“Nor can I,” he whispered. “Not without you.” His hands tightened.
Stars exploded in her vision, but just before she caved to the darkness, she saw a flash of blond hair in the water. Michael. She brought both of her legs up and slammed them hard into Peter’s stomach. He gasped, and his grip loosened. There was a loud rush of water, and suddenly, a rogue wave flung the boat hard into them both, cracking against both of their heads and pushing them underwater, momentarily freeing Wendy from Peter’s grasp. A strange sound filled the water, a throbbing pulse, the hum of something that came from above. The waves were violent now, folding in on themselves again and again as they pitched Wendy about, her body churning in the waves like a feather.
A small pale hand brushed Wendy’s leg, and she grabbed onto Michael, yanking him up and into her arms. Kicking as hard as she could, Wendy sputtered to the surface again. Just as she emerged, she looked up in horror to see a large wave crowning before her, higher than she had seen before, and a huge black shape riding its crest. There was nothing to do but wait, to breathe in for a moment. Loud cannons echoed through the night, and Wendy heard the screams of men. Her arms clutched desperately to her brother, who wasn’t moving; he wasn’t moving. The rowboat was flung out to sea, far beyond their reach, and Michael wasn’t moving. Wendy pulled his head up, turning his face toward her. His lips were blue, his eyes closed.
“MICHAEL!” She barely had time to scream his name before the giant wave crashed down around them, pulling them close to something that pulled them down, down into an undertow, the taste of the sea so salty in her mouth, in her lungs. She cradled her brother as the water swirled around her, unsure of which way was up or down, sea and sky and death all one shade of deepest black. She felt something sharp and hard press against her leg and tried not to imagine teeth, the flesh of a shark.
Whatever was touching them was everywhere now, all around, and she held her brother’s body close to her as it pushed them together and then began tearing—no, pulling, pulling at their skin—as they rose out of the water. Wendy greedily gulped the air as they came up out of the sea. Lightning cracked against the sky, and she could see black wood, so much glossy black wood, windows and harpoons and jagged barbs, black figures that watched silently from an open deck. There were black sails snapping in the wind above them, and the voices of men, men yelling, and they were still rising up and up, out of the depths, into the air, held by—what, a net? Wendy’s fingers curled around the black netting, silver fish flapping all around them, a small shark gasping for breath beside her, its eyes rolling back in its head, its bloody mouth snapping for air. She turned to Michael, who was still and blue and cold.
“MICHAEL!” She screamed his name and slapped his face, pressing her mouth against his own, thinking she could pour all her breath, all her life into him. “MICHAEL, PLEASE!” She blew into his mouth, pushing the air into his lungs, slapping his back, beating her hands at his heart, breathing, breathing, and sobbing as she cradled him, pressing him against her, breathing into his mouth, praying for his lungs to rise, crying and screaming, vaguely aware that they were no longer in the air but being settled onto a hard wooden surface. There was the sound of boots around her, the sound of shouts, and then an eerie quiet as she stared down at her brother, so blue and so cold. She began shaking him, desperately slapping and pounding on his chest as she cried his name.
“MICHAEL! MICHAEL! Please, oh, God, please, I’ll do anything, please, take me instead . . .” She held his body curled into her chest, his still face against her own, her cries raking the air around her as she prayed that death would be quick because Michael was gone. Michael was gone, and there was nothing else.
She thought of her mother and father, how they had cradled his tiny body at birth, how they had handed him to her, wrapped in a soft blue blanket. “This is your brother Michael. You’re going to take care of him, aren’t you?” Wendy had been afraid to touch him at first, so tiny and so weak, and yet, when she had held him, she knew he would be a part of her forever. “Yes, Mama, always,” Wendy had said.