by Devyn Dawson
She unfastened her seatbelt and leaned over and looked down at her mother in horror. A bullet had put a hole in the back of her neck, and blood rushed from it. Her head lay against the airbag turned to one side, toward Therese’s father. Her eyes were open and she was gasping for air, but blood was pouring from her mouth and choking her.
“Mom! Oh my God! Mom!” Therese’s teeth chattered uncontrollably as her mother strained to look at her. She reached down and caressed her mother’s hair. “Mom! Oh my God!”
She realized her father had been shouting her name for several seconds. “Listen to me, Therese! Therese! Try to open your window. Therese! Try to get out of the car!”
His voice sounded like it did when he was cheering her on from the deck of the pool at her swim meets. “Keep going, Therese! You’re looking good! Kick! Pull!”
Except now it was tinged with desperation.
“I’m not leaving without you and Mom! I’m scared! Dad, please! Can’t you get out?” Her teeth continued to chatter.
The water level rose to his mouth. He shook his head. “I’m stuck!” He shouted through the water. His eyes widened as the water crept to his nose. He was drowning right in front of her.
“Dad! Dad!”
In a state of frenzy, he turned from side to side, only the top of his head visible.
Therese watched in silent shock.
She looked at her mother. Her mother’s eyes met hers briefly, then closed as the water washed over all but her red hair. Unlike her father, her mother didn’t move, but simply relinquished herself to the water. Her hair danced like seaweed, like long veins of blood. Therese became aware of the coldness of the water that had been sucking her down. Its cold fingers crept up to her shoulders. Her white gloves floated beside her, pointing at her. You! Do something!
She took a deep breath and went underwater toward her father. She couldn’t see in the dark, so she pushed against the airbag and felt around for the harness. The belt was undone, but the steering shaft was crushed across her father’s lap. She pulled with all her might on the steering wheel. It didn’t move. She tried to puncture the airbag but without luck. Then she yanked on her father’s lifeless arm. She couldn’t lift him from the seat.
Another memory shot through her mind: She was pulling her father’s arm, coaxing him from his recliner. “Come see the deer,” she was saying. She was small—maybe six. “Come on, Dad. Come see.” He had laughed and made a comment about her chipmunk cheeks and dimples, that he’d do anything to see those dimples. She pulled at his arm and he laughed and climbed out of his chair to follow her outside.
But now she could not get her father to follow her.
She felt her mother’s hand and flinched. She found it again. It was as cold as the water and as limp as a dead fish. She hugged her mother, held on to her for dear life till her brain hurt and she needed air.
Therese popped back up near the top of the car for air, but there was none. She hitched her body up and hit her head on the roof of the car. She then noticed a bright light shine on her through her backseat window. She thought she saw someone swimming toward her. She heard another crash and a surge of water, but she needed air! Panic overtook her like a wild beast, and she opened her eyes as far as they would open, writhed her body against every molecule in reach, and strained her mouth wide open. Her lungs filled with burning water, the cold water burning her like fire. She gagged on the water, gagged, kicked, went wild with fear, and then stopped and gave in to the darkness.
***
Amazon
http://www.evapohler.com/books
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/EvaPohler?ref=hl
ECHOES
The Pinhold Prophecy
Amy Evans
Excerpt – YA –SciFi Fantasy
CLICKS are the sounds the universe makes to tell you what happens next. They’re instincts, truths you hear in your heart. (Book 1)
ECHOES are louder and more dangerous than CLICKS. They can reverberate and cause damage if ignored. (Book 2)
Sixteen-year-old Cami has one goal: to win the annual Surf Carnival in her hometown and get an invitation to join The Guard. She’s trained her entire life for this summer, but instead of saving reckless surfers from epic waves, she has to find out why the ocean where and a new island has sprung up overnight.
Praise for CLICKS from http://www.wtfareyoureading.com/
Echoes
Amy Evans
Want the recipe for a great book? Try this.
