“Maybe we should follow them.” I watch as they climb toward the stern.
“No.” Jamie tugs me away. “Any collapsible would be this way.” He nods to the sunken bow.
I plant my feet. “But I don’t see any boats. We’d be jumping into the pot.”
“Move your damn pins,” Jamie orders.
We pick our way down the sloping deck, every step a pain. But at least moving forces the blood to circulate.
The lights have grown dimmer, the yellow glow fading to orange and casting grim shadows on Jamie’s face. Steam fogs out of our mouths, reminding me that at least a few parts of us are still warm.
People fly by, headed to the stern. I throw Jamie a scowl. “Are you sure we’re going the right way?”
Jamie pushes on, even though any nitwit could see that all the craft on this side have left.
The water seems eager to meet us as we reach the forward part of the deck. Waves hiss and slither like a nest of reptilian beasts, cold-blooded and dark and everywhere at once.
“Look!” Jamie points to an oblong hump, like the underbelly of a giant fish, floating thirty yards beyond where the water pools in the well deck. It’s an overturned collapsible. Two ropes tether it to the railing on the roof of the officers’ quarters. People crowd the sides of the boat, trying to climb the hull before it breaks free of its leashes.
“We’re getting on that,” Jamie says flatly.
“You mean swim?”
Two men scramble past us, almost knocking me down, but Jamie grabs my arm. “This way.” He marches to the ladder leading up to the roof.
“Wait! Where are you going?” I pull myself up the ladder after him.
The roof over the officers’ quarters sweeps before us, empty of people. Past the first smokestack, water has begun to flood the bridge. I can’t help thinking about the proud Captain Smith, whose career will surely plummet with his ship. Even if he lives, there can be no surviving this.
On the starboard side, another collapsible is barely visible, growing smaller as its occupants row it away. Ahead, the foremast has sunk so low, the crow’s nest appears to float on the water, its brass bell swinging like a lantern. To port, the tiny light that might have been our savior has grown no bigger, still just another cold and unreachable star.
Clammy beads of sweat prickle my skin. We’re alone out here in this jungle. Who will save us but ourselves?
Jamie reaches the part of the railing where the two ropes connecting to the collapsible have been knotted. A strong current stretches the ropes taut, as if the lifeboat and theTitanicwere engaged in a tug-of-war. “We’ll walk across these two lines. It’ll be a cinch, two tracks to the end just like a railroad. The less time we spend in the water, the better.”
“But, Jamie, I can barely feel my feet. How am I supposed to—”
“You won’t fall in. I’ll be right behind you. Quickly, before the boat breaks free or they cut the line. You can do this.”
He helps me up to the rail. He’s done it a thousand times, but this time feels like the first.
My heart flip-flops like a landed fish, and my pins have become pillars of ice. I doubt I can make it even one step before falling in. In theory, walking two lines should be easier than one. But not in the middle of the barking Atlantic Ocean, with ropes that can go wavy at the whim of the current. And not when you’re trembling so hard, you could shake all the bones clear of your body.
Below me, still holding my hand, Jamie’s face clouds with worry. Somehow, seeing his distress knocks mine down a notch. Fine. I’ll do this. If only to stop him from looking like his face might crumble off.
I blow a puff of air at him for luck. He blinks, then blows one back, giving me a lopsided smile.
Taking a deep breath, I reach out a numb foot and test the line. It’s hard as a rail. Balancing, I reach out my other foot. Only about ten inches separate the lines. I’ll have to make this fast, letting my momentum make me light.
Life is a balancing act. You could be killed walking down the street, but you don’t let that fear stop you. You just practice until the fear is no longer part of the equation.
I let go of Jamie and begin to move.
The ocean spits and hisses just a few yards under me, rising higher with each step forward. Squinting to keep my vision clear, I muscle the fear away, the devil that must be tamed.As my foot slips off one rope, I alight to the other. Back and forth, light as a mosquito.
Men shout. Some cry. Bodies flail in the water, their fear like crab claws, pincering my attention from every angle. Wrenching my eyes from the chaos, I focus on my footing. The collapsible takes shape before me, but I dare not look at it directly. As if sucking in a breath, I draw my mind inward, where there is only lightness, air, and wings.
The road wobbles. A drowning man has grabbed the rope on the left. Brackish curls obscure most of his face, except for his crooked nose. It’s Skeleton!
