath, a subtle release of tension that was almost imperceptible. "Recover. Gather with Instructor Brah. Catch your breaths."
Than gave a sharp nod, his eyes still on Moses, who was starting to stir, a low moan escaping his lips. He had a crew to lead and a man to save from himself. The work was just beginning.
The walk back to the barracks was a slow, agonizing trudge.
The sky, which had been a sullen gray, finally opened up, a cold, miserable rain that felt like it was washing the salt from his skin only to replace it with a new kind of chill.
Every muscle in Than's body screamed, a deep, pervasive ache that was a constant, brutal reminder of the day's events.
He was moving on pure will, his mind a chaotic mess of images and emotions.
He saw Moses standing outside the barracks, a solitary, hunched figure leaning against the cold, wet concrete wall.
He was shivering, his arms wrapped around himself, his body a tight knot of misery.
Than stopped, his own exhaustion forgotten for a moment, anger and something else, something he couldn't quite name, tightening in his gut.
"What the fuck happened out there, Moses?" Than's jaw was so tight, he thought he would crack his teeth. The rain plastered his hair to his forehead, the drops running down his face like tears.
"I don't know..." Moses's voice was a hoarse whisper, his eyes fixed on the ground.
Than stepped into his space, his presence a forceful, intimidating thing. "I know. You got scared and you panicked. You brought the whole boat down."
Moses's breathing went shallow, his body trembling even more. "I know. I'm sorry. That wave was terrifying."
Than's breath sucked in, a sharp, painful gasp. He could almost feel that rogue wave wash over Valor again, the cold, the crushing weight, the panic. He pushed it away, forcing the memory down, his focus returning to the man in front of him.
"I see you, Moses. I see what you have, and any team will want it," Than said, his voice low and intense, a stark contrast to the raging storm around them.
"But you've got to stop hustling everyone, including yourself.
Buckle the fuck down and do the work. I swear to my ancestors, I'm not giving up on you.
You see the theme? Never quit. When I say fucking paddle, you goddamn paddle like your life depends on it and the crew.
That was nothing! We've got rock portage at night to do. You will not choke."
Moses leaned his head against the wall, the rain running down his face, mingling with the tears that were now streaming down his cheeks. He took a hard, ragged breath. "I won't, sir."
The rain was a cold, miserable sheet, plastering their hair to their skulls and running in rivulets down their faces.
Moses was a wreck, trembling against the wall.
Than saw it. The fear. The shame. The edge of quitting.
The anger in Than's gut didn't dissipate.
It sharpened into a single, driving purpose.
He wasn't going to let him stand out here and drown in his own pity.
Without another word, Than grabbed him by the front of his shirt, his knuckles digging into the man's collarbone. He dragged him away from the wall and toward the barracks entrance, his steps sure and forceful. Moses stumbled, his feet barely keeping up.
"Where's your fucking rack?" Than's voice was a low growl, a raw command that cut through the sound of the storm.
"Two... two doors down on the left," Moses stammered, his voice barely audible.
Than didn't hesitate. He hauled him down the hall, his own body a coiled spring of adrenaline and exhaustion.
He was so wired, so amped up from the fight in the water, that he almost kicked the door in, his boot lifting before he caught himself.
Instead, he turned the knob with a violent twist and pulled Moses inside, shoving him toward the center of the room.
"Get your ass into the shower, as hot as you can stand. Then into dry clothes. Rack it. Tomorrow, we'll have words."
He slammed out of the room, the sound echoing down the empty hall.
He took two steps, then stopped, his fists clenching at his sides.
He could feel the rage and the fear still thrumming through him, a chaotic, dangerous mix.
He knew he couldn't leave it like that. He turned back around and opened the door, his movements more controlled this time.
Moses hadn't moved. He was standing exactly where Than had left him, a statue of shock and despair, water dripping from his clothes onto the floor.
"Moses! Move! That's a goddamned order."
The command finally broke through Moses's paralysis. He flinched, then started, his body finally responding. He turned and headed for the bathroom, his steps slow and unsteady.
Than watched him go, then shut the door, the click of the latch quiet this time, a final, decisive sound in the sudden silence of the hall.
Than turned on his heel, his anger and adrenaline still thrumming through him.
He swore all the way to his room, the words a low, vicious stream of curses.
He ripped off his cold, wet, fucking sandy clothes and got into the shower, the hot water a welcome, stinging relief.
Only then did he let himself lean against the side, his breathing ragged, his body trembling with a delayed reaction.
He kept them all together. He didn't lose one man, and he wasn't going to lose Moses.
The guy had that spark. He just had to find his fire.