Page 7 of The Sixth Spring

He saw the head turn in his direction. Definitely a person.

Without thinking, Will stepped forward into the water, in over his head.

It was immediately cold, dousing him, and he clenched his teeth. He started a quick, efficient stroke through the grassy debris toward the machine.

The person grunted, and there were more rippling struggles. It was a relief only that their head was still above water.

“It’s okay, I’ll help you,” Will huffed as he got closer. He swam to the other end of the machine, not to crowd the person, stopping only when he got a hand on the top of the excavator cab to hold himself above the water.

Everyone knew not to try to save someone who was drowning without assistance. They could just as easily pull you down and drown you too.

But as Will got hold of the metal, he felt the precariousness of the machine. It moved as he touched it, like it was ready to collapse at any moment, into the water.

The man—because now Will was certain it was a man—hissed like he was in pain.

Had he cut himself? Or maybe he didn’t know how to swim? That would be a problem.

“Hey. I’m Will. Are you okay? What’s going on?”

The man wasn’t facing him. He was turned toward the machine; both of his hands pressed against the metal. His face was hidden in a sheet of dark hair. He grunted, continuing to push at the metal.

“Sir?”

The head whipped around. The man hissed at him, baring his teeth.

Except from this distance, with the moonlight cascading down on them, Will realized then that it wasn’t a man. What he’d mistaken for hair was something reedy, like pondweed, and the teeth being bared at him were far sharper than any human’s would be.

Red eyes flared at him in the dark.

That was not a man.

It was a monster.

Will screamed, adrenaline slamming into him. His thoughts scattered.

“Shit, shit,” Will swam backwards clumsily, frantically trying to put distance between himself and the creature. His body moved uncoordinated, flailing like he’d forgotten every childhood swimming lesson. He sucked in a mouthful of black, gunky water, and sputtered.

He got halfway back to the road before realizing the creature wasn’t following him. That the splashing and sputtering was all his own.

The monster was still at the machine, banging louder now against the metal. The strange pull was still there, urging him to come back.

Will turned in the water.

He could tell the monster wasn’t looking at him at all. It made frustrated, angry hissing sounds at the machine.

Will stared. What?

His gaze went up, to the top of the digger, the awkward bend of its arm. The excavator had tilted toward the road in the soft, wet ground, and crumpled inward. It looked like it had created a pinch point between the cabin and the wheels.

“Are you… stuck?” Will asked. His voice wobbled in fear.

It didn’t answer him. Didn’t even turn to look at him. It kept banging against the machine, making waves in the water as it thrashed more openly now.

Will was reminded of the fox.

That had been over a decade ago now, but the memory was seared into his mind in painful, excruciating detail.

Will had been walking to school one morning and had come across a fox with its leg caught in slack barbed wire cow fencing. It was a beautiful red fox, young by its size. Will had watched it yank savagely against the wire, unable to free itself, deepening the wound in its frustration.