The Triton

Chapter 3: Vivien

I pressed low into my board, body working purposefully, each stroke in sync with the opposite kick. Each pull of water brought me closer to the surfer, brought her closer to the surface, brought her closer to oxygen, to breathing, to life.

The waters raged, but I felt none of their resistance as I pulled forward. I'd never really felt it, the fear of the water, the weight of it around you, above you. It was like running, being atop a board, being within the waters.

I tore through the first wave, pressing up on my board to avoid the warm waters splashing across my face as they cascaded down my board and into the ocean behind me. Its crash was dull behind my ears, despite its tremendous roar that ricocheted into the shore, foam and mist spraying in different directions.

Where was she?

My last image of her flashed in my mind. She was wearing a full-body wetsuit, it should have been enough to at least keep her near the surface while her treading did the rest. But she wasn't there.

Shouts of concerned bystanders grew on the shore, a more desperate kind of panic rippling with every passing second.

I shoved through the waves, each stroke deep, propelling myself through the water, towards where she must have been. But she wasn't there.

In the toss and tumble of the waves, she could've been thrown anywhere. I knew this beach well, having surfed this very spot a dozen times this year––there were no rocks to possibly get trapped under, nor subsurface riptides to be caught in and dragged out to sea. My mind raced as I scanned the shoreline, searching desperately for any sign of the missing surfer amidst the chaos of crashing waves and swirling foam.

Then where was she?

Another wave had built, larger and more powerful than the rest, its height seeming to pull in the world beneath it as it begun to stretch skywards.

I considered turning back, and immediately pushed the thought from my head. Something was missing, and when I figured out what it was, I'd find the surfer. I'd get her home.

Despite the relentless force of the ocean's current, I pressed on, driving myself deeper into the heart of the tempestuous waves. I tore towards the building mountain of water and foam and sea that had begun to roil towards the shore, pulling myself straight towards it. I tucked my board into the water as I'd done so many times before pulling beneath the peak of the equally enormous wave.

A great wall of quiet tore through me, the strength of a mountainous wave so ridiculous pulling at me. Its frigidity paralyzed my limbs, way too cold for this beach, like I'd stepped into an ice bath, or a freezer, or like I'd jumped into the arctic wearing nothing but my two-piece.

It forced my eyes open, and half a breath escaped my lungs before I could clamp it down, the bubbles filing up towards the surface above me.

The same pull on the back of my mind grew stronger, incessant and distracting.

I still held the board in my hands, which confounded me even more. Its buoyancy alone should've pulled me towards the surface, it's what lifeguard boards are made for.

The pressure only built as I sunk deeper.

That didn't make any sense.

Where was she?

I continued kicking, throwing my whole body's strength up towards the surface, but I was only pulled down, closer to the ocean floor. Further and further into the murky depths I was dragged, the cold embrace of the ocean enveloping me, its icy grip tightening second after second, after second.