7G

by Debbie Kump

  The water level inched upward, compressing her MK-12 Escape Suit tightly against her thighs and augmenting the seeping chill that already pervaded her body, drenched from the leak. Through chattering teeth, Alyssa’s breaths came out short and shallow. Panicked. Breathe. Just breathe, she coached herself. It was imperative she stop hyperventilating if she were to survive the ascent.

  Alyssa forced herself to focus on the details from the training tower where she tested a similar escape suit. But her brain felt fuzzy–perhaps a natural side effect from witnessing so much death.

  I feel like I’m never going to see you again. Her mother’s somber words echoed in her head as the water level rose past her neck, clutching her throat in its chilling grip. She desperately tried to ignore the numbness in her appendages, the weight of the water squeezing every inch of her body. She gasped in pain, as if a boa constrictor wrapped her tightly in its coils, taking advantage of every exhalation to tighten its grip further, slowly wringing the life from her.

  Alyssa bit her lip, keeping the tears at bay. She assured her mother she’d return safely; she couldn’t fall back on that promise now, not when she was so close to escaping. So what else had she learned during training? Something about screaming to prevent one’s lungs from being crushed by the intense pressure at excessive depths? Between the dizzying atrocities she witnessed on board and the water gushing against her helmet’s face shield, it was hard to remember clearly. Alyssa’s head pounded as she strained to keep it upright against the deafening roar of water pouring in from the outside.

  She did recall reading about escaping submariners shouting, “I FEEL FINE!” And how expelling forceful breaths would prevent their lungs from collapsing as they ascended the vertical tower of cold, pressurized water. Alyssa heeded this warning and began to scream–though she couldn’t perceive her own voice over the roaring flow of water streaming upon her face shield, rattling every inch of her skull.

  Soon the water level inched above her face, disrupting the deafening spray. Now that her body was squeezed numb and the roar of the pouring water had subsided, Alyssa felt she could refocus her energies once more. Between screams, an eerie sense of calm filled the air of her face shield. She could actually hear her own words repeated again and again, “I FEEL FINE!”

  Though she no longer believed them.

  A few seconds after the water level passed over her head, the top egress hatch suddenly unlatched with a loud click.

  This was it. There was no looking back.

  Mid-scream, the door flew open. Alyssa rocketed upward as the buoyant suit shot her toward the surface. A flurry of bubbles zoomed past her face, obscuring her view of the intense blackness of the deep sea. As her body succumbed to the extreme cold and pressure, it decreased blood flow to her extremities. Alyssa felt her fingertips and toes grow numb, her body hypothermic.

  For long minutes, Alyssa screamed as she ascended, wishing an end to the chilling pain. Eventually, her throat grew raw and hoarse, her voice weary with exhaustion. How much farther to the surface? She glanced upward, but detected no signs of light penetrating to this depth. Probably a few hundred feet to go.

  Alyssa wasn’t sure she would make it in time.

  Images of death flooded her mind, like a dam rupturing after heavy spring rains. Carly Zapelli who she’d known from the beginning of training…her berthmate, Rosemary Dela Cruz…Medical Officer Knolls and his dashed dreams of spending quality time with his kids…the faces of so many crewmembers she’d barely known…

  And Justin.

  Filled with despair, Alyssa’s throat tightened as a new wave of emotion broke upon her.

  Choked with fear, her cries (or lies about feeling fine) transformed into a desperate plea. “I DON’T WANT TO DIE!” she shouted in earnest, praying to God that she would somehow survive this ordeal.

  Minutes passed. Alyssa’s throat burned with each uttered word. Her lungs felt depleted. Yet the water column seemed as black as a moonless night.

  This wasn’t how she had planned to die.

  Drowned. And alone.

  Chapter Thirty

  She was a swimmer, for God’s sake. She could do this.

  Squeezing the tears from her eyes, she willed herself to focus strictly on the ascent. By pressing her arms tightly against her sides, she streamlined her body into a torpedo shape, cutting through the icy, midnight water. She kicked her boots robotically: one, two, one, two.

