And then we’ll have to surface?

Unless we develop gills.

And they’ll be waiting for us, right? I escaped downriver last time. They won’t let that happen again. This time they’ll be sitting around every bend of the river between here and Manhattan. They’ll spot us when we come up for air. Fish us out, gut us, and fillet us. Is that what you’re worried about?

You put it well, if a bit too vividly.

What do you plan on doing about it?

We’ll confound them. Instead of going downriver to Manhattan, we’ll do the unexpected. Sail upriver!

That’s your plan? We’re going to try to escape by heading inland? That may just be the stupidest thing I ever heard. There’s no outlet to the ocean, there are no population centers to hide in, we’ll be easy to track …

Hold on, Jack.

Why?

We’re about to hit bottom. Don’t worry, it’ll probably be a nice and gentle landing on soft river mud.

Jarring, scraping impact. Dinghy comes to a grinding stop. We are motionless in darkness. Mired in what I assume is murky river bottom.

I’m worried, dog. I’m very worried. “Extremely” would not be too strong a word. We’re stuck at the bottom of a river. Do you know how to make this thing move?

Of course. That is, I believe so. Or perhaps I should phrase it another way: I can eliminate several methods of steering and propulsion which definitely will not work, but sadly they include all the alternatives that I thought would work, leaving us with …

Not a clue.

Indeed. But there’s no reason to panic. Hard times require clear minds, as my uncle used to say, before he was torn to pieces by a pack of mutant wolves after fleeing in blind panic right into a trap they had set—

Enough, Gisco. More than enough. Before we find a way to extricate ourselves from this nautical nightmare, I want you to tell me exactly what’s going on. What happened when you vanished into thin air above the Atlantic? Is Eko still alive, too? Why is the Dark Army chasing us again? And, most important, how did P.J. get involved in this mess?

Sure, the dog responds. Good questions. Superb, in fact. Unfortunately I can’t answer any of them right now.

Don’t be evasive, Gisco. I’ll skin you for a quilt.

It’s not that I don’t want to answer your questions. The problem is that I’m not feeling well.

You seemed fine when you sprinted out of that wrecked police car. And you just swam like an otter.