Gasp (Visions) (17 page)

I strike out for the nearest lifeboat with the other end of the rope, checking over my shoulder every few seconds to make sure he’s still there.

From here, the ferry looks huge and scary and completely misshapen as it sinks lower in the water, tilted at a strange, extreme angle. I can see the entire front deck, people crawling around trying to hang on. There’s still one lifeboat attached to the ferry and being loaded, and as I push through the water I spot Rowan, Ben, and a crew member lowering the older woman on the board into the lifeboat using their ropes.

And then I see Sawyer on the rear deck railing, the blond girl with the polka-dot headband riding on his back. She must be injured. They’re getting ready to jump. A wave of relief washes over me—she must be his last victim if he’s going over the side with her.
Come on, Sawyer,
I think.
You can do this.
I send him all the mental energy I can muster to help him get past his fear and jump to safety.

I check on my guy, who is still hanging on. “We’re almost there,” I call out to him, and wind up with another mouthful of water as the tumultuous waves surround me. I
am quickly growing exhausted. It’s about all I can do right now to get to the lifeboat so the people in it can drag this man in. Finally I make it, and a woman grabs the rope from me and starts pulling. Others try to help me get in despite my protests, but the ferry groans and leans farther toward us, making everyone stop for a moment to stare.

And it keeps going, rolling slowly onto its side. “God in heaven,” I whisper. I gasp and choke on water as the contents of the car ferry appear to shift drastically, the front end sinking faster than the back. The ferry tilts quickly now, to sixty degrees or so. The crew loosens their hold on the swinging lifeboat, and it drops sickeningly fast to the water. A second later, almost everyone else remaining on the deck falls too. I look around frantically for Trey and Rowan and Ben and Sawyer as the falling bodies surface. The water is dotted with a dozen passengers.

A woman in the lifeboat tugs at me. “No, I’m fine,” I croak, not looking at her. “I’m going to help some of these people.”

I search for the ones without life vests on, but it looks like everybody on my team did a fantastic job of doling them out, which gives me a surge of hope. I spy Trey in the water helping someone get to a lifeboat, and then I see that it’s Rowan. My heart stops for a minute, but she is able to climb in on her own, so I think she’s okay. She must have actually listened to me. Trey signals to somebody. I
follow his gaze, and I see Ben swimming far out to save someone. As I ride up the next wave, I look for Sawyer, but I don’t see him anywhere. “Sawyer!” I yell, but it’s useless, because everybody else is yelling for people too.

I grab the rope and strike out toward a floating passenger, knowing we’re still in a lot of danger. These people in the water don’t have wet suits on. Just because they’re not drowning at the moment doesn’t mean they’re safe. I sure as hell hope we’re not relying solely on Ben’s 911 call—there had to be others. Maybe somebody’s fancy underwater car alerted OnStar. And of course there’s the crew, who must have radioed for the Coast Guard. But I don’t see anybody coming to our rescue. Lightning streaks across the sky and I realize it’ll be totally dark soon.

I string two passengers together with the rope, and the woman in the lifeboat starts towing them in like a champ. Once I know they’re good, I whip my head around, looking for anybody else who needs help, and I see the girl with the polka-dot headband. She no longer has the glasses she was wearing on the ferry. I swim toward her and she’s just floating and crying, teeth chattering, in the water. “Come on,” I say to her. “I’ll help you.”

I reach my arm out and she grabs on.

“What’s your name?” I say. “I’m Jules.”

“Bridget,” she says. And then she mutters through her
tears, “As in, I wish there was a road from here to land so we could bridge it.”

I can’t help but smile. My mom would say this girl’s got spunk.

I flip to my back and start kicking, pulling her with me, trying to get somewhere. But I’m losing steam. The rain pelts my face; it’s warmer than the water I’m in. “We’re headed for a lifeboat that has room for you. You doing all right?”

“I can’t find my family,” she says. “And I can’t see very well. I lost my glasses.”

I remember seeing her on board, and noting that the rest of her family was not on the victim list. “I’m sure they’re fine. I’m positive, okay? I mean it. Hundred percent.”

She nods, taking me at my word. “Okay.”

“Are you hurt?”

“My ankle. It hurts really bad. I can’t kick. That guy said it might be broken.”

