“No.” Chris cringed. His arms were pebbly with gooseflesh. “And don’t touch me again. This isn’t my nightmare. It’s his.”
“It is also Simon’s.”
“Then let them keep it. I have problems of my own. Please, Jess.” He closed his eyes, but he could still hear the cries of the gulls overhead and the slap of water on rubber. “I told Ellie the truth about Alex. I’m on my way to Rule. If I’m right, Lena’s following. So Hannah and Isaac are safe, at least from her. What more do you want from me? When will it be enough?”
“Truth comes from water and blood,” Jess said. “If you truly care for Peter, then this is the only way, Chris.”
“What does that mean, Jess?” He kept his eyes squeezed shut. He couldn’t bear to see what he looked like in those black mirrors: spidery and strange, both himself and something alien. How is this happening? Why? “Is Peter alive? Is that it?”
“Do you want him to be?”
“God, yes.”
“Then follow him into his darkness, Chris.” He felt her hands on his back. “But don’t forget to hold your breath.”
“This is a dream, Jess.” Opening his eyes, he stared down at his watery twin. “You can’t die in your dreams.”
“This is Peter’s nightmare, and I don’t think you want to test that,” she said, and gave him a push.
The water was so cold it was fire. Chris sank, the water like chains, drawing him down. Below was the feeble bob of Peter’s light and a sinking, gutted husk of a boat. Most of the aft deck was gone; the pilothouse was a ruin; the hole the fire made gaped like a wound. No choice now. He was committed. His lungs strained, the pressure building inside and out. The water was so oily, he was afraid to look away from Peter and the boat. As he neared, he saw Peter’s light angle up. By some miracle, the deck aft of the engine room was intact. Using a metal ladder as a guide, Peter wormed through a square hatch.
Chris followed. Inside the wreck, the churning water was even blacker, curling with what looked like smoke. As he broke through into a very slim wedge of air and screams, he realized that what he was looking at—swimming through—was blood.
“Calm down, you have to calm down!” Peter was shouting. Both girls had their hands hooked around a pipe. Chris had no trouble recognizing Penny; the shrieking girl had Peter’s jaw and eyes. The other girl, who looked much older, was no less frightened. Blood pumped from a large gash in her scalp. “Just follow me, Penny,” Peter said. “We’ll all get out, I promise.”
“I can’t!” Penny’s lips pulled apart in a terrified grimace. “I can’t hold my breath that long! I’ll drown, I’ll die!”
“Penny.” Peter was trying to pry his sister’s hands free. “Let go—”
“I can’t!” Thrashing, Penny lost it. “I don’t want to die, I don’t want to—”
“Help me.” The other girl was pale as marble, her blood almost black in Peter’s light. Water slopped over her chin. “I don’t know how to swim, I can’t—”
“We can’t take them both at the same time.” Peter’s eyes shone with panic and tears. “It’ll take two of us to handle Penny, and we can’t—”
“N-no.” One hand slipped, and the girl flailed. The air pocket had squeezed to a slim six inches. “No, don’t leave me alone, d-don’t—”
“Hang on.” Lunging, Chris slapped her hands back onto the pipe. The air pocket was shrinking very fast, and he was freezing, getting tired out. He was horribly aware that the longer they stayed, the deeper the boat sank. As it was, he’d barely made it. “Can’t you swim at all?”
“Nuh-no,” the girl moaned. “Nuh . . .”
“We have to go.” Peter had managed to loosen one of Penny’s hands, but the other clung so fiercely to the pipe, he couldn’t both hold her and work her free. “Help me.”
“No,” the girl cried. “Wait!”
But Chris was already wrapping both hands around Penny’s wrist, pulling with all his might, fighting her terror, and then her hands were free and he was shouting, “Peter! Go now, go now!”
“Penny!” Peter grabbed the still-screaming girl’s face. “Penny, hold your breath, stop screaming, hold your—”
“No!” the other girl shrieked. “No, don’t leave me here, don’t—”
“Come on!” Peter bellowed, and then they were under the water, kicking out of the engine room, the three of them stroking their way through the hatch. Penny was still thrashing; Peter had one arm and Chris the other. Peter’s light stabbed up, but Chris was no longer sure if that truly was the way. He could hear Penny: the boil of her breath and a thin mmm-mmm-mmm!
Stop screaming, stop screaming! Slapping his hand over her nose and mouth, Chris kicked hard. Too far above, the faint glimmer of a distant sky spread itself over the water, but his air was nearly gone; his lungs was blazing. I was wrong. I’m going to die down here in the dark; I’m going to drown in Peter’s nightmare . . .
“No,” Peter said—and because this was a dream, they were, suddenly, in the bobbing raft again, side by side. No Penny. No Jess. No wrecked boat, of course; that was lost to the dark, and the girl with it. “You can’t stay here, Chris.” Peter stared out over endless inky water. “I won’t let you.”
“A-are you d-dead?” He was shuddering so hard, his mouth balked.
“Partly.”
“Wh-what does th-that mean?”
“I’m not sure myself.” Face still averted, Peter shook his head. “I think part of me died right here. You really should go, Chris. I don’t know how long it’s safe for you to stay.”
“I’m n-not leaving you, Peter. Let me h-help you.”
“I don’t think you can.” And then Peter turned. His eyes were no longer blue but as red as that drowned girl’s blood might’ve been in light. “Still love me, Chris?” Peter said. Then: “Easy. Watch out you don’t shoot—”
“Hunh!” Chris started awake, his hand stretching for his rifle even before he was fully upright. “Whoa, watch it!” Ellie jumped, and as her armload of wood clattered to the ground, Jayden bolted to a sit, simultaneously trying to struggle out of a sleeping bag and free his gun hand.