1 part Mystery
1 part Romance
1 part Paranormal
1 part Action
A dash of Fun
This book is best when read ASAP. Read until done.
Enjoy!
The story of Cami, the twinning and the island speaks to something alien and otherworldly; before one can lose oneself on that plot line however, the romance between she and Blake and the mystery of the dolphins and downed swimmers has you off chasing them as well.
EXCERPT
I stared at the water wondering how the glassy blue thirty-foot tubes of yesterday had turned into this huge mess of angry green foam ready to strip my flesh and spit out my bones. The waves were barely distinguishable and moved like thick mountains that looked impossible to pass. While I didn’t plan to surf them, exactly, even paddling out was terrifying in conditions this perilous.
But this was one of the most important rescue-based events in the Surf Carnival, an extreme surf rescuing competition. Since I was going for the most difficult certification in lifeguarding, we had to be prepared to rescue in any conditions. Surfers from all over the world came to experience the famous Pinhold waves, and they went out in the ocean, even when it was reckless, or closed.
So our island had a surf rescue team that helped when Beach Patrol couldn’t. We called it The Guard, and it was our responsibility as a new generation to earn our place there and uphold the traditions of protecting the ocean and anything that went into them. It was more than just pride that prevented them from cancelling competitions. Any one accepted had to be prepared to perform rescues in every kind of circumstance. Today’s ocean conditions came unexpectedly thanks to a hurricane on a far away coast proving our oceans were all connected, even though it didn’t look that way on maps.
Besides the whipping waves, all other signs pointed to a perfect Pinhold day of eighty degrees with clear skies and dolphins calling to one another off shore. My dolphin was out there. I could see flashes of her pale white skin. She watched from far past the break of the enormous waves, and shared what she could see with me via our sonar link.
From her perspective, we looked like little tiny, moving blobs that blended into the sand. I looked different than all the others through her eyes; brighter, with more detail, because I was familiar. And she was my dolphin twin.
Next to me stood Mica, my human twin, discussing conditions and circumstances with Gram as if I wasn’t there.
“I don’t think she should go,” he said. The absolute conviction in his voice pissed me off.
“It’s not your choice,” my grandmother said. “This is Cami’s competition, and if you get in The Guard, these are the exact conditions where you’ll be called for rescue, so you need to know how to perform.” She stood beside us on the beach, looking unimpressed as a cracked surfboard washed up by our feet.
I swallowed. Hard.
Most grandmas would scream and shout and do anything to keep their little ones from a scene as dangerous as this one. But not mine. A world-class elite athlete and former Olympian, she’d led Mica and me into similar situations as long as I could remember. She was a revered Elder on Pinhold Island, where we lived, charged with training the next generation, like Mica and me.
“Fear is a tool - let it sharpen you, make you stronger. You need to move forward. This is the way that I did it, and you can too,” she said. Her words encouraged me. She and I had the same voice, along with the same body type and same long hair. Except that I still had t
he undercut the Alysha had done for me after my accident on First Night. The new growth was short but smooth, except where it was interrupted by a light, swirled scar. Genetically, Gram had given me everything I needed to succeed. And she’d trained with me almost every day even now in her sixties. I had no excuses to fail.
“I can do this,” I muttered, trying to convince myself, as much as Mica and Gram, when I felt a strong hand touch my spine. Blake. His touches, even the innocent ones, were totally unique because of the way they radiated through me, every tingle echoed. He made it look so respectable, just a light hand on the center of my back. But even the tiniest stroke lit me up inside, distracting me from my nervousness, literally adding his strength and focus to mine.
“I know you can,” he said. For me, for Mica, for Shay, he added telepathically. The added intimacy of communicating this way had my brain bursting with so much joy I had to close my eyes. We used the sonar we were born with to share silently, from mind to mind. We communicated like the dolphins did; every thought and feeling reverberated, strengthening the connection more each time.
