Children of the Fifth Sun

by Gareth Worthington

  He glanced over his right shoulder. Chris was busy checking the free dive equipment, hopping from one place to the next like a small bird bouncing from spot to spot while looking for a meal that might crawl out of the earth. Chris was always like that—a little worrywart forever checking the equipment, double-checking it, and then triple-checking, just in case he’d missed something.

  Kelly sighed and jumped to his feet. A dark blue wetsuit clung to his muscular body. He reached back, trying to grasp the long cord attached to the rear zip without success. He turned in a circle to his left and then right. “Goddamn amateur wetsuits. I want mine.”

  “Our new friends said we didn’t have time to pick your stuff up.” Victoria slid up behind Kelly. “I did tell them you were a big baby and only like your own equipment. Want a hand there?”

  He didn’t even turn around. “If I need your help, it won’t be to zip me up.”

  “Very funny, Kelly. I think it’s more fun to watch you spin like a dog trying to catch his own tail.”

  “Just zip me up.”

  The zip jolted awkwardly upward in short bursts, straining to pull the neoprene fabric together across his broad back.

  “You know,” she said, while tugging on the zip cord, “it’s been five years. You could have called.” She finished closing the zip.

  “Well, so could you. Anyway, a lot happened. You know how it is.” Kelly glanced at Victoria; for a brief moment, their gazes met.

  He was a big flirt, but she knew it was just that: flirting. He didn’t mean it. He was too in love with himself as always.

  “By the way,” he called, walking backward, “you look hot in a wetsuit ...” His voice trailed off as he spun mid-stride and kept on toward Chris.

  Just when she thought she had him figured out, he reeled her back in. He was a cheeky bugger but an irresistible one. She started after him.

  Chris was tending to the equipment. He surveyed each piece closely. This was going to be a deep free dive and a very dangerous one. The lift bag had to function properly. He’d seen one malfunction before at five hundred twenty-five feet. The diver had panicked and exhausted the oxygen supply in his lungs. Chris had been his buddy and offered the spare regulator, the octopus, but the diver refused—determined to make it back to the surface unaided. They had swum steadily toward the surface, a broken mosaic of blue fractured by sunlight. A hundred feet, fifty, twenty, and then suddenly, the diver stopped kicking and began to sink. His eyes were wide open, but he was limp. Chris grabbed him by the arms and dragged him to the surface. Once he was above water, Chris spat out his regulator and screamed for help. The boat crew came en masse and lifted the diver effortlessly from the water. Chris just floated there, exhausted. In the hospital, the doctors told Chris that the diver had suffered from deep water blackout—a rapid drop in the partial pressure of oxygen in the lungs on ascent, resulting in cerebral hypoxia. In other words, lack of oxygen to the brain. Chris had tried his best, but the diver died.

  “How we doing there, esé?” Kelly waltzed up behind his friend and slapped him on his bare back.

  “Ah, shit. You asshole. Just for that I should mess with your equipment.”

  Kelly grinned. “Yeah, but you won’t.”

  “I know. Anyway, it should be me buddying up with you down there. I don’t like this one bit. Instead, I got to trust the Queen of England over there is willing to get her manicure dirty in order to help you out.” Chris randomly picked up face masks and put them down with purpose.

  “Okay, easy there. You heard the talking China doll—use of equipment down there is a no-no. Victoria can free dive, and you can’t. Anyway, I’m not willing to risk your life on this.”

  “Just yours.”

  Kelly looked sternly into Chris’s eyes. “Yep.”

  Ms. Nilsson and the Shadow Man walked out onto the deck and marched toward Kelly and Chris. She had changed into an all-black wetsuit, cut off at the thighs and upper arms. Her hair was pulled into a tight ponytail behind her head. He was still in a suit but carried a large black cube-shaped, metallic case with substantial clasp locks on one side.

  “Okay, I’m liking your new look there, Ms. ... Nil ... poi ...?”

  “Nilsson. It’s Norwegian.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I said. But you, André, I know it’s December and not so warm out here, but you could have changed.” Kelly stood on tip toes in an attempt to puff up to the same size as the Shadow Man. It was no use.

  “They didn’t have a wetsuit in extra, extra, extra, extra, extra large,” the Shadow Man replied, his face deadpan.

