Page 33 of Crashing Tides

Shit, I think. Shit, that was way too close.

When the cliff collapses beneath me, I don’t even have a chance to yelp.

Cold air rushes up to greet me. My coat flaps helplessly. Rain and debris pelt me in equal measure, with enough ferocity to leave welts. I flail, and then I’m crashing through the waves.

It’s like slamming into a brick wall. Agony screeches through me. I’m sinking like a cannonball, fighting to keep my eyes open in the salty water, but it’s no good. I can only just make out hundreds of tiny bubbles, then a jagged rock shelf, rapidly growing closer.

I’m going to hit it. I’ve got too much momentum from the fall, and no way to slow down.

I have about two seconds to process this before pain blossoms in my skull, and everything goes black.

Chapter

Eleven

Iwake in slow phases.

Frozen agony. A strange heaviness in my limbs. Splashing. Someone pants in my ear, their breath the only spot of warmth.

I drop under, then come to in a haze of pain and darkness. More panting. The sensation of something dragging me by the arm. I try to fight against it, to free myself, but I fade into darkness.

Eventually, I register the moon, bright above me, not quite full. Water sloshes over my face, spills into my open mouth. I should be choking, gagging, but I’m not.

It’s so cold.

Something tugs on my sleeve. Over the sound of roaring water, I can just barely detect a wheeze. A frantic whine in my ear.

I struggle.

For one horrible moment, I have no idea where I am. Splashing, gasping, I wrench my arm free, and then I realize⁠—

—I’m in the ocean.

I’m in the ocean, and something is trying to drag me under.

I loose a scream that sounds more like a moan and throw my hands out in an attempt to tread water, but I have no idea how to swim, no idea how to stay afloat.

My palm collides with something solid. A fresh surge of panic arises. There are all kinds of things that can eat me in the sea, and I shouldn’t be here and⁠—

Wait, is that fur?

I close my fingers around something that is definitely wet and furry.

What the fuck?

There’s another whine.

What is this? A dog? Did a dog jump in the water after me?

Doesn’t matter. I can’t let him drown. I grapple for purchase, but the dog has gone limp, started to sink. I catch a paw and hold on tight, yanking him closer until I can reach beneath his armpits and pull his head above water.

My vision adjusts incrementally until I can detect pointed ears, a long snout.

There’s a cough, and water pours from the dog’s nostrils.

“It’s gonna be OK, buddy,” I pant, even though it absolutely isn’t OK and we’re definitely about to die.

At least he’s hacking the water from his lungs. Even if we were on land, I have no idea how to do CPR on a person, let alone a dog. He’s breathing noisily now, and that’s just going to have to be enough, even if it sounds painful.