Davey Jones's Locker

by Christopher Cummings

  Suddenly Muriel lashed at him with a knife. Instinctively Andrew put up his hand to protect himself. It was the hand that held his torch and her blade slashed across the back of his fingers. He flinched and pulled away, dropping his torch as he did. Blinded by the water and darkness he tried to move away but before he realized what she intended Muriel reached out and tore his facemask off, then snatched the regulator from his mouth.

  CHAPTER 38

  WORST NIGHTMARE

  Andrew reeled back in terror. In his shock he opened his mouth and gasped. Water gushed into his throat and up his nose, even as his stunned mind screamed that this could not be true. ‘This is my worst nightmare!’ he told himself. ‘I will wake up soon.’ But the spasm of coughing and retching that shook him told him it was all too true.

  In his panic-stricken and blurry vision Andrew saw dark shapes tumbling and struggling and the beams of two torches showed as dim bands in the swirling cloud of sediment that was engulfing them. Someone bumped hard against him as he struggled to regain his footing. That sent him tumbling down into the silt. His air tank struck the steel deck hard. More water went up his nose, telling him that he was upside down. Frantic with fear he gripped his nose with one hand and groped behind him with his other arm in a desperate attempt to find his regulator.

  ‘Don’t panic! Don’t panic!’ he screamed mentally at himself.

  His searching arm scooped the regulator hose into the crook of its elbow just as he had been trained to do. Driven by an urgent need to breathe Andrew swung it forward. But by then he had fallen sideways on the muddy deck. He felt slime and mud and then crackling and snapping sensations, as though he was rolling on dry sticks. His appalled mind told him it was his dead grandfather’s bones he was crushing and he whimpered and coughed at the same time.

  Desperately struggling to hold his breath and to keep control of his thoughts he fumbled the regulator into his mouth and purged it. Then it took an effort of willpower to use it to breathe, fearing he would suck in water instead of air. But it was air, blessed air.

  For a couple of seconds he just lay there, half floundering, while he gasped and coughed. His eyes watered and he feared he was going to vomit into the regulator. But he kept his wits about him sufficiently to take a deep breath and to snatch it out just before his stomach heaved. Sour bile choked at the back of his throat and he tasted mud and seawater, but it was done. He quickly replaced the regulator, purged again and took another breath.

  Through all of this his eyes had been frantically trying to work out what the rapidly moving shadows meant. Fearing to be knifed or shot by the speargun he was desperate to be able to see. But without a face mask it was all just a muddy blur. He could make out the dim shape of the doorway with people fighting in it. Then there was an explosion of compressed air bubbles which sent his heart hammering into the top of his sour tasting throat.

  ‘Someone has lost their air!’ he thought. But who?

  Frantically Andrew groped around the deck for his facemask. As he did his hands encountered slime, mud, rotten timber and other, harder objects. The thought of what these might be made his flesh crawl with horror. The only thing he really recognized feeling was a big, lead soled diver’s boot.

  Suddenly things got a whole lot worse. The light went completely. For a few seconds Andrew did not understand what had happened. Then the terrifying truth dawned on him- the door had been closed. Now the panic did surge. Frantic to escape he swam towards where he thought the door was. He was wrong and learned it by slamming hard and painfully against a steel bulkhead.

  The pain from the blow helped steady him and he realized he was sobbing and panting for air, his heart hammering like thunder in his skull. ‘Trapped!’ his mind screamed.

  With an intense effort of willpower he stopped moving and tried to calm his breathing. But terror and panic kept breaking through as he realized he not only did not know which way the door was, but he could not even tell which way was up. At least not until he got water up his nose. Then he had to cough and blow and grip his nostrils with his fingers.

  ‘Slow down! Stop panicking! Get control! Do what you have been taught,’ he told himself.

  Summoning up all his remaining reserves of willpower he forced himself to stop moving and to slow his breathing. That was the hardest because the sound and the bile gave him an intense urge to rip the regulator out and to swim for the surface. But what surface? He was trapped, and in total, absolute darkness such as he had never before experienced.

