She woke in the water, staring up at bright lights. Moving lights in a dark sky.

Dark water. Bright lights.

It had something to do with Matthew, her son. fourteen years old. She remembered an explosion. "Matthew!"

She spun about, propelling herself with her one good arm. Waves slapped her face and filled her mouth. She looked in every direction. Nothing was there but the black, buffeting sea. And those shapes in the distance. The enemy.

This couldn't be real. She wasn't here. She was still on the island, on dry land.

Not the island. At home, last winter, before Matthew took up with those strange people and their meetings. She never realized what a hold they had on him, until it was too late.

He should have talked to her instead. If she had known what he was going through, if she had been more observant, she might have been able to help him. He didn't seem to want her help, but what was a mother for?

"Matt, hang on! I'm coming!"

She struck out into the dark water, trying to find her son.