  “Well, bugger me. The walking freezer does have a sense of humor.” Kelly laughed and then turned his focus back to the equipment. “Where in the world are we, anyway?”

  “You’re on a need-to-know basis, Mr. Graham. Just be happy you are doing your country a service.” Ms. Nilsson glided over to Kelly and sat on her haunches next to him. Her face was close to his. “And I am personally, eternally grateful.” Her lips came close to his stubble-covered cheek.

  Chris burst out laughing. “Jeez, are you barking up the wrong tree, lady. Just let us do our job.”

  Kelly, Victoria, and Chris climbed down into a life boat on the port side of the ship. The Shadow Man remained on the deck and used the winch to lower them to the water below.

  It was calm, no breeze at all. The life boat bobbed on the water as the three friends fixed and fiddled with equipment. Chris grabbed at the weighted guide rope that swung above his head, suspended from an arm attached to the main ship. The rope was only an inch thick, but it was clearly strong. He waved to the Shadow Man up on deck to release the winch lock. The rope lowered toward him. It had a large rubber weight attached to the end. Just above that was the sled. It resembled a large ring with spokes pointing inward that attached to a tube that had the rope running through it. Chris grabbed the ring and used it to swing the rope toward him. Holding onto the sled, he released the lock and allowed the weighted rope to drop into the water beside him, plummeting into the depths. The rope whizzed past his head, whirring as the weight pulled it deeper into the water—three hundred feet, five hundred feet, seven hundred feet, eight hundred feet. The rope went slack. Chris waved again and the Shadow Man locked the winch.

  “How much weight do you want on the ring?”

  Kelly looked up from sliding his feet inside the monofin—a large blue, flipper-like appendage that fixed his feet together, making him look like a merman. “Best make it a few hundred pounds, enough to pull us both down quickly.”

  “Right.” Chris pulled the ring into the life boat and rested it on the deck, before clipping strings of rubber weights to the inner spokes. “Why are we using rubber again? I gotta clip a whole bunch of these things to get the total weight.”

  “Cause our new friends told us their divers’ equipment came back corroded, so I’m just avoiding using metal as best as possible. Anyway, pass me the inflatable.”

  Chris handed Kelly the lift bag, a long yellow piece of material that looked like an unraveled parachute with black straps. Kelly climbed into the harness and clipped the contraption together across his chest. The canary colored parachute rested on his shoulders like an untied scarf.

  “Need a push, you big girl?” mocked Victoria.

  “You just can’t wait to get wet and slippery with me,” Kelly replied.

  Kelly put his right arm across his chest, his left over his face, and leaned backward. His back slapped the water as if it were solid. The ocean water was cold as it seeped between the wetsuit neoprene and his skin. Kelly shuddered.

  “Okay, I’m going to need to get warmed up here before I attempt anything.” He buried his face in the water and opened his eyes. It wasn’t murky, but the sunlight only penetrated a few feet down; he still couldn’t see his quarry—not that he could see a thousand feet down anyway.

  It was calm here—peaceful, like a whole other universe. Sound didn’t really exist except for the beating of his own heart, which h
e could feel slowing. Everything appeared as if it were in slow motion, like time had no hold here. He wondered if he just kept his head down, whether everyone else would go away. Maybe he could float away. A fish swam in a zig-zag fashion in the distance. He couldn’t see what species it was, but he wanted to be that fish—free, with only a three-second memory span. He smiled. Fish don’t really have a three-second memory, but the sentiment was what mattered.

  His underwater sanctuary was violated by the crashing of Victoria’s body into the water next to him. Kelly lifted his head from beneath the water and gave her an annoyed look.

  “Watch it, sweet cheeks.”

  “Sorry. Okay, let me get warmed up.”

  Kelly and Victoria pulled the hoods of their wetsuits over their heads and tucked in their hair until only their faces could be seen. Then, like a synchronized swimming team, they repeatedly duck-dived down several feet before coming to the surface and resting in the fetal position.

  “Okay, we’re both going to go down together, but Victoria, you remember to drop off at about a couple hundred feet—okay? You can support me on the way back up.” For the first time ever, Kelly sounded serious.

