Page 3 of Code Name: Harbor

The cold debilitates me instantly, every single nerve ending in my body firing into a million points of pain. For the first few seconds under the surface, I literally cannot think what I should do.

Luckily, my training kicks in and I know I have to stay under as long as possible. I kick to swim deeper, ditching the camera looped around my neck. My first instinct is to move under the dock, but I dismiss it, kicking farther into the deep.

I hear vague pops of sound from above and while I can’t see anything, I know they’re shooting at me.

Please don’t hit me.

Please don’t hit me.

I kick my legs hard, sweeping my arms in wide pushing arcs to propel me farther.

My lungs are burning, I’m getting dizzy, but I keep myself under the water. I’m weighed down by my tactical pants. My boots are the heaviest.

And in fact, there comes the realization that they’re dragging me down, and I need to get to the surface before I black out.

It’s a Herculean effort, but I angle up and kick hard. I see nothing but black all around and have no clue how far down I am. I kick and kick and kick and then I’m sucking in cold air.

Even as I’m gasping, taking in the precious oxygen, I spin myself around toward the dock.

All the men stand at the end and peer into the darkness, and I realize with so much relief I almost start crying that they can’t see me.

I also realize… the current is pulling me farther away and my legs are like rubber trying to tread water.

I shed my jacket and work on my boots next. I keep going under every time I have to tug on the laces because I can’t kick to stay up. After several attempts, I get them both off and the relief to my numb muscles is immediate.

One of the men now has a flashlight, sweeping the water, but it can’t reach out this far. They’re shouting at each other.

“She has to come up.”

“She came up under the dock.”

“She did not come up under the dock. I was watching.”

“Get the boat.”

“Get the boat, get the boat—”

“We don’t have time. We need to go.”

Yes, please just fucking go.

I’m alone. I’m freezing. I cannot feel my fingers. I’m being pulled into open water in the dark.

I think about my father.

Not in any specific way. Just a flicker. The way he sits at the kitchen table with his coffee in the mornings now, alone, and I think I’m sorry I’m about to do this to you.

And then I hear it.

An engine, but it’s not coming from the boat at the dock.

It’s behind me… out in the channel. It sounds small and there are no lights.

I turn in circles in the water, small waves lapping at my chin. I can’t see anything.

It could be a fisherman.

It could be the Coast Guard.