Read Online A Moment to Prey by Harry Whittington - Free Book Online
Authors: Harry Whittington
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out of sight.
I did not see any houses, only an occasional abandoned shack, or a log trail almost overgrown and forgotten.
I had the strange sense of being weightless in the water. I don't know if I had expected to drown at once. I knew I was too near dead to fight the river. But I did not drown. I only kept moving downstream whether I wanted to or not. I waited, spun along in the current, for whatever would happen.
I caught at a tree growing out over the water. I snagged it, the bark rough, but my hands slipped and the current thrust me past it and it was gone. My body ached and I was very tired, too tired to swim or to walk if I could have made it ashore against the pull of the river.
The water was cold and got colder the longer I was in it. I could not swim because of the pain. My blood did not circulate as it would have if I had not been too beaten to kick my legs. When I was forced to stroke with my arms it was as if I tore my stomach tendons to shreds.
My clothes were heavy and they dragged me down, but when my head was under until the pressure made my eyes feel as if they would explode and my lungs burst, I thrust upward and gasped for air.
The current pushed me along and when I came up I saw this jam of peeled logs ahead. The water swirled white where it struck the logs and was forced out around them in white stewing circles.
I fought against this outward pull and finally I was carried in close to the logs. I pulled myself over the first one and it sank slightly and seemed to buckle. Suddenly the water caught it and jerked it free. For a long time I was spun around as the log bobbled past the log jam.
It was better now. I could breathe and hold my head above water. I hung on to the log, supporting my head and my shoulders on it.
I told myself I would not drown now. The log rolled along in the silent river. Sometimes the banks were steep and in other places the swampy places were so low that the river spread out over the cypress stumps and around the deadened trees. The sun disappeared and it was suddenly dusk along the river. The silence deepened and the sickness and chill in my stomach spread to my arms and I could no longer hold on to the log.
No matter what I told my brain, my fingers slipped and I could feel the log rolling and spinning away from me. The current caught it suddenly and it was gone. I could not even see it around me. I rolled over on my back and breathed through my mouth, trying to rest. I stared at the darkening sky, and the helplessness spread like the chill. When I heard music, at first I thought I was delirious and about to pass out again.
The music had a twangy country sound and it was loud around me. I turned over, treading water, feeling the pain sharp and hot through me.
In the darkness I saw the lights of the fishing shack and the shafts of light in the strung nets and along the narrow dock.
For a moment I was afraid the current would sweep me out wide around the curve. I fought at it, kicking my legs and thrashing my arms. Perhaps they would have heard me if the jukebox had not been so loud.
The water bumped me against a cypress upright under the dock. I hung on until I caught my breath, then pushed away from it, grabbing at the next one nearer shore. I pulled myself along until my feet struck the muddy bottom. I tried to stand, but my legs would not support me and I sprawled out on my face. The darkness settled down swiftly over me like a falling tent and blotted out even the sound of the jukebox.
***
I was dry and I was not shivering any more. I opened my eyes and the first thing I saw was the light suspended on a cord from the bare rafters. I turned my head, seeing the brown wood walls, framing exposed, the faded calendars. Then I saw her.
I stared at her for a long time.
"Hello," I said.
She had been looking
I did not see any houses, only an occasional abandoned shack, or a log trail almost overgrown and forgotten.
I had the strange sense of being weightless in the water. I don't know if I had expected to drown at once. I knew I was too near dead to fight the river. But I did not drown. I only kept moving downstream whether I wanted to or not. I waited, spun along in the current, for whatever would happen.
I caught at a tree growing out over the water. I snagged it, the bark rough, but my hands slipped and the current thrust me past it and it was gone. My body ached and I was very tired, too tired to swim or to walk if I could have made it ashore against the pull of the river.
The water was cold and got colder the longer I was in it. I could not swim because of the pain. My blood did not circulate as it would have if I had not been too beaten to kick my legs. When I was forced to stroke with my arms it was as if I tore my stomach tendons to shreds.
My clothes were heavy and they dragged me down, but when my head was under until the pressure made my eyes feel as if they would explode and my lungs burst, I thrust upward and gasped for air.
The current pushed me along and when I came up I saw this jam of peeled logs ahead. The water swirled white where it struck the logs and was forced out around them in white stewing circles.
I fought against this outward pull and finally I was carried in close to the logs. I pulled myself over the first one and it sank slightly and seemed to buckle. Suddenly the water caught it and jerked it free. For a long time I was spun around as the log bobbled past the log jam.
It was better now. I could breathe and hold my head above water. I hung on to the log, supporting my head and my shoulders on it.
I told myself I would not drown now. The log rolled along in the silent river. Sometimes the banks were steep and in other places the swampy places were so low that the river spread out over the cypress stumps and around the deadened trees. The sun disappeared and it was suddenly dusk along the river. The silence deepened and the sickness and chill in my stomach spread to my arms and I could no longer hold on to the log.
No matter what I told my brain, my fingers slipped and I could feel the log rolling and spinning away from me. The current caught it suddenly and it was gone. I could not even see it around me. I rolled over on my back and breathed through my mouth, trying to rest. I stared at the darkening sky, and the helplessness spread like the chill. When I heard music, at first I thought I was delirious and about to pass out again.
The music had a twangy country sound and it was loud around me. I turned over, treading water, feeling the pain sharp and hot through me.
In the darkness I saw the lights of the fishing shack and the shafts of light in the strung nets and along the narrow dock.
For a moment I was afraid the current would sweep me out wide around the curve. I fought at it, kicking my legs and thrashing my arms. Perhaps they would have heard me if the jukebox had not been so loud.
The water bumped me against a cypress upright under the dock. I hung on until I caught my breath, then pushed away from it, grabbing at the next one nearer shore. I pulled myself along until my feet struck the muddy bottom. I tried to stand, but my legs would not support me and I sprawled out on my face. The darkness settled down swiftly over me like a falling tent and blotted out even the sound of the jukebox.
***
I was dry and I was not shivering any more. I opened my eyes and the first thing I saw was the light suspended on a cord from the bare rafters. I turned my head, seeing the brown wood walls, framing exposed, the faded calendars. Then I saw her.
I stared at her for a long time.
"Hello," I said.
She had been looking
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