Devil's Lake

2 - Effigies & Crows

 "Oh my God. Is she alright?"

"Help me."

Hands grip me, pull me out of the water, and set me down on my back. A bright light shines through my eyelids, and instinctively, I roll onto my side and cough up water. Lots of it. It's more like vomiting. I blink several times, trying to adjust to my surroundings and the reality of air. It hurts to breathe, and yet it brings such relief.

"I've been trying to call," a guy says. "Can't seem to keep a signal."

My pulse hammers through my veins, and yet I try to get up. Too early. Blackness encroaches my vision.

"It's okay," my hero says. "She wasn't under that long."

"I told you to switch networks," a girl says.

"It's these damned bluffs. They block the signal."

The blond guy—my hero—shakes his head. "She wasn't under that long," he says again.

The darker haired man scoffs. "You and your damned hero-complex, Braydon. You know you can't save—"

"Hey, he just saved her life," the red-headed girl says. "Give him a break, Jesse."

"Whatever." And Jesse storms off.

Waves of dizziness crash over me, but I need to leave. I need to get away from this Goddamn lake. And these people. This crowd.

"Nessa, why don't you grab some towels?"

"Sure," the girl says.

I try to sit up. He won't let me. "You should keep your head low. Elevate your legs."

"Don't touch me!"

"Okay. Okay."

And for a while, I keep my legs intentionally down. Ugh! He's probably right. So I raise my knees and grumble internally.

"Can I get your name?" Braydon asks. I don't respond. "Who are you here with? I'm sure they've got to be wondering where you are."

To that, I chuckle a little, but it quickly turns to coughing.

"I need to sit up," I say, and thankfully he allows me. Still, I don't look at him. I fold my legs, hug them, and lean my face into my knees.

A towel is draped over my shoulders, and the Braydon asks the girl to give us some space. She runs off and everything is silent again with the exception of the waves before us, my breathing, and the distant cries of children elsewhere on the beach.

"You know," he says. "I know what you were doing out there."

I throw him a quick glance.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

I hug my legs tighter.

"It's sort of a permanent solution to a—"

I look at him. "What? To a temporary problem? What do you know?"

He looks stunned into silence, but I can't look at him anymore. My burst of momentary confidence is gone, and I sink my head to my knees and cocoon myself under the towel.

He touches my back, but I shoulder him away.

"Go away," I say.

And then he must, because I hear him move. A cool fear overwhelms me. I'm not sure why. While he was present, I wanted nothing but for him to go away. Now that he's gone, I feel . . . rejected.