Chills & Thrills Paranormal Boxed Set (20 page)

And he did have her. His strong arm held tight even as he
fought off both the currents and her attempts to save herself.

"Shh, shh . . ."

Somewhere, despite her sheer animal terror, she found a
scrap of common sense. And trust. She trusted Zach to hold on, which gave her
enough courage to stop fighting for her life.
 

"That's the way," he said, pulling her against
him.

She let her head flop on his shoulder and was soon able to
comprehend where they were. Zach held on to the pirogue, which supportd them as
they traveled in a ceaseless circle. Except for the churning water, there was
silence all around.

Then a crash of thunder broke the stillness. Liz jerked,
clawed for Zach's neck.

"Liz. Ease up. We'll both go under."

Letting out a mewing sound, she bobbed her head and loosened
her hold. But when he relaxed the arm he had around her, it was all she could
do not to grab tighter.

"I'm going to push you up on the hull. You have to
help."

She could hear the effort talking cost him. He'd fought
these currents to get to her and must be as exhausted as she was. Although her
every instinct protested, she unlaced her death grip on him and put a hand on
the canoe. Slowly, tentatively, she put the other one next to it, supported
only by the arm Zach had around her waist.

"Hold tight." He slid his hand to her bottom.

When he shoved, the bucking canoe fought back. Her fingers
recoiled from
 
the rough surface
 
and she lost her grip. A helpless shriek
escaped her mouth, but Zach caught her.

"Again," he ordered.

He gave another shove, and even though the unfinished hull
tore at her fingertips, this time she held fast.

Then she was lying diagonally atop the pirogue, her body
begging for rest. But Zach was still in the water, now needing her. She rolled
on her side and extended a hand. Zach took it and just held on for a minute,
treading water, resting, gathering strength. She could barely see him, it had
grown so dark, but the warmth of his fingers revived her stamina.

"Come up, Zach," she whispered, not sure he could
hear her above the noise of the water.

He let go of her hand and started crawling up the hull. His
weight caused the craft to tilt. For a horrible instant, Liz thought they might
both roll off. Spasms coursed through her body—she would vomit very soon—and
her muscles screamed from fatigue, but she knew if he fell back into the water,
she'd go after him by her own volition. They would survive together . . . or go
down together.

She scooted back, providing a counterbalance to his weight.
The canoe leveled out, and he threw his other arm over the keel. Then his legs
were up and he collapsed beside her, clinging fast and breathing in gasps. Liz
wanted to fall upon him and feel how alive he was. She wanted to cry out her
exultation that they'd survived.

Instead, she gave in to her retching stomach and emptied its
contents into the swirling bayou.

* * *

They drifted for eons around the edge of the waning vortex,
silent in the dark, spread-eagled over the curved hull of the pirogue. The
canoe rocked gently now, providing safety for the moment, and neither possessed
the endurance to swim to freedom, nor even suggested the possibility. Though
thunder sometimes interrupted the stillness, Liz took comfort in Zach's
presence, hoped he also took comfort in hers.

When the moon began to rise, she turned her head to gaze at
him. His eyes were open, and she wondered how long he'd been looking at her.
"Better?" he asked, his voice raspy with fatigue.

She smiled wanly. "Much. How about you?"
 

"I'll live. For a while there I wasn't sure."

"Yeah."

Silence again. Liz almost nodded off.

"What were you thinking out there?" he asked.
"You know, when you thought you might drown."

"What a question."

"Yeah. Not one that comes up every day."

"I'm not sure. Everything was so jumbled, emotions,
thoughts . . . regrets." She hesitated.

Keeping her feelings inside had become second nature. But in
one afternoon, she'd made love with this man, almost drowned him in her panic,
and let him hold her while she'd heaved her insides up. She could at least give
him what he needed to hear. "Lots of regrets. About Mama and Papa . .
." She looked at him, at those ever-changing eyes that were now blue-gray
beneath the muted moon. "If only I'd—"

He put his finger over her lips. "No,
cher
, no.
The big lesson I learned tonight was 'ifs' were driving me crazy. The future's
all that counts, though I figure this isn't the time to talk about it."

