The orange motes start to slowly drift my way. They’re swimming for the barge. Which means they’re alive!

Tanq is still speeding toward them. Maybe she intends to pick them up somehow, but no, she whips right past, waving one arm wildly. She’s trying to get the drone’s attention, lead it away from the boys.

But there could be walkers in the water, swimming in the dark depths like sharks, waiting to strike from below.

I dash out of the bridge cabin and down the ladder. I saw life preservers on the first deck; I’m sure of it. I can throw them out and pull the boys in. If that doesn’t work, I’ll take the rowboat and fetch them. I’ve never rowed before, but I’ll do what I have to do.

Tanq has created some distance between her and the drone, and now she’s circling back toward the boys flailing in the water. They’re close enough now that I glimpse their faces between swells. They seem to be struggling, even with life vests and wetsuits. They’re swamped with every wave, struggling to breathe. Wyatt’s lungs must be on fire.

I make it down to the first deck. Where did I see those life preservers? Hanging against the wall maybe. The clatter of claws reaches me—Emmaline! I forgot to close the door behind me. No help for it now.

The Jet Ski slows as it approaches Trey. He reaches for the seat behind Tanq, starts to lug himself out of the water. The dragonfly screams toward them, flying low enough to create a wind wake on the water’s surface.

“Hurry, Trey,” I whisper.

He gets one leg up, then another, wraps his arms around Tanq’s waist, curls himself over the bulk of her backpack.

Tanq looks toward Wyatt, back at the drone. She makes a decision and speeds away. Trey lifts his arm and points at the drone—he still has the hand gun! But can it actually fire after it’s been soaked? Apparently so because a bang reaches me a second later. The dragonfly races after them, leaving Wyatt flailing alone in the lake.

There! A red-and-white life preserver, clipped to the wall. It’s attached to a long rope.

My fingers are cold and clumsy as I unclip it. I run to the edge of the deck.

“Wyatt!” I scream. He’s almost within range, but he’s struggling. “Just a little closer.”

I keep an eye on the dragonfly chasing Tanq and Trey; it seems distracted for now, but it could change its mind at any moment.

Wyatt does his best to stroke toward me. Then, incredibly, we get a bit of luck as a wave or current or something picks him up and carries him several yards.