Book One: Miss Peregrine's Home For Peculiar Children (My Remake)

Chapter 25~Bang! Bang!

All I could do was stare. Every direction I looked to, my vision was blurry and frighteningly bright, as if I were forced to look through a filter.

"Amber, Amber, are you alright? Amber!" I blinked and turned my head to the young man shaking my shoulder and gaped without a word. His expression changed the instant he could properly spot my face. "Amber . . . Y—your—" he was about to say before another hail of bullets rained down on the submerged hull, releasing a symphony of tic. tac. tic. tac. I turned my attention onto the one thing my mind was set on. Millard.

Emma, Jacob and Bronwyn jumped onto the hull and raced toward him, plums of water breaking out under their feet. Dr. Golan had still been shooting, but the three of them barely acknowledged his presence. Just as I was about to watch their lives get taken away, the bullets stopped, and they finally reached the pool of blood beginning to form in the water. A collective gasp erupted around me. But why had they stopped? Surely Dr. Golan hadn't given up so suddenly, not when he's got them in his clear sights.

Confused at first, I soon realized that Dr. Golan was merely reloading his pistol, and that another bullet storm was about to go over them. Worst of all, Millard had been shot, a clear sign that it may be fatal pooling out of him and colouring the ocean red. They need to patch him up, but it has to be on land. I did the math, being at least twenty minutes away from the island, he'd be dead before they even had a chance. That left the second closest place at . . . oh no . . . the lighthouse. The lighthouse where a wight was currently hiding out. A wight who was armed with a gun and willing to kill us. They needed help.

Though my vision was not the greatest at the moment, I tore out of the grass, slipping off my shoes, and sliding through the sand without a second's thought. Screams of protest flew by behind me, but they eventually faded away into the background. As the sand blew into the air against the souls of my feet, I ripped off my sweater and threw it into the twilight sky, not caring where it landed.

The edge of the ocean quickly approached and I suddenly became aware of what I was doing. Am I actually going to do this? Am I ready to throw my fears aside, and do what I think is right? Wet, sticky sand began to cling to my skin and, sure enough, the cold embraced me, sending shivers down my spine. I tumbled out of my faded jeans, thankful I decided to wear long johns on a particularly cold night outside the loop.

I'd gotten about waist deep when a familiar sensation started to overwhelm me. It fought against my compelling need to keep going, and it was winning. My breaths turned shallow, and my head went dizzy again. This is where my parents died, where Martin was killed . . . where Millard's going to bleed to death. And I was just standing there, hyperventilating, tears streaming down my cheeks, and a deep need trying to claw its way out. I shut my eyes and held my breath.

What are you afraid of, Amber? Dying? Ending up like your parents? Like Martin? No, that's not what you're afraid of. You're afraid of meeting them again, those feelings of sadness, anger, guilt - and you don't want any of it. You don't want to feel powerless again. And all this time you've thought that those emotions only showed up because of the ocean. Well guess what? Those feelings will always be there no matter what! And you're gonna have to just deal with it. Now go save that damn invisible boy!

A long sigh escaped my lips, and frustration grew over me. The dizziness was still there, but I've gone through worse. After all, my life's a living hell. My eyelids fluttered open, and I looked down to the water. "Screw it," I said under my breath. The cold slowly crept up my body as I continued to wade further into the unknown.

Swimming was different than I remembered it to be. My dad had been a skilled swimmer, having been a fishing boy on Cairnholm for half his live, and so, he taught me how to. It was rather easy and I got used to the constant pattern of stroking the surface of water and breathing in between. But that all changed six years ago, and I hadn't touched the ocean since. At first, I struggled to remember my training, how the water helped push against my body, the way the waves worked. It made it even harder considering my eyes were burning against the salt from the water. Not to mention the hole in my head.