from Tempest Road
“Goddammit, man,” Josh mutters again, wrapping the leash around his wrist. With the same hand, he grabs MacLeod’s hoodie by the front and leads him. The footing underneath is unstable. He licks his lips nervously as they progress. His eyes are all over the place. MacLeod’s too, though they keep coming back to Babushka’s direction of fire.
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Maybe you should encourage him. That’s all he needs.
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“It’s okay, Josh. They’re watching. Arturo is on it.”
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He leers at the captive. “Please don’t, MacLeod. Not from you.”
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What did I say?
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They progress slowly.
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“No, I—that’s not how I mean it. I mean…you know…they’re watching the water and…I think we’re okay, man.”
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He laughs. “Reassurance from a dead man. That’s a good—sh!”
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He’s slipped.
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We’re both going under!
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“Don’t you,” he starts with a growl, regaining his footing.
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However it’s happened, MacLeod’s down on his knees on the bottom. His chin is just above the surface. Pain shrieks up from below, the cord wracking him. He blinks rapidly, white worms of light crawling about. Otherwise, he can’t move, focused solely on the quarter-size opening of a gun barrel seventeen inches away.
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Josh is standing over him, teeth bared, hair wet. The shotgun is pointed at MacLeod’s face, trembling in his grip.
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This is it! Buggered!
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Through the pain, he hears Enrique call out from somewhere. “Chill, Amigo.”
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“Josh, relax! Everything is okay.” That was Arturo.
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“Chill out. You’re good, you’re good!”
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MacLeod can’t breathe. A drop of water falls from the metal tube, white in this world’s dead light. Will it be the last thing he ever sees?
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