Patriot (A Jack Sigler Continuum Novella) by Jeremy Robinson, J. Kent Holloway Page A

given his heart to another—not even been tempted to do so. The girl was something else entirely. She wasn’t his daughter by birth. That much he could remember. But his heart ached for her more than it would for a thousand daughters. He missed her bright, intelligent smile. That glimmer of mischief in her eyes when she’d done something she wasn’t supposed to. They’d shared so much together in her short few years, but he couldn’t imagine his life without her.
    Only, he had been without her. And the woman. And it had been eating him alive for centuries. When even their faces had begun to fade, he knew it was time. Time to…
    He felt a crushing weight against his chest, twisting his thoughts back to the present. Something pushed against his body. A dull throbbing, vibrating up and down every one of his nerves. Then came a burning sensation. A white-hot fire searing into his lungs. He’d experienced this sensation before—on multiple occasions. But he couldn’t gather enough wits to remember what it had been.
    Something… What was the word? Liquid . Wet. Salty. Was rushing past his lips, flooding his throat and pouring down into his…his… lungs? Is that the right word? Yes. Lungs .
    He was submerged. Underwater.
    His eyes snapped open. Something hard and flakey cracked as his lids pulled back from his cloudy eyes. The world around him was hazy. Dark. The saltwater burned at his eyes, and he blinked back the pain, trying to clear his vision. But his eyes had been useless within the sarcophagus for far too long. It would take some time to recover his vision. For now, however, he knew the important thing was to pull himself to the surface. Though he knew he wouldn’t die, his brain did need oxygen to function properly. It wouldn’t do him much good to survive, if he spent his immortality on the bottom of the sea, unable to rise from a watery grave.
    He tried moving his arms, but they were stiff. Felt brittle, like two old pieces of lumber charred from a campfire. He pushed through it, bending his elbows and hearing the sound of atrophied muscles and tendons tearing and popping as he moved. Instantly a white, hot fire burned at the inside of his elbows, and he winced. Or at least, he made a reasonable attempt. He clamped down on his dry, cracked lips, trying to prevent himself from taking in any more water than he had already. After several long moments, his hands pulled up to his waist to find a thick hemp rope tied with a slip knot. Blindly, he grabbed at the rope and pulled. Immediately he felt the pull returned. Someone was most definitely on the other end of the line. He jerked down on the line again, and felt a second reply from the other end.
    Suddenly, he jerked forward in the water as the rope pulled taut around his waist, and he began to be pulled up toward the surface. For the first time since his mind awakened from its slumber, he felt the cool water rush over his cheeks, and through his long tangled hair. It was unnerving to him just how refreshing the sensation was. How it soothed his flaking desiccated skin. He could feel the cells of his body already mending. Already healing the damage that had been done by allowing himself to drift off into undeath. It hadn’t been the first time he’d tried it, but it evidently had been the longest amount of time he’d spent in the grave. The way he felt, he told himself he’d never do it again, but he wasn’t sure that was the truth. It ultimately depended on how much time was left. How much longer he’d have to wait to return to…to…
    He screamed a silent scream over the frustration of not remembering their names. Of all people to forget, how could he forget them? They were the reason he’d managed to go on for as long as he had, and…
    Something sharp and powerful crunched down on his leg, and yanked him back toward the ocean floor. His ascent to the surface abruptly stopped, and he felt the sharp sting of his tibia splitting in two from the impact.