She let out a grim laugh and they lapsed into another
silence. This time it was Liz who broke it. "There was one other thing,
Zach."

"What?"

"It's hard to begin . . . with all the rest, fighting
the water, thinking about my parents . . . Another thought kept running through
my head, almost like"—a shiver of revulsion swept through her
body—"This sounds insane—but almost like someone was talking to me."

"A voice? What did it say?"

Thunder rumbled overhead like a drum roll, sending shivers
down Liz's spine.

Turn back, guardian. You cannot prevail.

"There! There!" she said. "I just heard it
again."

"That was thunder."

"Not the thunder." She repeated the words that had
run through her head. When Zach responded with an alarmed pause, she hurried to
fill it. "A hallucination, that must be what it is. I was terrified,
fighting for my life, and now I'm exhausted. I'm sure that's it. This kind of
thing happens, doesn't it, Zach?"

"Yeah," he replied in a flat tone. "It
happens."

His confirmation lifted her spirits a little, and she tried
to kid herself into thinking he understood. She wanted to tell him of the
malevolence the message carried, how it had panicked her almost as much as the
pull of the water. But there'd been something slightly off in the tone of his
responses, and she wondered if he wanted more discussion about their future.

Only . . .

In truth, his voice contained more dread than
disappointment. But why wouldn't it? They were floating on a canoe in the far
reaches of the swamp. No food, no water, no way to get help. Zach was a man who
needed answers, and right now there were none to be found.

She saw him pat his back pocket, unconsciously checking for
his flask, and wondered if his heavy drinking was one of his regrets. Then she
felt an urge so strong she couldn't resist.

"You," she whispered into the starless night.

"Who?"

"It's you. I regretted not spending my life with
you."

He reached out to stroke her cheek. "Liz, oh Liz. It's
not too late."

Then he kissed her. Not a hungry kiss, not a greedy kiss.
Just a soft brushing of his lips against hers, a pledge to a love that had been
all but lost.

When he gathered her against his heart, she could hear it
beating, each thrum assuring her she was loved. And though it wasn't
comfortable lying sideways on the rough curved surface of the craft, nothing
could lure her from his arms.

Stiff and cold and aching from exhaustion, taking heat from
each other's bodies, they fell asleep.

A thud—and the sudden certainty she was going to
fall—shocked Liz awake. She grabbed for wood, then for Zach.

He was gone.

She shot up and saw him sprawled in front of her, bathed in
subdued moonlight and grinning like a madman.

"Land!" they cried at the same time.

Liz jumped up.

By then Zach was also up, staring at the terrain in front of
them. He crouched down, bending to scoop up a pile of soil. Liz went to his
side, taking in his view. Gray. Everything so gray. Gray soil, sparse and gray
vegetation, a gray sky, a gray moon. Liz gasped.

"This isn't Louisiana."

"Well, it is and it isn't." He lifted his arm and
let a handful of gray dirt trickle through his fingers. "Welcome to
Quadray Island. Seems it does exist after all."

"No, Zach," Liz replied in horror. "We're
exhausted. Our imaginations—"

"Stop talking that imagination crap! This is exactly
what your ma described on the page next to the map. Don't try to convince me it
isn't, even if I don't understand French all that well."

His shoulders sagged and his eyes dulled. He looked so weary
that Liz wanted to say something encouraging, but as she scanned the island,
she saw little to reassure them. Yards and yards of colorless soil,
interspersed with only rusty chunks of lava rock and withered clumps of grass.
Here and there she saw drooping cypress trees that were so covered with moss
she wasn't sure they were still alive. And beneath the hazy sky through which
the ghost moon dropped rays of baleful light, edges merged and blended to
create a surrealistic landscape.

Zach was right. This was what her mother had described.

Turn back, Guardian. You cannot prevail.

She shivered. Exhaustion, mild hysteria, so many
explanations, but none lifted the cloak of dread that fell upon her.

Turn back, Guardian.