I got in line with nine others, nodding my head at the ones I recognized. I adjusted my beanie - an unfortunate requirement I tolerated reluctantly, and shifted the weight of my heavy competition board. We weren’t surfing today but paddling. So I hoisted the six foot monster onto my hips. As soon as the starter horn blasted, I took off from the shore.
I fought through the knee-high waves and tossed my body onto my board, using the forward motion to propel myself just a few feet. This event represented the life and death faced by surf rescue lifeguards, which I hoped to be, more than any other. I had to paddle my board out to sea to prove I could rescue even the most extreme surfers in the toughest conditions, and get them safely back to shore.
Already waterlogged, my board felt like home to me. But the usually friendly ocean did not. These waves weren’t what I practiced in every day. The more I paddled, the more I realized all the elements seemed off. The water stung my skin and tasted irony, instead healing and sweet, the way it usually did. I had to fight against the waves for every inch, and I couldn’t see more than three feet from my face with the constant, heavy sprays.
Popping from the water, I lost valuable time, but confirmed the placement of the first buoy in my path. The five hundred foot distance was a length I’d done easily even in my Nipper days, but right then, I battled for every single inch.
I duck-dove under the surface to make up some time, hoping that getting under the waves would get me away from the churn. I forgot to close my mouth, instantly regretting that lapse in judgment when I gulped sea water and my throat began to burn. I pushed forward, ignoring the pain, wondering if the water was hurting the dolphin I’d come to know and love that summer. I’d sensed her around before the race today, so maybe she’d ventured further out where the water, hopefully, wouldn’t hurt her. Thinking of her should of been a distraction, but it wasn’t.
Instead it connected me to all the swimming I’d done with her, even though the stroke I used today was very different. Dolphin swims were all trunk and tail, and board paddles were arms and kicks. But maybe I could combine the two. I still had no idea where anyone else was but I didn’t worry about it. Instead I slipped towards the back of the board and wobbled. I was off balance, and the pressure of the water pushed me even further from the center. I re-calibrated my body and began to move my legs like they were one unit. I pushed the board with my core, feeling the water give way to a riptide moving under me.
I rode that and knocked into the second buoy, moving to the side before surfacing so I wouldn’t get tripped around the bobbing target that I needed to pull off of the buoy to put on my board. At a thousand feet from shore, I couldn’t see the beach at all. I felt all alone until I finally spied another competitor about twenty feet to the side of her buoy, so closer to mine. She’d gone twenty feet sideways and that would be hard to make up. I watched her try to maneuver her board sideways, and then refocused on myself.
I struggled to turn my now-weighted-down board back toward shore, gasping for air, pushing hard with my feet and arms. I missed getting purchase, and slid off the board and into the churning surf. A heavy wave came down, shooting me beneath the surface trapping me under six feet of fiberglass. And I panicked, worried about getting air.
Then I heard the clicks, calming beats from far away reminding me that I could do this, that I wasn’t alone. Following her clicks and whistles, I slowed my heartbeat to match her rhythms and then I felt her; slippery skin and raw power under me. I stopped thinking and focused on her, and our connection didn’t let me down. Instead she’d come exactly when I’d needed her, and literally lifted me up.
I chased oxygen, gasping for breath, as I grabbed back onto my rescue craft. The rocking waves made it practically impossible to stay no but she continued to help. Her muscled body stayed underneath, keeping the board steady as I got back into place. Securing the weight I needed to win and get my certification, I began to paddle, which was easier with her huge form propelling me.
I have to win this by myself. I clicked this to her, not knowing if she could understand the concepts of alone and win. Most dolphins lived in pods, and worked together for food and played together for fun. Helping each other was deeply ingrained from birth; their survival depended on it. In many ways, our survival depended on the same type of cooperation among The Guard members and the dolphins. This land mammal / water mammal cooperation was a tenant our island life. But this contest included lifeguards from beaches up and down the coast, and I didn’t want one of them to accuse me of cheating.