  In Varsity swim practices, this technique helped her concentrate on the mechanics of her stroke as one arm broke the surface to reach deep below, pulling downward in a serpentine motion. Her cupped hand seized new water, propelling her forward. Then it exited past her hip as the other arm initiated its stroke sequence. The rhythmic ritual allowed her to ignore the fatiguing burn building in her arms and shoulders…and fueled her desire to swim faster than her competitors.

  Closing her eyes, Alyssa suppressed the pain in her heaving chest and resisted the desire to claw at her parched throat. And–with as much strength as she could muster–continued to scream.

  When she dared to open her eyes again, the water appeared lighter, as if a few faint rays of light had permeated its depths. Alyssa’s mood similarly brightened. She was getting closer. C’mon, Alyssa, you can do this. You promised Mom, she repeated in her mind as she persisted upward.

  Her screams of desperation ached inside her parched throat with every uttered word, her voice no more than a forced whisper. Her eyes fluttered upward again, hopeful for some clue as to the distance remaining. Alyssa’s heart beat rapidly as she spotted flickers of moonlight dancing upon the ocean waves above.

  Light! How many long months had passed since she’d last seen natural light? Losing track of the normal passage of time in her underwater world of perpetual artificial light and 18-hour days, Alyssa had longed for the warmth of the sun’s rays to beat upon face. A chance to bask in the sun’s bright beams or gaze upon the moon’s glow on a cloudless night.

  She couldn’t give up now.

  A wide smile formed upon her face. One that quickly disappeared as panic engulfed her…

  Suddenly, she couldn’t breathe.

  Alyssa gasped for air, but found none in her depleted oxygen supply. So the Siren must’ve sunk below 600 feet when the top egress opened, she figured. It was the only explanation for her Submarine Escape Immersion Equipment failing her now.

  Filling her mouth with the illusion of a breath, Alyssa puffed out her cheeks and clamped her lips shut. Her head spun, dizzy from lack of oxygen.

  Alyssa realized this was The End. She wasn’t going to survive.

  How ironic for her to perish within sight of the surface.

  “Almost. There,” her voice croaked as she frantically clawed the water, exhausting the remains of her energy in a burst of powerful kicks. Her arms reached for the air. Her legs fought the resistance of the suit’s folds of fabric as her feet battled the weight of the attached boots. Her lungs burned like wildfires scorching the drought-stricken wilderness of her searing throat.

  With one last desperate stroke, Alyssa achieved the impossible. Her head broke the surface, amidst churning wave crests. Alyssa ripped off the face shield and breathing apparatus, choking as fresh air entered her oxygen-deficient lungs. She treaded water momentarily to tug the ripcord from the outer compartment of her suit. Instantly, a gas-inflated life raft ballooned beneath her. Fighting exhaustion, she bobbed with the rise and fall of the sea. The homing beacon automatically activated, blinking bright yellow against the inky sea to alert others to her presence.

  Alyssa reclined against the inflated side of the raft while ghostly whitecaps rocked her back and forth. She reminded herself to stay vigilant. She flexed her fingers and toes, hoping to return the flow of blood to her extremities.

  It wasn’t over yet.

  Subconsciously, her thoughts returned to her training. The survival techniques she’d learned but never expected to ever use. The physical agony and mental anguish she’d en
dured, preparing her for this moment. The camaraderie engrained in the masses to work together as a single unit.

  Her unit she’d left behind–dead in the deep.

  Images of crewmates’ faces whipped through her mind at an incredible rate. The overwhelming pangs of loss sent her brain cartwheeling out of control. Alyssa bit her lip, hugging herself as her body shook with convulsive tears. She clutched her throat, gasping for a decent breath. She squeezed her fingers, unable to gain sensation. And she cried and cried until no tears remained.

  Utterly exhausted, she collapsed in the raft. The world around her soon faded into blackness like the abysmal depths of water from which she had just escaped.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  South Miami, Florida

  What’s the point in continuing? Erik Weber mused as he drove south, through one ghost town after another.

  Honestly. Everyone he knew and loved is gone. So why not him, too?

  Erik drove on, his senses dull and unresponsive. There was nothing left to live for. He could literally drive this car (stolen car, his conscience reminded him) straight off a bridge and no one would ever know. Or care.

