The SUV’s grill met the surface first, but the windows stayed intact. The driver’s side airbag hit Branford. Bits of powder, metal, and fabric peppered Caitlin’s face and hands. The car’s rear dropped into the water and Caitlin fell backward—her hands, still around his throat as water started pouring in through the open driver’s side door.

The airbag deflated and she lost hold of him.

“No!”

Too late, he slipped out. The water filling the void came in fast, and the SUV sank inches in seconds. Caitlin jumped between the two front seats and pulled the door shut as the exterior water level reached just below window height. What little light remained came from the headlights shining into the aquamarine water and the instruments of the dashboard console. She reached up and tapped on the overhead lights.

Her jaw trembled, her hands shook. Think, Caitlin. Stay in the game.

The outside water level neared the roof, the indoor up to her waist. To open the door, she’d have to equalize the interior and exterior pressure. Only way to do that, break a window, wait for the car to fill, then swim out.

She beat her fists against the windshield. Pointless. She needed something solid, something with a corner.

The hard drive in the backseat.

Before she could turn, the overhead lights dimmed, then went out, followed by the console instruments, then the headlights.

“No,” she said, the water level now just below her bra line. “Please, no.”

The only answer, the popping of metal under changes in pressure.

She’d have to do without the light or do without light forever.

Leaning back between the seats, she squatted in the dark water and felt for the hard drive still wedged in the seat belt assembly, working her fingertips through the murk. She sat back onto the bench seat then bashed the hard drive’s corner against the rear passenger window. No cracking sound, no rush of water. She screamed and struck again. This time a torrent of water poured through the crack onto her lap.

She dove for the front and worked her way into the passenger seat. The back window caved with a noise like crumpling plastic, followed by the roar of a waterfall. The water level, last at her breastplate, rose to her chin in seconds. She took one final breath and pulled the handle.

The door opened and Caitlin frog-kicked her bound legs and hands through the aquamarine toward the distant lights of the surface. After fifteen feet, she broke through.

“Help,” she screamed before bobbing back under. With her feet still bound, she couldn’t tread water, had to settle for the dead man’s float. She turned her back to the air, let her hands and feet dangle beneath her. She exhaled again, threw her head up above the water.

“I’m here,” she said, grabbing another breath before she went back under.