Page 135 of Scarlet Wars
In a single breath, the old craft collapsed in on itself and snapped back into place as something entirely new: a rubber motorboat. Black, sleek, and glistening under the moonlight, like it had been pulled straight out of a covert ops catalog.
The engine coughed once, then roared to life without fuel, the deep hum vibrating through the flexible hull beneath our knees.
We were thrown forward instantly. All four of us dropped low, clinging to the slick rubber sides as the boat shot across the water, curtesy of Emma.
Behind us, gunfire erupted, the bullets tearing into the water around us, each impact snapping like a whip.
“Motherfuckers!”
The current fought us, the boat bouncing hard with every wave, but Emma kept her focus on the horizon.
I heard the wet thud of impact and saw Campbell jerk forward at the bow, mouth open in a silent scream before a second shot hit him square in the chest.
The force sent him toppling over the side, vanishing into the black water with barely a splash.
“Fuck!” Johnson reached out to grab him, but the next burst caught him mid-movement. His body twisted, momentum carrying him overboard after Campbell. They were gone before the ripples even reached us.
“Emma, get the fuck down!” I barked, already lunging toward the controls. My hands locked around the throttle, knuckles white as I forced the boat into a tighter line.
The engine’s roar climbed higher, straining against the river’s pull. Ahead, the water shimmered—subtle at first, like heat distortion—but the closer we got, the stronger it became. The air itself vibrated, humming against my skin, thick with static and power.
The border.
The bubble.
The roar behind us built into a wall of sound, engines screaming, gunfire cracking off the water.
“No translation!” I shouted.
Emma didn’t answer, but the shimmer ahead thickened, no longer distortion but a solid curtain of pressure, humming with power.
We hit the border at full speed and broke through.
The boat lurched violently, skidding across rougher water on the other side.
I barely had time to adjust our course before a single bullet struck the motor.
The whole thingdetonatednot even a second later.
The explosion ripped through the stern, fire and pressure slamming into us. The boat lifted, tilted, then flipped.
Sound warped into a low, metallic groan, and for a heartbeat, gravity felt wrong. My vision fractured, and colors were bending in ways that shouldn’t exist.
Emma’s eyes were wide, her mouth open in a shout I couldn’t hear.
I reached for her, our fingers grazing skin…and then the river took us.
THIRTY-TWO
EMMA
Water.
Cold.
Darkness.
It swallowed everything, the sound of my gasp, the burn in my lungs, the frantic drum of my heartbeat. My body broke through the surface once, then the current dragged me under again. The shock of the cold stole every thought but one:up.