  But freezing into a trembling, almost rigid pose worked. Andrew settled on the deck and was able to get his breathing under control properly. Then his mind began to grapple with the other problems. ‘I need my face mask, and I need my torch,’ he thought. ‘Then I might be able to locate the door and find a way out.’

  To his intense relief his hands encountered his face mask. That was so comforting that he just lay and shivered for a few seconds before fumbling with it to work out which way it had to go. Then he made himself remember all those training sessions he had hated. He pulled the facemask on and adjusted the fit. Then he lay back and pointed his face in the direction he thought was up and expelled the water. Because he could not see he wasn’t sure if it worked or not but he thought it did as his eyes felt easier.

  For a few more seconds, maybe a minute, Andrew just lay there and trembled with reaction. He also wondered if he was alone. ‘Is Carmen in here with me?’ he thought. Somehow he was sure that Muriel and Doug were not. ‘They have killed Carmen with the speargun and locked me in to drown,’ he thought.

  That was such a terrifying idea that it all but paralysed him for the next few minutes. It was the dark that forced him to move. It became so claustrophobic and depressing that it was unendurable. Just in time Andrew realized that he was on the edge of hysteria and real panic, experiencing a frantic urge to rip off his equipment. Only by biting on the rubber mouth piece could he stop himself screaming. He found he was gasping again and that his heart was thumping as though he had just run up a mountain.

  Once again he calmed himself by an effort of sheer willpower. ‘Find your torch,’ he told himself. It was such an obvious and sensible idea that he wondered why he hadn’t thought of it earlier. But it was easier said than done. It meant crawling slowly across the bottom, feeling with his hands. Knowing what lay near him in the darkness caused him to shudder with revulsion but he made himself do it.

  His hands again encountered the heavy diver’s boot so he shied away from that in the direction he thought the door was. Several squelchy objects caused him some concern, wondering if it was his grandfather’s remains or just rotting packing cases. Then his hands encountered a solid object in the ooze. It was a small rectangular prism about 15 cm long by 7 cm wide. When he tried to pick it up Andrew gasped in surprise. Even though it was only the size of a blackboard duster he could hardly lift it.

  ‘A gold ingot!’ he thought. For a few seconds his spirits lifted with delight at such a discovery. Then he realized with grim irony that he was trapped and the gold, how ever much it was worth, was worthless to him. The idea caused him to give a short grunt of bitter laughter. ‘What use is all the gold in the world if I can’t get out? I need that torch!’

  So he went back to his unpleasant search. More mud and soggy, unidentifiable objects were touched. Then his hands encountered what they sought. The feel of the torch caused him a surge of hope and he sobbed in near hysteria. He had been fearing that the fall might have broken the bulb or somehow damaged the torch but as he picked it up he saw that it was still turned on. The light had not been visible because the torch had sunk into the thick layer of ooze.

  But as Andrew shone the beam around he gave another short, ironic laugh. His movements had stirred up so much sediment that visibility was reduced to less than arms length, and even that was vague and blurry. Through his mind flitted the dive instructor’s story of the divers who went into the torpedo compartment of the sunken submarine and died when their air
ran out before they could find their way back out!

  ‘That will be me, unless I am very careful,’ he thought. With that horrifying thought in mind he remembered to check how much air he had left. By lifting the gauge up as close as he could with the torch beam shining on it he was just able to read it. That gave him another shock. ‘75psi! Already way below the safe level.’ Again the dive instructor’s warning came to him, this time with chilling force.

  Knowing that he had perhaps twenty minutes of air left at most, and then only if he did not squander it in panicky gulps, Andrew began feeling his way across the deck. He was sure it was the deck because he could at least see the direction his air bubbles were rising in. It also gave him a queer satisfaction to note that he had replaced his mask and cleared it almost completely. ‘The training really works!’ he marvelled.

  Once he found a bulkhead Andrew followed it around to the left. ‘I must come to the door,’ he reasoned. He did. It was on the next bulkhead. Seeing the door caused him to sigh with relief and a shiver of released tension rippled through him. The back of the door was set against the rim of the coaming, the raised sill and edges that gave it its strength. These helped by giving him something to hang on to. His questing torch beam and fingers then found what he so eagerly sought- the handle.

