14. Arnaz
ARNAZ
Sinking, sinking, sinking.
I emerge from the darkness to a man in dripping red trunks, who looks like the one I tried to save, talking into a phone.
“…know if he was trying to drown. He’s out co?—”
My choking as I try to sit up steals his attention.
“He’s awake.” He pats my back. “You’re awake. Breathe. The paramedics are on their way.”
I start.
Paramedics?
I bolt to my feet, but my legs bend like rubber, and I retch up bile and water.
“Wait, they’re on?—”
“N-no...p-para…no.”
“It’s okay,” he says. “I pulled you out, but you were in bad shape. You should have a doctor?—”
“No.” I stumble to my knees and crawl on all fours. Something sharp slices into my wrist, and the sting gives me enough of a rush to rip upright.
“Wait,” he begs as I will back the cramping burn in my lungs and legs and stumble again.
I retch up more water, gasping from the burn in my chest. My vision blurs as hot tears scorch my face.
I lurch from the distant ring of a siren, fear licking at my feet, and I stagger toward the road.