The warmth rising in his face, Joseph smiled at her, then swallowed the mix. He enjoyed the salty taste at first—until his tongue swelled and his throat choked on the air.
She yelled, “Comrade, come quick!” Footsteps hurried down the staircase. “Hurry!”
“What’s wrong? We’ll arrive at our destination in a few...bohze moi! What happened?”
“He can’t breathe. I think it’s the peanuts. Do something...before he dies!”
“All right, don’t panic.”
Joseph could feel his face turning blue. He pointed at his right ankle. “Shot,” he managed to squeeze out.
The professor grabbed for his ankle and pulled out the syringe. Almost as soon as the professor plunged the shot into Joseph’s arm, his throat began to clear. As Joseph sat up and sucked in air, he heard two explosions. He inhaled the faint scent of gunpowder and followed his cuffed arm up to see the professor’s gun in Laurel’s hand, smoke rising from its barrel. His eyes followed the muzzle to the professor’s henchman, Peter, who stood near the staircase, a pistol in his hand. A haze floated over its barrel as well.
From that point, everything seemed to slow down. At first, it appeared that they had missed each other. Then Peter dropped, blood pouring out of his chest. Relieved, Joseph looked to Laurel, who had trained the professor’s gun on him. She rocked back and forth, as if she didn’t have her sea legs. Then, he saw it—a small, red blotch expanding on the lower-right side of her blouse.
“Oh my God,” Joseph yelled.
“What is it?” she asked, before collapsing to the ground, yanking his handcuffed arm and the rest of him with her. As he hit the ground, the warm metal of the gun brushed the back of his hand. He looked up to see the professor retrieving Peter’s weapon. Before Joseph could react, the professor had grabbed it and spun back on them. Joseph’s fingers felt for the professor’s gun and slid it in the back of his pants.
“Move over,” Professor Drucker demanded.
Joseph complied.
The professor leaned over her, searching. “You couldn’t do as you were told. Now look at you.”
“Save her,” Joseph cried.
“Shut up,” the professor said, pointing Peter’s gun at Laurel’s chest. “Where’s my gun?”
Joseph snatched the professor’s gun from his pants and pressed the barrel against the professor’s temple. “Drop it or...”
“Or what? You’ll shoot? You drop yours, or the last thing she sees will be her blood spraying all over you.”
Unsure whether the professor could fire before he pulled the trigger, Joseph lowered the pistol.
“I always said you were smart,” the professor said, grabbing for the gun. “Now, give me—”
Bang. Joseph’s hand recoiled as he squeezed the trigger. The bullet struck the professor center mass.
Reaching for his chest, the professor crashed to the floor.
Joseph shut out what he had just done and turned to Laurel. He lifted her shirt above her waist to reveal the wound. At the slightest touch at the area of impact, she winced in pain and a stream of blood poured out. He found a cloth napkin next to her and pressed it into the wound, securing it as best he could with his belt.
“Ohhh. It hurts,” she whispered. Her face had paled, but she remained conscious.
“It’ll be okay. We just...oh my God.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a land mass enveloping the horizon outside the window. “We’re headed straight for the island.”
“Keys,” she squeaked.
He rummaged through the professor’s pockets, found the keys, and unlocked their handcuffs. “I’ll be right back,” he exclaimed, sprinting up the stairs. Less than a minute later, he leapt off the stairs back into the cabin. “Can you get up?”
She nodded.
“Good. Cause we’ve gotta move, now.” As he struggled to get her upright, he said, “I saw through a window to the bridge. The wheel’s rigged. I tried to get in and stop the boat or turn it, but the door’s locked. There’s no time to break in. Can you walk?”
She bit her lip and groaned, “Yeah.” She leaned on him as they moved to the stairs. Looking again through the window, Joseph could see that the island now dominated the landscape. He grabbed one arm and one leg and threw her over his back. She moaned with pain.
“Sorry,” he said, struggling up the narrow staircase.
They reached the deck to see that they had only seconds before the yacht crashed into a rocky jetty. He stumbled over to the railing, dropped her over the side, climbed up, and jumped. The cold water shook him alert. Swimming under the surface, Joseph felt the heat from the fireball above, as a thunderous explosion reverberated through the water.
CHAPTER 4
Joseph found Laurel sinking nearby.
He swam to her, and with all the energy he could muster, grabbed her and pulled her clear of the blast zone to the ankle-deep water close to the shore. He realized with alarm that she wasn’t breathing. “Come on,” he said, shaking her. “I can’t lose you. Not now.” He leaned in to administer mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.
Before his mouth reached hers, her eyes flashed open. She leaned in until her soft lips connected with his. Excitement flooded his body. She had taken him back to that other world.
Needing to breathe, he released and gasped for air.
She laughed, then winced. “Ohhh, that hurts. A little advice...try breathing through your nose.”
His face flushed. “I thought you’d died.”
“Not yet. I knew you’d save me.”
Exhausted, he pulled her up to the beach. He ripped off part of his shirt and re-plugged the wound. She was pale as a ghost.
Joseph surveyed their rocky surroundings. He couldn’t carry or drag her up the beach in search of the shelter the professor had promised. His hands began to shake. Unable to maintain constant pressure on the wound, he asked, “Can you hold this?” His voice was trembling almost as much as his hands.
“Yeah.”
He stared at her, trying not to show his fear. “Good. Do you know where the shelter is?”
“No. Maybe at the highest point?”
“Because of the high water table? That makes sense.”
“Don’t worry.”
