The Water Queens (Keeper of the Water) (2 page)

“Mom, wake up,” I say when I reach her. I help her sit against the side of the boat and she lets out the smallest of cries. Her eyes slowly open, though she obviously has trouble focusing. “I need you to hold on just a little longer; I’m going to get you help, I promise.”

Mom nods. I don’t want to leave her side but Amelia continues trying to paddle and it’s not long before the effort is too much for her, too. I barely have my mom situated when Amelia convulses and falls over. I’m running out of time before I lose them both. I don’t have time to help so I rush to keep paddling, nearly slipping on the blood pooling on the boat’s floor. We still barely move but I push myself harder and harder, even as my vision begins to grow black and the arrow loosens in my shoulder, shooting out spurts of blood.

I’m so weak that I nearly fall over the side. With my mother and Amelia barely clinging to consciousness – while Jack groans
and
laughs – it’s becoming harder for me to keep pushing, to keep forcing myself to fight for survival. I try to stay motivated by thinking about Cassie and revenge and rescuing the world from what she could do with control over the special water. But those thoughts are difficult to hold onto and quickly fade from my mind. It’s hard enough to focus on anything beyond the section of swamp water that I still try to paddle through…

I don’t see sudden movement in the water until it’s too late. In the split second before my arm is grabbed, I imagine the suffering of being eaten alive by a killer gator. That’s why I’m surprised when I realize that fingers –
human
fingers – have hold of me instead of alligator teeth.

CHAPTER TWO
             

The first person who comes to mind is Celeste. But the hand that holds me belongs to a man, whose wet hair is plastered to his face as he emerges from the water. I’m in shock but so is my body; I don’t know if my heart skips a beat because of surprise or because of the arrow still stuck in me.

“How many lives do you have?” I ask breathlessly.

John Leon wipes aside his hair and smiles, though it’s not long before he grimaces. This is the
second
time he’s seemingly raised from the dead but he looks much worse than last time. In fact, he appears just as close to death as Amelia and my mother. His blood swirls in the water around him.

“Not as many as a cat, that I can promise,” John says.

The sound of his voice is like music to my ears and provides the faintest glimmer of hope in my heart.

“But how?” I wonder. “The arrow? The gator?”

“I saw it coming at me when I hit the water,” John says. “So I yanked out the arrow and stabbed the bastard with it. I held onto him tight, jabbing him with it over and over as he dragged me halfway across the swamp. He put up quite a fight but I got him in the end. Unfortunately, I think I’m down to my last life.”

He’s talking while in the swamp this whole time; it’s a miracle he made it back here without running into other gators.

“Give me your hand,” I say. “Get aboard before another one shows up.”

I try pulling him in but my shoulder explodes in pain and I almost fall over again.

“Don’t waste your energy,” he says, releasing my hand. He shifts a few feet behind the broken airfan and leans against the back of the airboat. The swamp is shallow enough so his feet touch the bottom while his head still breaks the surface. “The boat will be too heavy with me inside. We have to do this together if we’re going to reach the special water.”

John looks as hurt and exhausted as the rest of us but he puts his arms straight out and pushes against the boat, nudging us a few inches forward. His face contorts in pain but he barely lets out the slightest groan as he continues pushing. We pick up a little speed but John is fading fast and we’ll never make it with him pushing by himself. I start paddling again, a worthless action the first few times I tried though now it seems to help.

I look back as John’s eyes roll in the back of his head. Though the boat still inches forward, he stops moving and sinks beneath the surface.

“John!” I yell, ignoring Jack’s weak laughter.

I rush to the back of the boat, ready to jump overboard though I have no idea how I’ll climb back in. But before I leap, John bursts through the surface, a surprised expression on his face as he shakes away the water. He hurries to catch up and nearly collapses again as he grabs hold of the boat.

“I’m okay,” he whispers. “I must’ve lost my grip.”

“No you didn’t,” I say. “I saw you pass out.”

“I’m okay,” he repeats, more firmly this time. “We’re almost there.”

I wish that were the case. We haven’t even cut the distance to the brighter water in half. Its healing abilities beckon us but it still seems so far. The trail of blood floating in John’s wake becomes heavier but that doesn’t stop him, despite my pleas.

“Please stop pushing yourself,” I say. “You’re losing too much blood. I can’t lose you again.”

“I may die whether I push myself too hard or not,” John says. “I at least have to make sure you survive.”

