Eldorado by Jay Allan Storey Page B

out into the channel in minutes and he would certainly drown. She was torn – she knew her wisest choice was to do nothing – to return to her shack and leave the victim in the water to his fate. “It's everyone for themselves now.” Auntie Becky had always tried to drill into her head. “Don't concern yourself with other people. You’ve got your own problems.”
    But there was something pitiable and heart-breaking about the poor wretch bravely grasping for life but beaten down by exhaustion. She crept toward him, his body rolling slightly only because of the motion of the water. When she moved closer, she saw that he was a teenage boy, probably not much older than herself. He looked dead, but she couldn't really tell. She knew that he would be dead soon if she didn't intervene.
    Against Auntie Becky's wise advice and all her own instincts, she decided to act. She was crouching on a dry grass-covered plateau that quickly gave way to the muddy slope of the bank. She broke off a sapling nearby, lay down on the dry section, and jammed the butt of the sapling as deeply as she could into the mud. She cracked it near the base so that it bent down toward the motionless boy. It might not hold, but there was nothing else around, and she didn't have much time.
    Gripping the bent sapling, she slid down until she was almost within reach of the boy. One of his arms stretched in her direction, still in place from his struggle. It was close, but she couldn’t reach it without letting go. She unbuttoned her shirt and took it off, twisting it into a makeshift rope. After tying one end to a fork in the sapling, she worked her way down far enough to reach his outstretched hand, to which she tied the free end.
    She went hand-over-hand back up the twisted shirt and the sapling, hauling herself to its base then onto the plateau. She pulled the sapling from the mud and tugged on it, trying to drag the unconscious boy out of the water and up the bank. His body wouldn’t budge. To her shock, the movement jarred him awake and he gaped wildly up at her. Instinctively, she dropped the branch and covered her naked breasts.
    The boy, comprehending that she was trying to help him, renewed his desperate attempt to climb, flailing at the mud with both hands. Forgetting her embarrassment, Lacy picked up the branch and heaved with all her strength. Together, they made progress. Her added pull was just enough for him to overcome the slickness of the slope.
    After several minutes of effort, he made it to the edge of the plateau. He was shivering violently and covered with mud, and his eyes were wild with fear. He reached out a trembling hand toward her. Lacy froze.
    She couldn't bring herself to take his hand. She was afraid. Her mind spun with visions of him attacking her or dragging her down after him. Her nakedness amplified her fear. She stood paralyzed. The boy stared up at her pathetically and his quivering lips mouthed, in a whisper,
    "Help me."
    Lacy started to cry. She was frightened to take his hand, but she couldn't let him die. The boy lost his tenuous grip and started to slide back down. He stretched out his fingers in a last desperate gesture.
    Finally Lacy cast away her fear and reached out for him. Their fingertips touched. She felt a jolt of emotion, as if a charge of electricity had passed through the boy's hand into her own. She paused, frightened, but his slide was about to take him beyond her reach. She stretched out her hand, and the tips of their fingers barely hooked together.
    She leaned forward as much as she dared, almost losing her balance, and locked her curled fingers solidly with his. Heartened by her support, he clawed frantically at the slippery mud with his free hand. He hauled himself up a few inches, and their hands finally clasped together.
    Once again a rush of emotion passed through her at their connection. She pulled with every particle of her strength – pulled until she thought she would collapse, while the boy