I glance down at the sandy floor and watch as a thin trickle of red mist rises from the small gap between the sand and my right leg. The color is light and melts into the water almost immediately, but it’s enough.
The tiger shark tastes the blood now flavoring the water and darts to the left. It cuts in again, making a sharp triangle in the shallow water—now heading straight toward me.
My eyes bulge in fear and I swear the shark is smiling. The numerous rows of serrated teeth poke out of its upper lip menacingly. An image of my arm caught between the blood-stained points flashes in my mind.
More blood is flowing from the cut on my ankle, coloring the once tranquil blue water a terrifying shade of red. The tiger shark is only feet away, its gaping mouth opening wider and wider the closer it swims. It’s not aiming for my arm like I imagined, but my neck. The burning in my lungs intensifies and my fingers clutch uselessly at my exposed throat. There’s nothing to fight it off with, no way to save myself. Large black spots blossom in my right eye as I drown. My only hope is that I die before I feel the teeth.
The shark’s beady, black eye rolls backward into the socket, replaced with an eerie white color that gleams as it closes in. My chest jerks, bucking wildly as it fights for a shred of oxygen. The tip of the shark’s nose buries into my armpit and the teeth slice into the fat covering my ribs. A weak string of bubbles froth from my mouth as I try to scream, but I’m out of air and my pain is silent while the black edges around my right eye expand, erasing most of the gruesome scene before me.
I feel the fierce bite of the shark and my body is pulled upward as I give in to the unstoppable fire consuming my lungs. Everything is black and my chest slumps forward, folding in half like a broken doll. A cannonball slams between my shoulder blades, forcing half the ocean I swallowed out onto the bathroom floor.
Uncontrollable coughs rake my chest as I vomit up another gallon of water. The salty taste is gone and I’m vaguely aware of cold tile beneath my toes rather than the coarse sand I was stuck in a moment ago.
“Breathe, Maggie! Breathe!” a deep voice commands as another cannonball collides with the center of my back.
What is happening? Why is death so loud and painful? My body is weightless for a second, only to crash right back down to earth. A weak gasp leaks from my lips as the little amount of air at the bottom of my lungs whooshes out. On the edge of consciousness, I feel my arms flop against a hard surface as a hammer pounds in the center of my chest over and over again. Immediately following the pounding, an urgent pressure grabs my mouth and my lungs fill with glorious air. Slowly I re-enter my body, like a separated spirit watching from above.
The pounding force hits me again, followed by more air. This time, when the air reaches my lungs, my body spasms and my eyes flash open. Acting on a purely survival instinct, my body rolls to the side and another wave of water vomits from behind my teeth, covering the floor. For the first time in three minutes, I breathe in a lungful of air.
“Jesus Christ, Mags! Are you crazy! Are you trying to kill yourself?”
I can’t focus on Andy’s shouts, too busy trying to concentrate on the rise and fall of my chest. It was so real, the shark, the ocean, the drowning. What happened?
“If Sarah hadn’t come in, you would have drowned, right here in the bathtub while we watched a movie in the other room. What were you thinking?” Andy yells. “Why didn’t you sit up?”
“Andy, take this,” comes Sarah’s quiet voice from nearby, and I can hear the note of hysteria in it. A warm layer lands on top of me and strong arms hoist my body into a sitting position. My eyes roll around in their sockets and I recognize the dark green towel wrapped around my torso and thighs.
“You scared the hell out of me,” Andy says and this time his voice is very close. I feel his arm wrap around my shoulders and he squeezes me tightly. Both he and Sarah are sitting on the bathroom floor, their clothes soaked.
“Andy, there’s something under her hair,” Sarah whispers.
I stare straight ahead at the chipped white tile, focusing on my steady breaths as Andy moves my dripping hair to expose my neck. I hear his sharp intake of breath.
“It’s her Vertix.” His large hand wraps around the small device and extracts the sensors from my relaxed muscles. “It’s fried. She must have had it submerged for a while.”
The familiar tickle grazes my neck and fresh blood leaps to the surface of the four small incisions as Andy withdraws the Vertix from its resting place. The sudden relief feels good, but I also feel exposed and naked without it. Did he say it was broken?