We pass a thicket of reeds that suddenly begin to shake; I wish I could blame it on wind but the night air is completely still. My heart leaps at the thought of Celeste being alive but I spot a ripple near the water’s surface, moving slowly back and forth, back and forth. If there’s any doubt in my mind about what’s approaching, spiny scales suddenly pop out of the water, speeding through the red wake following John.

“There’s one coming,” I say in a panic. “You have to get in.”

“Not while you’re still in danger,” John says. “
None
of us will survive if the boat stops again. I’m going to get you to that water if it’s the last thing I do.”

I grab John’s arm again and try to pull him in but I’m too weak and he only gives me resistance. I fall to my knees on the airboat’s floor and begin to blubber like a fool, becoming more pathetic as the gator slowly stalks toward him. I can’t keep my eyes off the rippling water. I’m tempted to jump overboard and do whatever I can to help. But the sound of weak laughter behind me snaps me out of it, anger making me grow stronger where love made my knees weak.

“Who cares about him?” Jack gurgles. “Let him die so he can save the rest of us.”

As if the thought of losing John again isn’t awful enough, thinking about Jack
surviving
makes me want to be sick. The feeling is a reminder that I can’t be weak for the first time in my life. I struggle to my feet and spot an arrow on the boat’s floor. I want to use my bow to shoot it but the arrow sticking out of me makes that impossible. Instead I take aim at the gator and throw it with all my strength, hoping to at least scare off the beast. The arrow hits my intended target but weakly bounces off the gator’s hard scales.

The gator is getting closer to an easy meal and I’m almost out of options to stop it. But the answer finally comes to me from an unlikely source – and an unlikely song. Jack quietly hums the theme song to the movie Jaws. My hatred for him finally gives me a solution, one that
should
seem awful in my mind. But not a single part of me feels the slightest bit of guilt for what I’m about to do. I’ve had to suffer the results of my actions in the past and so will Jack.

Even though he’s my father’s son, I grab Jack by the arm and drag him toward the back of the boat. The effort sends shockwaves of pain through my body. He has no strength to fight but moving dead weight is just as physically draining. His cries of pain spur me on, not to mention that the gator is less than fifty feet behind John and quickly approaching.

“What are you doing, you stupid b- ”

I
accidentally
bump into the arrow in his chest and he groans.

“Be careful with me until we reach the water,” Jack says breathlessly.

“I need help… quick…” I say, inching him closer to the side of the boat.

“No, no help,” Jack groans. “Get your hands off me.”

My mother’s eyes are closed, as are Amelia’s; luckily, I see both of them still breathing. Just when I think I’m on my own – that I’ll never have enough time – Amelia opens her eyes and struggles over to us. Without needing to be told what I’m doing, Amelia grabs Jack’s feet and we’re able to lift him off the floor. It’s still a struggle to move him – and Amelia looks to be in as much agony as I – but we reach the back of the boat, where the gator is only a few feet behind John.

Jack is the last one to figure out what we’re doing. But when he does, he begins to wiggle in our grasp. The struggle makes it more painful for all
three
of us, but Amelia and I hold on.

“Put me down!” Jack yells.

His wish is our command. We only have the strength to swing him once before tossing him overboard. Amelia is weaker than me and her forward momentum nearly pulls her over the side. I grab hold of her, mashing both of our arrows. We collapse to the boat’s floor in agony, my breath literally ripped from my lungs. Somehow, my ears register a
thud
followed by a man’s scream. I suddenly have an awful vision in my mind of Jack’s body landing atop John, giving the gator a two-for-one special.

Amelia remains still but I crawl to the side of the boat, peering over to see that Jack
had
landed atop something: the gator. John continues pushing the boat with a new sense of urgency as we both listen to Jack’s pathetic cries. He tries to hold onto the back of the beast but his fancy fighting moves don’t work so well in his current condition. The gator rolls a single time and when he emerges from the water again, Jack is gone. The gator disappears back underwater and an explosion of red suddenly stains the surface.

I start paddling again but that doesn’t last long before I watch John fade beneath the surface. When he doesn’t immediately rise to the surface, I roll myself over the edge of the boat. The arrow in my shoulder is jarred violently when I hit the water. I try to scream in pain but the resulting mouthful of swamp water makes me gag; spitting out the nastiness is probably the only thing that keeps me from passing out. I dive back under and find John in the shallow water. I wrap my arms around him – never thought I’d do
that
again – and pull him above the surface.