  But then an image of Rachael flashed through his muddled mind. Memories of happier times broke through the shadowy cloud of despair, filling his soul. He envisioned the animated and vivacious face of the girl he fell in love with. The endearing smile she saved especially for him. The smell of her hair when he held her close. The warmth of her hand entwined with his.

  Erik released a heavy sigh. He could never apologize for the misunderstanding about her cousin, Jamie. Never. And he could go mad dwelling on that fact for the remainder of his days, however short and pathetic they might be.

  Rachael was gone. Kristen, his parents, and Lucas, too. And there was nothing he could do to bring them back. Erik’s heart felt hollow and empty, brimming with despair.

  But you’re not dead. Not yet, at least.

  True, the thought of taking his own life tempted Erik. It would bring an end to the heartache. And a chance to reunite with his lost ones once more.

  Only Rachael would never forgive you.

  Erik nodded. She sacrificed her life to save his, hadn’t she? Granted, she might not have consciously made that sacrifice, but it’d happened nonetheless. The only way he could honor her memory now, was to move on. Forge a new existence out of nothing.

  An urgent sense of responsibility lifted his spirits. He wasn’t sure how he’d do it, but somehow he’d persist. He owed her that much. He owed all of them that much.

  Turning off the highway, Erik meandered aimlessly down one street after another, eventually finding himself on a residential boulevard lined with tall palm trees. His eyes bulged as he gazed upon the luxury homes with freshly manicured lawns, white stucco exteriors and red tile roofs. Each had expensive cars parked in their three-car garages, in-ground swimming pools, and boats docked along private canal slips in the backyards. Probably all vacant now, he thought grimly.

  He’d always dreamed of living in a place like this someday, like his parents’ friends, the Goldmans. The Goldmans had owned a gorgeous home on Biscayne Bay in the upscale community of Gables by the Sea. Erik had spent most childhood weekends there, swimming in their pool and sailing on their private yacht, the Golden Sunrise. They sold the place during the housing boom and made a small fortune. Then they moved into a classy townhouse and bought a new boat to store at a slip in Miami.

  Erik had loved that old yacht. He remembered sitting in the bow of the Golden Sunrise with Kristen, eating tuna fish sandwiches and sugar cookies as they dangled their bare feet over the side, the sea spray tickling their toes. But over the years, those family outings became more and more infrequent. Erik and Kristen often made excuses to hang out with friends instead of joining their parents and the Goldmans for an afternoon at sea. As a teenager, Erik found it frustrating to leave the speed of his travel to the whim of the wind. In fact, he’d only been out on their new boat, the Golden Sunset, a couple of times.

  Yet his parents begged him to come back once this semester. He’d even considered inviting Rachael; she would’ve loved getting away from campus to spend a few hours out on the water. Only he’d hesitated in making such a big step prematurely. Almost as if the simple act of meeting his parents would bump their relationship up a notch from “casual” to “serious.” And he didn’t want to risk losing her over that.

  Except now you’ve lost her altogether. Without ever having the chance to…

  Suddenly Erik slammed on the brakes. The Porsche skidded to a halt. In an instant, he knew what he must do. Turning the car around he sped up the street, back toward Miami. For the first time since this nightmare began, he was certain of the future.

  If he could get out of the city in time.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Three miles off the coast of Miami

  The rocking of the lifeboat woke Alyssa Kensington. Not a soothing lullaby sort of awakening, but a jolt into her hellish reality of being stranded. Alone. In the middle of God-knows-where.

  Somehow, against the odds, she had survived. How and why, she didn’t know.

  She bolted upright. The froth from the whitecaps sprayed her face with its harsh sting, jarring Alyssa to her senses. Wispy clouds streaked the bright sky, like artists’ brushstrokes across a fresh canvas. Squinting, her eyes adjusted to the sunlight while she tried to make sense of the horrors she’d witnessed.

  The Siren’s dead crew and officers. Her friend, Carly Zapelli. Medical Officer Knolls.

  And Justin.

