Hopeless Doom

Chapter 4 Dark Water

Don stood waist-deep in the surf, his chest burning. Every breath felt like swallowing needles. He jammed his shoulder against the metal pontoon, the raft bucking under him like a live thing.

“Don’t let it slip!” Justin screamed over the wind.

Justin was on the shelf, looping the steel cable around a stalagmite. The timber planks groaned, scraping the stone with a sound like grinding teeth.

“Tide’s too aggressive!” Justin’s voice cracked. “If we drop the line now, the current’s gonna shove us into the rocks. We’ll be splinters before we hit the channel.”

“The window opens in eighteen minutes,” Don spat, wiping salt and grit from his eyes. “We miss the seventh tide, and we’re sitting ducks for the morning patrol. We go now.”

“It’s suicide!”

“Staying is suicide! Let it go!”

Justin let out a jagged breath and threw the line. The cable whipped through the mud and vanished into the black water.

The raft surged. Don hauled his weight up and rolled onto the wet timber. His knee hit the wood with a sickening thud, but the adrenaline was a fire in his veins. He reached back, grabbing Justin’s jacket as the older boy made the leap.

Justin landed hard, sliding across the slick planks. Don shoved a flattened iron pipe into his hands. “Left side! Move!”

Justin didn't take it. He was staring past Don, toward the ridge. A flashlight beam cut through the dark, swinging wildly.

Don’s hand went to his pocket, gripping the iron file. Not now, he thought. Not when I can finally taste the salt. The light swept over the cave walls, blindingly white, before locking onto the raft.

“Turn it off,” Don hissed.

The light died.

A figure stepped out from the shadows. No flashlight—just a lantern with a dead battery. Renee stood on the edge of the ledge, her breath coming in short, panicked hitches. The rain had washed away the island’s gray dust, leaving her looking small and terrified.

“Marcus is in the alleys,” Renee whispered against the storm. “He’s breaking doors. He knows, Don. Rachel knows.”

“Then Rachel can watch us leave,” Don said.

“The guards are coming. They have ropes.”

Don crawled to the edge of the planks, extending his hand. The gap between the raft and the stone was widening, the black water churning between them. “Then get on,” Don said. “Now, Renee.”

She looked at his hand, then back at the dim, yellow glow of the settlement far above. It was the only world she’d ever known—a place of warm paste and safe cages.

“Outside is death,” she whispered. It was a line she’d recited a thousand times, but now it sounded like a question.

“Outside is a chance,” Don countered. “In the Sanctuary… I saw the truth. We aren't being saved, Renee. We’re being collected. We’re just bugs in a jar. You want to wait for the Masters to shake the glass?”

Renee looked at the yellow lights of the Canteen one last time. Then she looked at the silver void behind Don. She dropped her lantern. It shattered against the stone, and she stepped into the dark.

Don caught her by the wrist, the force nearly pulling him into the drink. He gritted his teeth, hauling her onto the planks. Renee huddled in the center, shivering so hard the raft seemed to vibrate with her.

“Company’s here!” Justin yelled.

Three beams appeared at the top of the cliff. Shouted orders drifted down, thin and sharp.

“Row!” Don barked.

He jammed his iron pipe into the water and pulled. The metal groaned in the brackets. He and Justin hit the water in sync, fighting the swell until they reached the breakwater.

The ocean didn't just break there; it exploded. A wall of foam slammed the bow, pitching the raft up until they were almost vertical. Renee screamed, clutching the steel cables. Don didn't pull back—he used his oar as a rudder, leaning his entire weight into the iron.

They crested a wave, hung in the freezing air for a heartbeat, and then slammed down. Saltwater washed over them—a crushing weight that tried to pull them under.

Then, the current took them.

It wasn't a slow pull. It was a vacuum. The chaotic chop of the rocks vanished, replaced by a smooth, terrifying speed. The raft wasn't floating anymore; it was being towed.

“We’re in the channel,” Don gasped, laying his pipe down.

Renee sat up, looking back. The island was a jagged silhouette, the flashlights on the cliff fading into frustrated pinpricks. The yellow lights of the Canteen flickered once and were swallowed by the rain.

“It’s gone,” she whispered. “Everything is gone.”

Don didn't look back. He looked forward.

The Silver Wall was no longer a horizon. It was a god. A sheer, infinite sheet of metal that reached for the clouds and cut the ocean in half. In the dark, it looked like a hole in the universe—a void that refused to reflect the rain or the waves.