I had to go on alone. She nudged me forward into a particular swirl of current that pushed me right into the swell of a medium sized wave. I hit the sweet spot, sent her my gratitude, and rode it all the way in with some light paddling, which was all I could handle by that point. I could practically taste the win, could see the beach. If I could make it through the thundering crash, I would reach the finish line first. So I tucked my head, grabbed the weight and my board, and ran as hard as I could to the sand.
This has been an excerpt from ECHOES, book 2 in the Pinhold Prophecy Series by Amy Evans. This book will hit stores in Spring 2014. In the meantime, you can start the series with the first book, CLICKS, available for purchase at Amazon, BN.com and the iBooks store. You can learn more at www.amyevansbooks.com. Thanks Devyn for including this in her book.
Amazon - Echoes on Amazon
iBooks - https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/clicks/id675790524?mt=11
BN - Echoes Barnes and Noble
The Forgotten Ones
Laura Howard
I caught a glimpse of my mother staring out the den window. She held her violin loosely under her chin, and the bow dangled from her fingertips. Her jaw was slack, her eyes locked on something in the trees beyond me. I knew that haunted expression. I froze.
I swallowed hard as her eyes shifted to me. The violin fell from her chin, and I could see her bottom lip trembling.
I should have been used to that reaction from her when she saw me during an episode. It happened every time. But I wasn’t.
I flew into the house as fast as my feet would carry me. The screen door crashed behind me as I came to a halt outside the den. My mother clutched fistfuls of her blonde hair, garbled words spilling from her lips.
“I have to. I have to go out there,” she said. “He’s waiting for me.”
She stood in the semi-darkness, mumbling, the only other sound the hum of the ceiling fan. I clung to the doorjamb as I watched my grandmother approach carefully. She placed her hands on my mother’s shoulders, and on contact my mother’s body stopped quaking. Gram crooned, rocking her back and forth, as she pulled her into her arms and led her away from the window.
My stomach tightened, and I backed away to leave them alone. If she saw me again, who knew what would happen.
I cringed as the floor creaked beneath me, and she jerked her head in my direction. Her eye
s widened when she saw me, and the shaking began again. Breaking away from my grandmother, she stumbled backward toward the window. She raked her fingers down her face and hair as she moaned. “Liam…” Tears streamed down her cheeks, causing thick strands of hair to stick to her face.
I entered the room slowly, desperate not to step on another squeaky floorboard. Her green eyes burned into mine, and I locked my eyes on hers. No matter how many times she fought my attempts to soothe her, I had to keep trying. She was my mom.
I reached for her shoulders. “Mom,” I whispered. “It’s just me.”
She flinched. I knew she recognized me. I’d never met my father, but under my mattress I hid the only scrap I could find with his image on it. The picture—a strip of them actually—was taken before I was born in a photo booth in Ireland. I looked just like him. Considering how she often spoke his name when she was like this, my gut told me that she saw my father in me.
She writhed as I touched her and clawed at my hands. Gurgling sounds came from somewhere deep in her throat, but I knew she was still saying my father’s name. I placed my hands gently over hers, my gaze steady, as though approaching a wounded animal. I took deep, soothing breaths the way Gram had taught me.
I could feel the weight of Gram’s stare, watching as I got closer than ever to my mother actually letting me comfort her. I focused on my mom, ignoring the panic rising in my chest.
“Shh..you’re okay,” I said. “You’re okay.” I repeated it over and over, softly, until her breathing became even, more normal. It felt like hours, but the tension in her fingers loosened eventually as she stopped trying to resist me.
My grandmother walked out of the room as I continued to make shushing sounds, the panic in my mother’s eyes fading. I couldn’t see it, but I knew Gram was probably smiling, at least a little.
I exhaled and led my mother to the couch. The same woman who had just been in the throes of a schizophrenic episode was now completely unresponsive as she sat.
