Monstrum (7 page)

The frigid water is lapping around my waist now, clinging to me as though it wants to keep me there forever, and my fragile courage sure isn't getting any stronger. In another three seconds, I won't be able to force myself to go back into the dark cabin.

So I don't think about it. I just go back into the plane.

S
ince I can barely see my hand in front of my face, I have to operate on memory as I slosh a few steps toward where I think that first row of seats should be.

“Talk to me, Espi,” I say. “That'll help me find you quicker.”

“Here,” she says. “Keep coming. I'm right here.”

The directions
right here,
when you're trapped and flooded in absolute darkness, are pretty much useless, but I keep going anyway. I think I must be doing a pretty good mummy impersonation, because my hands are outstretched and I shuffle my feet along the floor. I'm afraid to pick them up because the water could easily knock me down if I get the slightest bit off balance. And getting off balance as the plane bobs along on the waves seems like a sure thing.

Oh, and just in case I don't have enough complications right now? It's not just water I have to get through—it's the debris floating on top of the water.

Something wet and fuzzy goes by. Blanket? Sweatshirt? I take another step and bump up against something hard, slippery and oddly shaped. Backpack? Carry-on?

I take another step. Espi's hand clamps down on my arm, making me jump. She's right there, standing next to me, and she yanks me forward until my fingers connect with the top of a seat and—

“Macy,” I say.

“She's out cold, but I'm pretty sure she's not dead,” Espi tells me. “Something hit her on the head during the crash. I didn't see what it was. I just heard it hit her. So now I can't get her seatbelt unbuckled, because my fingers are so cold and my hands are shaking anyway, and she's too heavy for me to move by myself even if I could. I didn't know what to do, but I couldn't—”

“It's okay.” I work on keeping my voice calm, because Espi is spewing out the words so fast I'm sure she's close to an epic breakdown. “It's okay. I can help.”

Espi chokes back a sob. “I couldn't leave her! Everyone left
me,
but I couldn't leave
her
—”

I grip her upper arms and squeeze, hard. “We're together now.”

“Did you see Mami?” she demands. “Did you see my mother? She kept calling for me, but the crowd was blocking her from getting to me and I couldn't get to her. Did you see her?”

I hate to tell her the truth at this desperate moment, but what choice do I have? “I didn't see her.” Espi makes a keening sound, so I hurry on. “But I think there are two life rafts, and she may be in the other one. We haven't had the chance to check yet. So she may be okay.”

Espi takes a shuddering breath and nods.

“Let's work on Macy.”

We turn to where Macy is slumped in her seat, and I don't need any light to know she's in bad shape. Her head lolls to one side and her icy skin reminds me of chicken that's been left to defrost on the counter. The water has now reached her upper chest, and another few minutes of flooding or another tip of the plane in the wrong direction will submerge and drown her.

If she's not dead already, that is.

“Macy,” I say sharply. “Macy! Answer me!”

I'm just debating whether to smack her face, when she groans weakly.

I almost sob with relief.

“Good girl, Macy,” I say. “We're going to get you out of here, okay?”

Another moan.

“Right,” I say. “Okay. Where's your seatbelt?”

I plunge my hands in the water and fumble around for her lap. I can't feel anything other than jeans and—aha! There it is. But where's the buckle—

“Got it!” I say, grabbing the hard metal in both hands and trying to decide which end I need to lift to get the thing to release. It doesn't go well. My teeth are chattering, my hands are shaking, my brain is panicked, and any nerve endings I may possess in my fingertips have now been frozen solid, so I can't really feel what I'm doing.

How can poor Macy even breathe in this ice bath? Surely she's got hypothermia on top of a concussion or skull fracture or whatever dire head injury she's sustained.

That thought, more than anything else, spurs me on.

I give the buckle a final, desperate yank, and am rewarded when it gives way.

“You did it!” Espi cries.

“Yeah,” I say grimly, because compared with what we have to do now, undoing the seatbelt was the easy part. “Let's get her up. Grab her under the arm. No, other side. There you go. Macy? We're going to get you out of here, okay? Try to help us if you can.”

She groans.

Working together, Espi and I each bend a little, take one of Macy's arms and sling it over our shoulders. When Macy's safely positioned between us, we straighten, pulling Macy more or less upright.

This time, Macy makes a different noise. It's the unmistakable high-pitched whimper of someone in pain. I think about her poor head, and how you're not supposed to move people with head or neck injuries, but there's nothing we can do about that now.

“Sorry, Macy,” I murmur as we begin to move. “I'm really sorry.”

Grunting and lurching, Espi and I head for the door. Macy hangs limply between us, more rag doll than person. Still, getting her out of there is like trying to move an elephant. I had no idea that one snotty little size-0 girl could be so heavy.

We're making slow progress until Espi yelps and stumbles on something, nearly taking me and Macy down with her. Staggering, we try to regain our balance.

“Sorry, Bria,” Espi says, and I can hear the low sobbing in her voice as she struggles to get the words out. “I'm r-really sorry. F-for everything.”

“You're fine,” I say gruffly, not quite sure what she's apologizing for. Is it for needing help? Being mean to me the entire time we've been in school together? What?

