Emotionally Bulletproof--Scott's Story (Book 1)

by David Allen

  The night before, he had talked Laura into going. A local guide had recommended Nimitz Beach, along with a popular wreck nicknamed “the shark pit,” and the WWII memorial there.

  This morning, Scott was taking his uncle’s truck to pick up Laura. He had told her to be ready at 7 AM. Scott had borrowed a mask and snorkels from John, and had a cooler with a packed lunch from Ruth. He was set.

  Scott waved from the little white pickup as he backed out of the driveway.

  “Have fun and be careful. Know your limits in the ocean,” John had warned him as he tossed the rubber flippers in the truck bed.

  “I’ll be fine,” Scott had replied flippantly. Didn’t his uncle know he had just come from the Marshall Islands? He shook his head as he steered the truck away. I know what I’m doing, he thought.

  The night before, his uncle had been a little unsure when Scott asked him what he thought of the snorkeling outing, but once Scott had explained the area and told him how well his foot had healed, John had given him the thumbs up.

  “You’re a man now, Scott. I trust you to know what’s best for you. All the gear’s in my shed.” He handed Scott the key.

  Scott was whistling a merry tune as he pulled up at Charles’s apartment.

  “Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed?” Scott asked, as Laura emerged from the house. She was brushing her dark hair with one hand, while she held her beach bag with the other. A couple of plump mangos poked from the side pocket.

  “I’m on vacation, I’m not supposed to be getting up this early except for work,” Laura complained good-naturedly.

  “The tide doesn’t know you’re on vacation,” Scott said.

  “Want some mango?” Laura sat down next to him.

  “Now that’s worth getting up for.”

  She laughed.

  Twenty minutes later, they arrived at Orate Point, Scott parked the truck and the two strolled along through the old World War II memorial with their beach bags.

  “Look at that pillbox.” Scott pointed at an old concrete bunker. A plaque marked it as a Japanese fortification.

  “Wouldn’t have wanted to be here 40 years ago.” Laura laughed.

  They walked up to Orate Point and looked out across the bay, then strolled back by the war memorial and down the beach toward the Agate Cemetery Wall.

  The waves washed up gently onto the white sand, and rolled smoothly back.

  “Looks like a perfect day for a swim.” Scott surveyed the horizon of the morning ocean.

  A gull flew overhead screeching, and the green jungle contrasted nicely with the white sand. “Lets get behind the cemetery wall, and walk out as far as we can.”

  Scott stopped to explain the plan to an attentive Laura. They were going to walk out along the coral wall as far as they could, then have a pleasant swim across the reef area strewn with old tanks and jeeps, which now had coral and sea fans growing on them.

  “It’s called the shark pit because you’ll occasionally see a reef shark. Just like the guide said, nothing to be afraid of.”

  They found a place where they could stash their bag in some tall jungle grass along the beach. Laura slipped out of her T-shirt and into an attractive bathing suit, then helped Scott get the rubber fins and mask ready.

  “Okay, then.” Scott kicked sand toward Laura and ran up the beach, with her following close behind.

  “Hey Scott, your foot’s going to be okay on the coral?”

  Scott’s feet made little sandy marks ahead of her. His right foot looked white and still she could see the wound’s healing scar.

  “Oh yeah,” Scott said. “See? It’s healing up nicely.” He stopped, then held his foot up for her to see; the wound had closed and a thin layer of new skin covered the scar. “I’ll be wearing flippers, so I won’t be totally barefoot. I’ll be fine.”

  As soon as they reached the end of the spit, Scott dove into the warm water enthusiastically. He surfaced and bounced on the sandy bottom while he pulled his flippers over his feet. Laura already had hers on when Scott glanced sideways to look for her.

  “Let’s go, slowpoke,” she teased.

  That’s it. I’ll show her who’s the slowpoke! Scott thought. He turned and kicked toward her, plowing his face into the water. He was surprised at himself, He didn’t seem to go as fast as he had remembered. And he had to slow before he hardly had started.

  “I was just joking.” Laura had slowed and was waiting for Scott. “I was on my high school swim team, so it’s not really fair.”

  Scott glanced down in the water at her well-toned legs, which moved below the clear water. She was the epitome of fit, and she was very calm and relaxed; definitely not a panicky land lubber. He tried not to pant.

  “I’m not my normal self. I think those days in the hospital and being sick weakened me.” He paused to breathe, treading water, “I used to be able to do stuff like this without even getting winded at all.”

  “We’ll just take it easy, then. There’s no hurry.” Laura smiled.

