Page 37 of The Darkest Hour

Any man would have argued with me. Again, it was an ego thing. Even in survival we competed with each other, trying to prove who was the true boss.

But, Onyx was smart enough to know that I wasn’t trying to overpower her. I just wanted us to survive.

Therefore, she did just as I ordered.

Still furiously paddling, I glanced over my shoulder.

Soon the bombed boat was now a dark silhouette against the fiery backdrop, and still I could hear that other boat shooting at it.

They wanted to make sure we died right in this ocean. Son of a bitch boss. Whoever you are. . .beware. I will come for you.

Onyx checked where I was looking. “We need to change direction and hide in the trail of smoke over there!”

She pointed.

I put my view on that target.

Large clouds of black smoke had left the boat and was slipping along the ocean’s surface. It wouldn’t be a fun time to paddle within the smoke, but it sure would save our asses, by hiding us from the enemy.

“Good idea.” I followed her lead as we adjusted our course.

The raft groaned in protest with each wave, the flimsy material straining under the pressure, but it moved us along fast enough.

As we reached the edge of the smoke, the world around us darkened.

It was hard to breath, almost impossible.

All around us, there was only thick, choking smoke, blocking out the sunlight and reducing visibility to almost zero.

It felt as though we had entered another realm entirely.

Fuck.

At least, the relentless gunfire and explosions were muffled.

Distant.

Sweat mixed with saltwater on my face, stinging my eyes and dripping onto my chest. My muscles ached, my body screamed for rest, my lungs begged for better air, but there was no stopping us now.

We had to keep going through the trail of smoke.

“Paddle!” I barked at Onyx through gritted teeth. My throat burned and I coughed several times. With all the smoke, I could barely see her or even the paddle that I kept shoving into the water. “Don't stop!”

Onyx grunted a response and I heard her paddle cutting through the water next to me.

Her efforts fueled mine.

We pushed forward into the darkness, our movements synchronized and determined. Each stroke of our oars took us hopefully further from danger. The water around us was black as ink, and the only sound was the rhythmic splash of our paddles breaking the surface.

Then, without warning, we hit the end of the smoky trail.

The air—once thick with suffocating fumes—suddenly cleared. The contrast was jarring. Both of us began gasping, coughing, and choking on the fresh air that flooded our lungs. It was as if our bodies—accustomed to the toxic smoke—were rebelling against the sudden influx of oxygen.

Our breaths came in ragged, desperate gulps. I could hear the rawness in Onyx’s cough, mirroring my own struggle.

Still, we continued to paddle, though more slowly now.

Despite the discomfort, there was a sense of relief that came with each breath of clean air.