That guy.
“That guy who was with you when you jumped?”

“Yeah.”

“Where did he go?”

“I don’t know,” she says, her teeth chattering uncontrollably now. “He told me my job was to fight through the pain and swim to the lifeboat. And then he dropped me over the edge.”

Sawyer, where the hell are you?
My limbs are shaky and tired, and now that we’re almost done here, I’m feeling the edge of the cold. My feet and face are getting numb.

I pull the girl toward the nearest lifeboat, where Rowan is, but the boat just seems to be floating farther and farther away in the waves. “Ro!” I shout. “Rowan!”

She turns and spots me. “Thank God!” she says. “We couldn’t find you!”

“I’m fine, but do you have your rope you can throw us? She’s freezing.”

Rowan shakes her head, agitated. “It’s with the lady on the board in a different boat.” She looks around and apparently sees Trey on the other side of her boat. She calls to him, and a second later I see his rope flying through the air to her. She catches it, holds one end, and tosses the other one my way. I swim out to reach it and do my best to tie it to Bridget’s life vest, but my fingers aren’t cooperating.

It’s when I’m stringing the rope through a fluorescent green loop on the vest that I realize it. My heart stops.

Bridget is wearing a life vest that looks exactly like mine.

“Where did you get this life vest?” I scream, my voice hoarse.

Bridget looks at me, scared. “The ferry was rolling onto its side and the guy made me take it. He said he could go back for another one.”

I stare at her, my face in her face, and I have no words, only fear squeezing my lungs, suffocating me from inside my ribs.

Someone starts pulling Bridget to the lifeboat, and I flounder in the water as all light disappears, paralyzed in the murk.

I scream his name.

Scream it again, louder than the voice of the storm.

People in the boats stop to look at me.

Rowan stands up, and I catch the look of terror on her face, eyes wide in a flash of lightning. She joins me in yelling. “Sawyer!”

The woman from the first lifeboat yells for me too.

And then a man’s voice.

Trey’s voice.

But Trey is screaming a different name.

Our screams are drowned out
by thunder and groaning and engines and blades.

There are three full lifeboats and the one that got away. I don’t know how many of the twenty-seven victims we saved, and I don’t care. I am numb on the inside and hysterical on the outside.

“Invincible!”
I scream. “You said!” I cry. “You said you wouldn’t take it off!” But my voice is gone now.

What feels like hours later, I am lifted by strong arms and wrapped in a towel and put on a surface that doesn’t move. We sit in a shadow. My sister holds my head and kisses it. Her tears drip on my tears.

My brother isn’t screaming anymore on the outside. He leads us off the dock, away from the people. Even in
our pain, we know we must be invisible. We escape cameras and paramedics and slip away to watch a helicopter shine a light on the water where a ferry used to be, searching for any signs of life. There are still people missing, the voices say over and over.

After a while, the light goes out.

We stare into the darkness, but there is no life out there.

Hours later, there is nothing we can do here. A bus takes my brother and sister and me to Milwaukee, and we get inside the not-delivery car with shaky hands and bare feet. When our doors are closed, Trey inserts the key, lets his forehead drop to the steering wheel, and sobs. And I cannot console him, because I am sobbing too.

And then we breathe, because we have to. And we hope, because there’s nothing else to do.

We make a stop at Kate’s because we don’t have her phone number, tell her everything about the ferry disaster but not about the visions, and we let her decide what—and when—to tell Sawyer’s estranged parents. We exchange phone numbers in case one of us hears something. And there’s nothing we can do about Ben, whose mom and dad are in the Philippines visiting family.

It’s well after midnight when we get home, and the lights are out. Rowan has taken care of Mom and Dad, bullshitting them about some major project we’re apparently helping Trey with so he can win a scholarship. And
they, tired from work and happy to hear we’re so focused, have gone to sleep. We strip off our wet suits and dress in warm, dry clothes, and fall into bed, exhausted, phones in hands.

•  •  •

When I wake up with a start a little after five thirty, and then remember, the numbness inside of me is replaced by the most intense guilt, and I realize the extent of what I’ve done. Because I am responsible for this, too. I am responsible for all the world.

I crawl out of bed and knock softly on Trey’s door, and then go in.

