Blood in the Water (6 page)

This
rift isn’t too big, thankfully, and it’s not currently disgorging
anything gross or violent, which is a total plus in my book. I
shudder and loosen my grip, allowing myself a quick pat of Ruble’s
impressive six-pack for the road before I mostly let go of
him.

You gotta take your perks when saving the world.

He
shuffles around so he’s braced behind me and yanks out a gun,
checking it at high speed. I’m grateful for his strong arm when he
hooks it around my waist, squatting back a little to give me space.
He could lift me up with one hand; they all could, even little
Paulie.

And all I get are the magic glowy hands. What a
scam.

His grip
is tight, but not painful, and I take the deepest breath I can,
then reach out, my hands, then wrists and forearms sinking into the
water. It’s cold, and I can’t help the shudder that runs through
me, at least partially for the prospect of having my arms bitten
off. They’re certainly sending up a beacon, the mystic light
straining to meet the floating rip in reality. I reach further,
and—just as I’ve done four times before, just as I’ve been taught
in Warp classes—pull the edges of the void together so they seal,
leaving nothing to show for it.

Door
shut. Magic hands. The light sputters out, leaving us in almost
pitch blackness.

Ruble
pats my hip and then our vessel starts sliding upward, back to the
surface, back to reality. It’s a total anti-climax. No snake even
came near us. The only negative is that I’m soaked to the elbows in
the notoriously dirty water of the London river.

We emerge into the daylight, into the noise and shouting and
madness of the fight that has been going on all the time we were
under.
How long were we down? It felt like
years.
There are three Serpent bodies
floating on the surface, belly up, their milky pastel scales
glinting in the watery sunlight. One of them is huge, with dozens
of vicious wounds marring its flanks. It bobs against the ships
pressed along the bank, easily the length of four barges. Ruble
grins at me, dark eyes flashing with glee, and I suddenly realize
that by choosing him as my guard, I’ve kept him out of the fight.
As my chauffeur, he hopefully won’t get too much action. He still
seems to be having a good time, though; warriors live for
adrenaline rushes, as a rule. And he’s handsome now, with the fight
rousing his blood. He’s made for war. I grin back, catching some of
his excitement and sliding my hand back onto his
stomach.

“
Ready?”

I nod, leaning into him a little as we set off again. A grid
pattern search, I realize belatedly.
I bet
he told me that while I was busy not paying attention.
We head back and forth across the river three
times before my hands flare up, alerting us to the presence of
another breach.

This
one is a little hairier;
there’s nothing in sight and I’m feeling pretty good about it until
a Serpent surprises us from
behind
the rift. Since there’s no way to see through to
the other side of our own dimension, it’s a pretty good hiding
spot, but I don’t think the Serpent planned it. It unfurls and
noses toward us, huge fangs somehow sparkling even in the
lacklustre illumination. Diamond teeth, as though they’re creating
their own light. I’m about to yell out a warning when Ruble lifts
his gun and unloads two bullets into its jaw.

I feel a
little sorry for it as it groans loudly enough to rattle my
eardrums and spins away.

Do they even eat people? Do we have to kill them, or can we
just send them home? I’m sorry, Falcor!

It
doesn’t return, thank goodness, and I manage to seal the breach
without further incident, although I insist we look on both sides
of it before I close it, just in case.

My third
breach of the day is deeper. Much deeper. As we descend, my
breathing starts coming harshly, and Ruble’s muscles are jumping;
obviously he’s also less-than partial to the claustrophobic
sensation of thousands of gallons of water pressing down on our
heads.

And this
one feels worse from the very beginning. I’m almost not surprised
when the monster strikes.

I’M HALFWAY THROUGH CLOSING THE
breach, and soaked to the biceps, when a flash of movement
catches my attention a breath before the violent impact throws me
headfirst into the freezing water. I tumble sideways, flung off the
board so I’m drenched to the waist, and the board spins up and away
from my feet. I lose all sense of direction in a split
second.

I’m
about to die, I realize suddenly.

The only
information that could help orient me is the glow of my hands, and
there’s no way to follow that anywhere but to the breach. I choke
on a mouthful of water that tastes like rust and sewage, panicked
thoughts flooding my mind. Then a strong hand fists the collar of
my jacket and hauls me back into the haven of the
skimmer.

I’m
gasping and kneeling, with Ruble crouched over me, steadying our
rocking vessel with his feet, when the Serpent returns.

It’s
huge. We don’t stand a chance, and the breach still isn’t closed,
so if we run we’ll have to come back. Its mouth gapes, rings of
muscle contracting as I look right down its throat, fangs as long
as my forearm glistening with the iridescent colours of gasoline.
The beast screams as it rushes toward us, water frothing in its
wake, and I’m crushed down onto the ephemeral base of our bubble,
curled in a ball.

