I swim and then keep swimming until my side aches and my lungs burn. At first, I heard several people follow me into the water, splashing and shouting, but now I only hear a few, swimming steadily behind me. I hope they aren’t stronger swimmers than I am. I hope they don’t find a boat.
They’ll hate me now. I promised them salvation and denied it. Even I would hate me.
Ahead, a silver streak cuts through the waves, and I catch the dorsal fin of my dolphin. She pulls me through the waves so fast that the water batters away any and all thoughts. I let her pull me as far as I can, until my arms shake, and my hands slip, and I slide away from her. She leaps out of the ocean. Moonlight glistens on her flanks.
I tread water and look around. It’s night. I’m in the ocean. I don’t see any swimmers following me or any boats that aren’t drifting aimlessly. I paddle for shore. I’m exhausted, and every muscle hurts, but I swim until I crawl onto shore and collapse into the sand.
I lie in the sand for a very long time. The ocean kisses my feet. The desert wind chills my skin. I shiver in my wet clothes. I want Peter to come roaring in on his steam train to save me. But I sent him to save Claire, and he doesn’t know I need him.
A howl breaks through the steady sound of the waves. And then another howl—east and south, at least three, maybe more. I haul myself upright as another howl shatters the air. It’s much closer than any of the others.
Option one: I could retreat into the waves. But I don’t think I can swim anymore. My arms feel like jelly, wobbly slabs of flesh, and I’m chilled. Every inch of my skin is prickled with goose bumps, and it cringes away from my wet clothes.
Option two... Is there an option two?
I see a house nearby. It’s a run-down ranch with a half-collapsed garage. It looks familiar, and I think—I’m not certain but I think—it has one of Peter’s boards on its roof.
Getting to my feet, I ignore the way my legs are quivering. I don’t see any of the dogs, but the shadows could hide a thousand dogs intent on rending my flesh from my bones. I debate whether it’s better to walk and not seem like prey or run and get to the house faster.
I walk a few steps.
The howls don’t seem closer.
I continue toward the house as the dogs continue to howl. I wonder if they’re wolves, not dogs. I wonder which is worse. And then I realize one is behind me, between me and the ocean.
I don’t think.
I run.
I hear them bark to each other. I hear their paws scramble over the wet sand and the desert dirt. I throw myself onto a trellis with dead vines around it, and I climb. The rotten trellis breaks under my weight. I scramble my feet and grab the gutter. It’s clogged with muck and leaves, but it holds. The wolves hurl themselves at the house as I swing onto the roof. Panting, I lie flat on the shingles.
Safe.
But then I think:not safe.Someone might hear the barks. Someone might investigate to see what, or whom, they’ve treed. I scuttle across the roof and find the board that Peter left.
Even absent, Peter saves me.
I lift the board and lay it across to the next house. Sitting, I scoot along it. The wolves follow me below. I pull the board over with me and use it to cross to the next house. And then I use the rope ladder strung between the second house and an abandoned convenience store. And then another board. And a jump. A board. A zip line. Eventually, the dogs spot other things to sniff and hunt and chase, and I am alone.
Stretching out beside a chimney, I rest on the top of a house with black shingles. I stare up at the stars, the strange constellations and the fat moon.
I don’t know when everything went so wrong so fast.
Claire.
The Missing Man.
I need to talk to Peter,I think.
I pry myself up. After he fails to find Claire in the void, Peter will look for me at the yellow house, and when he sees that the mob is there and I’m not, he’ll look for me at our other favorite place. Staying in the sky, I head for the art barn.
Silently, quickly, I move from roof to roof. I listen for howls—I don’t hear any. I watch for people—I don’t see any. When the houses are too spaced out to stay above, I drop to the ground. I hide in the shadows and creep toward the barn. Across a short patch of open ground, it sits, untouched by the void or my ocean. I skulk toward it, watching the shadows around me. Shooting looks right and left, I slide open the door, and slip inside.
“Peter?”
No answer from the darkness.
A thin sliver of light seeps in through the gap in the door. As my eyes adjust, I don’t see any movement. I don’t hear any breathing. I think I’m alone. I close the door.
