Heston (In the Company of Snipers #25)

Chapter Three

Thunder rumbled and crashed around her.

She was lost inside a giant kettledrum.

Wicked vibrations bounced her to the right, then left.

The terrific noise inside the kettle pounded her into a ragdoll.

There was nothing to grab or hold onto.

Nothing to stop the endless battering.

Just noise, pain, and mayhem.

Ice slashed the skin on her face and hands with razor-sharp teeth.

Her body rolled and dipped on this ghastly, out-of-control carnival ride.

What the river couldn’t steal, hidden boulders, logs, and relentless grit did.

Like tentacled sea monsters, the churning current dragged her down, then shoved her back up, through and into whatever lay in her path.

She’d become unwanted flotsam banging against rocks and branches on her way to nowhere.

Too warm to keep.

Too limp to fight back.

Caught in Mother Nature’s evil web, the maker of grand canyons and steep, widow-making crevices, the supreme breaker of mountains and stone, she went unwillingly in unwanted directions.

Her body was literally being ripped apart, as if the river couldn’t decide whether to keep her or throw her back, like a dead fish it had no use for.

There was no way to fight back, no weapons to fight with. No way to stop the assault or keep her head above water. No way to save herself.

Caught in the maelstrom, fighting for the simple miracle of breath, she prayed for the will to live. All she found was an ice-cold grave and the cruel hand of death at her throat. Her burning lungs had already sucked in more ice water than air. Living was not possible. Not anymore.

The frigid river had stolen everything.

Her breath.

Her strength.

Her will to live.

Her mind.

Hers was truly just to suffer and die. Until…

She crashed into the rigid gate of Hell. Water raced around her at breakneck speed, eager to get away from her. By some weird twist of fate, the force of this new obstacle tipped her chin up—just enough—she stole a gasp of air. Then another. Hurriedly. Quickly. Before she lost her one slim chance to survive.

But as quickly as her lungs filled, the water surged over her face and pushed her head below its wicked torrent. Her eyes opened but she only saw the churning, underwater whiteness that would be her death. There was no sense struggling. The river was too strong and too angry, and she was nothing more than a tiny sparrow trapped in its death-grip.

The brute force of it held her fast against the iron gate. Her bones were turning into water. She’d swallowed enough of it. Her mouth and throat were still full of it. Before long, water would saturate her muscles, tissues, her heart, and… her soul. There was no escape. She belonged to the river.

The world turned colder. Meaner. Her eyes were too battered to see, her fingers too weak to flex. Hope no longer mattered. In minutes, she’d be a bloated, water-saturated corpse. An ugly truth, but nonetheless—a truth.

Oblivion beckoned with one long, icy-cold finger. Her heartbeat faded. The contest was over. The river had won. With one last bubble of air from her drowning lungs, she sent her soul to the man who’d helped her find it so long ago.

To Alex.