swirled ever higher. The creeping surface spurted in foaming geysers as air pockets trapped within the tangle of cars erupted. The view was disorienting. So far none of the trucks, with their numerous tires and better traction, had started their inexorable slide.
Mercer had to grip the tanker’s bodywork with one hand and lean far back on his heels to keep his footing as he made his way down the inclined deck. Once at the truck’s front bumper, he dropped to his backside and crawled like a crab until reaching the rear of the eighteen-wheeler. On his feet once again, he clung to the trailer’s side and slowly eased his way along its length. He finally reached the tractor and clambered along it until he could open the driver’s door. He reached up for the handle, and as soon as he released the catch the door flew open with a violent jerk. Keeping his body partially outside the truck, he reached across the seat and jimmied the gearshift into neutral.
The truck shuddered as the strain of keeping it in place fell solely on the parking brake. The tires gave a single chirp as the eighteen-wheeler slid a fraction of an inch. Mercer wiggled farther out of the cab, took a shallow breath, and popped the brake release.
The truck dropped away like an avalanche of metal, smashing into the school bus in front of it, sending it into a moving van until the whole string of oversized vehicles raced for the bow. Mercer had just barely dropped clear as the semi hit the bus and he watched as the wall of trucks vanished into the gloom. He lay on the sloping deck like a fly stuck on sticky paper, his arms and legs spread flat.
With precise movements he turned onto his stomach, peered once more over his shoulder to see that the deck had become a steep featureless wall and began to climb up to the tanker, still holding tight, although it wouldn’t be for long. If its tires slipped now, the truck would roll right over him.
He climbed upward, his fingertips exploiting every irregularity in the deck to give him purchase. Once he reached the truck, he could feel the bodywork juddering as it wanted to succumb to gravity. Mercer climbed into the cab, placing his foot on the brake before Tisa took hers away. Without waiting, he cranked the transmission into neutral and took away just a fraction of the pressure he kept on the brake pedal. The truck moved an inch or two before he jammed in the pedal again.
Keeping the rig straight and his motions smooth, he eased the truck down the deck. It seemed to take forever and they were almost at the top of the pile of wrecked vehicles when the ferry lurched suddenly and a gout of water erupted from the pool at the bow. The truck slammed into the rear of the semitrailer and immediately water began to surge around the front wheels.
It was strange to consider that the water level wasn’t rising. The apparent upward advance came because the ferry was sinking. In minutes, roiling water lapped at the side windows and continued to climb even higher. Mercer recalled the feeling of diving in
The oily water passed over the hood, rising above the roof. The cab was completely submerged.
“The moment of truth.” For some reason he couldn’t explain, Mercer was whispering.
Tisa replied in kind. “For what?”
“To see if this old girl has some fight left in her.”
The cylindrical tank felt the first hint of buoyancy and the truck shuddered as it shifted against the wreckage. The shriek of metal seemed amplified by the water, a tearing sound worse than any Mercer had ever heard. But no matter how buoyant, the truck couldn’t break free of the other vehicles.
“Come on, come on,” Mercer urged under his breath, noting the cloth stuffed into an air vent was glistening with moisture. “Float, you pig, float.”
Without warning the truck did a sudden pirouette and fell onto its side. The tanker pulled its bumper free, allowing the vehicle to scrape against the canted deck as it remained level with the steadily rising tide of water.
An explosion outside the hold shook the entire ferry. The volume of water flooding the ship doubled. Held at sea level by the air trapped in its tank, the truck remained in one place as the ship sank into the abyss at an ever- increasing speed. She was near vertical now and Mercer could imagine her blunt stern raised high, her propellers gleaming in the moonlight.
Mercer wondered grimly how many hapless victims remained near enough to the doomed ship to be sucked under when she vanished beneath the waves.
Tisa cried out and lunged at a toggle switch on the dash that had broken away, allowing water to dribble in around the cracked plastic. She held her hand over the weeping gash. The blankets at Mercer’s feet were sodden. As the truck floated up from the bow, there was just enough light penetrating the dark waters for Mercer to count the support girders lining the wall. He estimated the stern door was at least seventy feet above them. Water found more openings into the cab.
“Are we going to-”
“It’ll be close,” he answered, not needing her to finish the question.
The ship continued to fill with water. The auto deck wasn’t the only space flooding. Her bilges and upper decks too were drowning, a few passengers too slow or too disoriented to escape after the initial explosion dying silently in the black water. The ferry was actually lower in the water than Mercer thought, and sinking faster than he believed possible. The truck was fifty feet from hitting the stern door when her stern rail vanished under the waves, leaving the sea littered with hastily launched lifeboats and hundreds of wailing passengers.
The water in the inverted cab was up to Mercer’s knees. Tisa braced her feet against the dash to keep them dry. The truck sloshed across the hold because the ferry corkscrewed as she sank. Mercer couldn’t tell how far they were from hitting the door.
“Tighten your lap belt,” he said unnecessarily. He and Tisa were buckled as tight at they could be. “Get into the crash position they teach you on airplanes. It’ll protect you from whiplash.”
They ducked down, holding their chests to their knees. The position was uncomfortable for Mercer, but he lacked a tenth of Tisa’s flexibility.
Outside the ferry, water pressure exploited the smallest entrances into the ship, forcing air from any voids with increasing fury. The last and greatest empty chamber on the ship was the car deck. Air trapped at the still- sealed stern had formed a taut bubble that needed just a tiny more impetus to blow open the eight-ton ramp. The gasoline tank was made of heavy-gauge noncorrosive steel and hit the door at nearly seventeen miles per hour. The truck’s upward rush ended in a savage impact that whipped Mercer and Tisa brutally, though none of the windows cracked.
“What happened? Are we free?”
Mercer didn’t say anything for a moment, his optimism fading with each passing second. The ramp hadn’t been blown open. “No, damn it. We’re not light enough to force open the door. We’re trapped.”
Water continued to pour into the cab. It was up to Mercer’s waist and climbing. He could feel pressure building in his ears. They were probably forty feet below the surface by now and falling by the second. He knew there were two choices: wait for the water to slowly fill the cab or simply break a window and end it quick.
There was no light for him to see Tisa, but he could feel her hand in his. She gave him a squeeze. She also understood their options.
“Just do it,” she whispered with eerie calm, as if she’d known it would come to this all along.
“I’m sorry, Tisa.”
“It’s not your fault. You did everything you could.”
“No, I mean I can’t do it.” His voice was fierce, unbending. “I’m not giving in, not until I can’t hold my breath for one second longer.”
Like a piece of flotsam, the tank truck rolled along the door, edging away from the stout hinges at the base.
Water continued to pour into the cab, covering Mercer and Tisa, forcing them to unsnap their belts and struggle to find the diminishing air pocket. Tisa came up sputtering, her hair plastered against her head. Her arms went around Mercer.
“I don’t want to die, Mercer. Oh my God, I really don’t want to die.” She sounded surprised to realize she had a survival instinct.
The truck rolled once again, tumbling the pair as though they were caught in a washing machine. They had to fight to find air.
