Lom had seen many things on his hobie. But this was new.
There had been days when he’d been out all night and seen schools of fish that glowed in the dark. He had once pulled up his line and the fish on the other end had spoken to him, told him that he’d be given a wish if he only threw the fish back (which he had done, and he had been dismayed to find that the only talking fish he had ever met was also the only lying fish he had ever met). There had been mornings when the bay turned orange with the sunrise and then stayed orange all day for no reason, only to change to indigo with approaching dusk and return to normal the next day.
He pulled his goggles from his eyes to his neck. They did wonders to block out the sun and salt but were so old that their scratched lenses sometimes played tricks on him. He squinted against the midmorning sun and saw it again. A figure bobbed up over the placid waves, like it was trying to swim, but then dipped back below the water again.
Lom’s pet mudshark, Munchie, dunked his head over the side of the hobie and under the waves for a few seconds to keep his gills wet. When he was done, Munchie shook his wide head and scattered water over Lom’s legs. The boy sent an irritated glace to the mudshark, but the creature’s wide mouth seemed to grin wider than normal as he yawned and settled his head on his front legs.
“What do you think, Munchie?” Lom asked his pet. He squinted again and shielded his eyes from the sun. “Do you think we should investigate?”
Munchie burped.
“Yeah, me either,” Lom conceded. “If it was someone in trouble, they’d be making all sorts of racket. I know if I was drowning I’d be screaming my head off. What kind of drowning victim doesn’t try to call attention to themselves?”
Further in the bay, the form dipped beneath the water again. This time it took it much longer to emerge, and when it did it didn’t fight nearly as hard or reach nearly as high.
Lom knew that if he wasted time investing, he’d be in for another long night on the hobie trying to make up for lost time. That, or he’d be taking out more tourists this weekend to make up to the harbormaster for the catch he hadn’t pulled in. But, still, he couldn’t just stand there while it looked like someone was drowning.
With his feet braced on hobie’s scratchy board, Lom raised the craft’s small sail and twisted it slightly into the wind. Slowly he drifted toward the struggling figure. As he approached, he tried to think of where the figure could have come from. He had been on the bay all morning and only seen a few other crafts: one or two other hobies encroaching on his territory, and a larger yacht, obviously owned by a rich sklar. Not that he’d been paying much attention, but there hadn’t seemed to be anything out of the ordinary going on, and he certainly hadn’t seen anyone flying a ‘man overboard’ flag.
“Hey!” Lom yelled when he got within a few dozen meters of the figure. “Stop struggling! If you keep fighting, you’re going to tire yourself out and drown!”
Two arms thrashed in the water, and Lom thought he heard the figure say something, but it just came across as “Glub glub blub mlub.”
As the hobie approached the figure, Lom slipped the ring of the buoyant rope around his ankle and prepared to jump into the water for a daring rescue. He hadn’t actually performed a water rescue since his hobie license class when he was ten, three years ago, but he was pretty sure he still remembered how to do it. If nothing else, the buoyant rope would keep him afloat and attached to his hobie. But just as Lom lowered his sail and took his jumping stance, the figure’s head broke water enough to yell, “Go away!”
The voice belonged to a girl. And now that he was within four meters, Lom could see her dark hair billowing in the water around her. It stuck to her face and hands when she struggled. “What do you mean, go away?” He cried. “You’re drowning!”
The dark-haired girl struggled some more, and when she finally got her head above water again she simply cried, “Leave me alone!”
Lom rolled his eyes. Something in the Cosmos was intent on making his day difficult. He couldn’t simply turn his back, because the girl was very plainly losing strength. And she was very plainly not going to be rescued quietly. Some days it just didn’t pay to get out of bed.
Munchie gave Lom a bored look as the boy jumped into the water and paddled over to the struggling girl. He touched her flailing hand, and, just like he predicted, she shirked away from him. “What’re you doing?!” She cried when she could breathe.
“Saving you!” Lom cried as he snatched the girl’s arm and pulled her toward him. She tried to pull free, but he held her tight and let the buoyant line hold him aloft. “Now stop fighting! Give me your arms and kick with your legs!”
“Stop!” She cried. She again tried feebly to pull away, but Lom could tell that her limbs were almost out of strength. The girl choked on a mouthful of salt water before continuing, “I can’t!”
“Yes you can!” Lom yelled. With a great tug he pulled the girl closer and slipped one arm around her waist. “Hold on around my neck and kick with your feet!”
Though he couldn’t figure why, the girl was clearly conflicted on whether or not she wanted Lom’s help. After tugging her like a dead weight for several meters the girl finally wrapped her arms around Lom’s neck, though he still felt almost no help from her legs to get them to the hobie. Her damp hair bobbed in the waves like the feelers of a jellyslug and stuck to his face and neck.
After what felt like years in the water, Lom grabbed one of the handholds on the hobie and pulled himself on board. He then grabbed the girl beneath the arms and hauled her, sputtering and hacking, out of the water. Once she was safe Lom collapsed onto his back and let his screaming muscles and lungs rest. “What’s your problem, anyway?!” He cried to the girl. “You’re drowning and you don’t call for help, and when someone comes to your rescue you try your darnedest not to be rescued, and then when you decide to be rescued you don’t even kick your legs!”
The girl said nothing. Lom could hear her making frantic sputtering sounds and then wretch a few times over the side of the hobie. It sounded like she was crying. Lom hated to see anyone cry, especially girls, so he sat up and tried to find something polite to say.
He instantly discovered why she hadn’t kicked her legs. It was because she didn’t have legs. She had leg. Singular. And the one she had was long and sleek, and as pale as if it had never seen the sun. The other one ended in a scarred stump, just above where her knee should have been.
When she finally got her breath, she pulled her long, matted hair out of her face and turned two dark, bloodshot eyes to Lom. “You fool,” she said with a sob. She gasped for air before continuing, and her face scrunched with anguish, like she couldn’t believe that she had allowed herself to succumb to the temptation of being rescued. “You have no idea what you’ve just done.”
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