“Jules!” she says. And soon Sawyer is joining in.

I open my eyes and stare at the strange surroundings for a moment before I remember. “What’s up?” I say. My voice sounds like it’s far away. I sit up a little and see enormous waves rolling around the ferry, lightning streaking through the sky, and nervous passengers staring out the windows.

Everybody’s looking at me. “What?” I say again. I look at Sawyer. “Are you sick?”

“Jules,” Trey says, “did you hear the announcement?”

“What?”

“The pilot just came on the loudspeaker. He said there are tornado warnings in Milwaukee, and marine warnings for waterspouts all along the Wisconsin shoreline.”

“Waterspouts?” I blink. “Okay. How far away are we?”

“We’re an hour from Milwaukee and the storm supercell is heading straight toward us, so the pilot says we’re being diverted to a different port and buses will take everybody back to Milwaukee.” His face is intense. “We’re being diverted to Chicago, Jules. We’re turning south right now, and we’re heading for Chicago.”

Forty-One

At first I can’t comprehend what Trey is saying. The ferry lurches and rolls as the waves get bigger. “But the sun won’t be right if it happens now,” I say.

“I know, but maybe the ferry leaves from Chicago tomorrow morning,” he says.

“Yeah,” Sawyer says, sitting up. “That would put the ferry in the right place!”

“Hey, guys?” Ben says.

I close my eyes to concentrate. “But . . . but the passengers will still show up at the Milwaukee terminal—how would any of them know—”

“Because they can send an e-mail to everybody who pre-bought tickets to let them know of the change due to the weather,” Trey says.

“Guys?” Ben says again.

I am still not sold. “Why wouldn’t they just sail the ferry back to Milwaukee tonight after the storms pass?”

“Guys,” Rowan says this time.

We all look at her and Ben.

“What?” Trey says impatiently.

Rowan looks sidelong across the ferry and points her head in the direction she wants us to look. “There’s the guy who is on the list. The one who rode with us this morning.”

I narrow my eyes. “I thought you weren’t sure.”

“We weren’t sure,” Ben says, “until now, when we also spotted that girl sitting at ten o’clock to you, Jules.” He shows me the victim list and points. “This girl,” he says, “is her.”

“And,” Rowan continues, “I see two more. No, make that three.”

I follow her gaze as I watch a woman lurch toward the bathroom. “No,” I say, and then I grab the list and compare Tori’s descriptions with the people Ben and Rowan are pointing out. A girl about thirteen with blond hair and a polka-dot headband. A black-haired woman in a red skirt and jacket. An older couple wearing matching sweatshirts from the Wisconsin Dells.

“Shit,” Sawyer says in a low voice as he reads the list over my shoulder. “There’s another one.”

“But . . . the sun is wrong,” I say weakly.

“Or maybe that light behind the clouds wasn’t the sun,” Trey says.

“Or . . .” My mind flies everywhere, combing over all the conversations I’ve ever had with Tori. “Or maybe Tori’s sunrise is actually . . . a sunset?” I feel my throat close. “What time is it?” I scrounge around for my phone, finally remembering that I put it in my duffel bag. I grab it and check the time. It flips between six thirty-two and five thirty-two, depending on whether my phone is picking up a signal from the east side or the west side of the lake.

I see five new text messages from Tori, and I flip through them. The water, she says, again and again. The water. It’s rising. It’s pouring into my mouth. It’s flowing from my eyeballs. I can’t breathe.

While everybody waits for me to say something profound, I sit with my eyes closed, feeling sick and totally inadequate to lead this task. Trying to organize my crazy thoughts. Trying to figure out what to do first. Trying not to hyperventilate.

I suck in a deep breath, blow it out, and open my eyes. “Okay, guys.” My voice shakes a little, which pisses me off.

I sit up straighter and start again, stronger. “Okay. This is happening. First, we take turns getting our wet suits back on without drawing attention to ourselves, which could be difficult with all the rocking and the pukers waiting for your stall. Rowan and Sawyer, you first, and when you get back, tackle the rest of the victim list.”

Trey gives me the tiniest smile of encouragement, and I know he’s proud of me.

“Ben, how are you with math?”

“Decent,” he says.

“Good. See if you can figure out how fast we’re going and how far we are from the disaster point so we can have a clue how much time we have.”

“Got it.” He pulls his phone out and starts working.

“Trey,” I say.

“Yes?”

I blow out a breath. “First, don’t die.”

“Okay.”

Ben looks up at us for a second, presses his lips together, and goes back to work.

“Second, I need you to use your amazing charm to try to talk to the pilot, or at least one of the crew, and try to tell them to steer clear of the low rock walls—”