The Kids Aren't Alright

Chapter 69: Becca

Time. Slows. Down.

I watch, paralyzed, as the tentacle comes out of nowhere, slicing through the air like a machete. It's speedier than any tentacle should be, and resembles nothing more than a blur of swollen grey flesh and protruding suckers as it soars out of the water and takes the bullet meant for Finn. The impact of the bullet on grey flesh sends a shock wave rippling across the water, and then, all hell breaks loose.

Owen starts firing. His aim is terrible, and the bullets spray everywhere— into the water, across the writhing tentacles, towards the motorboat. "Get down!" Ronan shouts, and he yanks my arm and we hit the deck. A stray bullet cracks against the guardrail, splitting it in half. Shrapnel flies everywhere.

The presence of the Kraken has consumed Owen. He doesn't notice as I reach for the steering wheel to guide us back to the canoe, doesn't see me stretching out my arm for Finn to hold—

Finn's freckled face is white with terror as he surges forward to take my hand. In the split-second before our skin make contact, a vision flickers before my eyes, and I realize I've seen all of this before— I saw that same terrified expression on his face, saw the same fear in his eyes—

And I saw blood, everywhere.

"Becca, duck!" Ronan yells. And then I'm being dragged backward, away from Finn.

A tentacle as wide as the motorboat swings over my head, crashing down on the canoe with the ferocity of a cornered, feral animal. Someone cries out— I don't know who. Then the tentacle tightens around the wooden hull and the canoe splinters in two, sending both Owen and Finn plunging into the black water of the lake.

"No!" I scream. "No!"

They're gone. Both of them. The lake is frothing with fury now; transformed into a churning cauldron of foam by the Kraken's writhing tentacles. Waves taller than me crash against the hull of the boat, shaking and tilting us like one of those fake rodeo bulls you find in bars, and Ronan is clutching my arm so hard it hurts, chorusing the word fuck over and over again. He saved my life by pulling me away— that tentacle would have taken off my head. Ronan saved me.

But I couldn't save Finn.

Time speeds up again, as it usually does when you're on the verge of death. It's been almost a minute now, but Finn or Owen haven't resurfaced, and my dream is finally coming true. Finn is going to drown in the lake, and I can't do anything to stop it.

I should have chosen the gun. I should have chosen the goddamn gun—

Ronan shouts, "We have to go in after him! If Finn stays underwater any longer, he'll die!"

I choke back a scream. In my dream, we all fell into the water— Finn, Ronan, me— and none of us came back. The oil smothered us all. I'll be damned if I let the dream play out in real-time. I'll be damned if I lose another friend.

The visions in my head have been speaking to me since I was five years old. Maybe it's time I finally started listening.

In the back of my mind, I see Julia lying in a hospital bed, her heart monitor spiking feebly as she stares mindlessly at the white ceiling. I didn't mean to, she whispers. I didn't mean to, I promise... My cousin, gone. My only friend, gone. Taken from me. I lost her... I lost Finn. I'm not going to lose Ronan, too.

I can't bear to hurt anyone else.

"We can't swim after him," I tell Ronan. "If we jump in the water, we'll drown too."

"You said you can see things," he says, almost accusingly. "Can't you see a way to find Finn?"

The frigid lake-water runs down my cheeks like teardrops. "There's too much going on. I won't be able to focus."