  It was one of the long lever type, the same as on the outside. Grasping it firmly and bracing himself he pulled. Nothing happened and a chill of apprehension went through him. He tried again, harder this time. Still no movement! A real spasm of worry checked him and he realized he was panting again.

  ‘Don’t get anxious! Conserve the air,’ he told himself. Then he shook his head. ‘No, no point. If I can’t open this I am done for.’

  So he heaved with all his might- to no avail. The door was obviously locked or jammed on the outside. For a few seconds he was stunned into immobility by the dread implications of that. Then panic began to surge and he tried again, pulling and pushing with all his might.

  Nothing moved. Andrew stopped to get his breath and to allow his hammering heart to ease. He realized he was dizzy. Nausea from apprehension made him think he was going to be sick again.

  ‘Trapped!’ he thought with disbelief. ‘It can’t be true! I am just dreaming this!’ But he knew with a terrifying, sickening certainty that he was not. A check of his air shocked him even more. 60 psi! Only ten or fifteen minutes left.

  That got him trying again. Frantically he pulled, pushed and scrabbled at the door. It did not budge. A close-up search around the rim revealed no sign of any crack or weakness. Trembling with terror at the knowledge of his own approaching death he clung to the handle and whimpered.

  After a couple of minutes his breathing slowed and he began to contemplate his fate. Prayer helped but it was so utterly terrifying and apparently inevitable that he could hardly think straight. In desperation he hammered against the door with the heel of his fists. This was futile as the water cushioned his blows and he lost his grip and slid down.

  ‘I need some tools,’ he thought desperately. That got him down scrabbling in the slime again but he knew he had left the tool satchel outside and his tingling fingers found none. They did however encounter the ossified air hose of his grandfather. That was a ghoulish shock and a reminder of his own probable fate. For a few seconds he tried to imagine what it must have been like for his grandfather.

  ‘His air hose cut by his best friend! What treachery! And trapped, locked in here till he ran out of air.’ It was a truly horrific image. But then it got worse. ‘No, he didn’t have long to die. As soon as his air hose was cut the water would have started to flood in. He must have just had time to realize that he had been betrayed. Then the water would have flooded his helmet and drowned him.’

  Appalled at the grim and bitter thoughts his grandfather must have had in those last minutes Andrew sobbed and trembled. Awareness of his own rapidly approaching end - 55 psi- seven or eight minutes?- caused him to almost dissolve into a gibbering mess. But then another thought came to him. ‘Grandad was down here working. Maybe he had some tools with him?’

  Andrew did not want to go near that ‘thing’ in the decayed canvas and rubber suit but he forced himself. ‘He was my grandad. His ghost won’t mind,’ he told himself, all the while shaking so badly he could hardly keep the rubber mouth piece between his lips.

  Steeling himself for the ghoulish ordeal Andrew followed the air hose across the compartment to the big brass helmet. Bending right down so he could see in the murk he made himself look through the glass front window. Slimy, greenish-white showed and Andrew gibbered at himself knowing that he was looking at his grandfather’s skull- and that his own would look like that after his dissolution!

  Then his hands encountered the suit and what could only be bones. With gasps of nauseous breathing he made himself look. There were no tools. But there was a small, circular, silver object. He picked this up, rubbed the slime off it and brought it close to his facemask. It was a wrist watch. The wrist band had obviously rotted away. Andrew slid the watch into the side pocket of his BCD and resumed his frantic search.

  Another air check. 40 psi. Only minutes to go! Now it was getting hard to breathe, to suck enough in with each gasping breath. And then the beam of his torch flickered, dimmed, flickered again, and went out!

  Absolute, total blackness enfolded Andrew. It was the darkness off the grave and now the panic did surge. A frantic need to escape gripped him, at the same time as irrational urges to rip off the facemask, breathing gear and BCD. His fingers clawed at his equipment and he began to cough and splutter.