“Come on. Let’s get her into bed,” Sarah whispers.
My body is weightless again, but Andy is gentle this time, no longer fighting to save my life. A minute later he deposits me onto my bed and steps away to allow Sarah to move in.
“I’ll get her into some warm clothes. Thanks, Andy,” my friend says and I hear pain in her voice.
“Make sure she gets some rest.” His footsteps echo on the wood floor.
“Jesus, Maggie. You can’t scare me like that,” Sarah whispers. Her tears make her breathing hitch as she wipes the water away with the back of her hand. “What if I hadn’t needed to pee? I would have lost you. I never would have been able to forgive myself.” She’s rubbing my shoulder with shaking hands, steadying herself. I remain silent.
Sarah lets go for a moment and returns with my clothes. She eases a cotton tee over my head and does her best to slip a pair of sweat pants up past my hips. I want to help her, at least lift my legs for her, but I’m so weak. My body feels like it’s made out of overcooked spaghetti.
“I can’t believe you almost drowned…right here,” Sarah says again with fresh tears running down her cheeks.
“Shh—don’t be sad,” I mumble, too exhausted to say anything more. I want to keep my eyes open, tell her not to worry, but my eyelids are too heavy and the blackness feels so nice. It’s strange, it should terrify me after what just happened, but all I want to do is lose myself in the same dream-like state I was just saved from.
Sarah rises from the bed, pulling the covers up and tucking them under my chin. “Good night, Mags. I’ll be right here.”
I don’t respond, and after a moment I hear her walk to my door and whisper for Andy. My closed eyes and steady breaths must look pretty convincing.
Both Andy and Sarah probably think I was looking to injure myself. I didn’t correct their theory, didn’t say anything when Andy disconnected the Vertix from my brain. The truth would be far too worrisome. How could I explain the happiness I felt as the Vertix linked with my mind? What would they think if they knew how peaceful it was to sit by myself on the ocean floor before the Vertix began to short, twisting the vision into a dark nightmare?
It should scare me. I should throw the Vertix away after the virtual reality almost killed me, but that’s not a possibility. I roll over and snuggle deeper under the covers, ignoring the gnawing need chewing at the back of my mind. I know what my brain wants, but I have no rational explanation to satisfy it. The dark room swallows me whole and I give in to my exhausted body at last.
When can I connect again?
Maggie! Where are my pink heels?” Sarah yells from inside her room.
I roll my eyes, setting my tea mug down on the little wooden coaster. I withdraw the stylus from amidst my messy bun and mark my place in the manuscript. “They’re underneath the table!” I call out. I lean back into the couch cushions, snuggling until I’m wedged into a comfortable little nook. I tap my lower lip with the end of the stylus, resting the Torch on my thighs. “Why are you wearing those? We’re going on a duck tour.”
Sarah’s footsteps echo across the hardwood floor and a moment later her head pokes around the corner. “Well I still have to walk to the boat thing, don’t I?” Her head disappears and I hear her footsteps move toward the kitchen. A loud, scraping sound resounds from the other room as she pushes a chair out of the way to reach her Barbie heels.
; I pick up my tea once more and inhale the calming fragrance, loving the way it warms me from the inside out. As much as I’d love to sit on the couch all day, tackling a manuscript, I’m glad to have plans.
Last weekend was a blur. I slept for most of it, battling the crippling exhaustion my near-drowning experience brought on. Both Andy and Sarah watched me like a pair of hawks, circling through my room every twenty minutes under the pretense that they were checking on me. I think they were actually looking for sharp objects or a hidden stash of pills. I could tell they didn’t believe my explanation that the whole thing had been an accident.
“I just don’t understand,” Andy says for the third time. “Why didn’t you realize you were drowning? The Vertix has a half screen for a reason. You’re not supposed to forget reality.”
I take a sip of tea Sarah brought me. “I didn’t forget reality,” I say with a sigh. “I was using Acceleration and it took me underwater. I started to sink deeper into the app and I don’t know…I must have sunk lower in the tub and then the next thing I know you guys are banging on my chest.”