Plus, I don't do emotion well. Never have. It's one thing when I'm the upset or scared person, but something entirely different when someone else loses it. It's really weird, but it's almost like Espi's momentary weakness strengthens me.

If Espi can't keep it together, then I have to. Simple as that.

Espi and I get into this weird, half-walking, half-swimming rhythm that seems to work. The water fights us every bit of the way, and it feels like there are three million miles between us and the door. The water's up to my neck now, and I find myself tipping my chin up to keep it away from my mouth. Pretty soon that won't work, and I'll have to press my lips together to keep this foul ocean from getting inside me. The only good thing about this whole rescue situation is that both the back and front ends of the plane seem to be sinking at the same rate, so we're not climbing
uphill
through the water.

And then, suddenly, I can see where plane gives way to sky, and we're there, at the door. To my joyous astonishment, the raft is also right there, or nearly there, propelled by Gray and Carter, who are manning the oars on either side. Best of all, the plane has now sunk so much that getting out of it and into the raft won't require a jump. More like a short, doggy-style swim.

I hope.

A round of cheers rings out when we appear in the doorway, and the guys row harder. Maggie, An and Sammy, meanwhile, shift around in the huge raft, coming to the side nearest the door and reaching out their arms to help us.

“Here,” says Maggie. She's got Macy under one armpit now, and Sammy and An grab her under the other. Espi and I ease back a little, out of the way. “On three. One . . . two . . .
three
.”

The three of them heave Macy up and over the raft's outer tube while Espi and I help by shoving Macy's butt. It's undignified, and I hate to think about what it may be doing to a girl who's already in terrible shape, but it works. Macy's out cold when her body tips and she falls all the way inside the raft.

The raft bobs and drifts several feet away.

Sammy glances over his shoulder at Gray and Carter, who are huffing and puffing as they work the oars and try to maneuver the raft back into position.

“Hey, guys,” Sammy calls. “Bring it this way some more, will ya? Toward the plane.”

“Toward the plane,” Carter mutters to Gray. “Why didn't we think of that, man?”

Gray snorts.

Sammy's oblivious. “Okay, Espi. You next.”

The transfer procedure goes much more easily this time. Grunting with effort, Espi uses her arms to lever herself up enough to throw a leg over the raft's tube, and she's in.

That just leaves me on the sinking plane, and I'm more than ready to get off the thing. Plus, I'm having my first encounter with a clump of sargassum, and I don't much like it. Leafy and scratchy, it surrounds me and clings, resisting all my efforts to push it away. In my overwrought state, it's not hard to believe that the sargassum has a mind of its own . . . that it wants me . . . that if given half a chance, it will claim my body, incorporating me into this foul ocean until nothing of the original Bria is left.

I can't get into the raft fast enough. I'm heaving myself onto the tube, when a thought hits me, and I slip off again.

Gray, naturally, sees and disapproves.
“Bria Hunter,”
he thunders, putting down his oar so he can focus all his fury on me. “What are you doing? For the last time: get in the raft!”

“I am,” I say in my own defense, reaching back inside the cabin to the nearest objects floating on top of the water and grabbing whatever I can. “I'm just getting some supplies. We're going to need supplies, right?”

Apparently Gray doesn't believe in supplies, because he lets loose with a string of curses. The others, however, agree with me, and they help me recover several things as they float by, including a couple of backpacks, a flat box, and a hard-sided carry-on.

By that point, Gray's had enough. Leaving his post at the oar, he picks his way across the raft and looms, glaring at me just as I'm handing up another backpack.

“Gray,” I begin.

That's all I manage before he reaches down behind me, grabs the waist of my jeans, and single-handedly hauls me, facedown and spluttering with surprise, into the raft.

I'm not speechless that often, but this is one of those times.

“Hey!” I finally yell, outraged. “What's the big idea?”

Gray doesn't back down. I hate that about him. It's one of his biggest flaws, and I really wish he'd work on it.

“I told you to get on the raft.” His voice is low, controlled, and he speaks as though I'm the first female member of the Three Stooges and therefore not to be trusted with any big words. “You didn't get on the raft, so I had to put you on the raft. Any questions?”

“Yeah! What about food, water and supplies? What if we're floating out here for two weeks before someone comes to—”

He advances on me until he's one inch from my face. Then he lets loose, and it feels like I'm on the leading edge of a hurricane. “
Food, water and supplies?
You're not going to need
food, water and supplies, genius,
if you sink to the bottom of the ocean and drown!”

“Gray,” Carter tries. “Chill, man.”

This tirade is enough to send me over the edge, too. Or maybe it's that the enormity of our situation is beginning to sink in, or that my best friend, Detachment, is taking a coffee break and I am therefore all alone in this mess.

“Well, what're we going to do now, huh?” I screech. “Drink salt water? Fry up the raft and eat it for breakfast?”

That gets him.

“I don't know,” he admits, calm again. “But at least you'll be here to help us figure that out.”

I'm not quite ready to let it go. I eyeball the plane, trying to figure out how much time we have left before it's fully submerged. “Can we please just go back and get—”