The Girl Beneath the Sea (Underwater Investigation Unit #1)(35)

“Could you make more noise?” says the other man.

“That wasn’t me!” Sewell replies.

Fuck. Me.

I tear through between the buildings and bolt to the right, around the pool. The woman is standing near the first building, using the light on her phone to inspect plastic containers.

“Who the hell is that?” she shouts.

“There’s some dude here!” replies the other man.

Dude? Screw you.

I duck behind the pool and keep my gun up.

“He’s behind the pool,” says the woman.

Screw you too.

“Let’s wait here,” says Sewell, clearly lying. I can hear his footsteps as he creeps around the pool.

“Hey, there. Come on out,” says the other man. “We won’t hurt you.”

Sure. Like I didn’t think anything of the body you just pulled out of the water.

I poke my head out to get a glance at the road. It’s a long, narrow path. If I tried to run for it, they’d shoot me in the back at their leisure.

That leaves the canal as my only route out of here.

“Who’s there?” asks Sewell. “Do you have a phone so we can call 911 for this guy?”

Does he think he’s talking to a nine-year-old?

Okay. I still have a slight advantage; they have no idea who the hell I am or that I’m packing.

All right, Sloan. Time to put on the performance of your life. Too bad you used to make fun of the drama kids and say they all had daddy issues. Maybe they could have taught you something.

I try to sound like a teenager. “I . . . I was just looking for a place to sleep. My parents kicked me out.”

Sewell laughs. “A fucking runaway.”

Run away from this.

I fire my gun twice in the air, leap upright, and race around the pool. I take another shot at a pile of scrap so it’ll make an even louder noise.

My sudden burst has the right effect. Sewell and the other man instinctively raise their arms to protect their heads. The woman dives behind her SUV.

I race past the headlights, aim my gun wildly behind me, and fire.

BANG! That shot’s not mine. I duck as I reach the edge of the gate and start to slide through the gap.

BANG! A slug hits the fence and shoots sparks.

BANG! I fire blindly back at them for cover.

A second later, I’m through the fence and on the ramp. I don’t even stop to see if the patrol gator is there. I just keep going until I hit the water and dive in.

BANG! Bang . . . The shots grow quieter as I swim deeper. Finally, I reach the bottom.

It’s dark. I can’t see anything, and I’m running out of air.

And, FML, that alligator’s still down here somewhere.





CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

ANCHOR

Beams of light dance around me as they use their flashlights to search the canal. The water is so murky, I can barely make out the glow; I hope they can’t see me.

The world record for holding one’s breath is twenty-four minutes. That’s two minutes longer than a half-hour television show without commercials. That’s also after breathing pure oxygen for thirty minutes beforehand.

The more relevant world record is holding one’s breath without pure oxygen. Last I checked, that record is about twelve minutes. That’s two more minutes than it took some guy to fly across the English Channel using a jet pack in a YouTube video Jackie showed me.

When I was her age, I practiced holding my breath with my brothers. I got better than them because I was willing to risk brain damage simply so they wouldn’t outdo me. That probably cost me fifty points on my SATs.

I have no idea how long I’ll need to hold my breath to be safe. I’m sure they’re still up there. I’m also sure my reptilian friend is lurking nearby.

Ack! Something just slid past my leg. It was slimy and not bumpy.

Python?

Damn. Damn. Damn.

So, you jumped into the water and now you’re clinging to a rock on the bottom. Was this your plan? Did you think you were going to sprout gills and be able to slip away and live happily ever after in Atlantis?

I should have stolen a car.

I should have gone for my kayak.

Which is still there . . . only a few yards away.

I’m not going to be able to wait them out.

This water is colder than I was expecting. My lungs are starting to scream. I didn’t get a large enough intake of air.

It’s all in your head, Sloan. You took a breath. Relax.

My heart is racing too fast. I won’t be able to do twelve minutes. I won’t even make my personal best of five.

I have to surface.

I need a . . .

BOOM! BOOM!

That sounded like a shotgun.

I can wait a little longer.

The lights vanish.

Now it’s completely dark.

I get a second wind. I can stay a little longer.

No, I can’t. I felt something again. Like a current. A large object is moving through the water.

Please be a friendly manatee to carry me away.

I know it’s not.

I feel a choking sensation at the back of my throat. If I don’t surface soon, my body will try to breathe water. That hasn’t worked for more than a hundred million years.

Must. Breathe.

I hold my gun up in front of my face and decide to surface like a hero in one of the stupid movies my brothers used to love.