by Rick Chesler
And then his right boot was pushing off the edge of the ledge and he was flying through the air to the water below.
Chapter 34
Ethan hit the lake with a splash and started to kick. His injured finger flared with excruciating pain, but he swam through it. He’d gone a few strokes when he heard—and felt through the water—a massive boom.
His time had run out.
He could already hear massive slabs of rock falling from the sides of the volcano’s inner slope. He swam as fast as he could for the middle of the lake, but his heavy backpack was pulling him under. He peeled it off and was about to ditch it and continue swimming when he thought about the single heaviest item it contained: a small scuba diving rig. He’d brought it along almost as an afterthought, not at all sure if he’d really need it, but on all of his adventures around the world, his underwater photos had set him apart from his colleagues. They were all on equal footing on a safari jeep, shooting lions chasing zebras with a zoom lens, but when Ethan slipped into a watering hole with a waterproof camera and emerged with unrivaled photos of water buffalo drinking, he knew that from then on, some type of dive gear would always be a part of his kit.
As the volcano began to crumble around him, he freed the mesh dive bag containing a mask, fins, and a small “pony” tank of air with an attached breathing mouthpiece. He let his backpack drift away. It was do or die, now, literally. Do what, he didn’t exactly know. His original plan was simply to get to the middle of the lake, out of the direct path of rock falling from above. And he could do that. But the scuba gear opened up other options. He put the stuff on and kicked—much faster now thanks to the fins—to the middle of the lake, moving across a demarcation of dark to light, as if experiencing an eclipse.
Thunderous splashes came from not too far away from him as he swam—chunks of rock falling from high above—but he kept propelling himself forward and soon found himself in the very center of the lake, where the least rock fell.
Ethan spun around in a circle. So this was it. This was where he would die. Looking up, his view of the sky actually widened as more and more rock calved off and disintegrated on its way down to the lake—soon to be no longer a lake but part of the Pacific Ocean once more.
He put his face in the water, mask on, in order to look down. He instantly regretted it. A large mosasaur or maybe plesiosaur (he wasn’t sure), like the one that ate George, glided past him. Perhaps forty feet away. Yet it paid him no mind, simply transiting across the lake. It, too, wanted only to escape the destruction.
The photographer lifted his head from the water and glanced up one more time, spinning in a circle. The mountain was crumbling. He glanced back to the ledge from which he’d jumped and saw the multitude of giant super-snakes slithering over the edge into the lake as it crumbled.
Deciding he’d rather die looking for a way out than treading water waiting to be crushed or eaten alive, Ethan clenched the mouthpiece between his teeth and slipped beneath the surface, where the waves had picked up due to the sheer volume of falling rock. He could feel the pressure waves from the explosion rock his body as he descended. He wished he had a dive light. He still had his regular flashlight, but it wasn’t made for being submerged and doubted it would last long.
He shone the beam down, wondering how deep the lake was. He couldn’t see the bottom and the water was clear. That worried him. It could be two thousand feet deep for all he knew, brimming with thought-to-be-extinct sea monsters. It was like swimming over an open abyss, a hadal zone exposed to the surface. He angled toward the side of the lake, seeking the underwater walls. Maybe, just maybe, he could find a tunnel or an opening of some kind that led out to the open sea, now that the overall structure was coming apart.
Strange shapes glided past him in the inky twilight, but he ignored them and kicked even harder for the edge. His light was still holding up, but he thought it might be attracting predators so he switched it off, saving it for if and when he truly needed it. Some daylight still penetrated here.
Ethan listened to the soft, raspy hiss of his breathing through the regulator as he finned his way toward the wall. He could just barely see it now, a dark mass materializing out of the deep blue. It occurred to him as he swam that if a rock did hit him down here, at least its impact would be diminished by the water over his head. All around him he could hear pieces of the volcano dropping into the lake from high above.
He flicked on his flashlight as he neared the wall and was relieved to see that it still worked. He saw glittering in front of him. This threw him off, although still he didn’t stop—he could not stop—until he realized that veins of diamond ran through this part of the rock, too. He reached the wall, looked quickly left and right, saw a giant sea monster of some kind a ways off to his left—a long, slender, twisting thing—and he went right.
Ethan’s flashlight started to flicker as he aimed the beam along the wall. Its seal was starting to fail. It wasn’t pitch black here, but it would be far harder to discern an opening in the wall without the artificial light. He fin-kicked along, a few feet away from the wall as he searched for an underwater exit to the crumbling volcano. The wall was smooth but not regular; it was concave in some sections, straight in others, which made it difficult to look for a break. And then his light winked off and didn’t come back on. He hit it a few times with his hand, trying to jar it back to life, but to no avail.
He let the useless hunk of plastic drop into the void and resigned himself to his fate. He was going to die here, alone in the middle of a bombed-out volcano, surrounded by hideous monsters dredged up from the bowels of the Earth and the depths of time. No one would ever even find his body or his cameras, with the proof they contained of the hellish events that transpired here.
