The Water Queens (Keeper of the Water) Read Free Page B

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