Dead of Summer - Page 129

It hurts so bad I can barely stand it.

But I have to stand it if I don’t want to die.

Fear makes my thoughts go short, and my eyes burn under the water as I meet Shawn’s gaze obscured by black dots. My hands flex, around his, nails digging harder, but I can feel it starting at the tips of my toes and fingers.

Weakness. Acceptance.

The knowledge I’m not getting out of this.

Everything I’ve done in the past three weeks with Kayde, and Emily, and the other kids. Every time I’d stopped Kayde or the time I confronted Grey are all going to be an absolute waste.

It was for nothing, if I die here.

Nothing at all.

But Shawn isn’t exactly giving me a choice.

The fear grows as my ability to fight wanes, and my head feels like it’s going to explode. Pain is an understatement for how my lungs scream in protest, begging me for air and to expel the dirty river water as soon as possible. But with my head underwater, all I can do is apologize to my body as blackness overwhelms more and more of my vision.

The last thing I see before I’m forced by my body to give in and inhale a lungful of water, is Shawn’s cruel smile freezing on his lips and his head jerking up to look at something else. My hand slips from his face as he does, and the fuzzy darkness swarms my vision, taking the pain and the fear with it and leaving me with nothing.

But at least the nothing is better than the pain.

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

My first half coherent thought is that the third time is definitely the charm, and in the worst way imaginable.

My second thought is asking the universe how the hell I’m still alive. I definitely remember the blackness spreading, taking my consciousness with it. And I absolutely remember the pain in my lungs from breathing in river water.

Yet all I have now is a dull ache in my chest, and a weariness that’s sitting bone-deep. If I’m dead, then I want a refund. Dead people definitely shouldn’t feel pain.

Nor should they be hearing the crackle of a campfire from nearby, or feel the warmth of it wash against them.

“So.” The cheerful voice is unfamiliar, but I’m not quite to the point of opening my eyes just yet. I’m still busy marveling over still being alive and trying to remember what had happened.

Oh, right. It clicks into place and jerks me back into consciousness.

Shawn had tried to fucking kill me. And for some reason, hadn’t succeeded, though I don’t think I can take credit for it.

Curiosity has me opening my eyes more than anything, and my vision flickers, blurry, as I blink to clear it.

“You seem to be having a bad week.” Grey sits across from me, on the other side of a campfire that sends sparks fluttering into the air. It occurs to me that it’s significantly later in the day than I thought it would be, and I sit up with a groan. “Is it common for camp counselors to try to drown each other?”

I don’t answer him right away. I move my hands, then my feet, and notice belatedly that my clothes are mostly dry. My back hurts from hitting the rocks, so I’m sure I’m bruised to hell and back, and my throat stings when I swallow.

But I’m alive.

“You know, not in my experience,” I croak, voice hoarse. Frowning, I rub the base of my throat and drag my legs up under me, not hiding the fact that I’m studying him. “But I guess things change, and there’s a first time for everything, huh?” I’m still playing the last few minutes I can remember over and over in my head, and I glance up at the sky with worry. “How long have I been out?”

“Well, after I pulled you out of the river and got the water out of your lungs, you woke up for a few seconds. I figured then you weren’t brain damaged,” Grey explains, meeting my look with that shit-eating grin. “Then you kind of faded back out. But you were snoring, so I figured you needed the rest and you weren’t, like, bleeding into your brain or something.” He’s so strangely casual about this that I can’t quite figure out how to respond.

“You saved me.” It’s not a question, but I can’t keep the surprise out of my voice. “Why save me? You’re like Kayde, right?”

At his quizzical glance, I duck my head in embarrassment and mutter, “A murderer.”

“Oh, well, yeah?” He blinks up at the sky. “Anyway, it’s almost eight. In case you were wondering. And just because I’m a murderer doesn’t mean I’m an awful person. Not to mention one who likes being alive. I don’t want your boyfriend to hear about you drowning and come after me for it. Fuck all knows your camp counselor ‘friend’ is also going to blame me.”

Of course he will.