Page 72 of Song of Lorelei
The whole boat groaned, then shifted, sliding downwards.
“Come on!” Will shouted, slinging the tranquilizer gun over his shoulder. “Gotta get outta here.” As he helped Walt to his feet, Nireed and Undine appeared at the top of the stairs and rushed to help. “We could not hold it any longer.”
Walt hobbled up the stairs as fast as his limp would allow. The rest of them awkwardly followed, carrying Killian up the narrow stairway.
They dragged and climbed their way toward the stern, now pointed toward the dark, cloudy night sky as Dawn Chaser began its plunge, water rushing up from below. Lorelei and the others lowered Killian over the side into the awaiting arms of the nearest group of merfolk. They cradled his head, keeping him afloat, and shot away from the boat.
Will and Lorelei helped Walt over the gunwale, then they, too, jumped in.
The merfolk each took a hold of a crew member and sped away, putting distance between them in the boat. Being sucked under by a sinking ship might be fine and well for a creature of the deep, but the fishermen would drown.
When they’d reached a safe distance, they all bobbed together in the water, seven human crew members buoyed by a community of merfolk, watching silently.
Dawn Chaser let out its final surface-side groan, one great bellowing death knell, and sunk beneath the waves.
Lost at sea.
Chapter Forty-One
LORELEI
A new race had begun. A race against time and the limitations of the human body. Even at the height of summer, Maine waters rarely reached fifty-five degrees. If they didn’t get the already hypothermic crew to shore fast, they would die of exposure.
Once wounds had been wrapped in seaweed, the merfolk strapped the crew to gurneys like the one brought for Nireed’s return home last September. Anyone not pulling swam circles beneath, driving off sharks and other sea creatures attracted to the blood.
As they sped for shore, towing the humans through frigid water, an orange and white helicopter soared overhead, blades beating loud in the sky, racing toward Dawn Chaser’s last known location. It must have come up from Cape Cod; Haven Cove had a Coast Guard station but not a helicopter unit.
They pushed on. Thirty miles of hard, weighted swimming.
When the merfolk finally dragged the fishermen onto shore—in the little cove that nestled Killian and Lorelei’s seaside home—they were exhausted, rasping for breath as they crawled hand and fin up the sand.
Shouting rang out from the cottage.
The front door banged open as Marci and Lila dashed down the sandy slope.
Supplies. Warmth. Get the crew warm.
Adrenaline coursed through Lorelei’s veins. Hours of fighting for survival overrode frazzled, panicked brain, and she yelled, “Get us some blankets now!” They skidded to a halt at her firm, authoritative tone. “In the house. Any you can get your hands on, bring them, and hurry!”
Lila hesitated, tears streaking down her dark brown cheeks, but Marci yanked her along. “Honey, this is how we help them.” They disappeared into the cottage, and moments later, ran out with comforters ripped off the beds, blankets and towels pulled from the closets.
“Wrap them up, but don’t rub their extremities,” Lorelei rattled off, taking one of the blankets for Killian. “Chest and shoulders are fine. Prop up their feet if you can. No food. No hot liquids.” When Killian treated her for hypothermia two years ago, on the day they’d met, she’d paid attention.
Undine signed a translation and several merfolk jumped to help, because more hands were needed to tend to seven men. Shivering bodies were wrapped, sand was pushed up under feet. For whatever differences they may have had in the past, her kind really knew how to respond to an emergency.
Lila held a phone to her ear, crying as she gave the person on the other end their address. Emergency services.
Lorelei quickly assessed the crew.
They all shivered, lips purple or blue. But still lucid. Ian was groaning. Will cracked some off-color joke she barely registered. They were all moving and talking to some degree.
All except Killian, his eyes were shut.
She crawled over to him, blanket dragging behind her through the sand, panic seizing at last. She felt his skin. He was cold. So, so cold. Like ice. And his breath was so shallow she could barely hear it, even with her heightened senses. Still alive, but just barely.
Choking on a sob, she gathered him up into her arms, pulling the blanket over top of him, tucking it in. Please, not like this. Not here, not now. She cradled his head to her chest, brushing sea-soaked fringe away from his eyes and thumbing a streak of blood-mixed grease off his cheek. “Stay with me, Killian. Help’s coming.”
We have years ahead of us, long, long happy years.