The boat flips over his head, dumping him into the water. He kicks his feet, searching for the bottom to push off of. The lack of oxygen starts to make him panic.
There. He crouches in the sand, the depth of the water only about a foot over his head, and launches himself upward.
His face barely breaks the surface when hands clasp onto his shoulder and yank him back under. Mick's eyes shoot open. He cranes his neck to see the figure pulling him and holding him under. He jerks his elbow back, hitting the boy in his ribs.
Mick scrambles to the surface. He can't win this fight. He's on the boy's territory.
He bursts free from the liquid, blinking the water out of his eyes. Quick, he swims toward the floating plastic oar, turns, and bashes the fish boy in the head with the hilt just as he would have been grabbed again.
Kriss throws the oar toward the beach and freestyles forward, trying to get as close to land as possible. He needs to be at least where he can stand. Where the boy can't swim.
His feet brush the ground, the water up to his neck. He hops, pushing himself forward by scooping the water behind him.
A fin peeks out of the water behind him, then hand wraps around his ankle and pulls back, throwing Mick off his feet.
Knives tear into his Achille's tendon. Bubbles explode from his mouth. He looks back at the red cloud forming around the creature's teeth, hooked in his ankle. He kicks back, forcing it to let go of him.
Mick grabs the boy's wrist, pulling him closer to the shallow water before he could regain his bearings. Mick separates himself and limps farther into the sand, the water now only up to his waist.
The he-fish rushes toward him under the small plane of water and rams into him, pushing Kriss under again.
He hovers over him, hands firmly planted on his shoulders, holding him down.
Mick struggles, but the boy is pushing down with his tail. His squirming only agitates the sand.
Wait. The sand. His fingers curl around the bed of partials. He launches his hand upward, shoving the stuff in the boy's eyes.
He lets go in surprise.
Mick jolts up and sucks in the air, limping farther toward land.
Something slices across this other heel.
"Ahhgghh!"
He falls on his hands and knees. The water reaches his shoulders.
The merman comes up beside him and flips Mick on his back. He throws the bloodied seashell to the side and glares down at the human. Sand clings to his face and hair.
It doesn't matter that the water's shallow now. There is no way Mick is going to be able to walk.
The boy's hand presses down on Kriss's chest, sinking him yet again.
YOU ARE READING
Beached
FantasyWhen a girl swims out to sea to rescue a figure in distress, she quickly realizes that the reason as to why he was in distress was quite different from the reason she had in mind. He wasn't drowning. Julia finds herself tethered to the mysterious st...