  But a tiny part of his terrified brain was still working and it calmed him. ‘Stop this!’ he chided himself. ‘Grandad is here and his spirit will be watching! (Could a soul- or a spirit- or whatever- escape through steel bulkheads, or was it doomed to be trapped too?).’ The thought that his grandfather’s ghost might be with him both terrified and reassured him. ‘You are going to die- so at least die like a man!’ Andrew told himself.

  With another huge effort of willpower Andrew composed himself. He followed the air hose back to the door, groping for it in the dark. Then he settled there and waited. ‘Won’t be long. I must have only a few more minute’s worth of air,’ he thought.

  Through his mind ran a stream of regrets- sadness when he thought of his parent’s grief; regret that he had never really lived, that he was leaving a life he enjoyed so much and was so looking forward too. ‘Now I will never get to make love to Letitia- or any other girl,’ he reflected. ‘I will have no grandchildren of my own.’

  Light!

  A dim, hazy blur of light!

  It was right near him. A second source of light joined it, stabbing into the murk. ‘A torch beam!’ his dazed mind noted. Then it struck him- the door had been opened!

  But by whom? Was it Carmen come to rescue him, or Doug come to make sure he was dead?'

  ‘Doesn’t matter! I’ve got a chance! I will go down fighting! Quick! While you still have a few breaths left!’ he told himself. With a frantic urgency Andrew finned towards the oval of murkiness. There was a diver there but Andrew just pushed at the person, desperate to get out. As he did he banged his knee painfully on the door but that only served to spur him on.

  ‘I’m out!’ he thought as his eyes glimpsed the dim outlines of the steps.

  Then one of the ropes wrapped around his legs and he came to a squirming standstill with a jerk. In the gloomy light he saw the other diver swim towards him- and the faint light flashed on a steel blade.

  ‘He’s got a knife! He’s going to kill me!’ Andrew thought in alarm.

  He kicked and struggled to get away but the rope held him. Then the other diver went low and gripped his ankle. Andrew kicked again but the other diver fended him off and he saw that the person wasn’t trying to stab him but was cutting at the rope with the knife. ‘Perhaps it is Carmen?’ he wondered.

  It was Muriel. As the rope parted she rose and he saw her face in her torch beam. She
signalled to go up. At that moment Andrew found he was sucking at nothing. He sucked with all his strength but nothing came to his lungs.

  ‘I have run out of air!’ he thought in dismay. To be so close! But then he remembered his training. There in front of him, clipped to Muriel’s BCD, was her alternate air source. He reached out and grabbed it, while at the same time making frantic ‘out of air’ signals.

  To his intense relief she did not fight him off but allowed him to take the alternate regulator. Now seconds counted as he was struggling to hold his breath (“Don’t hold you breath- breathe out,” the instructor had said. But how!). Fearing he would black out Andrew pulled his own regulator from his mouth and inserted the other. A moment’s frantic fumbling and he had pushed the purge button. In desperate need he breathed in.

  ‘Ah! Air!’ Relief flooded through him. But now he felt so weak and dizzy his limbs did not seem to want to move. He felt Muriel grip his BCD straps and then he was lifted up the steps and into the saloon companionway.

  ‘Oh blessed light!’ Even if it was only a murky, pale green. More waving coils of rope threatened to ensnare them but these were pushed aside and Muriel hauled him out through the doorway into the open sea. ‘The open sea!’ he thought thankfully. Never mind the deep, scary blue! What was a shark or two now!

  They began to rise. Andrew realized that Muriel had her arm around the buoy rope and that she was gripping him tightly. Her face was close to his and he could see her eyes now in her facemask. The eyes were wide with horror and distress. It was all very puzzling. Doubt about her motives and what might happen next- about what had been happening outside the strong room while he was trapped inside- came to grip him with apprehension.

  And there was the buoy bobbing just above him on the surface! A few seconds later Andrew’s head broke surface and he gasped with such relief he almost choked. Muriel still gripped him tightly and he realized she was inflating his BCD by her own mouth. That was a relief as he knew he lacked the strength to do any such thing. All he could do was float on the surface, so glad to be alive that he just did not care.