His neck is limp, head hanging lazily to the side. His chest still heaves but I don’t know how long I can hold him.

“John, wake up, baby,” I urge him.

I glance behind us where there’s still a bloody frenzy in the water about twenty feet back. The gator seems occupied but I don’t know how long that’ll last or if any of his friends are around. Up ahead, the water is bluer and sparkles more brilliantly as we get closer.

“I can’t do this on my own, John,” I whisper.

He groans weakly in response but his eyes remain closed. I hate the idea of causing him more pain but it’s all I can do to stir him from consciousness. I grab the arrow sticking out of him and shake it a few times. John’s eyes snap open – widen in agony – and he coughs out a mouthful of water. When his eyes meet mine, he looks more concerned than pained.

“You shouldn’t be… in water… not safe…” he whispers.

“Just keep moving your legs,” I say, leaning him against the back of the airboat. “Keep pushing us forward.”

My foot slips on the swamp’s slippery silt floor and I lose my balance. The arrow stuck in me whacks against the bottom. The jolt of pain is so great that my vision momentarily goes black and I slip beneath the water. This time, it’s John’s turn to pull
me
up.

“We’ll do this together,” he says.

My vision is clouded in blackness. To call it tunnel vision would be a gross overstatement; my eyes can’t focus on anything beyond a pinhole. I’m thankful for my natural coughing instinct because it’s the only way I notice I’m swallowing more nasty water. I’m focused on three things only: keeping my balance, shuffling my feet forward and pushing the airboat. I feel my heartbeat becoming slower and slower and I’m afraid it may soon stop.

John remains by my side the entire time. I don’t have the strength to turn and look at him but I feel the heat from his body. There’s so much I want to live for but being with him suddenly seems most important. I don’t know how far we’ve gone but I’ve finally reached the point where my energy is gone and I can no longer stand. My head sinks beneath the surface and my mouth fills with water. I’m too exhausted to worry about the nastiness of it. I’m drowning and natural instinct is to swallow the water, which I do in big gulps.

My brain is shutting down and I expect to go completely limp, for the rest of my vision to go black. But that’s not the case at all. A slight jolt of energy rushes through my body and I can see even clearer though I’m underwater. But this water isn’t murky and slimy like the rest of the swamp. A blast of cold engulfs me and I feel better than I have since being shot. I break the surface and see the airboat floating several feet away, smack dab in the middle of the former water source.

Enough strength has returned to my body that I can grab the arrow in my shoulder and yank it out. My legs turn to jelly as blood squirts from my open wound. I dip beneath the water but that does nothing to heal me. Another thirsty gulp allows me to stay conscious but I’m losing blood quickly. At first I don’t know why the water fails to heal me; I’m worried that my wound is too serious or the water not powerful enough. And then the answer suddenly comes to me. If I weren’t in such a rush – or in so much pain – I would’ve smacked myself in the forehead for being so stupid.

How could I have forgotten my Amazonian past so quickly?

I take a small handful of water and hold it high above my wound, letting it trickle through my fingertips. The bleeding slows and eventually stops, though the wound doesn’t completely heal the way it would if the water was pure or straight from the current source. I’m still in pain – and by no means feel as strong as usual – but I’m not on the verge of passing out and can at least function on a normal person’s level. John also drinks from the water and is able to steady himself on his feet. Without warning, I grab the arrow lodged in his chest and pull it out – I hope he’ll thank me later for denying him the chance to worry about the extraction. He screams so loudly that I’m afraid he’ll attract gators. Luckily, the waters remain calm behind us.

“Just try to relax,” I tell John, tilting him back until he’s floating atop the surface.

I sprinkle water onto his wound, handful after handful. The healing process is painfully slow. I worry the damage is too severe but the bleeding eventually stops. I force more water into John’s mouth but it doesn’t stop him from passing out. His body sinks and I have to pull him back to the surface, a difficult task since he’s wet and heavy and I’m already weakened.

“Wake up, John, please,” I say lightly, tapping his cheek.

He doesn’t budge so I slap him harder; still no response. There’s nothing else I can do for him. Whether he lives or dies depends on how much he fights. I remind myself there are still two more people that need my help. Since the airboat slowed to a stop, I haven’t seen or heard a thing from my mother or Amelia. I begin dragging John’s limp form toward the boat but realize there’s no way I can lift him inside. Instead, I pull him all the way to the dry, raised land at the end of the inlet. I struggle to drag him up the dirt embankment, where I hope he’ll be safe for the time being.