Page 6 of Seducing Scylla
“I’ll be back.” I breathe heavily, looking back at Elena. “I’ll find something I can use to get your leg free.”
She grimaces. “Take your time. I’m not going anywhere.”
I drag the unconscious woman up the beach, stumbling more than a few times along the way. I drop her unceremoniously next to the banged-up woman still passed out in the sand, before falling back onto my butt with a whoosh of air. I tip my head to the sky, eyes closed, as I suck in deep lungsful of air, trying to catch my breath. My heart beats frantically, and I can suddenly see the merits of a gym membership. Not that it’d do me any good now.
I need to get back to Elena and help free her foot. I haul myself back up again, dusting my hands free of sand. My face is hot andsweaty, and I can’t tell if it’s from exertion or the heat anymore. Turning away from the water I face the bush behind me. I figure that’s the best place to find something useful; a stick, or something. Help would be even better. I’m cursing myself for not reading more survivalist books instead of losing myself in smutty romance novels. I’d excel in this situation if I was a doomsday prepper. A wealth of knowledge at my fingertips on a daily basis, and I choose to read about getting railed by the Tooth Fairy.
Shaking my head, I trudge into the scrub, eyes searching the ground for anything I think might be strong enough to push at the steel and allow Elena to pull her leg free. There aren’t many trees here, mainly dense scrubby bush that comes to roughly shoulder height on my short five-foot-and-a-bit frame. The trees that are here are spindly with short trunks; their branches sprouting from the very base. They provide very little shade when the sun is beating down on you. I pause to rest. My mouth is dry, my skin feels tight, hot, and sticky from sweat and salt water. I peel off my now dry cardigan and wrap it around my head in a bid to protect my fair skin, but I fear it’s already too late. My face is probably a shade of red to rival my hair by now.
I’ve traveled a small distance from the beach. The shore and the shredded containers rest haphazardly in the water. From here, I can see a few more containers bobbing further out in the ocean. Worry tugs at my stomach that there might be people in those too. I try telling myself it’s just washing machines and fridges to appease the guilt of not being able to do anything right now. When I get Elena free, we can come up with a plan for the other containers.
My search comes up fruitless. The only sticks littering the ground are short and spindly, and I don’t think I’m strong enough to break one off a tree. I don’t know how to get Elena free or help the other women on the beach. Out here alone, the overwhelming emotions of this whole ordeal threaten to take over. But I can’t afford to think about it right now. I don’t have time to break down and wallow when people are depending on me. I blink rapidly, dispelling the tears that threaten to spill but the tightness in my chest lingers.
Admitting defeat, I brave the stifling heat and trudge back toward the container to break the bad news to Elena. We’ll have to figure out another way to get her free before the tide changes. I don’t know how long we’ve been stranded here already. The sun is way up high in the sky, so it must be around noon now. It certainly feels hotenough, with sweat beading along my forehead under my makeshift cardigan hat. Head down, I hum a tune to distract myself from the heat and the hopelessness gnawing at my bones.
Movement out of the corner of my eye catches my attention. I jerk my head up, raising my hand to shield the sun from my eyes, eager to see if help has finally come for us. Frowning, I notice two red figures making their way down the beach in the direction of the containers. I pause near the edge of the scrub where it meets the sand, unsure of what I’m seeing. I don’t think I want to catch their attention if they’re wild animals; and if they’re wild animals then where the hell are we? I’ve never seen anything like them, and I live in a city that’s hosted a furry convention. I’ve seen some things.
They walk upright like humans but on two thick crimson legs, with muscled arms that finish at three fingers tipped with claws. Scales cover their bodies from head to toe to… tail. I swallow, the fear building in my chest. And wings. They have wings. Large dragon-like wings that protrude from their backs. As they get closer, their faces remind me of dragons too, eyes forward over a short snout, with horns curving out from their temples and backward over their long black hair, littered with braids.
They approach the containers with caution, while I remain frozen on the spot. They hunch over, swinging their heads back and forth as if sniffing for something. I’m just close enough to see forked tongues flicker out from between their lips, as if tasting the briny sea air. My brain feels like it’s malfunctioning. Fear grips me in a vice, and my breathing is shaky. I’m terrified these two beings will notice me standing here like a rabbit caught in headlights.
They seem to catch the scent of whatever they’re looking for and stalk toward the two unconscious girls lying on the sand where I left them. I suck in a sharp breath as one of them licks the open wound on the injured woman’s head. They say something to each other in a language I don’t recognize, clearly words, but not English. One of them seems to agree with the other as it nods its head and moves to pick the woman up. It juggles her in its arms, holding her like a groom carrying his bride. I make a noise in my throat; a garbled cry I don’t mean to let slip from my lips. The other creature snaps its head up, its slitted orange eyes locking onto mine. Its tongue flicks out again, tasting the air before hissing at me. It lets out a wild growl in my direction and my brain kicks back into gear, fight or flight mode activated.
I don’t wait a second more. I run.
