He had no idea if Brit was still holding her breath. The thought of losing her made him push harder and harder, kicking as fast as he could while he stroked the water with his free arm.
He broke the surface, pulling Brit up with him.
He sucked down the bitter-cold air. She started gasping for breath.
She’s conscious.
Get us out.
Sheer will had him stroking through the icy water while his muscles screamed in pain. They’d drifted closer to the wharf, so he fought against the current, swimming for their lives.
The harder he pushed, the farther it seemed to be. But he continued, one stroke at a time. Then, Brit started stroking with her free arm.
It took several agonizing seconds, but they got a rhythm going, cutting through the cold waters and biting wind while wrestling against the current and the weight of their wet clothes.
Death had them in its hellish grip, but this was not their day to die.
Push. Hard.
The lights from the wharf grew brighter, a glimmer of hope pushing him onward. He tightened his grip on Brit, ensuring he didn’t lose her.
When they got to the pier, he threw his arm around a wooden piling. Breathing hard, he needed to get them out of the water.
“There!” Brit yelled.
Several people were shouting and waving their arms. Relief pounded through him, but he wasn’t letting up until they were out of the water.
Someone threw a life saver ring to them. He grabbed it, handed it to Brit.
Using the attached rope, two men pulled her up, then tossed the ring down. It took three guys, but they yanked him out of the river.
“Th-th-thank you,” he said, his teeth chattering, his body shaking.
He rushed to Brit. She threw her arms around him and they clutched each other, while they shivered from the brutal cold.
“We need to get your coats off,” said a woman.
With shaking fingers, Rebel gripped Brit’s shoulders, his gaze raking over her face. “Are you hurt?"
“N-n-n-no.”
“Concussion?”
“I d-d-don’t th-th-think so You?”
“I’m g-g-good. We gotta get out these wet c-c-clothes.”
The woman held out her coat. He helped Brit remove her water-logged jacket, then he pulled off her sweater. The woman helped Brit into her dry coat.
“Th-th-thank you,” she said, her teeth chattering.
He peeled off his soaking parka. That same woman helped get his sweater off before covering him in a blanket.
“I called for an ambulance,” said one of the men.
Rebel pulled his phone out of his drenched pants pocket. It was dead. “I need a phone.”
Someone handed one to him. He made a call. “Britain and I were hit. We went over the bridge into the channel.”
