Safe on Shore

A thrilling short story filled with surprises and suspense!

Trish felt numb from the icy water. She surfaced and gasped for air, blinking against the droplets the choppy ocean waves were flinging in her eyes. Her daughter had to be here somewhere.  Trish looked about her wildly in all directions. The Pacific Ocean stretched out in an endless canvas of blue all around her. But Chrissa had just been here. They had waded in together only a moment ago. Had they come out further than Trish thought and 6-year-old Chrissa couldn’t stay afloat?

Trish filled her lungs with salty air then dove under agin. Where was Chrissa? She opened her eyes and swam in a circle. How could she just be gone? The ocean water was too murky to see very far out, so Trish took a risk and chose a direction. She swam a few feet to the right. Nothing. Her lungs begged to breathe. She swam to the left. No Chrissa. Could she possibly have been caught in a current and been pulled further out? Panic seized Trish’s heart in a vice grip, and she surfaced again, desperate for air.

This made no sense. She had dipped her head underwater for maybe 5 seconds to soak her hair, and when she came back up, Chrissa was gone. Her increasing fear was making it difficult to breathe, even though she was no longer underwater. Staying above the surface, Trish swam out farther. She hadn’t felt any currents yet, but that didn’t mean Chrissa hadn’t found one. She ducked her head underwater once more. It was even darker this time. Desperation made it hard to think straight. She came back up and screamed wildly,” Chrissa! Chrissa, where are you?” Her voice sounded strangled, and she choked back a panicked sob.

Her frantic gaze fell on shore, and she scanned it without thinking. Her eyes rested on a little girl with bouncing red curls and a dark green swimsuit. She had seen that swimsuit a hundred times before. Chrissa. She must have swam back to shore when Trish ducked under. She had always been an independent one. The choking terror fell away in an epic landslide of relief, like a rock rolling from her chest to the depths of the ocean floor. “Thank you, Lord,” she breathed.

Tingling in her arms and legs reminded her that she had been steadily treading water, and as she looked around her, she realized how far she had swam from shore. Her gaze swept across an object sticking out of the water and then jerked back to it. Grey. Triangular. Slowly moving toward her.

Her blood turned to ice. For a split second, she was frozen. The word she wanted to yell seemed to die on her lips from fright. Then, in staccato bursts of horror, it sputtered back to life.

“Sh-sh-SHARK!”

Trish pumped her arms and legs as hard and fast as she could but felt like she were swimming in an ocean of molasses. She heard distant shrieks, her petrified mind not registering them as her own. Heads were beginning to turn from on shore when a bolt of white-hot pain seared up her left leg.  A crazy screech came from her lips, but it wasn’t until a cloud of red appeared around her, that she realized what had happened. Every fiber of her being wanted to look behind, but what was left of her rational thinking refused to turn. Another look at that fin, a symbol of the menacing creature below, would undoubtedly paralyze her.

Dizzying pain swirled up in her, and she was sure she would vomit. She had to get to shore. Had to. She’d be safe there. Using every ounce of resolve she possessed, Trish ignored the faintness clouding her mind and weighing down her limbs, and focused all her strength, all her will onto getting to shore. She moved one arm and one leg after the other in what felt like an excruciatingly slow motion. “Keep going, Trish. Swim faster. Get to Chrissa,” she told herself. Weakness dripped through her veins, and though she was terrified, she didn’t scream. She had to reserve that strength for swimming. But inwardly, she was praying more frantically than she ever had in her whole life, begging God to get her to shore.

Then she saw them. Men in neon orange splashed toward her. Her strength suddenly melted like butter and she was sinking. . . sinking. . . sinking. Strong arms wrapped around her and pulled her out of the water, carrying her to shore. She didn’t open her eyes until they laid her on the sand. Her eyes drifted to the site where the nauseating pain was coming from. Bile crept up her throat when she saw, and though she had been submerged in the icy ocean, she felt unbearably hot.

Her left foot was gone.

Horror, shock, and grief pushed their way through the numbing pain and competed for dominance within her.

“Mommy!” She tilted her head toward her the sound and saw bouncing red curls and a dark green swimsuit. Chrissa. Trish had been out there for her daughter. Putting her before herself. Through fuzzy vision, she saw the concern etched in Chrissa’s adorable features. Chrissa was safe. She was ok. Trish had sacrificed a foot to make sure of it.

And as she stared at that beautiful little face, she knew without a single doubt, that it had been worth it.

Reviews

[The Silent Deviant]

Interesting, as what was expected you put in fantastic detail into the descriptions for things in the story. Whenever I read your stories it's really easy to paint a full picture in my mind of what is going on. It's something a lot more difficult than it seems (I need more work myself honestly). But all in all I enjoyed this story.

[Jessica]

Thank you so much for the compliment! I am glad you enjoyed it! :)