5
Morgan
To be honest, I don’t run very fast. I’m not a runner, but I pump my short legs as if I spend every day training for a marathon. Sand kicks out behind me with every step. I swing my arms as fast as I can and my breaths come in gasps, half terror and half struggling to suck in as much air as possible. My makeshift cardigan hat flies off my head and I don’t stop to retrieve it. I don’t stop for anything. Not even to see if the creatures are chasing me. I hope they’re not chasing me. I’m sure as heck not turning around to find out. That’s how the girl always dies in a horror movie, and this is feeling pretty damn scary.
I hightail it down the beach away from the creatures, the containers, and the other women. I can’t stop to think about how it looked like they were taking the injured woman with them. Or how I just left them all. I choke out a sob amongst panting breaths. I left them.
The sand morphs into craggy rocks that I slip and slide on, where patches of green algae coat the surface. The rocky platform juts further out to sea at the base of a dark, stony cliff face. Tide pools are scattered amongst the rocky surface and waves crash against the edge where the plateau drops off into the ocean. I scramble, maneuvering the uneven and slippery terrain as quickly as I possibly can. The blood in my veins pounds in my ears, drowning out the sound of the waves and my harsh breaths.
I begin to lag; my pace becoming not much more than a brisk walk. Exhaustion, fear, and heat have chipped away at me since I was taken. With each step, I feel my will to continue slowly being sapped away. I’m tired of running. I don’t think I can physically run anymore anyway.
I take a risk and glance over my shoulder, expecting to see them right behind me, their forked tongues teasing at the back of my neck as they stare down their next meal. But they aren’t there. There’s no one chasing me at all. In fact, I can’t even see where the containers are beached; the cliff face has led me around a bend, and I’m hidden from view. It’s just me, the rocks, and the ocean.
I slow to a walk, not willing to stop to rest yet; not quite trusting that they won’t round the corner at any moment. I can’t go back the way I came. What if they’re waiting for me? I carry on the only way I can; forward, with one wary step in front of the other.
Water inches across the rocky platform, lapping at my feet and soaking my flats. My shoes are battered and torn from the abuse they’ve endured in the last… I don’t know how long it’s been since I was taken. They do the bare minimum to keep my feet protected from the sharp edges of the rocks and they certainly don’t keep my feet dry, but I don’t dare part with them. I don’t know how quickly the water will rise with the incoming tide. I don’t want to risk being caught out here neck-deep in water. I keep walking forward, my pace quickening once again.
I feel utterly miserable and I’m trying not to think about the water now kissing my ankles, making it harder to discern where is safe to step on the algae-covered rocks. I stop sharply, the rocky plateau dropping off into the ocean a few meters away, the waves now churning more violently as they crash down upon the stone and rush over its surface with the rising tide. There’s nothing else. Nowhere to go. It’s steep cliff to my right, eventually meeting back up witha new section of beach, but unless I have suddenly developed the ability to expertly free climb, there is no way I can reach the safety of the other shore.
I let out a whine of disbelief. I turn around. Can I make it back the other way before the tide sweeps me out to sea? The water level is rising quickly, almost to my knees in just a few short minutes. The idea of being sucked out to sea will shortly become a very real possibility. Maybe I could just throw myself into it and get it over with. What’s the alternative? Starve? If I don’t die of thirst first. Heat exhaustion could take me out before then. I don’t know where I am. I don’t know if anyone is looking for me. Us. Then there are red creatures with wings out there that could do god knows what with me. If there are creatures like that, then what else is out there? I think I’d rather be a meal for the sharks.
I continue walking back the way I came, bracing myself against the rocky cliff face, as I lift my legs high above the water with each step, fighting against the suction of the tide. I misstep, my foot landing on an algae-covered rock instead of a safe one, and fall backward into the water. I cough and splutter as the salty water splashes againstmy face where I half lay on the rocks, my head and neck just above the water.
From this angle, something catches my attention. I can see a dark crevice in the face of the cliff, four feet above the current waterline, a foot or so above where my head would be. The crevice itself wouldn’t be notable except the rocky cliff face almost looks like it has been carved to make a ladder leading up to this patch of darkness. They’re not perfectly made by any means, but they definitely look like footholds.
Pushing myself out of the water, now completely saturated, I look again. It should only be just above my head, but when standing, it’s completely obscured, the rock face blending seamlessly to hide it. I push through the water until I think I should be standing directly under it and look up. The opening is small, only big enough for one person to hunch inside it.
“Huh.” How peculiar.
With the tide gaining on me, I have few other options. If I can climb up there, I can wait it out for a few hours. I hope it’s high enough, otherwise I might be taking a swim with the fish regardless.
I take a few steps back, searching for the first foothold. Finding it, I notice it’s not quite deep enough for a full foot. I test it precariously with my toes, putting as much weight on it as I can while clutching at the damp cliff face. It holds, my toes straining inside my flats. Grabbing onto a crack above my head, I search for the next foothold and place my other foot in it and now I’m suspended completely out of the water. My limbs shake, unused to using the muscles in my fingertips and toes. I look up for the next handhold and push up to grab it. I sigh, resting the side of my face on the cold rock in front of me. Lifting my foot, I find the next foothold. I do this four more times, my hands scrambling at the edge of the opening as my arms breach the edge. One more.
