Page 107 of Undertow

Because it is, in so many ways. “Roman Shaw” is dead.

And I always knew Julia Hartford would be my end one way or another.

THEN: INTO THE ABYSS

Tired lungs scream for air.

It’s the paradox of drowning. A scratchy, dry throat from the wet death flooding in.

Terrified tears stream down my face, mixing with the murky lake water. I’ve given up struggling to free myself. Now, it’s just a bitter tread until my arms and free leg give out.

They caught me, learned my secret and executed a sentence to match. For years this lake was my escape from a life I didn’t want. Now, it would be my death.

The chain around my ankle bites into my skin as my useless leg jerks against the weight holding me prisoner. Eighteen feet below, an anchor attached to the other end of the chain carves a groove into thick sediment I can’t see.

Just ten yards away, the shoreline taunts me. In the ultimate act of torture, they dropped me close enough that I can feel salvation but never attain it. I see the indentation in the tall grasses where I hid to write my traitorous thoughts and plot my escape to a different life.

A rush of water pours over my head as my cramped arms fail.

Panic surges through me.

Icy bursts of adrenaline send me back to the surface where I pull in a gasp of air. I will my body to fight harder. I’m not ready to die. At seventeen, I no longer believe in hope, but I do believe in honoring the hard-fought years behind me with an expectation of more.

But I’m losing.

Another slip below the surface leaves me coughing when I force my head back up. My arms are giving out. My lungs. God, everything is breaking down and I’m still no closer to freedom.

I pool my strength for one last desperate tug against the chain holding me captive. The metal scrapes my raw skin, but like every other time, the effort only results in a fresh ripple of despair.

Maybe it’s better if I give up. It’s what they want, right? What they expect.

It would be so easy to let go and drift… drift… drift…

I close my eyes, settling into the embrace of a strange peace. Death can be a reward as much as a punishment. Would sinking into oblivion be so bad? All that’s waiting for me on the shore is more of this.

My eyes snap open when I sense movement. Sure enough, a figure dressed in all black is making its way along the lakebed to the small dock just forty feet away. The boat that delivered me to my living grave is still tied to a weathered post.

Fear rips through me when I realize what’s happening. I’m not dying fast enough. They’re sending someone to finish the job and collect the body.

There’s no chance for me now. I can’t fight the water and a murderer at the same time.

Fear becomes terror when I see it’s Razor, one of their most trusted soldiers. I’ve been afraid of that man for as long as I can remember.

My executioner drops a heavy pack on the dock, and I suck back a few embarrassing sobs as he climbs into the boat.

“No, no, no.” I hate that I’m whimpering, but the child long buried inside me is clawing his way out.

I don’t want to die.

I don’t want to die.

Please!

Wooden oars slice through the water. With smooth violence, they shove the boat closer and closer.

“I’m sorry!” I cry. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry! Please! Please don’t do this. Please.”

Tears choke my broken lungs. Sear my icy skin.

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