The Glass Coffin

Panic is cold. It started in my toes and shot up my spine, freezing my logic centers.

* Get out. You have to get out.*

I unbuckled the seatbelt. My hands were shaking so hard I fumbled the release button three times before it clicked. I fell forward against the steering wheel, the car tilting at a steep forty-five-degree angle now.

I grabbed the door handle.

Nothing.

I pulled it again. The electronic latch made a dull clicking sound, but the mechanism didn't engage. The power was gone. Shorted out.

"Open!" I screamed, slamming my shoulder against the door. It didn't budge. The pressure of the water outside was already building, sealing the door against the frame.

I looked for the emergency manual release. I knew it existed. I had read the manual two years ago. *Where is it?* Under the armrest? Inside the door pocket? I clawed at the window switches, pressing them frantically.

Dead. Everything was dead.

The water wasn't waiting. It began to hiss through the vents, freezing jets of liquid hitting my legs. It was salt water, smelling of brine and oil. It was so cold it felt like fire.

I scrambled into the passenger seat, trying the other door. Locked.

The water rose over the dashboard. The car groaned, the metal frame compressing under the shifting weight. We were nose-heavy, the battery pack dragging us down toward the silt bottom of the Sound.

I grabbed my phone. It had slid onto the floor mat. I snatched it up, the screen glowing with a mockery of normalcy. *11:45 PM.*

I had no signal. Underwater, the radio waves couldn't reach me.

"Help," I whimpered. The water was at my waist now. It numbed my legs instantly. I climbed backward, scrambling over the center console into the back seat to stay above the rising tide.

I was going to die. I was going to die because I was yelling at David about an API.

I kicked the rear window. I was wearing running shoes. The rubber bounced harmlessly off the glass. This was acoustic, laminated glass. Designed to keep road noise out. Designed to be unbreakable.

The water reached my chest. The air in the car was compressing, making my ears pop. I pressed my face against the rear window, staring up at the surface. I could see the faint distortion of streetlights through the rain and the water. It looked like a Monet painting, blurry and beautiful and completely unreachable.

Then, a shadow blocked the light.

* Thump.*

Something hit the roof of the car.

I screamed, bubbles escaping my mouth. "Help! I'm in here!"

A face appeared in the rear window, pressed against the glass.

It was the cyclist.

He was underwater, his hair floating like seaweed around his helmet. He looked alien, his eyes wide and stinging from the salt. He wasn't swimming away. He was holding onto the roof rack, fighting the buoyancy that wanted to push him to the surface.

He looked at me. I saw the terror in his eyes, mirroring my own.

He raised his hand. He was holding a yellow U-lock—a heavy chunk of hardened steel.

He slammed it against the glass.

* THUD.*

The sound was dull, muffled by the water. The glass didn't break. It didn't even crack.

I sobbed, the sound strangling in my throat. The water was at my neck. I had to tilt my head back against the ceiling liner to breathe. The air pocket was the size of a shoebox now.

The cyclist looked at the lock, then at me. He shook his head. He pointed toward the very back of the car—the hatchback glass.

He disappeared from my view, swimming upward for air.

* Don't leave,* I prayed. *Please don't leave me.*