Page 5 of Guarded By the Vodnik

I took off my shoes and handed them to Agent Narita. My suit was a full body affair, covering me from head to toes, palms included. I didn’t wear anything underneath. It was supposed to draw energy from the water and generate heat through a feat of technological genius I hadn’t bothered to wrap my head around.

Yet as I waded into the freezing water, I had to bite my tongue to keep from crying out. The cold hit me like a physical pain, making me immediately break out in violent shivers.

Heroically, I made my way to the motorboat on numb legs and climbed clumsily inside. Agent Beck tsked with sympathy.

“The suit will start working soon after you submerge. Not to worry,” he said.

I sat down shakily and tucked my feet under me in the hopes of warming them up. My teeth chattered too hard for me to express a concern about hypothermia.

The boat lurched into motion, spraying cold water as the bow plowed through the waves. I squeezed the edge of the narrow bench, holding on with all my might as my brain latched on to my mantra.

You’re all right. You’re safe. It sucks right now, but everything will be fine soon. I promise. It’s just a bit of discomfort. You can get through this. In fact, you WILL get through this, because you have no other choice.

That helped me calm down. The boat shuddered, picking up speed, and I had to untuck my feet to sit more securely. I was still terrified, cold, and miserable, but at least now, I saw the light of hope at the end of this ordeal.

Just a month, I promised myself. A month and you can get back on land and start looking for a new job. And a new apartment.

And, most likely, a new life.

I sighed, deciding not to think about my bleak prospects. Even if I survived this and got Matthias Carver sentenced, my life as I knew it was over. For one, even if all his people were caught and locked up, some of them would get short sentences. They would come out in a few years, all murderous and eager to avenge the bitch who put them in jail.

I would live in hiding until the end of my days. I resented it, and, at the same time, thought it was a small price to pay for justice, inadequate as it was.

Personally, I believed all of them deserved to die, even those barely involved in Carver’s child trafficking business. Those who knew he stole orphaned kids to sell them into slavery and did nothing to stop it were as guilty as he was in my eyes.

And even though the punishment that awaited them wasn’t suitably cruel, I was still determined to make it happen. To do that, I had to survive until I could testify in court. I was the only remaining witness, and what I knew was damning enough that Carver focused all his resources on silencing me.

When I agreed to testify against him, I knew the risks—in theory, at least.

The first witness murder really drove it home, though.

I saw the photo from the death scene by accident. Administrator Kowalski, who was in prison thanks to my testimony, was killed in her cell, the red gash in her throat like a grotesque smile. I didn’t pity her. She was in charge of the children’s home I volunteered at, and she was entrusted with the wellbeing of the children. She violated that trust so completely, no punishment would ever clear her blame.

Instead of fulfilling her duties, she made it easy for Carver to kidnap some of the kids in exchange for a hefty bribe. I overheard their conversation after seven children vanished, and everything they said made it damningly clear what was going on.

She knew the kids would be slaves forced to do unspeakable things. She let him take them for money, and agreed to sweep the kidnappings under the rug. After all, they were orphans who had no one. She was the one who was supposed to care about their disappearance.

After I came forward, the administrator was arrested and offered a deal: a smaller sentence in exchange for testifying against Carver. She was dead two days after she agreed.

The third witness was a janitor working at the children’s home. His account wasn’t as strong as mine, but he had seen Carver and his people visit and even go through the bedrooms while the children slept, picking out their victims. Carver already had clients lined up, and they wanted kids of specific species. At the time, the janitor didn’t realize what was happening, but he put it all together after those kids disappeared.

Now he was dead, too. Two agents had been assigned to protect him, but they failed. All of them were dead, and I was the next in line.

Damn it. Breathe.

I realized I was shaking so hard, it was difficult to stay in my seat. Tunnel vision turned on, my world darkening and narrowing. I gulped deep breaths, recognizing an impending panic attack.

I hadn’t had those in years, but my life being uprooted and in danger, combined with the prospect of diving into the deadly lake, must have been too much. I focused on box breathing, clumsily tapping the top of my head with my gloved hand to ease the anxiety even just a little.

One, two, three, four, hold. Tap, tap, tap.

Five minutes later, I had myself under control, but I felt the panic churning in my belly. It was barely suppressed, ready to leap out at the slightest provocation.

I forced myself to stay calm, breathing as evenly as I could. My body grew numb in places, which helped things a bit as long as I didn’t think about my toes possibly freezing off.

Shit. I was thinking about my toes freezing off.

One, two, three, four, hold. Tap, tap, tap.

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