If you had majored in mammalogy and studied animals in the wild, or were only a sheriff ’s deputy, you’d done it before: to frightened dogs, wolves that had to be relocated, coyotes you didn’t want to kill. Even a bear or two. Or maybe you’d seen someone else do it. Whatever. You knew the theory: trank the hell out of those suckers. Put them to sleep—with a pressurized tranquilizer dart.
She stabbed with the needle: a quick, lunging jab.
She was aiming for the hunter’s throat.
She got his eye.
As soon as the frigid water hit her face, most of Ellie’s air gushed out in a shimmering, bubbling cascade. Her heart whammed her ribs like the steel toe of a boot. For a startling moment that seemed to last forever, her brain blanked out.
Then someone—Eli or a dog or the people-eater with the machete—landed on top and drove her deeper. A gout of icy water shot up her nose, the pain like red-hot pokers jammed into her brain. The cold punched at her eyes. The stringer chain was still around her middle, and for a weird second, she thought the lake might actually grab it and pull her down. With precious little air left, she struggled free of a tangle of arms and legs and looked up in time to see something coming straight down like a guided missile. Letting out a bubbling little cry—and the last smidgeon of her air—she jerked aside as the machete skimmed past.
Above, the churning water was murky with billowing curls of blood stirred by pedaling legs and paws. It was like being caught at the very bottom of a giant washing machine. Kicking, lungs imploding with the burn, she grabbed water and swept her arms in a mighty heave.
Shattering the surface, she gulped air so cold it torched her throat. Eli was nowhere in sight. Neither were the dogs. No. They were just here. “M-Mina?” she coughed. “Eli?”
To her right, Mina’s head suddenly popped up like a float freed from the monster of a fish that had swallowed the hook. Chuffing, Mina turned frantic circles, looking for a place to go.
The raft. Furiously treading water, Ellie twisted, trying to get a fix on where she was. Got to find the raft, something to hang onto, and Eli, where’s—
To her left came a watery crash and then the sound of someone hacking and spitting. A surge of relief: Eli. He’d know what to do. He was stronger than her. But he’s hurt, he’s hurt, he was bleeding . . . No, Eli was fine, he couldn’t die, he’d be okay; they’d get out of this and she’d never, ever make fun of him again! “Eli!” Gasping, she croaked, “Eli, are you—”
A punch of panic stole her breath. Instead of Eli, it was the peopleeater, hair streaming, face going white with cold, and only feet away. No! Stifling a scream, she stroked awkwardly, laying down distance, hoping that not even a hungry people-eater would be crazy enough to go after her now. For the moment, he only seemed confused and in shock like her, and that might give her time. Directly ahead, she spotted the ice raft rocking in the turbulence. To her dismay, the floe was moving away, dragged by the current, propelled by the chop and churn.
Maybe the ice shelf ? No, no good. The people-eaters were there. So what was her choice? To tread water and hope help would come? How long would it take her to freeze to death, or drown? I’m small, I don’t weigh very much. Maybe not long at all then. Ellie turned a wild half-circle, looking for something to grab, keep herself afloat. And where’s Roc, where’s Eli? They must be trapped under the ice; Eli might be drowning right now! No, no! She squeezed her eyes tight against the image of poor Eli, pounding ice with his fist, big shivery bubbles boiling from his mouth. Or worse yet, Eli, too weak to swim, sinking as blood smoked from his belly, with Roc, locked in his arms. I should get them, I should dive, I should try! He would do it for her.
“I can’t, I can’t.” Her voice was squeaky and thin as a little mouse’s.
mo ns ters She knew how to swim okay—dead man’s float, sidestroke, a floppy kind of crawl where she always got water up her nose—but she wasn’t great in the water. The cold blasted her face, leeched away what little warmth she had left. Her arms and legs were so heavy. Her boots had instantly filled with water, and her parka was bloated. Treading water now was like trying to run in concrete. Eli, Eli, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.
Turning again, she spotted the ice shelf, a jagged white margin that seemed very far away. She’d expected to see the girl in the green scarf, but Lena was gone. She had to try. If she could battle her way to the stable shelf, she might be able to hold on and help her dog, too. For how long she could do either, she didn’t know, but anything was better than just drowning.
She flopped in an awkward, spastic splash that only sucked more energy and got her no closer to safety. The lake’s fingers, inky and long, wrapped around her ankles and tugged, trying to pull her under, kill her. Everything hurt. Her hands, her feet, her face were throbbing. The cold hacked her skin, and she was shuddering all over. Without meaning to or even an awareness that it was happening, her head simply slid below the surface.
For a long, long second, she kept on sinking. Her body didn’t seem to understand she was underwater. Then, it was as if something deep inside, what was left of her, woke up. Frantic, she clawed to the surface, spluttered, coughed out more water, looked for her dog.
Mina was gone.
No. Not even a brain yelp, though. No energy. And where was the people-eater? Everything was starting to get black . . . “N-nuh. Muhmuh . . .” Her mouth wasn’t working. She dog-paddled, her head cranked so far back she stared at blue sky blushing orange and red, the end coming on. There was a small huh as Mina resurfaced, but barely, only her snout showing and two terrified eyes.
A slap of water swamped her chin. A wave broke around her head and rolled past. Another hard splash, closer. Behind. Twisting, she saw the people-eater crashing across the lake, heading for her.
“N-n-nuh.” Dredging up a last burst of strength, she swept with both arms, pulling for open water, her thoughts as tiny and shivery as soap bubbles: What’s he doing, is he crazy? The people-eater’s splashing was closer, harder, wilder. Risking a peek, she let out a gaspy, gargly scream. Puffing like a bull, mad with hunger, the boy was gaining. A sudden, horrible thought blasted her brain: he would drown her. Drown her, tow her body back, and then eat—
“N-n-noooo!” she shrieked as he covered the last five feet in a giant surge. His hands battened on her head. She flailed, but it was like trying to fight an octopus. She went completely under. A glubby, strangled cry tried to boil past her lips, and she clamped hard, gulping it back. Can’t hold it, can’t hold it, can’t—and then she really couldn’t hang on any longer. Air bolted from her mouth, and with it, the last of her voice in a despairing wail.