Andy looks at Sarah. I pull the covers over my head, needing to escape. The early morning light filters through the tiny gaps between the stitches. “Whatever. Just try it and you’ll see what I mean.”
The mattress groans as Andy sits down beside me, his warm hand reaching me through my protective blanket. “I have tried it, Mags. But just because I see myself base jumping, doesn’t mean I’m actually throwing myself off a cliff.”
I groan and close my eyes. He’s missing the point and I’m too tired to explain again. “I’m beat, Andy. Can I just go back to sleep?” I say, still remaining hidden under the covers.
“Sure, Mags,” he relents, standing up. “If you need anything…”
“Okay, are you ready?” Sarah re-enters the living room, pulling me from my thoughts. She looks gorgeous as ever in dark navy skinny jeans and a soft white blouse. Sparkling pink earrings swing from her earlobes and her gray eyes glisten. I notice the pink heels in question are wrapped stylishly around her feet. It doesn’t take much to get Sarah excited. She often resembles a toddler on her way to get ice cream. She wrinkles her nose in my direction. “Is that what you’re wearing?”
I tilt my chin down at my outfit. “Do my jeans and Harry Potter tee offend you?” I ask, slightly annoyed. She gave me the Muggle Born black shirt in the first place.
“No,” Sarah says dismissively, taking a seat on the arm of the couch. “It’s just casual, that’s all.” She flips her short hair and I feel a stab of jealousy. She looks like a model for Chanel or some equally elegant brand. I stopped trying to compete with her looks long ago, but I still notice.
I drain my tea and sigh, keeping my thoughts to myself. “All right then,” I say, tossing my Torch and stylus onto the coffee table. “I think we have a date with some ducks.”
• • • • •
After a short subway ride, we arrive at the little brown tour bus station. Sarah refused to give the hoverbikes a try for fear of ruining her hair.
“Oh, Maggie, look at this one! Isn’t it adorable?” Sarah cries from around the corner. I saunter over to find her clutching a black and white magnet with baby ducks painted on it. “I’m getting it,” she says happily, even as she scans the display to confirm it’s the best choice.
“I’m not sure there’s any room left on the fridge, Sar,” I tease, picking up a cute stuffed yellow duckling.
“I’ll make room,” Sarah insists, sauntering over to a large stack of books.
I have no doubt she can find some space amidst her extensive magnet collection. I glance down at my rose gold iJewel and tap the screen. “Time,” I command. Now that my Vertix H2 is busted, the iJewel is all I have. Pale lavender numbers fill the black background. One twenty-four. “Hey, Sar, we need to get on the bus-boat. It’s leaving in five minutes,” I tell her.
Her gray eyes meet mine over a large rubber duck toy. “Okay, let me just pay for this and I’ll meet you outside.”
“All right, see you out there,” I call over my shoulder. I push through a large group of campers, all dressed in the same electric green shirts with a happy cartoon hippo emblazoned on the back. Please let them be on the tour after us. Little kids and I have never gotten along.
Pushing my sunglasses down from the top of my head to the bridge of my nose, I make my way through the energetic herd and escape into the warm sunshine. It’s a perfect day for a duck tour. Weather Cat said seventy-one degrees and sunny, but I feel a cool breeze blowing off the bay. I slip my arms into my light blue fleece, happy I brought it along—or more accurately, that he suggested it.
The waves gently lap against the side of the pier, creating a hollow clunking sound as the water bounces off the weather-worn pillars holding up the dock. A happy sigh escapes my lips and I lean over the railing, staring out at the blue sea. My fingertips trace the soft wood as my knee rubs against a thick piece of rope knotted to the middle of the rail, holding the bumper securely in place on the opposite side.
The soft swell of the ocean lulls me into a dream-like state and my mind jumps back to Acceleration, to the view beneath the waves. What lies beneath the surface here? Rather than the soft rippling sand of the Caribbean, the Atlantic is filled with large rocks, slippery algae, and endless crevices for moss-covered crabs to hide. No thank you. I’d take the crystal-clear fantasy over the opaque reality any day.
