The sound of rolling reached him, as of a heavy vehicle gathering momentum.
He stumbled over something, a foot perhaps, kept his balance, sprinting into the unknown, focused on the growing sound of rolling. It was getting faster.
The ground beneath Keaton's feet was sloping downwards, the slope becoming increasingly exaggerated.
There was a splash.
Keaton felt water spattering onto his face as his shoes splashed through the liminal space between heath and mere. Then the water was around his knees, then his waist.
He dove forward, frigid water embracing him.
Moments later, his hand came into contact with solid wood. But it was moving past him, as though retaining momentum and continuing to roll along the sloping bottom of the mere.
His fingers caught at the edge of a window, and he was carried along, the pressure of the water growing along with the burning in his chest. He hauled himself through the window and felt inside.
Floating fabric met his questing fingers. Then flowing hair. He gathered Georgia into his embrace and kicked at the door behind him. The lock snapped, and the door exploded outward, one hinge snapping away with the force exerted.
Keaton swam outward and upward.
His head was spinning, exhaustion making his limbs leaden. But he would not let go of the dead weight he carried. Even if her weight dragged him down, dragged them both down. He wouldsink with her rather than surrender her to the depths. He kicked and stroked with his free arm, the urge to breathe in becoming unbearable, irresistible. Still, the water clung to him—still the air above remained locked away, out of reach.
His lips peeled apart from clenched teeth. Bubbles escaped. The last of his air. Then his hand broke the surface.
A moment later, his head burst into the air and he was gasping it down. He hauled Georgia up with the last of his strength and swam for the shore, dragging her up onto the grass. Her chest was still, and there was no pulse at her throat.
Keaton pressed down on her chest, feeling water flow out of her mouth. Again, he pressed, squeezing the mere out of her.
“Georgia! Breathe!”
Pinching her nose, he pressed his mouth to hers and blew.
Georgia suddenly coughed. Keaton heard a ragged intake of breath. Then another cough.
“K-Keaton?” Georgia gasped.
“I'm here, my love,” Keaton breathed, laughter breaking through, drawn out of him by relieved joy.
“I can't see you!” she screamed, her words bright with terror.
Keaton's hands danced over her wide, unseeing eyes. Then he felt the bump atop her head, a hen's egg swelling.
Oh Lord, no! Not her! Not both of us!
“Blink, Georgia. You’ve had a bump. Blink. Your eyes will clear, I promise!” he said, desperately.
He put his hand over her eyes, felt her eyelashes brushing his palms. He prayed, closing his own eyes, sending fervent pleas to the Almighty. Georgia pulled his hand away. He stroked her cheek and felt her lips turning upward in a smile. Relief made him sag, turning his muscles to water.
“I-I see you,” she whispered.
Keaton kissed her.
CHAPTER 33
“When am I going to be allowed out of this bed?” Georgia groused impatiently.
“When the doctor says so,” Keaton replied softly. He felt her take his hand as he leaned forward in his chair. “I have been by your bedside for two days and a night. I am not about to let you get out of that bed too soon.”
“Can you feel that?” she pressed, squeezing his hand to make a point, “I feel strong, hale, and hearty apart from a slight headache.”
