The car flew across the ramp. He was losing control. He thought he heard a shot. The car jumped the curb and slid over a grassy incline. Was a tire gone? “Hold on!” he yelled.

Lancette shouted something. He couldn’t make out the words. The Honda was heading toward a metal post. He tried turning to the right. The wheels caught the cobblestones of the footpath leading to the C&O Canal. The car cleared the post and bounced across the cobblestones—toward the canal.

Addis saw the lock. He saw the dark water. He pounded the brakes. He gripped the wheel tightly, locked his elbows, and braced himself. Then they went over the edge, and they were in the air.

The car slammed against the water. Addis felt the impact in his lower back. He heard metal scraping against stone. His side of the car was flush against the wall of the lock. As the car began to sink, it tilted toward the left, pulling Addis toward the door. He heard pops and hisses. The interior lights and the remaining headlight went out.

“Julia!”

She was slumped forward. There was a bloody gash on the side of her head. Addis grabbed her by the shoulder. She was unconscious. He realized that his feet were becoming wet—and that the water was rising.

There was no room for him to open his door. He tried the window. Nothing moved. The electrical system was out.

“Julia! Wake up.”

The nose of the car dropped forward, into the water. His ankles were wet. He shook her. Her eyes were shut. Her body was limp.

Think, think, Addis told himself. He remembered something from Driver Ed, a million years ago. The ponderous voice of the filmstrip narrator: Even in shallow water, water pressure will pin a door shut. He leaned across her for the door handle. Turn and push—and be ready for the water to pour in.

The handle turned. He pushed against the water. The door opened several inches. Water rushed into the car. Then the door stopped. It was stuck against a mound of silt.

“Oh shit!” he shouted.

He pressed his feet against the driver-side door and placed his hands on the passenger-side door. He tried to stretch out his body and push the passenger-side door open further. It would not move. Water was lapping over the seats. He pulled the door shut. But it would not close all the way. Branches and muck had clogged the latch. Water streamed into the car.

He propped Lancette in her seat. He shook her. He yelled at her. She did not wake. Pink streaks ran down her face. Was she breathing? Shit, he couldn’t tell. The base of the windshield was below the water’s surface. The car was descending. How deep is the lock? How much time?