“Maybe we’ll see some whales,” I say aloud, staring out into the depthless waves. After all the duck tours I’ve been on, I’ve still only seen the tip of a dorsal fin. Maybe today I’ll get lucky. I check the time again. Only a minute until the tour is supposed to leave. I pivot on my heels away from the ocean and immediately collide with a solid object.
“Oof,” I exhale, bouncing backward.
“Watch it,” a guy sneers. “No, no, some girl just fell into me. No…well at least I don’t think she is,” he adds with a laugh, looking me up and down.
I shake my head and stare at the man. “Sorry…are you talking to me?”
The man narrows his eyes into angry slits and points to the back of his neck. An emerald green Vertix clings to the back of his neck just above his short collar. “No, I’m about to go on a duck tour with Molly. Of course I’m not going to hang up. We’ve got business to discuss,” he says, walking toward the large bus-boat parked several yards away. “Come on, Molly.” He clutches hands with a little girl who looks to be about seven and totes her away, his loud voice booming across the pier.
I watch him go, growing more annoyed the longer I stare at his blond-man bun sticking out like a handle on the back of his head. Suddenly, a bright white sleeve wraps around my shoulders and pulls my attention away from the rude guy.
“You ready to go?” Sarah chirps, steering me toward the big white bus-boat. A happy duck is painted on the side, quacking, “Ride with Ducks” in bold orange letters.
“Sure,” I answer, trying not to let my turned-sour mood dominate my emotions. So what if the jerk is going on the tour. I’ll still have a good time. “Which boat is ours?” There are three identical boats filling up with passengers.
“I think we’re in the last one,” Sarah answers, swiping her finger along her iJewel screen. “Quackers,” she confirms, pulling up her ticket. “Do you see that name on any of them?”
I crane my neck as we walk closer. Clementine…Arnold…Quackers. I see the name at last on the upper right hand of the third bus-boat and point to the faded lettering and chipped paint. The word actually reads Q ack r. “Wow, these things are ancient,” I say with a snort.
“Geez, must have been a tough summer,” Sarah agrees, getting in line behind a large woman wearing a hot pink visor. I follow, reaching out to touch the cool metal railing as Sarah climbs the first stair. I notice with relief that the campers are assigned to the first boat.
We file onto the bus-boat and it feels like middle school all over again as we search for an open seat. A few passe
ngers already seated stare at us openly as we walk by. Most are men gaping at Sarah, but I notice the majority of passengers are either hunched over their iJewels or staring blankly ahead. As I pass by, I realize many are connected to a Vertix.
“Oh good, here’s a seat, Maggie,” Sarah calls. She slides across the pleather bench, gripping the open window like one of the kids. “I’m so excited! Four years in Boston and I’m finally going on a duck tour.”
“It’s not like I didn’t offer before,” I scoff, sliding onto the seat beside her. “Every time I’ve mentioned going, you wrinkle your nose and tell me you don’t want to spend the whole tour avoiding duck poop.”
Sarah rolls her eyes. “Yeah, but that was before you told me that the bus transforms into a boat!”
“Good afternoon ladies and gentlemen and welcome to Ride with Ducks!” the tour guide greets. A few people clap without enthusiasm, but it doesn’t seem to deter the heavyset man. “Today we’ll be exploring the wonderful city of Boston and meeting several enthusiastic patrons as well! Feel free to take photos but please be mindful of flash photography around the animals,” the tour guide warns.
“I’d also like to point out a new feature our tour is now offering.” He wobbles around and turns his head, gesturing to the steel gray Vertix on the back of his neck. “For those of you who have the new H2, please navigate to the P2P app or Past 2 Present. It functions as a historical time machine and allows you to view the city as it once appeared at any point in time ranging from early colonial days to today’s modern era by projecting a fabricated, yet accurate image,” he explains. “So if everyone is ready, let’s get quack’n!”
The large gate is secured into place and the bus-boat roars to life. I feel the vibration under my seat. We must be right over the wheel.
“Wow, that sounds so cool,” Sarah squeals, immediately pulling her purse onto her lap. “I wonder what the city will look like.” Eagerly she searches through the contents of her purse, extracting her pale pink Vertix. Without pause, she places it onto her neck, flinching as the sensors attach. “Oh…I forgot yours broke. Do you mind, Mags?”
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