Chapter 13

CHAPTER 13 Strong arms lifted George up. He felt himself being carried. "Papa?" he said. "Papa?" Why did his head hurt so much? Had the panther knocked him out of the tree? Was he sick with a fever like Mama? And whose voice was whispering in his ear? "Giorgio. Giorgio. Wake up." George opened his eyes. Marco's amber eyes shone down on him. This was no dream. He was not sick. The Titanic was sinking.

The bow was completely underwater now, and waves swept over the deck. Lounge chairs sailed past them and crashed over the side. People clung to the rails. A few slipped and were swept overboard. Marco had wrapped one arm around the railing and the other around George. "It's time to go," Marco said. "Go where?" George said, even though he knew. They were going into the water. There was nowhere else for them to go. Marco held George's arm as they climbed over the railing. "When we jump, jump as far out as you can," Marco said. "Away from the ship." George filled his lungs with the icy air. "Jump!" Marco cried. George pushed with his feet and leaped off the boat. He closed his eyes, imagining that he had enormous wings that would take him soaring into the sky. But then he hit the water, and down he went. And just when he was sure his lungs would pop, the ocean seemed to spit him back up.

George sputtered. The water was so cold it felt like millions of needles were stabbing him. It hurt so much he couldn't move. Someone grabbed him by the life jacket and started dragging him away from the ship. It took George a few seconds to realize that it was Marco. He stopped to grab a door that was floating by. After helping George climb up on top, Marco found a crate for himself. It wasn't big enough to keep his feet out of the water. But it was better than nothing. The crate had a rope attached to it. Marco tied it around his arm and handed the end to George. "Hold tight," he said. They turned and stared at the ship. The entire front was underwater, and the back had risen toward the sky. It groaned and squeaked and sparked. Black smoke poured from its funnels, and the lights flickered. It was like watching a fairy-tale dragon, stabbed and bleeding, fighting for its life. And finally it seemed to give up. The groaning stopped. The lights went dark. And the Titanic sank into the bubbling black

water, down, down, down, down, until George closed his eyes. He couldn't make himself watch Mr. Andrews's beautiful ship disappear. A sound rose up around him, people calling for help. More and more people, screaming and yelling, hundreds of voices swirling together like a howling wind. Marco pulled George away from the people and the wreckage. George couldn't believe how strong he was, how hard he kicked, how his arms sliced through the water.

When he finally stopped, Marco was gasping for breath, exhaling cold clouds of white mist. He tightened the rope around his arm and patted George on the shoulder. "I rest now, Giorgio," he said breathlessly. He closed his eyes and put his head down on the

crate. "Soon." Soon what? George was afraid to ask. Soon it would be over? Soon they would be rescued? Or soon they would be swallowed up by the darkness? George heard men talking somewhere close by. He looked around, relieved that he wasn't all by himself, and to his shock, just ahead, he saw a lifeboat. "Marco!" he said. "Wake up!" But Marco didn't move. His arms hung off the side of the crate. His feet dangled in the icy water. "Marco! We need to get to that boat!" But Marco was still. And George realized that his friend had used every last ounce of strength. He'd gotten George off the sinking ship, and across the icy waters. It was up to George now. He tucked the rope under his body and started paddling. The water seared his hands and arms. It was so cold it felt boiling hot, like lava. But he didn't stop until he reached the boat.