Children of the Sea 02 - Sea Fever

wider than her whole body, on a level with her wrists. Her heart pounded.
    If she could pull herself up there, if she could climb . . .
     
    She scrabbled at the edges of the hole, clawing frantically at the rock. Stones dislodged, sliding and striking her head and shoulders. The water lapped and sucked at her legs. She jumped, grabbed, and slid.
    Jumped and slid. Jumped, grabbed, and caught a handhold in the passage above.
     
    Her arms screamed. Her shoulders protested. She hung there for long moments, a dead weight with battered, bleeding hands. Her feet dangled in the water. She felt it churning around her ankles, cold, cold, coming for her. Her breath sobbed. Come on, come on. Think of Ma; think of Nick.
    She kicked with her feet, twisting like a kid in gym class under the pull-up bar. Please oh please oh please oh . . .
     
    Up. She scraped her elbow, wedged her ribs on the edge of the hole.
    Her blood drummed in her ears. She did it. She made it. She was gasping, huffing, sweating, although she couldn’t move her fingers or feel her toes.
    She pulled in her stomach, struggled to bring her knee up—
    And fell.
     
    A cry ripped from her broken throat, a squawk of rage and despair.
    No.
     
    Cold water, cold, closing over her head.
     
    She thrashed, flailing at the water, bumping her hip, her knees, her elbow against the rocks.
     
    The rocks. She located bottom; pushed off, dragging her feet under her; and stood in water up to her waist.
     
    Water streamed from her hair, streamed in her eyes. She drew great, gasping, shuddering breaths, wrapping her arms around her waist as if she could hold in her heat, hold herself together.
     
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    She shivered violently, her teeth clacking together. It wasn’t fair, goddammit. Nick was growing up without a father. He needed his mother.
     
    She could not control her shaking. She stretched her arms over her head and groped again for the edge of the chimney. Had Jericho brought her down this way? Loweredher down? How much time had she wasted feeling her way in the dark?
     
    She was disoriented, dizzy from her fall. The water was deeper. She set her teeth and waded, feeling the rock ceiling overhead.
     
    Something brushed against her leg. A rock. She ignored it. Again.
    Something large and long and low, moving fast through the water. The surface churned.
     
    She screamed and stumbled backward, windmilling her arms for balance. Oh, God, oh, no, oh—
    “Regina.” Dylan’s voice, warm in the dark.
     
    She was hearing things, imagining things. Nick’s face. Her mother’s voice . . .
     
    She turned her head wildly, frightened, freaked out, straining her eyes against the blackness. Her teeth chattered.
     
    “Regina?” Closer now, questioning.
     
    She was losing her mind. She was losing it.
     
    Something touched her shoulder. She jerked and struck out.
     
    Whatever, whoever it was, simply pulled her close, trapping her sluggish, useless arms between them, wrapping her in a strong, warm embrace, murmuring, “It’s all right now. It’s all right.”
     
    Dylan’s voice. Dylan’s scent.
     
    She was hallucinating. Had to be. But he felt solid and warm and real against her, and she was cold, so cold, and alone. She buried her face
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    against his chest, wet and slippery smooth, burrowing against him. He was strong and warm, close and . . . naked?
     
    She jolted as he held her, as he stroked her hair. “Where—” Her voice was a croak. She coughed and tried again. “Clothes?”
     
    He was silent.
     
    Maybe she’d offended him.
     
    Maybe he wasn’t there. Like her mother. Like Nick.
     
    “Sorry. Dumb question. My fantasy,” she babbled, holding on to him. Don’t leave me alone. “Why wouldn’t you . . . be naked?”
     
    “Regina.” His voice was shaken with laughter or something else.
    “Are you all right?”
     
    “Lost . . . my mind.” The words ripped her throat. “Unless . . . you’re here?”
     
    “I’m here.” His voice flowed over her, deep and reassuring. “You’re fine. We’re going to get you out.”
     
    Her head wobbled. She let it drop against his chest. The relief of having someone here, someone warm to lean on, was unspeakable.
    “How?”
     
    “We’re going to swim through the tunnel.”
     
    His words roused her to doubt. If he were really here, if he were really real, wouldn’t he be wearing . . . Her confused mind stumbled among options. Diving equipment?
     
    “How did . . . you find