Xavier looks terrified by Owen’s words. “But how will you—”
“Cut them now, Xavier. That’s an order.”
“What if I can’t come back in time?”
“There’s an inflatable raft below deck. Now go! We’ll meet you on shore.”
Xavier and Clipper cut the ropes in unison and the lifeboat drops the last several feet into the water. Emma is still staring at me as Xavier fires up the boat’s small engine and pulls away.
“Bree!” Owen yells. “The raft!”
She races belowdecks to retrieve it while the rest of us return our attention to the last two Order members on shore. No sooner have we taken them out than the threat behind us gets worse. The Order ship is now close enough to fire bullets, and they ping against the Catherine’s deck. I can even make out the faces of the shooters. There is a man in the forefront, shouting savagely. He has a thick beard, a bald scalp, and livid eyes, one of which is as foggy as morning mist. Marco. Frank’s go-to man. A man I eluded when I ran from Taem, and again when I returned for the vaccine. A man I’m terrified I may not elude a third time today.
He smiles, as if to say hello, and then aims his handgun directly at me.
He fires.
I don’t know where my father comes from. I don’t even remember him being near, but he is in front of me now, and then falling against my chest. His hand goes to his jacket and it comes away bloody, so bloody that I know even if I get him to shore there is nothing Emma can do to make this right.
Owen coughs out my name.
“Pa?” I shout, shaking him, but he can barely keep his eyes open. “No. No-no-no, don’t do this, Pa!”
His bloody hand grabs at my jacket; his breathing grows ragged. I hear myself screaming, feel Sammy dragging me, his arms hooked at my elbows; but I see only my father, lying on the deck and gasping for air. I need to get him to shore. I need to put pressure on his bleeding chest. I need to send an arrow directly between Marco’s eyes for taking him from me.
I struggle against Sammy, but somehow he is stronger. I’m lugged away from the bullets, away from a man I only met a few months ago, a father I’ve never been able to truly know. He is going to die alone on a sinking ship, end up at the bottom of a watery grave. I won’t even get to bury him.
“We have to jump,” Sammy shouts. He climbs the railing of the Catherine and I realize for the first time how unnatural its angle is. “Gray! Are you listening? Now!”
I glance away from my father, toward the stairwell. “Bree.”
Sammy’s face is blank and I know what he’s thinking. But I’m not about to lose two people in a matter of minutes.
“I have to try.” I tell him. “I can’t not try.”
His mouth hardens. He gives me a quick nod and jumps, plummeting into the icy water. I make for the stairs, sliding from the severe angle of the ship. I have only managed to descend half the flight when I am greeted by water.
The Catherine is flooding.
SIXTEEN
IT IS COLD.
Freezing.
I am shaking by the time the water crosses my ankles.
Every instinct tells me to turn around, but I force myself forward. My breath comes in short, panicked gulps as the water gets deeper, covering my knees, waist, now chest. I shout Bree’s name but I hear only the sound of rushing water forcing its way into the ship, swallowing it whole.
I head for the storage closet, not knowing where else the raft could be kept. The heavy sliding door is still open on its tracks. I wade up to the frame and there’s Bree against the far wall, the water creeping toward her chin. She’s convulsing with cold and tugging at something beneath the surface. A half-submerged shelving unit has fallen right in front of her.
“The raft stuck on it?” I shout, heart sinking.
She looks up. “No, I g-got it already.” She lifts a compact, yellow bag from the water, its shoulder strap already looped over her chest. “You p-pull the tab t-to inflate it.”
“Whatever, let’s get off this thing.”
She tugs again at something beneath the water. “My leg. The shelves. Wh-when the ship went s-sideways.”
I realize then how close the unit likely came to hitting her when it toppled. How its metal frame nearly has her pinned against the wall, and how beneath the water, where I can’t see, it’s somehow holding her in place like an anchor. I take a deep breath and dive. The water is so cold I can’t control my exhale and I shoot back to the surface.
“Gray, just g-go,” she says, teeth knocking. “T-take the raft and—”
I dive before she can finish. This time I make it to the floor, feel along the shelving unit’s frame. It’s lying right across her ankle—not crushing her foot, but pinning it so that she can’t twist or rotate her leg enough to free herself. I grab the edge of the unit and pull upward. It’s heavy. Too heavy. And I’m running out of air.
I resurface. The water level is at Bree’s lips now, her head tilted back so she can breathe. “G-go,” she says. “Before it’s—”
“Pull with me this time.”
Down again. I plant my feet against the floor, grab the edge of the shelving unit, and push off, like I’m trying to take it to the surface with me. The salt stings my eyes, and my lungs burn in my chest, but when Bree helps pull, we manage to raise the shelves a fraction of an inch. I can feel her twisting her leg beside me, trying to free her ankle. My lungs are screaming. Static darts into the corners of my vision. I pull harder, push off the floor with all my remaining strength, and the unit lifts a bit more. It’s enough. I feel Bree slip free, let go of the shelves. I drop them as well and resurface, gasping.
With the raft still slung over her shoulder, Bree lunges at me, hugs me around the neck.
“Gray, I—”
“Come on.”
I grab her hand and head for the hallway. I know what she wanted to say, and even if I didn’t, we don’t have the time to spare for thanks.
When we reach the main stairwell, the water is surging in so aggressively it feels like we’re walking against a wall. I can barely move my legs. Bree can’t take another step. I help her, but she’s suddenly so heavy. I pull. And I pull. And we somehow make it onto the deck.
Here the flurries have become a full-blown blizzard. If the Order vessel is still nearby, it is impossible to tell. The world beyond our ship is a whirlwind of thick flakes, the sky now dark. We crawl against the awkward angle of the deck, climb over the railing of the Catherine, and after hooking our arms together, we jump.
My feet hit the water so hard I feel it in my back. We plummet as though we wear extra weight. The water is biting my lungs again. I can’t tell which way is up. Bree has stopped kicking. She’s become an anchor and she wants to bring me to the bottom.
I fumble with the raft on her shoulder, my eyes burning. I can’t find the tab she mentioned. My boots are too heavy. My clothes tug me south.
We are trapped. Water is everywhere.
Ice.
Freezing.
Frozen.
We are going to die here. Drowned. The two of us. Going down with my father. With Isaac and his ship.
I find something protruding from the flattened raft—a loop large enough to hook my fingers through. I pull it.
The water around us fills with bubbles and we’re jerked upward as the raft seeks out air. We break from the surface and I am gasping, shaking uncontrollably. Bree isn’t breathing. I somehow manage to roll her into the raft, somehow manage to get myself into it as well.
I blow air into Bree’s lungs. I push on her chest, which is pointless in the soft-bottomed raft. I try to revive her again, cursing her, shouting at her. She must hear me calling her a coward for dying because she coughs a mouthful of water onto me. Her eyes flutter open and she is shaking once more. She looks like she wants to say something but her lips are trembling too violently. I turn my back on her and begin paddling toward the sound of breaking waves because the snow is too thick to see land. By some miraculous stroke of luck, we wash ashore. The team is nowhere in sight.