  A single tear rolled down her cheek. Alyssa steeled her resolve, knowing this wasn’t the time for grieving. Her mother would be waiting at home, frantic with worry that Alyssa had also perished in the sunken ship. “I’ve gotta get back,” she told herself in a raspy voice, hoarse from screaming upon her ascent.

  But how?

  All around her was open water. Miles and miles of nothing but blue.

  As she scanned the horizon, hopeful for a sign of land, her eyes rested on the yellow light attached to her suit. It’d been blinking all night. So where was the Coast Guard? Or the airlift medevac? They should’ve been here by now. Surely they couldn’t miss spotting her in this day-glow orange suit and life raft.

  Still, she couldn’t sit around and wait forever. She thought back to the chart of the Florida coast. The chart lying under Justin’s inert body, its corner soaked with blood. His blood.

  Blinking back the tears, she tried to focus on the bathymetric chart itself. She recalled the Gulf Stream hugging the tip of the Florida coast. It could easily push her out of reach of shore.

  If it hadn’t already done so.

  “For the love of God,” Alyssa moaned, staring up at the sky. “How long have I been waiting?”

  Yet the sky lay eerily quiet in the bright morning light. No chopping blades. No sounds of jet engines slicing across the crisp blue, either. And Alyssa had no measure of the time of day or her current location–not without the eye DOTS. So she’d have to rely on visuals, instead. Sun, clouds, and haze over the nearby concrete jungle of Miami. “Face it Alyssa, you’re screwed.”

  She tried to relax and wait, but that was impossible. Her ordeal wasn’t over.

  At least an hour must have passed while Alyssa bobbed on the surface, deliberating over her options. She couldn’t be that far from shore, could she? Had the current dragged her father out to sea? And where was the rescue boat?

  She couldn’t risk waiting any longer. Swallowing hard, Alyssa peered into the distance. West, she thought, judging by the sun’s movement across the sky. Far away, clouds hovered above a low-lying, dark patch of…land.

  Scratch that–make it LAND!

  She squinted again. Between the intense sunbeams shimmering off the surface and her mental exhaustion, she wasn’t certain. But when she wheeled her head around, she found only open water behind her. So it must be.

  She looked back down at her orange suit. Sure, her chances of
survival were increased with the thermal barrier and increased visibility of the MK-12 suit. But the Gulf Stream was a warm current and her muscles would generate heat during exercise. Not to mention, the suit was stinking heavy. She thought back to her struggle to the surface, battling the bulky folds of fabric that billowed in the water as she swam upward. She had to lose it.

  Then could she make it? If she swam for it?

  Alyssa noticed a cord running around the circumference of the raft. She yanked it free of its loops and secured it around her waist. She stripped off the SEIE suit, her work uniform underneath, and her running shoes. Standing in her skivvies, she contemplated her next step. It’s either this or wait some more, she reminded herself.

  But she’d been waiting so long already. “Too long,” Alyssa decided as she tied her gear to the inside of the raft. Then she eased herself into the water and began to swim.

  The first few strokes felt refreshing as she stretched out her sore arms and legs, trying to remember the last time her body sliced through cool water. Or a trail of bubbles streamed against her cheek when she exhaled. The exertion soon warmed her muscles from the inside and returned blood flow to her extremities.

  But the refreshing sensation quickly faded. Alyssa’s arms and legs were not just sore–they were spent. Yesterday’s ordeal of battling the leak and escaping the Siren taxed her body far more than she had originally imagined. Each stroke soon became unbearable, reminding her of Coach Sparks’ infamous “Red Shirt” workouts. Deep red–like the color of death. (Which, Alyssa remembered, was often how she felt after experiencing one.) With his jaw set and an intense look in his narrowed eyes, Coach Sparks would arrive early at Saturday morning swim practice wearing a red shirt flaunting the phrase I’M GONNA K YOUR A.

  And that’s exactly what he’d proceed to do.

  Two hours and six miles later, Alyssa’s arms dragged across the ground as she heaved her limp body out of the pool and staggered to the locker rooms to change. Even his mandatory second breakfast following practice couldn’t cure her aching limbs. Then, after a mere day of rest, she was back at it Monday before school.