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You had to think and think quick.
To jump after Veronica, even if she was knocked unconscious—it was a ferocious blow—would put both of you in fraught and peril. She would be as good as dead, together with you. No, you had to deal with the beast first, so, even though your hands shook to plunge after your friend, your judgement was firmer. You paddled to a close-safe distance at which the hen drowned in desperation, her shank and claws chained; she stood no chance …
The beast zigzagged only meters below the lake, leaving a trail of iridescent bubbles and sullen waves behind and above it. One, and two; you raised your arms, palms wide open, and laid forward, trying to stay afloat without disturbing the water and taking-diverting attention away from the bait. Releasing a guttural growl, the swamp beast uprose, its maw wide open. With a row of hundreds of sharp teeth, it was big enough to bite into and then tear off at least half of Veronica’s body.
The hen was much smaller: the maw snapped wide and the beast swallowed it whole. You heard a quiet clucking, as the reptile monster trashed its head. With the reptile deaf in its own hungering shrill, you hurdled and leapt through the water; a short moment of opportunity. You grasped the pickaxe by its handle with both of your hands.
The beast noticed you, its narrow eyes widening as it suddenly twisted its neck and hoisted its neck. Your legs dragged through the water, your boots quickly filling to the brim with icy moisture. You clutched the handle with all your strength, desperate to hold on. A sudden and intense pain of your left hand burned through your skin like acid. You cried, as your body fell on top of the beast’s headcrown; the same way Veronica was before. Instead of standing up, you fell on your knees, holding into the pickaxe between your elbow, as well as your arms. One mistake, and you were a dead man.