Ethan had begun to consider giving up on swimming, to just sit still in one place and wait for the end, reflecting on his life with what little time he had left, when an orange glow caught his eye. Down low, maybe forty feet underneath him. That was kind of deep for him to go with his tiny air tank, since he was already about forty feet down, but he didn’t have much else to lose. He might as well die trying to accomplish something, to find a way out.
The photographer angled his head downward and kicked toward the fiery light. As he neared it, he knew what he was seeing: a fresh lava flow, hot magma issuing from the rocks directly into the water. He’d seen it before, in Hawaii, and had taken spectacular video and still shots of it then, so he knew what to expect. He also knew that it meant there was likely an opening being cut through the rock by the liquid fire. He kicked faster down toward it.
Huge booms of massive rock slabs hitting the lake’s surface assaulted his ears as he reached the underwater lava flow. Exercising much less caution than he normally would around this kind of volcanic activity, Ethan swam past the billowing magma into what looked like an open space. A tongue of fire licked his calf, and he felt the burn as he kicked reflexively away, deeper into the open pocket. By the time his leg stopped burning, Ethan knew he had entered a chamber, at least. He still didn’t know if it led anywhere, but he kicked back toward what looked like the end. He couldn’t help but think the entire thing could cave in on him at any moment, but this is the route he’d opted to take.
A glowing tendril of fire lit the submerged cave along the right side. He followed it back and down until his heart leaped. A narrow hole, in the rear wall of the cave, transitioned into a tunnel brimming with running magma.
He stroked with his arms and legs to enter the opening before some freak current—or sea creature—sucked him back out into the maelstrom that was the open lake. The tunnel narrowed but still afforded him with room to swim through, and light to see by courtesy of running magma. He bolted through it as fast as he could, now concerned not only about where it led, but also about his air supply. The little pony bottle he breathed out of was not meant for prolonged scuba diving by itself. It was supposed to be a supplemental bottle, a backup of reserve air or mixed gas supply, not a
main tank. And certainly not in overhead environments or deep water, and he currently found himself in both.
With nothing he could do about it, though, Ethan power-stroked ahead through the tunnel, hoping against hope that it would lead out of the volcano. He heard a deep grating noise behind him and snapped his head back in time to see a huge section of tunnel collapse in his wake. He eked even more speed and power from his aching muscles as he power-finned on.
Finally, as cave-ins and collapses grew more frequent, he saw a lightening of the water ahead. Sunlight! Open water! He didn’t think the tunnel had doubled back on itself into the lake, and he was looking at the sun-dappled middle portion, but there was only one way to find out.
Ethan swam to the light, the tunnel now lying straight rather than at a downward slope. Yes! So much light, it had to be the open ocean and not the inside of the volcano, even in the center portion. Magma spurted everywhere here, but he didn’t care. He swam through it as if he had done it every day since he was born, a firewater human in his natural environment. He only hoped the entire mountain wouldn’t collapse in on him before he exited the tunnel.
He reached the opening to the sea, gripped an edge and pulled himself out. Suddenly, another large mosasaur, easily the size of an adult blue whale, swam at him from the left, around a rocky protuberance. His hand snaked to the dive knife strapped to his calf. He grabbed it while he watched the powerful sea-beast slither toward him.
Ethan knew that merely sinking the blade into the mosasaur’s flank would do almost nothing, like pinpricking a tiger through its fur. He had to find a sensitive spot if his little knife was to be effective. With a fish, like a shark, the gills were a known soft spot, but this thing—a pliosaur or maybe a mosasaur—didn’t have gills; it was a reptile, and as such, had to breathe air. That left somewhere on the head, but he had run out of time to strategize.
The prehistoric animal curled around him in a tight ball, as if coiling to strike, bringing one of its humungous, black eyes past Ethan’s face. He lashed out and sunk the blade firmly into the creature’s pupil as it made an exploratory pass. He heard a weird grunty squeal from the animal before it turned and fled straight out into the ocean.
Gotcha!
The knife was still embedded in the eye, so Ethan was weaponless now, but he was happy enough to have survived this encounter. One step at a time…
And then, as he went to take his next breath, Ethan suddenly found he had no more air to pull.
Chapter 35
Ethan tried inhaling again, straining his lungs, but still no air came. He glanced up at the surface and saw the light way up there, perhaps seventy-five feet away.
You can do it!
At least his empty tank was small. A full scuba rig would create a lot more drag in the water, slowing him down. Fatigue had set in, though, from all the high-speed swimming, the battle with the mosasaur and the general stress. He was about to ditch his tank altogether to lighten his load when he remembered something from a scuba class long ago. Even if a tank is empty at depth, as the diver ascends, the air in the tank will expand due to the lessening pressure. If a breath cannot be pulled at seventy-five feet, for example, by the time he reached thirty-three feet, there may be a breath or two to be had from that same tank.
Ethan kicked hard for the surface, keeping his regulator mouthpiece in place. Even though he had no weapon now, he couldn’t help but spin around in circles as he ascended, on the lookout for marine predators. He eyed some distant forms at the edge of his visibility, but saw no direct threats. Most of the animals were probably coping with the explosion, he figured, like he was.
