4. Grace
4
Grace
F ire and ice erupted across my body, spreading its wicked claws deep into my bones. My hand bobbed in a pool of cool liquid, pulling my limp arm.
I groaned, my eyes fluttering open, then gasped.
A familiar, striking pair of emerald, vacant eyes stared back at me, a trail of blood marring the whites.
Jerking away from her mangled and twisted form, my belly shredded across the jagged rocks.
My lungs heaved, and shooting pain erupted from every nerve in my body, even when I'd settled a few more inches away from her still form.
Sarah laid an arm's length away from me, her leg bent in an unnatural position, her arm twisted behind her back as if its new arrangement made it belong there.
A throbbing ache settled on the crown of my head, and a warm trail of viscous liquid coated my cheek and the space near my ear.
A whimper left my lips as my fingertips pulled away from the sticky mess. Dark crimson smeared my fingertips, illuminated by the full moon.
My right arm lay limp beside me, my fingers twitching. I bent my left leg, and a whetted pain radiated across my knee.
Piercing ringing violated my ears as I sat, the world tilting on its axis.
The air in my lungs inflated, causing a clicking in my ribcage. The deeper I breathed, the sharper the pain and the punchier the click.
What happened?
I glanced up the hill and stared at the distinct trail of overturned dirt, rocks, and debris leading to where I currently sat—next to the river tainted with innocent wildflowers and small gnat-like insects skimming the surface.
Headlights beamed my way, causing razor-edged pain to stab my retinas .
The rocky riverbank illuminated as Miguel's men shouted down the ravine, their motors overpowering the thrumming in my ears.
I exhaled, the air whooshing from my lungs as I stumbled to my feet. My limp arm swung in front of me, sending needling pain across my back and up my neck.
A bleating cry drowned beneath the whir of engines coming my way as I pinned my right arm to my chest, being mindful of the broken rib, and limped down the rocky riverbank.
Tears spilled down my face as I took one last look at Sarah and caught Miguel from my periphery.
"Grace. Let me help you."
My big toe struck a rock, and I wailed, my vision spinning.
There was no way to escape him.
He'd killed everyone.
He'd killed them all.
Jorge.
Sarah.
Little Rachel.
"Grace."
My left knee gave out, and my right crashed into the water as he navigated the rugged terrain towards me.
Cool water stung the cuts on my knees, his footsteps falling closer as he stepped over Sarah's body.
If he caught me, that was it. I'd never survive.
I stepped into the river, the current grabbing at my ankles like Sirens beneath the surface, beckoning me to join them.
My toes slid against the muddy rocks, jamming them between stones.
I tumbled face-first into the river.
Water soaked my thin clothes and sloshed up my nose. My sinuses burned, and my dislocated shoulder ignited a deep-seated torment.
Strong arms wrapped around me, pulling my face free from the water.
"I've got you."
I gasped, inhaling oxygen in short bursts as I kicked and bucked with all my might.
My torso slipped free from his grasp as though I were coated in grease, and my ass plunged into the turbulent waters below, submerging my face again .
Compressed air turned my cheeks into miniature balloons as I held my breath and kicked away from him. Keeping my head below water, I used the river to escape as far as I could, my broken rib scorching my chest.
I kicked to the surface, and Miguel was there, his hand wrapping around my left ankle.
Screaming, the water washed into my mouth, smothering my cries as I dipped below the surface, kicking at him with all my might.
Water filled my ears, my adrenaline piquing, dulling the overloading pain across my battered body.
"I'm trying to help you." His muffled words made it through the turbulent underwater chaos.
I didn't want his help.
I'd rather drown than go back there.
I'd rather my body rot in the river than let him touch me again.
The top of my foot smashed between his legs with a solid kick. He doubled over with a grunt, his hand releasing my foot.
The current took me down the center of the cardinal river, tainted with their sins, my mouth below the waterline as I treaded backward.
Miguel remained bent over, his men at his side, pointing their weapons at me.
Our gazes collided, and the concerned worry that had wrinkled his forehead disappeared. Only the taut muscles in his jaw and the downward pull of his brows remained.
I bobbed beneath the water as he watched me, my head disappearing for brief moments at a time.
The vehicle headlights darkened in the distance. The full moon brushed dim light across the surface of the river and treetops, the roaring engines gone with nothing but the trickling of water hitting the banks.
My thigh muscles tightened the more I kicked to stay afloat, my limp arm dangling behind me, and my shoulder burned with Hell's fire. I used my left arm to steer my direction towards the bank on the opposite side I'd jumped into. Yet, my exhausted body remained in the center of the long, winding river, with large boulders brushing against my feet.
A chill settled in my bones, and the fingers on my right hand tingled. The crown of my head throbbed. The adrenaline in my blood waning, and the injuries I'd fought through rose to the surface with excruciating vigor.
My face dipped below the surface as my left knee stiffened, sending electrical jolts into my hip bone. Spots clouded my vision as I brought my mouth above the water and gulped in air.
This wasn't how I was supposed to die.
Water vibrated between my fingertips as I paddled, drawing from what little energy I had until I made leeway towards the riverbank.
'You swim with the current, not against it. Let it do the work for you.'
My father had taken me to a survivalist camp one summer, which taught us everything we needed to know to increase the odds of survival. Including river navigation.
Smooth river stone brushed against my feet, along with small pebbles and sand. I pushed against them, and my head bounded above the surface.
Ground .
I placed my feet on the stones and walked, my right knee screaming for respite, yet my body urged me forward for dry land.
Twenty steps later, I crashed onto solid ground, rocks jutting into my good side, my vision swirling.
I filled my lungs until they nearly burst, each inhalation lending sharp spikes of pain into my rib cage.
I made it.
I'd finally escaped, but for how long?
The night stretched on before me, crickets singing their chorus as if chaos and murder hadn't occurred—as if I hadn't witnessed everyone perish.
The river flowed on in silence, its trance paying homage to my fallen friends and the pseudo tranquility in the air.
Miguel wasn't around.
Had he not followed me?
Did Miguel write me off as another casualty to the Rio Grande?
Was it that easy?
Muscling my way up the grassy hill, I settled at the top, my dislocated arm a hindrance.
I laid on my back, my focus on the full moon, and stuck a small round stick between my teeth, my heart jackhammering in my chest.
Despite my throbbing head, clicking rib, and banged-up knee, it was the tearing agony in my shoulder that made me grunt out a cry as I lifted my limp arm above my head. With my elbow pointing upward as if scratching my back, I pulled until it popped back into place.
Shards of glass replaced the burn, and black spots clouded my vision. My lungs sucked in shallow breaths.
I couldn't breathe. The pain sliced through my chest like a knife wound digging in deep.
My limbs slackened, the stick fell from my mouth as I jerked, and the world faded around me.