"The pirogue," she said in a thin voice. "We
have the pirogue."

"But no supplies. Worse, no water. If we find some, I
doubt it would be fit to drink." He looked up grimly. "Even birds
won't fly over Quadray Island. Your ma wrote that, too."

"Really, Zach, you're spouting superstition. I can't
deny this island is different, but I'm sure—"

"Different?" He let out a choked laugh. "Take
a gander, Liz. This is a wasteland in the middle of the wetlands. An anomaly of
unexplainable proportions."

"There's a scientific explanation, I'm sure." She
glanced back to the canoe. "Let's pull the pirogue ashore and see what's
stored there. Papa used to keep tarps and canteens beneath the seat in the
bow."

"They probably got washed away," Zach said dully.
"The pole and paddles, too. Even if they aren't, we're too exhausted to
row."

"A day without water won't kill us."

"Say that again when the sun comes up."

He needed her strength. He'd given all of his to pull her
out of the whirlpool. Now it was her turn. She closed the distance between
them, and cupped his face in her hands.

"Kiss me," she demanded. "For luck"

Then she claimed his lips, almost brutally, wanting to
affirm life and victory, and restore his sagging spirits. She ended the kiss as
abruptly as she began it, then circled away and marched toward the pirogue.

"Are you going to help me?"

He looked a bit dazed, but he fell in behind her. Soon they
had the craft far ashore and upright.

"Well, one paddle survived," Zach said without
enthusiasm.

Liz wasn't as interested in the paddle as she was in finding
water and something to shelter them. They were soaked to the skin, and a biting
breeze was in the air. "There's a tarp here!"

Yes, a tarp, wedged tightly beneath the seat. She fell to
her knees and pulled, and when the cloth broke loose, something clattered to
the floor of the canoe and rolled to strike her knee.

"Water!" A small bottle, the kind people were fond
of carrying around these days. Maybe there was more. She unfurled the tarp and
two more bottles fell out.

"Water, shelter," she said as cheerfully as she
could manage. "What else could we hope for?"

"Food maybe," Zach said listlessly, taking the
tarp from her with one hand. With the other, he reached for his flask, deftly
unscrewing the cap single-handedly before taking several gulps.

"It's no use, Liz," he said morosely. "We'll
never escape."

She gathered up the water, then levered to her feet. What
was going on? While Zach had been pessimistic about this trip from the
beginning, and always more aware of the dangers than she, he'd never exhibited
such a defeatist side. She bit her lip against warning him that alcohol would only
dehydrate his body. He needed rest, not nagging. Rest and water.

"Let's find a tree to break the wind, so we can sleep.
Tomorrow's another day."

"Scarlett O'Hara, I presume." His effort to shake
off his funk encouraged her. He pointed at an unearthly cluster of moss-hung
cypress, made more eerie by the gray light of the moon. Not her preferred
choice, but she had to agree it was the best windbreak available.

"Okay," she said reluctantly, uncapping the first
bottle of water she'd found. It was only half full, giving them two and a half
bottles to last for who knew how long. They'd have to conserve.

She wanted to drink it down, but she took only a few sips,
rolling it around her mouth first to wash away the bad taste, then offered it
to Zach. He pocketed his flask, and took the bottle, glancing at the remaining
two she carried.

"That's it?"

"Afraid so."

Like her, he took a few sparse sips, then gave the bottle
back. In turn, he reached into his pant's pocket and pulled out a handful of
the wrapped striped candies. "Least we'll have something to ward off
hunger."

Half a dozen at the most, not terribly nourishing, and the
way Zach offered them wasn't a particularly good sign. It showed how little
faith he had that they'd escape the island. But she unwrapped the damp
cellophane that had protected the mint from the water and popped it in her
mouth.

A thought struck her. What if her father had crashed here,
too? She unbuttoned the pocket where she'd kept his pills, relieved to find
they were still there, and even more relieved when they jiggled around,
apparently protected by the watertight container. The next thought that came to
mind was the journal. A keepsake. Not important considering their situation,
but . . .