Page 43 of Savage Assassin

It feels like a dream–or a nightmare. All around us, the water is on fire from the spilled oil, burning like some terrifying hellscape that Levin pulls us through, swimming one-armed as he holds on to me. There’s floating wreckage from the plane, and Levin drags me towards a piece of the wing that’s bobbing atop the water, guiding me to it.

“Hold on to this,” he rasps. “I’m going to push it as we swim. If you can help swim, that’s better, but if you can’t, just hold on. We won’t make it to shore if I have to do it with one arm and this bag.”

“What bag?” I croak, but once again, it’s too quiet for him to hear me. I grab onto the wing as he starts to swim again, pushing us towards a shoreline that I can’t make out.

I want to pass out. The pain is growing, much worse than before, and I think something must have cut me, because the salt feels like fire on my skin. But if I do, I know I won’t make it.

“Just a little further!” Levin calls out near my ear, and I’m pretty sure he’s lying, but I know he’s trying to be encouraging. I don’t see a beach, a shoreline, or anything but dark water all around us. It feels like floating in a void, and I want desperately to close my eyes, but I force them open, stinging from the salt water.

And then I feel it. Sand, under my feet, my knees, the rest of me as I collapse forward, and Levin drags me the rest of the way, detaching me from the plane wing as he carries me further up the beach, stumbling. It’s then that I realize he must be hurt and exhausted, too, although I have no idea how badly.

He lays me down on my side on the sand as I cough up more water, his hand pushing my wet hair away from my face. “You’re safe now,” he murmurs. “We’re out of the water. You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

I’ve got you.That’s what I need to hear. My eyes close, my entire body going limp as it accepts that we are, at least right now, not going to die.

And then everything goes black.

—

For what feels like a long time, I’m not sure what’s a dream and what’s reality. I feel myself being picked up, moved, and laid on a blanket. I see, dimly, Levin’s face hovering over me, feel his hands on me, and the thought passes through my head that I wish I were conscious enough to enjoy it.

“Rest,” I hear him murmur, his voice roughly accented, his hand brushing away my now-dry hair. And then later, “fuck,you’re running a fever. There’s nothing here for that.Shit.”

There’s a litany of alternating commands and pleas that break through the pain and heat that throb through me, anytime that I’m awake.Drink. Eat. Rest. Don’t die. Don’t fucking die.

I think I hear him say more words to me while I’m sick on the beach than I have the entire time I’ve known him so far. As if, by speaking to me, he can keep me here. One sentence I hear again and again, and it makes me wonder what he means by it.

“I can’t fail again. This can’t happen again.”

I don’t remember anything after that, for a long time.

When I finally do wake up,reallywake up, I see him crouched on the sand in front of a pile of kindling stacked in a sandy pit that he’s dug out. There’s a blanket wrapped around me as well as the one I’m lying on, and I push myself up slowly, feeling everything in me protest as I try to sit up.

He turns around instantly, the second he hears me move, dropping what he’d been using to start a fire. “Elena.” The sound of relief in his voice is palpable. “You’re awake.”

“I think you could call it that.” My voice sounds hoarse and rusty, and I cough, feeling the scrape of pain in my throat. “I’m not sure I like the wayawakefeels right now.”

“I don’t blame you.” Levin balances his hands on his knees, looking at me narrowly, as if he’s trying to decide just how bad of shape I’m still in. “I wasn’t sure if youwouldwake up, for a while there.”

It’s not a surprise, exactly, but hearing it said so baldly feels like a shock. I swallow hard, pulling the blanket more tightly around myself. “What happened?”

Levin presses his lips together, letting out a long breath through his nose. “Let me get the fire started, and get us both something to eat, and I’ll tell you.”

I sit there, watching as he finishes kindling the fire, slowly getting it started until it’s a small, bright, crackling flame leaping in the darkness of the night. He helps me move closer so that I can get warm, and then hands me what looks like a military ration packet.

“This is dinner,” he says apologetically. “It’s not great, but it’ll keep you full and alive. You need as many calories as you can get–I couldn’t get you to eat much while you were out.”

He pauses for a moment, ripping open his own package of food as he glances over at me.

“The plane went down. You know that.” He rubs a hand over his mouth, the tray of food balancing in his lap. “I tried to keep us up, after I killed the pilot. But it was too late. All I could do was try to mitigate the crash.”

“I guess it worked.” I pick at a few pieces of trail mix, knowing I need to eat, but it feels like my throat is closing over. “We’re alive.”

“Yeah, we are.” Levin shoves his fork into what looks like some form of gluey concoction that I think istryingto approximate lasagna, or ziti, but isn’t really succeeding. His voice is full of a forced optimism that makes my stomach clench.

“How long was I out?” The question sticks in my throat along with the food.

“About two days.”

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