  “I understand.”

  “Right, so I’ll go as deep as I can and grab ... whatever it is down there. It’s small enough to carry—right?”

  “Right,” called Ms. Nilsson from the boat above him.

  “Okay, Chris. Mask.”

  On cue, a diving mask flew over the rim of the life boat and plopped into the water next to Kelly. A second appeared as if from nowhere and hit Victoria in the head.

  “Sorry!” called Chris from the safety of the boat. Kelly snickered.

  The two washed their goggles in the ocean water and then spat on the inside, spreading the viscous fluid around with their index fingers before repeating the washing cycle. They pulled the mask straps over the backs of their heads and placed the masks on their faces; the rubber seal cut into their cheeks.

  Chris leaned over the side of the boat and looked for his friend. Kelly was treading water. He gave the okay sign: an index finger and thumb touching to form a circle. Chris grabbed the ring structure and heaved it to the side of the life boat.

  “It’s locked. I could only get three hundred pounds on there. I hope it’s enough. When you’re ready, just release the lock. And don’t forget to use the brake. And...”

  “Stop fussing and pass me the sled, Paco.”

  Chris gave the sled one last heave and pushed it over the side, narrowly missing Kelly’s head. It crashed into the water, pulling the rope above it tight. The winch above strained under the weight.

  “Heads or tails?” Kelly asked.

  “I think heads. I don’t like tails,” Victoria replied. She faked a shudder.

  “Heads it is. Okay, grab the sled.”

  Victoria swam up to the sled and held on to the opposite side of the ring with both hands. “Okay, ready?”

  Kelly nodded. He started taking deep breaths, slowly inhaling and exhaling. Inhaling and exhaling. He suddenly stopped and just opened and closed his mouth, like a fish out of water. It looked almost painful.

  Ms. Nilsson yelled from above, “What the hell is he doing?”

  “Preparing,” Chris replied. “It’s a diving technique.”

  Kelly nodded at Victoria and released the brake. The pair was pulled violently underwater. There was a deafening sound as the ocean crashed in above them, sealing the rift they left behind. The sound of the sled speeding toward the ocean floor along the length of the guide rope pierced Kelly’s ears with its loud, constant drone. His feet strapped into the monofin pointed toward the surface, flapped behind him like a flag in the wind. He could feel the weight of the water increasing, crushing his lungs, his organs. Jesus, it’s been a while since I’ve done this. The pressure built up in his ears. Kelly swallowed hard to equalize the pressure. It worked.

  The water was becoming darker. How long had he been going? It seemed like hours. He looked across at Victoria. She was still with him. He hadn’t even reached two hundred feet. Kelly focused his thoughts on his heartbeat.

  Thump, thump. Thump, thump.

  C’mon, slower.

  Thump, thump. Thump ... thump.

  That was better.

  He closed his eyes and thought of her and her voice—calming, soothing, calling him deeper and deeper. Kelly was warm; the blood in his veins seemed to slow and meander around his body. Deeper still.

  Suddenly, he jerked forward. Kelly opened his eyes and swiveled his head around. Victoria had let go. He must have passed two hundred feet. Without her drag, he was accelerating now—faster toward the bottom.

  Kelly squinted, trying to see through the rushing water. It had to be soon. He could feel the oxygen reserves in his lungs start to deplete and the carbon dioxide build up in his blood stream, slowly poisoning him. What the fuck was he doing here? The ocean continued to rush past his head. He’d blocked out the sound of the sled and was concentrating on his own reflexes. Keeping his heart rate low. He squinted again. A ridge, some rocks. The excitement of seeing his quarry stole the last molecule of oxygen in his lungs. His chest convulsed. The uncontrollable urge to breathe took over his every fiber. His lungs were on fire. If he just opened his mouth, it would be over. The water would quench the flames.

  Kelly hit the bottom. He lost his grip on the sled and rolled off onto his back, but the weight belt held him to the sea floor. He looked around at his upside down world. It was virtually pitch black. Where was it? What was it? How the fuck was he supposed to see it? His chest hurt. He screwed his eyes up. Calm yourself, Kelly, he thought. Find it.

