Page 1 of Dead of Summer

She hears a scream before she hits the water. Hers? Someone else’s? It doesn’t matter—it is quickly swallowed up in the roar of the waves. Even though it’s July, the bay this far offshore is shockingly cold. And dark. Instinctively, she tries to paddle. She slips under.

She kicks herself back up, relieved to break the surface, gulping air while the waves crest and glow in the starlight.

She looks toward shore at the lights on that magnificent lawn. The party is in full swing now. The sounds large enough to carry across the surface. The thrum of conversation and the band playing a final raucous tune. She screams again, but her single voice is no match for the open ocean.

She turns as her whole body rises on a swell, looking for something, anything.

But she only finds churning darkness. She is growing heavier with each passing second.

Her kicks can’t keep her head above the waves much longer.

Panic crawls up her legs and she starts to thrash.

Bad idea. Her lungs burn for more oxygen. She descends.

Up , gasping for breath. Down , heavy quiet.

Up , now facing the other way she can see the outline of the Rock in the distance.

The house is sinister in the dark, its stilts spindly like a spider’s legs.

A dim light shines from one of the windows.

Could she make it there? She kicks harder but a wave rushes over her, hitting the back of her head and pushing her under.

Down , this time the water fills her nose.

Her heart roars in the murky black. Then a light, suddenly wavering above her.

She pushes toward it, breaks the surface, but it vanishes, leaving her alone in the dark again.

She kicks and kicks no longer knowing which way is which.

Her chest aches. A roar fills her eardrums.

She had so many plans.

But what good are plans when you’re dead?