He remembered to keep his airway open as he rose, humming through his mouthpiece to ensure his lungs were not closed off, meaning they could suffer an air embolism, bursting with the expanding volume as pressure decreased. Speaking of which…he tried to inhale and was rewarded with a small breath of air. Enough to keep him going until the shimmering silver sea surface loomed right above him, just above his outstretched fingertips.
Ethan broke the surface and spit out his regulator. His eyes registered the smoky sky as he gasped in great lungfuls of air, exulting in the oxygen, at being alive, however tenuous that condition may be. He let his empty scuba rig drop into the deep. He tread water while turning in a circle. What was there around him now? Open sea…the island, or what was left of it, anyway, about a hundred feet in front of him. Entire sections of it still buckled and crumbled, the rumbling carrying far out onto the ocean and even farther below it.
He swam farther away from the sinking isle. He had heard that the suction created by sinking ships could pull swimmers down with them, and wondered now if that same principle held true for sinking islands. He knew he might also be swamped by waves created by the sudden influx of mega-tons’ worth of material into the ocean. When he felt he was a safe distance away, Ethan tread water and turned in a slow 360-degree arc.
He heard the helicopter before he saw it, the unmistakable drone of a motor over the sea breeze across his ears, the waves rushing past and the rumbling of rock breaking up. When he did finally lay eyes on the machine, Ethan was dismayed to see it flying straight out to sea out from behind the island. At least its altitude was low, but still. As a person in the water visible from above, it was like being able to spot a coconut drifting on the ocean. He needed some way of signaling them, and fast.
He took a quick inventory of his possessions, lamenting now that he’d ditched his pack. All he had on him was a waterproof camera clipped to a belt loop of his shorts, a pair of swim fins, and a mask and snorkel. He needed that walkie talkie now, that was for sure. Or even the signal mirror…
His mask!
He ripped it off his head and looked at its construction. Smooth glass face plate with clear silicone skirt and strap. He cupped it in his two hands and held it up to the sun, tilting it this way and that to see if he could get the glass to catch light…
Yes! A glint of reflected sunlight temporarily blinded him as he got the angle just right. But it had been directed back toward him, not at the helicopter. Now he had to aim it the right way. Ethan turned his body and tried again, this time facing the glass toward the departing aircraft. Beads of water on the mask were causing the reflection to be unpredictable, so he wiped them away and aimed again.
Come on…
The specter of being left here alone, floating in the Pacific Ocean off a destroyed island full of prehistoric monsters, also forced into the water like rats from a sinking ship, was so palpable that he almost dropped the mask. He forced himself to steady his nerves, to maintain his composure, and tilted the mask so that it would catch the sun while facing the aircraft.
Ethan was rewarded with a piercing gleam of light lancing toward the helo. He held the glass steady until the chopper passed in front of it, then shifted the mask slowly and carefully to the left, following the craft with the light beam. Confident he could hold the mask’s position with one hand, he raised the other as high into the air as he could and waved.
Here, over here—right here!
And then a large wave, coming from the direction of the now submerged island, rolled over him, ripping the mask from his hands. He dove after it, but the wave tumbled him around and he couldn’t find it. Dark, menacing shapes moved about below. He held his breath and swam underwater anyway, looking for the mask until he needed air. He broke the surface, defeated. He was a dead man swimming.
And then he heard the engine change in pitch. He looked up at the helo, far to his left now, and saw it bank into a turn.
#
Ethan gripped the edge of the rescue basket as soon as it reached the water after being lowered from the helicopter. The solid feel of the basket gave him great comfort. A huge sense of relief flooded through him as he heard the voice of the winch operator above in the aircraft calling down to him: “Climb in, hold on and we’ll pull you up!”
Easier said than done, Ethan thought. The sea was choppy to begin with, stirred f
rom above by winds and below by the undersea avalanche of the crumbling mountain. Add to that the rotor wash from the helicopter, and Ethan found himself in a whipped-up soup that threatened to smash his head into the side of the cage and swamp him for good. The chopper descended a couple of more feet, dipping the basket just low enough to allow Ethan to throw a leg over.
He pulled himself into the basket, a cage-like structure with an open top and two orange flotation cushions affixed to either side. “Go!” he shouted up to the winch operator. Slowly, the cage climbed, dripping water as it left the ocean. Ethan allowed himself to relax a bit. He took a deep breath and leaned his head back against the bars. He had made it! He—Wait, what was that?
His head had tilted to the right while resting, so that he was looking down into the water, but it was the movement that caught his attention. A slender dark shape, but very long, longer than the chopper. As it moved, it turned, its color transitioning from dark to light. Ethan realized he was looking at a creature propelling itself quickly and rotating as it swam, doing a barrel roll from back to belly and back again, twisting and rolling as it moved forward.
Ethan wasn’t sure what it was. Normally, he would call it a “weird shark” or maybe even a whale, but not here, not on this little island paradise. One word kept surfacing from the depths of his subconscious.
Liopleurodon.
Ethan sat bolt upright in the basket and eyed the monster more carefully. The creature possessed not two, but four flippers and a tail that seemed to have no flukes, it just came to an end like an eel. So strange. Yet there was nothing strange about what the animal was doing. Ethan had been direct witness to enough acts of predation over the last couple of days to know an animal getting ready to strike when he saw one.