Ruble straddles my shoulder, clenching firm thigh muscles
around my chest, pinning me in place while he equalizes the
board.
He’s amazing, taking
aim at the monster with breathtaking calm, and
managing to squeeze off four rapid shots before pressing his hand
to the control patch and forcing us upward. My eyes are glued to
the trajectory of the bullets as they spiral through the murky
liquid, smashing into the Serpent’s throat lining and bursting into
bright purple blood splatters. I even see one collide dramatically
with a tooth, which splinters into fragments.

It feels
like it’s happening in slow motion. Bullet time. The Serpent bucks
and flails, spinning downward in a mass of blood and
bubbles.

Punctured lung? Do Serpents breathe air?

Then the
world speeds up again and we’re moving toward the surface, flying
through the water. I’ve just begun to believe that we’ve escaped
when I see disaster approaching. The body of the snake has passed
under us, but the tail thrusts through the water, smashing into our
bubble at shoulder height. It passes over my head, so that I
actually feel the air move, and slams into Ruble’s torso with such
intense speed that even he can’t react in time. He’s dashed out of
the bubble, out of the pocket of air before I even realize, let
alone react.

The last thing I see is his abjectly shocked face, mouth
wide, silver air streaming over his thick lips and catching in his
tangled hair before he disappears into the murk. I scream, and the
Serpent plunges into the darkness after him, leaving me huddled
against the thin salvation offered by the board, wondering what
will happen.
Will someone come? They’ll
come, right?
But how would they
know?
Shakily, I take stock of the
immediate vicinity. Nothing in any direction—only the misty light
of my weaver hands. If I close the breach below me, even that will
go out.

I can’t
do it. I want to—to do my duty as a weaver—but I can’t bear to
leave myself in darkness. Gravity glues my feet to the board and I
get out my gun, holding it in one hand while I shuffle forward
carefully, to press my other hand to the marked area on my lonely
bubble.

It takes
four spins—four bile-inducing, terror-causing spins that almost
spew me out into the water—before I get the feel of it, and manage
to slowly guide the craft upward. When I surface, the sunlight a
benediction for my fear-chilled skin, I realize I’ve drifted
heavily downriver. I squint across the glinting water, trying to
get my bearings.

To my
left, the stomach-twistingly familiar figure of Cam is hacking with
a great sword as tall as she is, her skimmer zooming in for the
huge weapon to send up a spout of blood, then zipping away. I
watch, wondering what to do. Bubbles are skittering all over the
surface of the water, but I can’t see anyone swimming. Or floating.
Anyone that could be Ruble.

Swiping
the water off my face, and determinedly hooking my soaked, ratty
hair behind my ears, I turn the bubble, scanning the surface. No
luck. Swapping my gun for my phone, I fumble with the buttons and
fire off a quick text requesting back up. Then I force my vessel to
head, in fits and starts, toward where Ruble disappeared, trying to
peer through the dark water.

I’VE ALMOST MADE IT TO
the other
side when a yell I recognize pierces my ears. A yell that stabs
right through my sternum and into my guts, filling them with ice.
I’ve turned the board and headed toward the sound before my
conscious brain has caught up.

Cam is
floundering on the surface of the water—not a good swimmer, but
able to keep afloat thanks to her preternatural speed. There is no
sign of her board or teammate, but there is a Serpent. It doesn’t
look so big—about six metres in length, and only as thick around as
a solidly built man. But it’s heading straight for Cam, just under
the surface of the water, an ominous V-shaped wake marking its
passage.

I almost
punch my hand right through the control panel in my fear. My bubble
leans forward dramatically, my feet slipping before finding
purchase. The Serpent rears up, flaring a dangerous-looking red
collar out around its gaping jaws, and strikes down with its blunt
nose, the green-gray water splashing up as it collides with Cam’s
struggling form and plunges them both under. I reach the
disturbance only seconds later, the waves lapping up the sides of
my bubble and rocking the fragile board.

Nononononononononononononono!

I can
barely think past the roaring in my ears, the redness washing over
my vision. Sick with fury, I drive the skimmer under, hands working
confidently on the control panel, because to fail is to let my
friend die. The water welcomes me, moves for me, and I plough
through it, following the frothy, bubbling trail. I pull my gun out
with a steady hand and aim down, ahead of me into the
darkness.

The
Serpent seems to coalesce, rather than simply becoming visible.
It’s in front of me, worrying at Cam’s ragdoll form. Red
blood—human blood—is discolouring the water in ugly florets.
Screaming my rage, I shoot haphazardly, squatting down and sending
my bubble hurtling toward my friend. The Serpent recoils, the
bullets shocking it, the water flattening the projectiles into
mushroom-headed pieces of metal that rip and tear into its scaled
side.

Somehow
feeling perfectly in control of my vehicle, I bend my knees and
angle my approach so that Cam’s drifting form flies through the
front of my bubble and under my steering arm, slamming into me with
the speed of my travel. The impact almost knocks me clear off the
board, but I manage to hold my footing through a sliding,
pants-wetting moment. I grab her collar, leaving her limp legs
trailing outside the safe zone, and don’t look down at the blood
sloshing over my feet, or at the insistent glow of my hands. I
don’t look at anything except the six-inch patch of magic that
controls our movement, sending us back upward.