The cup shouldn’t have stayed upright, and the liquid shouldn’t have stayed inside it under the weight of the ocean. I drifted closer, my light trembling in my hand as I stared at the impossible object. It was a fresh cup of coffee, the steam seemingly trapped in a bubble against the lid.
Terror, cold and sharp, finally broke through my curiosity. I backed away from the tray, my eyes never leaving the cup as it sat there, mocking the laws of physics. The water around me felt like it was thickening, turning from liquid into something heavy and restrictive.
I didn’t care about the book or the backpack anymore; I just needed to get out of that metal tube. I turned and kicked hard toward the rear exit, my bubbles roaring in my ears like a freight train. The door seemed further away than it had been when I entered, the aisle stretching out.
I burst through the exit and into the open water, not stopping to look back at the solitary wagon on the tracks. I followed the steel rails in reverse, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my chest. The murky blue of the deep felt like a predator’s mouth closing behind me.
When I finally broke the surface and felt the Florida sun on my face, the world looked jarringly normal. The boat was there, the sky was blue, and the salt air smelled like life. But as I hauled myself onto the deck, I realized I was still clutching the plastic-wrapped book.
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