Bones of a Feather - Carolyn Haines [107]
When I was ten I found an old photograph of a body search for my great-uncle Crabtree’s son, Rayford, who’d fallen from a boat while fishing along a bend in the river. The photo had haunted me for a long time. Family members stood on the riverbank, weeping, while men in boats tossed ropes with grappling hooks into the water. Their hope was to catch the body and pull it up before the fish and water did too much damage.
I forced those thoughts from my head as I stroked toward the place I remembered seeing Monica’s body. I had to get the antidote. If there was a chance Monica was stunned and not dead, I had to recover her. I couldn’t let her drown because she was unconscious.
Using the bridge as a reference point, I swam blindly. Lightning flashed behind the thick cloud cover, and for one brief moment the entire river was illuminated. I was another thirty yards from shore—much closer to the center of the river than I’d intended. I should have known. The current sucked at my legs with an iron will. The river meant to have me. That thought was terrifying.
I searched for Monica before the illumination failed, but I couldn’t find her. I felt a sob building in my chest. She was gone. She’d either sunk or been swept away, unresisting, by the current.
I faced a terrible choice. I could abandon Monica and Tinkie’s antidote and try to save myself, or I could continue to search for Monica and possibly drown. My body screamed exhaustion, and my arms felt as if they were being pulled from the shoulders. I wasn’t even certain I had the strength to get back to shore.
For a long moment I treaded water.
There are two things always associated with a Delaney. Love of land and hardheadedness. I struck out for the center of the river.
The clouds bloomed with lightning again, a pulse of wicked illumination that made the entire sky bright enough to see. I couldn’t find Monica.
Another shot rang out and the bullet bit into my upper arm. The pain made me gasp. Water rushed into my lungs.
My right bicep was on fire with pain. I rolled in the water, kicking and stroking weakly for the shore. I no longer had a choice. I doubted I could save myself, much less find Monica’s floating body in the vast black river. I couldn’t see the shore, and that was good, because if I knew how far I had to swim, I might give up.
The water turned icy cold, and my legs wanted to stop kicking. Sinking wouldn’t be so bad. I wouldn’t have to face Oscar and tell him I’d lost the antidote to save Tinkie. I wouldn’t have to confess to Graf that I’d betrayed him by doing something so dangerous I put his heart at risk. Letting go might be for the best.
“Sarah Booth!”
Shaking free of the lethargy that held me, I squinted at the shore. I’d swum farther than I thought. But maybe this wasn’t the bank of the big river. Maybe this was something else. Maybe this was the river Jordan, and the person calling my name, a deep, masculine voice, was … Was it my daddy?
“Sarah Booth, hold on!”
I could see him, a lanky man who disdained the traditional planter garb for khakis and a crisply ironed blue oxford. Sunlight touched his chestnut hair and sparkled in his hazel eyes. “Sarah Booth!” But he seemed to be waving me back, as if I shouldn’t go to him.
“Daddy!” My arms and legs felt weighted by cement. Water swirled around me, but I couldn’t understand why. It was black and cold and I pushed harder to get to the sunlight and my father.
“Sarah Booth!”
Another voice called to me, a male, demanding, authoritative, angry. I ignored him and fought a bit closer to my father. But Daddy was distressed. He kept pushing me back, forcing me away from him and toward the darkness of the water.
“Sarah Booth, damn it! Fight!”
Something large and warm brushed against me.