The Afterlife (Siren Suicides, Book 3)

Chapter 18. Mud Lake

How I long I sit like this, I don't know. I'm unable to move, in fear of finding his body and confirming his passing. Evening begins trickling lilac gloom into the fog. I sob into my hands, blind, numb, and bitter. I want to be deaf too, to avoid missing the one, and the only one, I want to hear. My auditory perception detects a shift in the pattern of the river's constant gurgling. I hear my answer. My heart skips a beat. A feeble violin moans in the gloomy yonder and falls silent. I spring up and dash in its direction, my feet slipping in mud puddles, my breath ripping my chest. As quickly as it surfaced, the sound disappears. I stop to listen. There it is again, coming from the pile of rocks and dirt a good fifty feet from the fallen fir tree. I stumble, fall, pick myself up, and sprint to the source of the melody. I'm almost too afraid that it's my imagination playing tricks and when I find the spot, there won't be anything there except rock, rock, and more rock.

I stop in front of a hillock and start digging like mad, fingers and nails, one frantic little mole. I throw stones off the pile in all directions, muttering gibberish, hoping against all hope that I'm right. Stones give way to gravel, gravel gives way to dirt. When the dirt shifts, a hand emerges and grabs on to me for dear life.

"Hunter!" I shriek.

I clear his face from the debris, cupping brown sludge and smearing handfuls of it onto my pants until his pale skin is relatively clean. He coughs and opens his eyes, bright blue in contrast to all this dirt. He gulps for air, licking his lips, saying something. I lean my ear closer.

"Water," he mouths, without an actual sound.

"Just a second!" I say and dash to the river. Up close it turns out to be no more than a brook about thirty feet across. It gurgles its merry stream, and I dip into it, wade deeper, and exhale in relief as I dunk my head and drink the melted glacier water. Savoring its sweetness, I inhale it through my cracked gills, and wash my face, the icy water chilling me properly. I stumble out, sliding on mossy pebbles with the precious liquid caught in my palms. Carrying it carefully over to Hunter, I trickle drop by drop between his cracked lips.

"More," he croaks, so quietly that I barely hear it.

I repeat my journey, elated, feeling as if I'm flying, ready to make this thirty-feet trip to the stream and back a million times.

"You're alive," I say on repeat, digging the rest of his frame out until he's free of dirt, resting amidst broken rocks like he's just been pulled from his grave. I lean and lightly press him against my chest.

"You're alive, you're alive, you're alive. I'm so sorry I hurt you, I really am. I lost control, I sort of forgot about everything else. I needed to get rid of the sirens. Ligeia was sucking out your soul and..." I notice his incredulous look. "Are you badly hurt? Will you ever forgive me? Can I—"

"I can't hear you," Hunter utters in a long slur, obviously disoriented. It sounds more like acanthearya.

I fist the end of my wet sweatshirt sleeve and wipe his lips clean. "I said, I'm sorry. I said—"

He grabs me with his left hand, bewildered.

"What? What is it? What's wrong?" I ask, alarmed.

"I can't hear you. I can't hear myself talking. I can't hear nothing." His voice is quiet and garbled, words hardly separated from each other, sounding like one long string.

Paralysis pins me to the ground. I feared this might happen, but I was dutifully pushing this premonition out of my mind, wanting to extend my happiness and not think about it. What a hypocrite.

"You can't hear me?" I repeat like a parrot. "How about now?" I yell into his ear, denying what he told me, not wanting to acknowledge what it means. He doesn't cringe at my voice, which confirms that I must have damaged his eardrums. But wouldn't he be in terrible pain right now if I did? He doesn't look like he is. I fill the awkward silence with rapid action, warbling along.