Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 105825 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105825 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
“Oh God,” croaked Lorna.
I took a chance and stamped on the brake. I heard a tire blow and then we were spinning and spinning and I closed my eyes, smelling hot metal and burning rubber…
We stopped. I slowly opened my eyes.
We’d stopped in time…just. We were side-on, right at the end of the dock: if I opened my door, I’d be stepping out into space. I blew out a long sigh of relief.
Then headlights lit us up from the side and I heard the roar of an engine. I hit the gas but the ruined wheels just spun in place. “No,” I panted, “no no no no no—”
The SUV rammed into us and our car shot sideways…and fell into the dark water below.
31
LORNA
For a moment, we were weightless. Then the car hit the water and my head hit the ceiling so hard I saw stars. We rolled crazily and then we were dropping, dropping—
The headlights went out. The lights of the dock dimmed and then there was only blackness. I heard our panicked breathing and the terrifying rushing sound of water.
There was a bump that shook my teeth and my throat closed up in fear as I realized what that meant. Oh Jesus, are we on the bottom? Are we on the bottom of the bay?!
I could feel things under my stockinged toes: a lipstick, keys…my purse must have dumped out its contents at some point during the crash. I ducked down, groping for my phone. But nothing made sense, the footwell wasn’t where it should be and I kept putting one hand into the freezing water that seemed to be getting deeper and deeper…
My fingers finally closed around the smooth plastic of my phone and I turned on the flashlight. The car lit up in dazzling whites and deep black shadow. Now I saw why nothing had made sense in the dark: the car had landed on its side. Water was pouring in from cracks in the windshield, through air vents, through any hole it could find. It was already a few feet deep and rising fast.
I turned the light on JD. He was hanging limply in his seat but as the light hit him, he came awake and looked groggily around. “Get unstrapped,” he told me. “And get out of that dress, we’re going to have to swim.”
By the time both of us had got our seatbelts off, the water was up to our waists. I could feel myself starting to panic breathe. “It’s okay,” JD told me, stripping off his tuxedo jacket. Even now, his voice was calm, certain, and I clung to his words like they were life preservers. “We’ve got to wait for the pressure to equalize, so we can open the door.” He pointed to the driver’s door, which was above our heads. “Then we’re going to swim straight up, okay? Just follow the bubbles.” He unzipped my dress and I shimmied out of it.
The water was up to my armpits, now, and I started to shiver, half from the freezing water and half from fear. “Hey,” said JD, rubbing his hands over my bare arms to warm me. “You’re gonna be okay.” And he squeezed my shoulders.
The water rose higher and we rose with it, treading water, until our heads were pressed up against the driver’s door. The water crept up my neck, up my chin, and I felt my ears pop as the pressure changed—
“Here we go,” said JD, squeezing my shoulder. “Take a deep breath.”
I exhaled and took the biggest breath I could.
The water rose over my mouth and face, filling the car completely.
JD pulled on the door release.
Nothing happened.
He yanked on it again, and pushed the door with all his strength, the muscles in his shoulders standing out. The door didn’t move. Oh God…
JD pointed to the back of the car. I was closer, so I swam to the rear door and pushed on that. But it wouldn’t give, either. JD and I looked at each other, both realizing the problem at the same time. The doors that were facing upwards were the side that had been rammed over and over by the SUV: the metal had caved in and jammed them. And the doors on the other side were pressed against the bottom of the bay.
We were trapped. And the gulp of air I’d taken was running out: already, my lungs were starting to burn.
The flashlight on my phone was somehow still working, but the screen was starting to flicker and corrupt. JD started to pound on the windshield with his fists and I got in next to him and tried kicking it.
If we’d been in air, we could have smashed it easily. But the water dragged on our limbs, killing the momentum and cushioning the glass: I was kicking as hard as I could but it felt like I was barely tapping it. And the effort used up what little air I had left. My chest was screaming now, begging me to exhale and gulp in fresh air, but all there was to breathe was water. As the cold chased the last of the heat from my body, reality hit me with a startling, horrible clarity.