Don pulled out his pocket watch. He couldn't see the hands, so he ran his thumb over the exposed gears, feeling the position of the metal.

“Three minutes,” Don said. Three minutes until the machine chokes.

The hum started then. It wasn't a sound you heard with your ears; it was a vibration that got into your marrow. It traveled up through the pontoons, through the wood, and into Don’s boots. It was the pulse of the cage.

Don leaned forward, staring at the black metal. Come on, he thought. Open the door, or finish us.

Don leaned into the iron pipe, his muscles screaming. The water felt thick, heavy, like they were trying to row through cooling wax.

“The current’s gone,” Justin gasped, his chest heaving over his oar. “It just... quit. Like somebody turned off a tap.”

“Don’t stop,” Don said. “Row.”

“I am rowing! We’re not moving an inch!”

Renee sat white-knuckled in the center, her hands fused to the steel cable. The rain had died down to a cold mist, and the ocean was unnervingly flat. It looked like a sheet of black glass—unnatural and still.

“Why is it so quiet?” Renee whispered.

“The Wall is killing the wind,” Don said. “Justin, pull. Harder.”

The hum hit them then. It wasn't a sound; it was a physical vibration that rattled Don’s molars and traveled up through the timber. It felt like the island’s heartbeat was being forced into their marrow. Deep inside the black metal, the color shifted. It bled from pitch to a bruised, sickly violet, then flared into a violent, aggressive scarlet. The water didn't reflect the light—it just turned the color of rust.

“Don,” Justin said, his voice trembling. He let go of his oar. “The warning flashes... Harry talked about this. It’s gonna vent.”

“Sit down and pull!” Don barked.

Crack.

The sound was like the sky snapping in half. A pillar of searing crimson light struck the ocean thirty yards to their left. There was no splash, no spray. The saltwater simply vanished. A massive wall of steam erupted, screaming toward the clouds.

The heat hit them a second later—a dry, It instantly baked the wet canvas of Don’s jacket.

“Back! Push it back!” Justin yelled, scrambling to his feet.

“Get down!” Don grabbed Justin’s collar and yanked him back to the wood.

“Are you out of your mind? That’s a laser grid! It’s trying to vaporize us!”

“No,” Don said, his voice terrifyingly calm. “It missed.”

“It didn't miss! It’s leading us!”

Crack.

A second beam slammed into the water to their right. Another geyser of scalding steam shot up. The raft pitched violently as the ocean rushed to fill the void. The air was a furnace now. Don’s skin felt like it was starting to peel.

“Turn it around!” Justin shoved Don, his eyes wild with terror. “Row the other way!”

“No.” Don didn't budge. He gripped his iron pipe and stared into the red glare. Go ahead, he thought. Tap the glass again. “We row forward.”

“It’s going to kill us!” Renee cried, clutching her ribs. “Don, please!”

“There is no back, Renee.” Don looked at the glowing Wall. Cataloging survivors, he remembered. We’re not people. We’re inventory. “I saw the logs in the Sanctuary. They aren't trying to kill us. They’re boxing us in. This is just them tapping the glass because the bugs are getting too close to the edge.”

“You’re betting our lives on a guess?” Justin spat.

“I’m betting they don't want to break their toys.” Don jammed his oar back into the bubbling water. “Row, Justin. Unless you want to spend the rest of your life in the dirt, waiting for a bell.”

Justin stared at the boiling geysers, then at the unlit silhouette of the island—the cage they’d just fled. He wiped a mix of sweat and salt from his mouth and grabbed his pipe.

They pulled.

The raft slid into the corridor between the two columns of steam. The air was thick, tasting of chemicals and dead sea life. It burned Don’s lungs with every breath.

Crack. c***k. c***k.

Three more beams struck directly behind them, cutting off the retreat. The water around the pontoons began to simmer. The steel cables were growing hot to the touch.

“Faster,” Don grunted.

His shoulders were on fire. The iron pipe felt like it weighed a ton. He threw every ounce of his weight into each stroke. Fifteen yards. Ten.

The entire face of the barrier pulsed, the scarlet light becoming a blinding, unbearable roar of color. The hum dropped into a low, synthetic growl that made the very air vibrate.

Don didn't look away. He kept the rhythm. Pull. Reset. Pull. The radiation was baking the skin on his knuckles, and the taste of metal was heavy on his tongue. Come on, he thought. One more. Just let me touch the cage.