Chapter 5.
Wyatt
Antarctica
Wyatt Jordan watches in disbelief as this monster whale lifts itself into the air in a clean vertical surge, directly in front of him, then sends what looks and feels like a tidal wave in his direction.
When the giant orca lands back in the water, the impact cracks the air as hard as a sonic boom.
Wyatt knows he’d appreciate the spectacle of it, the raw beauty, if his brain wasn’t screaming at him to survive. As good as he is with words, he’s not sure if he could do this scene justice if he were describing it.
But his only concern is Hannah.
He’s not sure why she’s become this important to him, this quickly. But she has. Wyatt can tell that she likes him, too.
It’s because she doesn’t really know me yet, he thinks.
Wyatt Jordan isn’t sure he knows himself.
Isn’t sure how scared he should be. Doesn’t really know what he should do next.
He’s talked a little bit about this with Hannah and Alek, the tall Eastern European woman Hannah has also gotten close with.
They’ve talked about how they both absolutely hate to lose control, just the way Wyatt does.
It was that way in his childhood with his mother’s depression.
How he couldn’t help her and she couldn’t help him.
It’s why Wyatt has always prided himself—his words—on not losing the plot.
But out here there isn’t even a storyline.
Just noise. Cold. Water. Panic.
Wyatt’s brain offers one useless thought: The only story left is survival.
He hasn’t been in the water that long, but he already feels himself starting to freeze, fighting to get his arms and legs working together.
Air won’t come. His hands stop listening.
He forces one breath. Then another. His parka feels like a straitjacket as he tries to tread water.
He knows he has to start swimming.
But for the life of him, he isn’t sure which way is safe.
He sees Hannah’s red hair. But she’s floating face down. And he hates himself for the flicker of math in his head: How long a person can be under before it’s too late.
And then he sees Alek Andrich swimming toward her, stroking fast, as if her own life depended on it. Another whale is headed directly for Alek, but it veers off slightly and swims past her. It creates a wave that throws her hard to the side, but not underwater.
Wyatt knew these games could kill somebody. He just hadn’t believed it could be him. Now he’s got to swim to save his life, and Hannah’s, even as the brutal cold is making his whole body start to seize up.
Arms and legs cramping badly. His hands stop answering.
That’s the horror—his body quits before his brain does.
The sharp, stunning sting of water on his face getting more painful as he forces himself to keep stroking.
His heavy, wet clothes slowing him down.
Something on his wrist—by his glove—buzzes once, warm and precise, like it’s logging the moment.
He’s getting closer to them. Watching some of the face-down contestants slowly revive. But not Hannah.
“I’m here!” he manages to yell. “I’m coming!”
He can still see Hannah floating, her face in the water, all that red hair surrounding it.
Fifty yards, or less . . .
Then he sees the black-and-white orca cruising toward him, already closer to Wyatt than he is to Hannah and Alek.
Good God! The biggest of them all, its jawline breaks the surface—black, huge—close enough for him to see the pale ridges of teeth.
And Wyatt finally understands: Nobody is coming to save them.
He kicks harder and swims anyway.