  Scott nodded and stuck his head down in the water. That’s what I usually would tell the new girls on Ebi, he thought. It was humbling to be on the slow end. They paddled slowly, side by side, until the sand began to drop off a little deeper, and coral and sea grass began to appear. A couple of minutes later, Laura nudged Scott, pointing a hand toward a metal object. An old tank looked up at them from the bottom, its barrel pointed skyward. It was half-buried in the sand, and had little yellow fish darting around it.

  “How’d that get out here?” Laura raised her head from the water.

  Scott was treading water next to her, peering down. “This is what happened...” He felt smart knowing. “When the Americans landed here, they equipped some of their tanks with what they called a ‘skirt,’ which was basically a float that made the tank more buoyant and the tanks had little propellers that drove them to the beach. They didn’t always work, as you can see.”

  As they paddled further, they could see old Jeeps and landing vehicles in various stages of decay, littering the sand and coral. A school of tuna swam below.

  “Those sure are big fish.” Laura pointed. Through the coral, the school of fish parted and a reef shark swam lazily through its middle. Laura reached up and clutched Scott’s wrist. “Shark.”

  “It’s okay.” Scott blew the water out of his tube. “He’s just a little white tip. I saw 8-9 foot reef sharks in the Marshall’s

  all the time, and they never bothered me.”

  Laura calmed and they both resumed snorkeling, watching the shark circle slowly.

  “They really are beautiful.” Scott stuck his head above water. “They usually hunt at night, so it’s kinda unusual to see them during the day like this.”

  They continued to watch the shark until it swam deeper out of sight. Scott lifted his head from the water again. The sound of a boat’s motor caused him to look toward shore. Several speedboats crowded with snorkelers were bouncing out toward them. Scott made out the lettering on the boats as they neared. Paradise Snorkeling was printed on the sides of all three boats.

  “Ahh, here comes that snorkeling charter,” Scott grumbled to Laura. “They’ll scare all the fish away.”

  “I still see fish,” Laura said.

  One of the boats pulled up next to them, and curious faces peered over at them, tourists rubbing themselves with sunscreen. The guide looked down at them as Scott gripped the side of the boat.

  “How’s the snorkeling?” he asked.

  “Just swam out from Agate Point, haven’t seen everything yet.” Scott lifted his snorkel and rubbed his face.

  The guide laughed. “Good man, good man.”

  “We just saw a little reef shark a while ago,” Laura said. “It was so cool.”

  A excited murmur rose from the boat crowded with first time snorkelers.

  “Shark? Oh, that’s way cool,” the guide was saying. He turned to the people in the boat. “Reef sharks aren’t dangerous, we’re very happy when we see them.” He
gave a little lecture on how some sharks weren’t dangerous, and then pulled away after a friendly wave to Scott and Laura. A minute later, the boats begin to spill their snorkelers in little buoy-guided swimmer trains, all wearing life jackets.

  “Let’s paddle out a little further,” Scott said, “so we don’t get mixed up with them, and see what out there.”

  “You’re not tired?” Laura asked. Scott shook his head. “Just checking. I’m good if you are, but not too far out. I don’t want to push my limits.”

  They swam out. The water was clear for close to 100 feet in all directions, so they could see the beautiful coral and

  sand below, along with schools of tuna and other fish. Laura raised her head.

  “Guam sits at the top of the Marianas Trench, the world’s deepest ocean site. It’s kinda like diving the world’s tallest mountain.” She splashed playfully at Scott. “Isn’t it cool out here?”

  I didn’t even know that! Scott thought. This girl knew her stuff.

  “Lets go out a little further. I want to take a look at that brain coral.” Scott pointed, bubbling the words through his snorkel. He kicked ahead of Laura. The giant brain coral fascinated him. He suddenly felt Laura pulling on his flipper. He turned around and raised his head.

  “Shark,” Laura said. “Over there.”

  He put his head into the water and looked. Sure enough, about 50 feet away, a gray reef shark was cruising. Not far behind it, another one swam up from the misty blue to join him. They paid no attention to Scott or Laura. Scott knew from experience that gray reef sharks could be aggressive, but these were off minding their own business, and they didn’t look to be more than five feet long.

  I’ll just swim to that brain coral and we’ll head back, Scott thought. This has been an awesome swim.

  Laura was watching the sharks and Scott was only a couple of feet ahead of her. He dove down, kicking to the large round brain coral. It looked big and smooth, like a big golf ball sitting in the reef. Scott turned and his flipper caught in a piece of fire coral. He twisted his foot with annoyance and kicked for the surface. Halfway up, he noticed a peculiar stinging feeling on his foot. He bit his lip. Somehow his foot twisting had reopened his wound. Through his flipper, he could feel the sting of seawater entering it. He breathed and then looked down at his foot. A small smudge of red lifted from under the blue rubber and disappeared into the water. Scott groaned to himself.

