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The siren goes quiet after the emergency announcement. Spotlights shine on the water, illuminating the wild waves that crash at the shore from the darkness. A dozen jet skis and Waverunners cut the breaks, mine among them.
Someone shouts at me from the pier, “We didn’t locate her yet, sir,” the voice muffled by the deafening sound of the ocean.
“How long ago did she go in?” The water splashes my shoes as I struggle to veer against the crashing waves.
“Twenty minutes or so!”
“Call the patrol along the shore half a mile north!” I yell. “Tell them to search the beach in the direction of Ayana!”
I rev up the motor, cranking it to the max, and start cutting the waves heading north.
“Kat!” I roar, though I know it’s useless. Even if she’s floating above the water, we won’t hear her from afar.
My heart beats like a thousand drums. My mind is reeling. My eyes squint against the splashing water and the bright glow of the waves under the strobe lights from the security towers as I crash through a wave after wave after wave.
Dammit, Kat!
She’s a wild one. She’s fucking thunder. She’s the storm that doesn’t give a shit about others when it sends bolts of fury. She laughs in the face of danger, and right now, I can’t fucking stand it. I used to be careless. I gave it up for the protection of this island. That’s what I see in Kat—she is a brighter version of myself before the Change.
And that’s the problem. Fearlessness can be destructive.
“Kaaaat!” I roar, my heart pounding so fast that I am afraid I will have a heart attack.
I keep going north, in the direction of the rip current like Bishop said. By now, she could be as far as a hundred yards away. Rip currents won’t pull you under but can exhaust you, and if she pulls out of it, she might be swept under by the waves.
Other guards on jet skis are spread out through the waters along the beach, but I’m the farthest one north of the pier marker where she went in.
The farther from the beach I go, the darker it gets. I stop the jet ski, silence it, and listen as I bob on the water, the waves loud and high.
“Kaaaat!” I roar, ripping my vocal cords.
I can only see twenty or so feet ahead. I turn on the motor, spin the jet ski around to search the radius, then fire up north for another twenty yards or so, cut the engine, and shout Kat’s name again.
Dante wrote about the nine circles of hell.
I’d say, there are only two.
The first one is the dark moments in your own life. It’s your personal hell, inverted, consuming you with self-pity or self-loathing, leaving you empty. Whatever it is, it’s you against the world.
The second and much worse one is when you realize you’ve lost a loved one. It’s a different type of horror. Being in a world that’s empty of your loved ones is unbearable. You lose direction. It’s not you against the world—the world simply doesn’t make sense anymore. I felt it after I lost Mom and Adam.
And as I repeat the cycle over and over again—ride, search, stop, shout Kat’s name, listen, closing my eyes so I can hear better for any minuscule signs of life in the vast roaring ocean—I feel like I’m in the second circle of hell again.
Despair rips my vocal cords as I shout Kat’s name and slam the handlebar in frustration when I hear a voice.
Hers.
Meek and coming from only twenty or so feet away.
“Kaaaat!” I roar, then listen, latching on to the sound.
I idle the jet ski in that direction, then wiggle it to illuminate the dark surface of the ocean.
And then I see her.
“Kat! Hold on!” I shout as I see an arm shoot up above the surface.
I idle closer, then kill the motor, catch her hands, and pull her up. She fumbles, water dripping everywhere, as I set her in front of me.
