Chapter 1
Chapter 1
Wait, just a minute here.
Death doesn’t feel like this!
Sleety rain and ocean water splash into my mouth, vying with the air I’m struggling to drag into my starved lungs. The ache in my skull where it got conked on the Irish rocks thrums in rhythm with my heartbeats.
Concussion, for sure.
What’s blocking me from breathing? My throat’s being squeezed tight. Something’s caught my jacket collar, narrowing the tough soaked leather into a noose. With what seems like way too much effort just for moving my head, I eventually get it turned enough to look at what’s squeezing my throat.
An enormous brown harbor seal has a solid chunk of my leather jacket in its teeth as it glides through the heaving waves of the stormy Irish Sea. I can see its nearest eye, a startling light blue color, glowing like a lamp in the darkness.
Dementia brought on by dehydration and concussion for sure.
I blink my eyes a few times to try to clear them of seawater, then study the seal again. Yep.The eye I can see is still the color of a summer sky. Maybe it’s some kind of albino.
God, my head aches. So does my neck, and I am so frigging cold. I may not be dead, but I sure am damned uncomfortable.
Finally, everything seeps away into the murky waters as I plunge into darkness again.
*******************
The smell of a fire and the sound of burning wood crackling greets my return to consciousness. Opening my eyes hurts. They feel glued shut or something. When I manage to peel them open, all I can see is a metal ceiling in a cramped shack or shed. My eyes keep going in and out of focus and I close them against the disorientation.
A warm hand brushes my cold face, causing pain to explode through my head. I reach up and push the hand aside in self-defense.
“No!”
“So, you’re awake.”
The soft American-accented voice above me lures me into opening my eyes again. Firelight glints off the highlights in the dark hair of the man leaning over me.I can barely see through the dimness, with only the firelight and a couple of candles as illumination. My eyes going all wonky isn’t helping. Some things, though, are obvious right away. He has thick dark hair cut indifferently as though he did it himself with whatever blade he had handy. Right in the front, starting at the crown moving towards his forehead, is a startling blonde streak in the front of center. It resembles a stripe like what you see in cats like tigers or zebras. Thick dark fuzz covers his lower face where he hasn’t shaved in a while. And those eyes of his. They’re a sky blue color like that seal’s eyes were! Who is this guy? And where the hell am I?
“Who...” Severe nausea tears through me, forcibly cutting off my question as all the salt water I swallowed burns its path back up again.The stranger helps me to turn onto my side and upchuck into a bowl sitting beyond the blanket I’m lying on.
“Good, get rid of as much as you can. You swallowed half the ocean, I think.”
When the bout of retching finishes, he puts a bundle of something under my back to support me to sit up and offers me a beat-up cup with some sweet-smelling cold orange liquid.
I take a sip and the gagging orangey sweetness almost starts me heaving again. I glare at him. What’s he trying to do, poison me?Sheesh !Like I don’t feel lousy enough now.
Somehow, my glare doesn’t seem to faze him much as he takes the cup back.
“It’s Gatorade, and I know it tastes nasty. Sorry. You’re pretty dehydrated, and you need to recoup fluids and electrolytes. I was hoping you could hold the little of it down.”
He patted my shoulder gently.
“Okay, why don’t you lie down again and rest. We’ll try again with the Gatorade a little later once your stomach settles down a little.”
I don’t know why I obey him or trust that he won’t harm me, but I do settle back against the pad he gave me without quibbling. Maybe it’s the quiet strength I discern in him, and the genuine worry for me in his face. This isn’t the enemy who chased me into the Irish Sea. I don’t know why, but I know that I’m safe, at least for the moment.
I observe as my companion bustles around the cabin and a little curiosity stirs in my battered heart and through my sluggish brain.
“Who ’rr y...” My voice is barely a croak, but he seems to understand my question, glancing up as he pours out the Gatoraid and pours bottled water into the drinking mug and hands it to me.
“Who am I? I’m Dr. Jeffrey Siniocor. I discovered you lying on the seashore next to my dig site, unconscious. Can you take a sip of water instead of the Gatorade? You really do need to get rehydrated. You’ve thrown up a lot of salt water while you were unconscious.”
I took the cup and managed to keep a few sips of water down. “Wherrr?”
“Where are we? In the country of Ireland, in Clew Bay, on Cruach na Caoile Island, uhm, that is Croaghnakeela Island in English, to be exact.”
The English pronunciation didn’t sound clearer or make better sense than the other language did.
I blink my eyes a few times to clear them of the fogginess, but the pain in my head and gut and lungs proved to be too much. The darkness slips over me again, and I let it come, the cup slipping from my hands with a tinny clank.
