Turning Tides

Chapter Two: Disorientation

Her lungs were on fire.

She could hear her pulse hammering in her ears, the reverberations sending a tremor through her throbbing head. Distant murmurs buzzed gently under the rhythm, but it was indiscernible.

She couldn't breathe.

The chatter grew clearer, just enough so she could recognize the voices of the rest of the research team. But it still wasn't enough to muffle the sound of her heart, and she focused as much as her pounding head would let her.

She needed to take a breath.

For a moment, the sounds faded.

And then at once, they crashed over her, drowning her senses like a tidal wave. Her ears filled with panicked shouts and blaring sirens. Flashing red lights were seared on the inside of her eyelids. Salt water engulfed her tongue and stung her sinuses. Her muscles pulsed with adrenaline; an icy chill bathed her skin.

She gasped for air.

Her first inhale was shallow, and her chest ached at the attempt. She tried again, pushing past the burn no matter how much it hurt. Only by the third time did she feel like her breath managed to stay in her system, and each of the following ones dulled the pain that lingered in her chest.

It took several more breaths before the stars flickered out of her eyes, and even then, it still took time for her vision to focus. Once it did, it was filled with dark gray rocks with a blue tint and porous texture.

Suddenly, a cluster of bubbles entered her line of sight. They drifted gently towards the rocky surface, dancing with each other along the way. Malia watched them, waiting to see them pop as soon as they hit the coarse surface. Instead, they merely lingered there, floating in limbo.

Floating...

Malia bolted upright—or rather, she tried to. As soon as she shifted her weight, she lost control of her balance, wobbling side to side as if she was trying to sit unassisted on an exercise ball. The last time she tried that, she tumbled inelegantly to the floor; this time was no different.

"You're awake," an unfamiliar voice said. And if it wasn't for their astute observation in such an indifferent tone, Malia would've thought they sounded like a gentle river rushing over rocks.

"Ow," Malia replied, rubbing away the intensified ache in her head.

"It can't hurt that bad," the voice continued from out of sight. "Not for long, at least."

As much as Malia wanted to spring to her feet and argue—she could use a good verbal sparring to warm her mental muscles—she still felt oddly wobbly. There was something very wrong with her, but she tabled that concerning notion in favor of shooting a glare at whatever jerk had the nerve to be so rude.

But as soon as she did, any heat that resided in her chest vanished. Towering over her was a strange woman with fair, seafoam green skin—yes, green—and radiant blue eyes. Long, wavy brown hair danced gently around her head; similarly, her pastel blouse and dark pants billowed loosely around her slender frame.

Suddenly, her small lips tilted into a frown, and her bright aqua eyes narrowed icily. With that subtle movement, Malia's annoyance returned in full force.

Immediately, everything about the strange woman, from her tone and accent to her posture and mannerisms, screamed posh and pretentious. Or rather...

"Are you British?" Malia asked, incredulous.

The woman sighed softly. "Beatrice. Beatrice George." Her eyes did a once-over of Malia; her nose crinkled. "Pleasure to meet you."

Malia had to pause a beat before limiting her emotions to a short scoff. "And I'm Malia," she said, imitating Beatrice just short of her accent. "Malia Tsai. Where the hell am I?"