With the boat sinking from the bow, we’re forced to swim down Scotland Road toward the stern. Jamie takes the lead, doing a sidestroke with his good arm. The life belts keep us buoyed while we motor Wink along. Too tired to speak, I focus on kicking and not on the ceiling, which is only four feet above our heads. I also try to ignore the groans of metal coming from somewhere deep within the hull.
We’re like three rats being flushed down a sewer pipe.
Scotland Road stretches for an eternity. Wink clings to his lifesaver like an octopus to a clam, trying to keep his legs from bumping me as I ferry him along. The sprint leaves me gasping, and I slow to catch my breath.
Jamie takes over, grabbing Wink’s lifesaver with his good arm and pushing him ahead in fits and starts. When that becomes too awkward, Jamie flips onto his back. Resting his head on the edge of the lifesaver, he paddles his legs while gulping in air.
Jamie is slowing. The water is rising too quickly, and with no end in sight, we aren’t going to make it.
“Let go.” Though my stomach clenches at the salt water I’ve swallowed, I grab the lifesaver and dolphin-kick forward—past the remaining boiler casings, past the crew dormitories, past the endless passenger cabins. Wink kicks his legs as well, though after accidentally kicking me in the chest a few times, he stops. The ceiling now hovers only two feet above our heads. I push harder, scrambling to get us out before E-Deck is completely underwater.
My lungs heave and sputter. The air feels too thick, like breathing in oversalted soup. Is this what it feels like to drown?
A sudden swell makes my stomach drop. This is it. Jamie’s gaze connects with mine, as if the same bleak thought has occurred to him as well. He blinks, an assurance that whatever happens, we’ll be okay.
I prepare to hold my breath for as long as possible, even if it only prolongs the agony.
But then another swell muscles us forward with a watery shove that fills my ears and nose. The sea tosses us like bath toys, sweeping us down the long corridor. My head hits a doorjamb, and stars spark in my vision. Still, I manage to hang on to Wink. We’re yanked forward once more, and then the water breaks, as if we’ve reached a wall.
I pop up to the surface with a wheezy gasp. The aft stairwell rises around us, its glorious ceiling extending for several floors. Somehow, we’ve reached the end.
My knees hit stairs. I struggle to pull myself up by the rail while Jamie hauls Wink to his feet.
Wink’s hands still clutch the lifesaver in a way that seems permanent. His eyes are glazed. Has the strain been too much for him? But then he spits and honks loudly, spraying seawater from his mouth and nose.
“You okay?” Jamie pants.
A shiver travels through Wink’s small body. “Still salty,” he says with a ferocity that surprises me.
Jamie grins. “I know you are. I was talking to her.”
“Oversalted,” I gasp, catching my breath.
“Let’s get upstairs before we freeze.”
Or drown. I take Wink by the elbow, but he doesn’t budge, standing with the solemnity of a church pulpit.
“I saw Amah,” he says, using the Cantonese word for mother. “When I was drowned. I saw her, and she said the Catholic priest was right.”
Vaguely, I recall that Wink attended the Catholic Sunday service while Olly tried out the Protestant one. “About what?” I ask gently.
A drop of water slides down his cheek, and then another, and I realize it isn’t from his wet hair. With a sniff, he uses his arm to wipe his eyes. “My ba said I killed her. But the priest said, babies can’t kill.”
I give his wet shoulder a squeeze. “I’m glad you got that squared away. There’s no baby on earth who could hurt their mum, and that’s just how it is.”
His hunched shoulders seem to loosen. For one so tiny, he sure is casting a heavy shadow.
Jamie’s mouth is set into a line. As he pulls Wink up the stairs, I can’t help wondering if he’s thinking about more than just the water creeping up to our feet, but about Mum and the monkey on his own back.
At the landing on D-Deck, we squeeze out our clothes as best as we can, but Wink’s teeth are chattering so hard, I expect to see shards breaking off. “Let’s try the rooms.”
We fling open cabin doors and find dry coats for each of us. Mine has a big enough pocket to keep the whirling drum secure. Jamie sets a pair of girls’ patent leather Mary Jane shoes on the ground before Wink’s bare feet. “Just put them on,” he growls.
Wink, his cheek twitching like an angry click beetle, stuffs his thin feet inside. I thread his arms into a coat, then ring him with the lifesaver again. The extra fabric helps the lifesaver stay up. Last, Jamie pulls a stocking cap over Wink’s head.
Then I help Jamie button his coat. “Let me redo the sling.”
“Forget the sling. That ice bath has my shoulder feeling good.”
“You mean numb.”
Water splashes up from E-Deck, licking at our feet.
“March,” Jamie orders us. “We don’t have much time.”
40
From the Smoking Room, I’m shocked to hear the sounds of people singing and the tinkling of piano keys. I shake out my waterlogged ears. Sharp cheers also burst forth—the kind that accompany a dice throw or shots of whiskey. In the adjacent General Room, someone is giving a vigorous sermon.
“Water,” croaks Wink.
Though there are drinking fountains in both rooms, Wink chooses the one with the preacher. He takes a long draw, sucking in water with his whole body.
The preacher raises his hands. “It’s never too late to be saved! Our heavenly Father welcomes even the newest convert.”
When I put my lips to the fountain, the sweet-tasting water feels warm on my tongue. If these people want saving, they should get to the Boat Deck.
After he drinks as well, Jamie herds us back to the exit, edging past the clergyman, who’s pressing palms with the woebegone. The preacher reaches a group of men sitting shoulder to shoulder, their white-blond hair nearly glowing, set off by their purpling faces. I nudge Jamie, recognizing Bledig and the bottom cutters. One of the men begins to bawl.
Jamie frowns, but his frown lacks true annoyance. If anyone has a chance of getting on a boat, it’s probably not them, with their shabby dress and mean looks, made even meaner by Bo, Jamie, and Mr. Domenic. Resignation sits like a heavy log over their bent necks. I long to tell the poor wretches to get up and fight. Then again, they might take that the wrong way.
Outside, the well deck hums with passengers, most crowded around a rather flimsy staircase to the superstructure.