He’s lying on his side in the dark, his face lit up by his phone, refreshing the news.

I stand in front of him. He doesn’t look at me.

“I’m so sorry,” I say.

His eyes twitch. His bottom lip quivers and then is still. Without a word, he opens up his arms, and I sit on the edge of his bed, and he holds me.

After a minute, he sits up and rubs his bleary eyes. And then he sighs. “It’s not your fault.”

I remain silent.

“If they’re together, they’re alive,” he says after a while. “Ben is a lifeguard. Lifeguards don’t drown. Even if that’s not true, I have to believe it.”

I swallow hard. I don’t know how anybody could have
survived out there. “Ben has his phone, right?” I say. “Sawyer doesn’t.”
He broke his promise, and now he doesn’t have his phone.

“I think so.” Trey looks at me. “What about Tori?”

I shrug. “I have a million texts from her. I haven’t even started to read them.”

“But wouldn’t she know?”

“Know what?”

“Doesn’t the vision change as the thing happens? Didn’t you see body bags disappearing?”

I blink. And then I’m calling her, unable to breathe.

“Jules!” she says. “I’m so glad you’re okay.”

“Tori, listen to me. How did the vision change at the end? How many dead?”

“I texted you everything,” she says. “Only three bodies.”

“Who were they?” My throat constricts. I feel like I’m going to die if I don’t get an answer immediately.

“I don’t know—everything was dark in the vision at the end. I could only see dark shapes under the water.”

“Can you pull it up and look at it? Get a closer look?” I ask, but I know the answer already.

“It’s over, Jules,” Tori says softly. “I can’t. It’s done.”

Trey grips my hand.

“Sawyer and Ben are . . . missing,” I say. “And I’m just wondering . . . do you think any of the bodies . . .”

She is silent. In shock. “I don’t know. Oh my God, I’m so sorry. What can I do?”

I close my eyes. “Nothing. Just . . . send good thoughts. Or pray, or whatever you do.”

She says something else comforting, but I don’t comprehend it. “I can’t talk right now,” I say. I hang up. I never want to talk to her again. And then I look up at Trey.

“I don’t know what to do,” I say. “I’m just so sorry.” The word drags itself from my gravelly throat and comes out like an oath. “I’m so
angry
 . . . at myself. What was I thinking? How could I drag everybody into this? What the hell is wrong with me, Trey?”

He stares at a spot on the carpet for a long moment. And then he says, “You didn’t drag anybody into this. We came willingly, knowing what could happen. You aren’t in control of this thing.” He looks up. “So if you’re going to be mad at anybody, be mad at Dad. If he started it, then this is all his fault.”

We want to stay home
from school and stare at our phones, waiting for word, but we’re already potentially in enough trouble. And really, if Sawyer or Ben calls, I have no problem barreling out of whatever class I’m in to answer him. So we go to school. By the time first hour is over, Sawyer and Ben have been missing for twelve hours.

I hear a few people talking about the ferry wreck, but there’s no mention of Sawyer. People don’t know he’s missing . . . or possibly dead. And I don’t want them to know. Because today, this grief belongs to me. And I don’t want anybody infiltrating it with their fake-ass, disgusting bullshit.

After psych, Mr. Polselli asks me if I’m feeling all right. I don’t want to cry, so I just nod and take off. At
lunch Rowan sits with Trey and me at our usual table. We all look haggard and feel worse. My body is sore and I have bruises in weird places.

We can’t seem to stay off our phones, checking the news, checking Chicago social media reports, seeing if Kate has heard from Sawyer, and both Trey and I get yelled at more than once in sculpting class. We accomplish nothing.

Trey checks the news once more in class and whispers, “There’s a press conference scheduled with some new information. Three bodies pulled from the water.”

My stomach drops. Before I can reply, Ms. White, the art teacher, walks over to our table and holds out her hands. “Hand them over.”

I look up at her and feel all the blood draining from my face. “Please, no. We’ll put them away, I promise.”

“I’ve already asked you to put them away and you didn’t listen.” She sticks her hands closer. “Now, please.”

Trey leans in. “We’re having a little family emergency,” he says in a soft voice. “I’m really sorry. You know we never do this otherwise. We’re just hoping for some . . . some news.”