  He opened his eyes and flipped onto his stomach. He was on some kind of underwater atoll. The faint outline of peaks and troughs was everywhere—an underwater mountain system. Where the fuck in the world had they dragged him?

  There was no way he was going to find anything down here. He had to go back. He kicked with both legs like a dolphin, propelling himself forward. Then he caught something in his peripheral vision. It was silvery, round, and jelly-like. He glided toward it. It was leaking some kind of liquid. Inside its translucent form, he could see ... light, a bluish-green light. Was it alive? Was it a medusa of some kind? No, he’d seen thousands; it wasn’t a medusa. He coughed. Tiny bubbles escaped his mouth. Shit, his heart cramped. Fuck it. He grabbed the gelatinous orb in one arm and pulled the cord attached to his gear with the other. A mass of foam surrounded him as the inflatable burst into life. The yellow scarf lifted from his chest and formed two balloons above his shoulders. Kelly pulled at his weight belt. It fell from his waist and sank to the atolls below. Now, he was rushing to the surface. Kelly tried to let a constant stream of used breath escape through his lips as he ascended, but there was hardly anything to release.

  The light above him suddenly darkened. Kelly looked up to see the outline of the winch. It was in the water and plummeting toward him. He flicked his monofin desperately to maneuver out of the way. The winch slid silently past him into the darkness, a trail of bubbles behind it. Where the fuck was Victoria? What the hell was going on? The inflatable pulled him upward still. But the light was dimming. It was cold, very cold. Kelly closed his eyes.

  Darkness. Peace.

  Water rushed into his lungs. I’m coming home, he thought.

  Location: Los Angeles, California, USA

  Jerry sat nervously on his stool. He occasionally swigged from his now warm beer, but very little liquid actually entered his mouth. The club was beginning to fill; packs of testosterone-fueled men in their mid-twenties prowled the room with little on their minds other than the scantily clad, and clearly none-too-bright, platinum-blonde females huddled together like bleating sheep being stalked. Still, they all somehow made him feel safe. Protected in the crowd. It had been an hour. Jerry had stared at his phone, watching the minutes on the clock screensaver pass by. Why hadn’t the man called? What did the man want? To kill him? No, why bring him here? It didn’t make se
nse. Jerry fiddled with his watch again. 8:03 pm. Maybe he should leave? And go where? He shook his head. No, he was safe in here. Jerry shifted on his seat as people shoved and pushed past each other to get to the bar. He squirmed, feeling claustrophobic.

  “Jerry.”

  He froze. His heart leapt into his throat. The voice was behind him—close behind him. It was deep and gruff. He couldn’t move, paralyzed by fear. Shit. He slowly turned his head to face the man.

  “Jerry, you look like shit, man.” It was Craig—a short, skinny man with a pot belly, spectacles thicker than milk bottle bottoms, and a mustard-colored, plaid sports jacket—his work cubicle neighbor.

  “You scared the crap out of me, Craig. What the hell are you doing here?”

  “It’s ladies’ night in here. Perfect prey, know what I’m saying?” The greasy little man wiped his pathetic comb-over across his head in an overly confident sweeping motion. Jerry could feel the bile rise in his throat. It was annoying guys like this who gave techies a bad name and was probably why Jerry couldn’t find a girlfriend.

  “I’m kinda busy here, Craig. I’ll see you at work.”

  “You don’t look busy to me, Jerry. Unless you are waiting for a lady friend—hmmm?” Craig made some kind of vulgar motion with his hips.

  “No, no lady friend. I’m just preoccupied.”

  “Well, I just figured, ‘cause that lady over there just asked me to give you this.” The greasy, little man handed him a small white envelope sealed with a wax heart.

  Jerry sprang from his seat, snatching the envelope, his worried stare darting about the room. “Which woman?”

  Craig waved toward the door. “That one ... oh well, she was there a minute ago. But, to be honest, she wasn’t a looker. Maybe she saw you and didn’t want to come over, huh? Left you a note, hey?”

  “Craig! Just fuck off, will you!”

  “Woah, jeez. Who rattled your cage?”

  “Look, I’m just a bit stressed. I’ll see you around, okay?” Jerry patted his neighbor on the shoulder and limped off into the crowd toward the bathrooms, clasping the envelope to his chest.