Digory clears his throat. “Excuse me, Sergeant, Sir. Permission to speak?”
Slade’s eyes slash him from head to toe. “Permission granted, Recruit.”
“What if we aren’t able to reach the radio tower?”
Malice edges out the contempt in her face. “Failure is not an option in my platoon, Recruit Tycho.” She pulls out a sleek palm-sized device topped with buttons.
In that instant, my eyes have just enough time to connect her words with the hinges on the platform floor, which separate us from Slade and the Imps.
Slade’s mouth twists into a sneer. “Good luck.” Her finger jabs at the black box’s top button.
The floor disappears, sending the five of us tumbling into the roaring abyss yawning below.
The icy water hits me like a thousand syringes plunging into my body.
Something tugs at me, pulling me upward. Then I’m breaking through a barrier. Sounds rip through my ears, muffled at first. I’m not sure where I am. Deep cold slices through the numbness of my skin.
A high-pitched siren unclogs my ears. It blares again, only this time I realize it’s not a siren, but a scream.
I cough up a mouthful of salt water, just in time to swallow another one.
“Lucian! I gotcha!” Digory calls in my ear. He squeezes me tight.
“I’m okay.” I spit ocean.
“Gideon! You got her?” he calls to my right.
I manage to turn my head enough to see Gideon treading water. He paddles toward us, Ophelia clinging to his side.
“She’s good.” Gideon responds through puffs of frosty breath. “But we need to get out of this wa-wa-wat-er fast before we fr-”
“I know that!” Digory shoots back. “Where do you suggest we go? The raft’s gone … ”
During their exchange, I’ve been looking past them at a rectangular shape drifting steadily away from our position. The raft. And in it, the silhouette of a girl, her long hair whipping about in the wind.
Cypress has stolen our only chance of survival.
The thought of what will happen to the rest of us jumpstarts my heart. Sucking in a lungful of ice, I break free of Digory and dive into the water after her.
“Lucian! Wait!”
But Digory’s voice is drowned out by the splashing of my flailing limbs and the sound of my heart battering my ears. Every breath is a battle. I can’t feel my arms and legs as they carve into the water. My only focus is reaching that raft. I take in another gulp of frosty air and catch a glimpse of Cypress. I’m almost there.
My strokes are short and fast. Arms dig up the sea. Feet gyrate as rapidly as propellers. Ironically, it’s Cassius I have to thank for becoming such a good swimmer. All those times when we were kids, racing each other in the swamps behind the electrical plant, swimming through all that muck, having to hold our breath to avoid the awful stink infesting our nostrils as we tried to push each other’s heads beneath the surface. And now, years later, he’s holding my head down again. Only this time, he’s not playing, and he’s not going to let me come up for air.
The flash of fury fuels my strokes, faster and faster, until at last I reach the raft. I grab on to the side of the boat, leaning against it as I struggle to fill my aching lungs with air. I’m panting like a Canid. Slower. Breathe slower. I have to stop gulping air or I’ll hyperventilate. Everything’s hazy, and for a moment I feel like I’m going to pass out and slide back into the ocean for good this time.
The panic jolts me into action. Digging my fingers into the rubber rim, I hoist myself up and over the raft’s edge. My left hip slams onto the bottom before I roll onto my back.
I’m so numb, my body doesn’t even ache after that marathon swim. If it weren’t for the pain in my lungs, I might just be taking a little rest, sprawled out on this raft gazing up at the night sky.
The starfield is shattered by a wooden oar that appears out of nowhere. It gleams in the moonlight for a split-second, then it slices in a downward arc toward my head. My paralysis evaporates like a puff of frosty breath. I roll out of the way.
Thwack! The blade’s edge grazes my left ear and whomps into the raft’s floor.
Cypress raises the oar again. But this time I’m ready for her. The toe of my boot hammers into her shin.
“Ah!” She stumbles backward, trips over a backpack, and crashes against the equipment canisters strapped into the corner of the raft. Her hand loses its grip on the oar’s handle. She lies there stunned. Her other hand rubs the back of her head.
Chills rattle my body. I force myself to sit up. “Are you crazy?”
She doesn’t respond, just continues to squirm. A few moans escape her opened lips. Did she strike her head too hard? I didn’t mean to hurt her. It all happened so fast, with that damn oar coming right at me.
My knees creak their protest. Pulling myself to my feet, I stagger over and squat beside her.
“Cypress,” I barely manage. The wet clothes are taking their toll on me. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. But why did you …?” I reach out to touch her cheek, but I’m so numb I can’t tell where my fingers end and she begins.
Her open palm clamps around the oar’s handle. She springs up and knocks me aside, holding the oar’s tip to my throat. Her eyes are colder than the black sea.
This time it’s anger that energizes me. Every second Digory and the others stay in that freezing water is a stroke of the pen on their death certificates.
“I don’t know what your problem is, but we have to go back and get the others now!”
She shakes her head. “It’s nothing personal. There’s something I need to do on my own.”
“But they’ll freeze to death if we don’t get them out of the water!”
“I don’t really care.”
“You’d just let them die like that, without another thought?”
“They would do the same to me.”
“Are you so sure? I wouldn’t.” I grip the oar’s tip. “Go ahead then. Bash in my skull. Open up my throat.” It’s hard to differentiate now between the shivers of terror and cold.
The oar digs deeper into my neck. The blade is shaking. Wooden splinters pierce my skin. The muscles in her face twitch, but her eyes remain glacial. Still, she hesitates.
“It’s a lot easier to paddle away and leave people in the dark than outright butcher them, isn’t it, Cypress? The thing is, they’re both pretty much murder, and I don’t think you’re capable of that.”
“Not yet, anyway,” she grunts. She pulls the oar away and bends over me.
I take in a deep breath, bracing myself. But she just offers her arm and pulls me to my feet.
“Thanks.” I rub my neck.
Her eyes narrow. “For what?”
“I don’t know. For not killing me, I guess.” I grab a second oar and plunk down on one side of the raft. The tip of my paddle sinks into the sea.
“Don’t press your luck.” She mimics my actions on the craft’s other side.
“Right. Let’s move.”
It’s slow going for the first minute or so, but our rowing falls into synch. Soon we’re speeding back to where I left the others behind. But the closer each stroke brings us, the more I fear that we’re too late.
“Digory! Gideon! Ophelia!” I call out into the gloom. “Can you hear me?”
The only reply is the crash of waves breaking against the raft.
I paddle faster, my oar stabbing the water. A tide of panic rises over me.
Cypress matches me, row for row. “It’s too late. They’re gone.”
“No, they’re not!” I shout the words, as if the louder I make them the more they’ll be true.
Dropping my oar, I stand up, cupping my hands around my frozen lips. “Can anyone hear me? Digory! Are you out there?”