  He lifted his head. Laura was pulling his arm. “Scott, there are more sharks swimming over there.”

  Scott lowered his head down and peered where the first two had been. Now several gray sharks ranging from three to six feet were darting around, chasing fish.

  “We should probably head for shore now,” Scott said, keeping a calm voice. “They’re feeding and I’m getting tired.” He didn’t want to scare Laura.

  “Okay.” Laura looked at Scott. “Let’s go.”

  They turned together and started paddling. We’re out further than I thought, Scott realized. The boats where small on the horizon, probably a good half-football fi eld away.

  Scott felt his foot stinging. He kicked harder. He didn’t want the sharks to smell the blood, because they were already feeding. He hoped they were too far to smell him for a while.

  Scott glanced behind him in the water, He could see several gray reef sharks rising from the blue and darting into the coral. Scott looked ahead in the water. It seemed that the blue water had emptied of fish. Ahead, Scott made out dim shadows. Just little ones, he consoled himself. They swam from his right all the way to his left side until he had to glance sideways to see them. They were circling in closer behind him.

  Laura was swimming extra hard and Scott noticed that he was starting to get tired. They must have been fighting an outgoing tide. The swim out here had been easy in comparison. Suddenly, the sharks seemed to spook and darted away into the blue. Good, they left, Scott thought. But just a moment later his relieved feeling was replaced with increasing anxiety. Two much larger sharks appeared, this time a little closer. Laura was scared, Scott could tell. She pulled him to the surface.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Stay calm,” Scott said, fighting the panic churning inside him. “I think my foot is bleeding, and they smell the blood.”

  The color drained from Laura’s face. “What do we do?”

  Scott’s voice became firm. “Swim ahead of me, Laura. They smell me, not you.” Scott coughed salty water.

  “No,” Laura said defiantly. “I’m staying with you.”

  The sharks were circling closer now. Scott forcefully reached out and pushed Laura with all his strength.

  “Go.” He forced his fiercest voice. “I’ll be right behind you.”

  She looked at him helplessly, realizing she had no choice. She swam ahead of him, a fi n darting past her side.

  Scott swam for all he was worth, and then it happened again: almost instantly, the sharks disappeared. This time Scott didn’t see anything but blue for almost a minute, and when he finally did see a shape, he knew instantly. A huge tiger shark, bigger then the ones Scott was used to seeing in the Marshall Islands, swam in a slow methodical circle around him. It was probably close to 12 feet long. Several other smaller sharks were swimming at a respectful distance behind him.

  Scott continued swimming. He had lost sight of Laura, but he knew she was ahead of him. He watched the shark. It was obviously in hunting mode, swimming ever closer to him. He turned on his back and kicked toward shore as the shark swam behind him. He didn’t want to take his eyes from it.

  The shark was very interested. As soon as Scott started swimming away, it swam closer, hardly more then seven feet away in the water. Its eyes were cold and hungry.

  Suddenly, it lunged toward Scott. Scott felt the icy fingers of fear and horror grip him. But right before he was sure the shark would bite him, it turned away with a quick twist of its head. Then it came back. This time, it was coming for Scott’s foot, guided by his nose. It seized Scott’s blue rubber flipper and tugged on it. Scott felt himself being jerked by the beast. He wildly kicked the shark with his free foot. His head and snorkel were jerked under water, and he inhaled a mouthful of salty water. Suddenly the flipper tore and the shark turned, flipper still in its mouth, attempting to swallow it. It was clear that the shark’s bite had barely missed his toes.

  The shark backed away, not liking being kicked in the head. It hadn’t gotten any meat either, but it hadn’t lost interest. It turned and circled again and a couple of other sharks were swimming closer.

  Scott didn’t notice the screaming engine until it was almost on top of him. The wake rolled him sideways and the shark darted under the boat. Hands were grabbing him and lifting him, dragging him into the boat. Scott flopped onto the floor, choking. Excited tourists surrounded him. Laura was crying in the front of the boat.

  “You okay man? We would have never known if your girlfriend hadn’t screamed so loud.” The guide was patting Scott excitedly. The was the guy from the Paradise Snorkeling boat! Scott felt so relieved, he wasn’t even embarrassed.

  “He didn’t get me, just my fin.” Scott rolled onto his back.

  The guide was pointing over the water. “We saw his fin coming toward you.”

  Scott staggered up and looked over the side. The water was completely empty now, just blue, and rising and falling in gentle swells, without a fin in sight.