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Then I see a flash of pink, and my hand clutches the dashboard. “Stop. There. On the ferry. Pull in. Is that him?”
Across the gravel parking lot of the loading dock, I can see a small child sneak aboard. They’re taking the lines off the huge pilings, casting off, when Otto ducks underneath the rope keeping passengers from boarding and scrambles up the ramp.
“I see him,” Donovan says and immediately turns left in the parking lot.
The ferry blasts its horn, signaling its departure. He barely brings the car to a stop before I open the door and leap out. Donovan is close on my heels.
The ramp has already been pulled up, and the engine is churning.
“It’s pulling away,” Donovan says. His voice is thin with panic, and I can practically hear his brain working. “I’m going to find a radio.”
“Good idea.”
Donovan rushes to the ticket seller’s booth, and I can hear him demanding that the guy use his radio to contact the ferryman. I don’t have a plan, but I don’t stop moving forward.
I race to the very edge of the dock. The street falls away into a steep drop, nothing but a worn rope keeping me from the churning, icy water below.
John, a straggly dude who works the ferry on the off-season, comes up and puts his hand on my chest. “Hey—no more passengers right now. Sorry, Mr. King. It’s already departed.”
“There’s a kid on there,” I say. “He’s all alone.”
John looks at me, then looks at the ferry. “Shit—okay. Here’s what I’m gonna do. I’ll radio Mike and he’ll bring him back on the return trip.”
“The return trip? I can see him—he’s right there.”
John grimaces. “Like I said, it’s already departed. There’s nothing I can do—”
“Otto!” I shout his name, and the kid turns. He’s clutching his backpack, and when he sees me, his eyes go wide. “Don’t worry, buddy!” I tell him. “I’m coming to get you!”
I push past John and swing my legs over the rope barrier. I’m on the very edge of Hannsett Island now, clutching the rope behind me. The ferry is five, six feet away. Below, a drop into freezing cold water, and the low growl of the engine chopping and churning.
“Yo…” John’s voice behind me, “Mr. King, you gotta come back over…”
The passengers on board turn at the commotion and stare at me, bug-eyed.
But the ferry moves forward, inching away from the landing platform, and it’s now or never.
I take a breath.
“I can do this,” I say out loud, and in that second, I believe it.
I jump. I launch myself across the empty air between the dock and the ferry. There’s a scream from someone on the ferry. I scramble, reaching, and I manage to grab the railing. The force of hitting the side of the boat knocks the breath from my gut, but I made it.
The ferry is slippery, covered in snow and ice, and my shoes can’t get any traction. As I try to strengthen my grip, I feel myself slip, and I just barely catch myself, hanging half on the railing, half on the decorative garland that loops around the siding.
It’s a struggle to hold on, and the muscles in my arms quiver. A pair of hands grabs me by the jacket. “Are you insane?” the attendant asks as he hoists. Another passenger helps, and between the three of us, I manage to awkwardly scramble over the railing and finally hit the deck.
I’m short of breath, adrenaline screaming through me. But I’m alive. And there’s Otto—looking like a gazelle face-to-face with a lion.
I approach him, put my hands on my knees, and catch my breath. “Whew! Nothing like a hit of excitement to wake you up, right, bud?”
“I’m sorry…” Otto says, his voice shaky.
I need to sit down. I plop down beside him, leaning against the wall, and lift my hand. “I’m not mad,” I tell him, because he looks like he needs to hear it. “Just…can you please hold my hand?”
He does. I don’t let him out of my sight, and I don’t let go of his hand as the ferry chugs along.
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