At First Sight

Chapter Eight

Drew’s feet propelled him forward like a pair of rocket launchers. He’d never moved so fast in his entire life. One minute, Copeland stood right in front of him and the next, she was gone. He nearly overshot the edge of the cliff following her into the water below.

It was vicious and alive, a puppet on a string for Mother Nature and her temper.  When he made contact, he lost his breath. The icy cold bit into his skin and he went under before surfacing.

 “Copeland!” he shouted into the darkness.

“Drew!” Her voice came from his left side, sounding as though she was gagging on the water. “My leg,” she said. “I hurt my leg!”

“Hang on, I’ll find you.” Thunder boomed across the sky, another bolt of lightning followed shortly after. He counted five seconds or so, near as he could tell, that meant it was about a mile away. They had to get out of the damned water or they could both be in serious trouble.

“I'm over here."

He squinted, able to make out the silhouette of arms trying to desperately grasp on to air‑ to anything‑ as her head submerged itself.

 “Hang on!” he repeated.

“Hurry,” she yelled, working harder for her words, “please.”

He swam as fast as he could, ducking his head down from the waves caused by the fury of the storm. When he reached her, she was sinking, taking in mouthfuls of water.

“Drew.”

“Turn on your back,” he directed. She did as he told her, allowing him to loop his arm across her body, securing her to him. He headed in the direction that he thought the shore was, the lightning striking relentlessly.

Damn it.

The sooner lightning came after thunder, the closer it got. His last count was three seconds. Trying to swim, pulling Copeland’s weight, counting the strikes and finding the shore was his sole reason for existing in this moment.  Each time the thunder crashed, he cringed, hopeful that the lightning that followed wouldn’t touch the water.

He powered forward, ignoring the prickling numbing pain in his legs from the sub zero temperatures in the lake as the water continued its assault, tossing both of them around like rag dolls and robbing him of any sense of direction.

It felt like hours before he managed to get to water shallow enough to stand in. He hadn’t noticed until now but somewhere along the way, Copeland stopped struggling against the water and went still.

Drew wasted no time laying her on the rocky shore. “Copeland,” the sound of his own voice was foreign and desperate as he shook her shoulders. “Copeland, c’mon, talk to me.”

Nothing.

He shook her again. “Copeland.”

Still nothing.

Panic seized him, his stomach rolling and twisting into knots.

“Copeland.” Anxiously, he rested his head on her chest. Her breaths were shallow and labored but they were there.

Drew turned her head to the side, and a rush of water left her mouth.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

He turned her head back so he could face her and pinched her nose before putting his mouth on hers. He breathed into it. Once, twice, three times before her chest heaved and she started coughing violently. He turned her head again, rolling her body on her side as more water left her lungs. When she was done sputtering, spitting up the water she inhaled sharply, gasping for air.