Unlawful Chase by C.J. Schnier (new books to read .TXT) 📗

years crawled by, but I knew the basics well enough. Catching a wave and surfing with a buoyant board was a matter of some skill, especially the people that can standup and control the board, but bodysurfing was a bit more primitive. Bodysurfing in sodden clothes, even more so. All I had to do was catch one wave.

Lining myself up for the opening, I swam with all my remaining strength. I could feel my progress slow as a wave approached from behind, sucking me backwards as it formed. I dug in deeper, crawling my way forward in the water. Suddenly, the suction disappeared, and I shot forward, skimming along the face of the wave.

The acceleration was exhilarating at first, but as I blinked the seawater from my eyes, I saw the beach and its dangerous rocks hurtling right at me. Instantly, I knew I was too far to the left. I leaned right, pressing my shoulder into the wave, my trajectory curving away from the rocks. But not fast enough. I leaned harder into the breaking wave, attempting to gain a precious few more inches towards the rocky beach and not the stone sentinels guarding it.

I felt my body waver, teetering like a bicycle that is moving too fast, and then my shoulder dug in and caught the face of the wave. Before I knew what happened, my entire world flipped upside down. Within an instant I found myself trapped underneath the water, flailing. The wave sucked me up to the top of the curling wall of water. I knew what was coming and covered my head with my arms in one last-ditch effort to avoid injury.

The wave broke, and for the briefest of moments I felt the weightlessness of free-fall before it slammed me into the trough of the wave. I crashed into a submerged rock and was dragged over others. A gurgling shriek escaped my mouth as pain exploded all over my body. I rode out the painful ride for a moment longer until I felt momentum subside and my tumbling motion ceased. Then I clawed my way towards the light, to where I hoped the surface was.

I opened my mouth to gasp for air and instead sucked in a lungful of saltwater as another massive wave crashed down on me the moment my head broke the surface. I waited for this wave to pass, forcing myself to remain calm while coughing and sputtering for air. Once I was safely behind the wave, and in the trough of the following one, I kicked and crawled with my now battered limbs. The beach was close now, merely a few dozen yards away.

Another wave, this one less violent, grabbed me and gave me a stern shove through foaming water to cover the last stretch to dry land. It deposited me roughly on the smooth stones that made up the beach. Weakly, coughing and gasping like a landed fish, I struggled to my knees and half crawled, half squirmed my way up the beach and out of the surf.

All I wanted was to rest on that tiny deserted beach. But I knew I needed to move. I was much more visible now, and though I couldn't see it anymore, the patrol boat's search would bring it by sooner rather than later. Gathering my strength and all of my remaining willpower, I rolled over, put one pruned hand down on the rocks and pushed myself to my feet. I groaned, feeling the tightness and pain that coursed through me.

Wet clothes clung to me, making my already hampered movements harder, but I managed a respectable shamble up the hill. Weakly I stumbled over the rocks, past the gray-green salt grass, and into the thicket of brush where I knew I wouldn't be seen before finally collapsing onto my back to rest.

Once the current wave of dull pain subsided, I took stock of myself. Besides the existing wounds from my tussles with my treasure hunter rival, I had a knot the size of a golf ball on the back of my head, a dark purple bruise that probably covered an entire butt cheek, my elbow was stiff and bleeding from its impact with a rock, and my right knee was aching. Beyond that, most of my muscles felt weak, drained of their energy. A powerful thirst overcame me, too. Though at the moment, the thought of water was more appalling than inviting.

I spent several minutes laying on my back and watching the puffy white clouds float over the network of leaves and tree boughs that shaded me. Birds chirped and squawked in the jungle, going about their everyday life. The normalcy of it was a comfort, a serene and beautiful moment of peace. The first that I'd had since arriving in Cuba. And then the peace shattered with the sound of human voices. Lots of them.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

At first there were just a few voices, but they quickly grew in number, coming at me from every direction. I dropped into a low crouch, ready to spring into the jungle. My head swiveled from side to side, trying, but failing, to lock onto them. I strained to listen harder and picked up something else, a noise hidden in the background. Mechanical noises.

Now aware of it, the thrum of the machinery enveloped me, just as the voices had. I looked out towards the rocky beach and realized that I wasn't surrounded at all. It was merely echoes bouncing off the trees and the walls of the small depression that I was in. I unknotted my muscles, but refused to relax completely. There was a lot of activity somewhere nearby, and any presence in the jungle was a threat to my safety. But there was something about these sounds that was different that anything I had expected. They were the sounds of men at work, not of soldiers on patrol.

The mystery of it pulled me deeper into the jungle. What kind of