Boone turned back to Emily, who stood and secured the whiteboard to the back of the flybridge ladder, facing the little audience of two. The map of the site was surprisingly by-the-book, and without the usual riot of color from multiple dry-erase markers. Boone raised an eyebrow at her. Em pretended not to see it and he shrugged and tapped a space near the top of the dive plan.
“From Foyer, we’ll proceed to the main opening of The Devil’s Throat. It might take me a moment to find it; sometimes the sand gets shifted up against the walls and can obscure the little entrance. Unlike the famous Cathedral chamber to the south, the Throat is pretty cozy, so watch your buoyancy. We don’t want you doing a steel drum solo with your tanks on the ceiling… well, aluminum drum solo, I guess it would be. And careful you don’t kick up sand from the bottom. It’s dark enough down there without blasting the person behind you with a sandstorm.”
“How dark is it?” Lyra asked.
“Plenty dark once we’ve gone a ways into it. You’ll want your dive light on when we enter. And you both have spares?”
Lyra nodded. “Yes.”
“I’m surprised Nicholas didn’t insist on spares for the spares,” Calypso muttered.
“It’s not pitch black, though,” Emily interjected. “There are a few mini swim-throughs here and there that let in light from the outside. Still… it is kinda spooky, yeah?”
Calypso threw her a glance, then returned her gaze to Boone as he continued.
“Since it’s just the four of us, let’s keep it simple. I’ll lead, Lyra you’re next, then Callie. Emily will bring up the rear.”
“Insert buttocks joke here,” Em deadpanned. Yep… there’s the eyeroll from Callie, right on cue, she thought.
“The Throat itself is a sixty-foot-long tunnel, pitched down at a forty-five-degree angle. You’ll be falling into the darkness much of the time. When we get to the bottom, you’ll see open water. The exit is at 135 feet and you’ll pop out of the wall at a sheer drop off, so deep you won’t see the bottom.”
Lyra squealed and clapped her hands together, a mix of fear and delight.
“You got that right,” Em said with enthusiasm. “That view is Dench!”
Lyra looked confused. “What is that word?”
“More colorful slang,” Calypso muttered.
Boone laughed. “She means like the actress Judi Dench. You know… something badass.”
“Oh, I like her,” Lyra said. Calypso sighed and checked her dive watch.
“Okay, once you exit the cave, don’t go swimming into the blue. The currents around Punta Sur can be very strong, so while it’s calm up here, no telling what it’ll be down there. The channel can produce strong upwelling or downwelling currents, so hug the wall and I’ll assess the current and how much air you both have. If conditions are good, I will take us south, to the left, and we’ll come back shallow through the Cathedral. If you’ve heard about a cool-looking cross in there, sorry, but Hurricane Wilma took it out long ago. But it’s a beautiful swim-through, much less claustrophobic than Devil’s Throat.”
“And if we are low on air, or the current is too strong?” Lyra asked.
“Then I’ll take us north instead and we’ll make our way up to about eighty feet. You’re both excellent with your air consumption, so the current would most likely be the reason we have to go that way. We’ll then enjoy the scenery as we make our way along the top of the wall toward Colombia Deep. I’ll send up the safety sausage and Ricardo will stand by to pick us up. We’ll drift at a five-minute safety stop if air allows. The Throat exit is technically below recreational depth limits, so a little extra beyond the usual three minutes is a good idea. Questions?”
Calypso raised her hand.
“Yes, Callie?”
She pointed at the whiteboard. “I don’t see any scribbles of mermaids or sea unicorns. I feel cheated. Surprised you didn’t draw a little devil on there for us, Emily… given the name of the dive and all.”
Emily had counted on this exchange and she smiled sweetly. “Oh, sorry.” She unclipped the whiteboard from the ladder, flipped it, and reattached it.
Lyra burst into laughter. On the whiteboard was a surprisingly passable likeness of Calypso in full scuba gear, blowing bubbles… but with her sun hat on. Its broad brim was extended to near-comical proportions, flapping in the water, and from the school of eagle rays around her it was clear what Emily was going for. The rays had their wings in similar motion to that of the hat’s brim.
Emily tapped the Callie-Ray with the dry-erase marker in her hand. “Yeah, so… Lyra… you may see one of these on the way up, but they can be quite standoffish, so don’t approach too closely.” She bounced the marker against her lower lip, then uncapped it and added angry eyebrows. Lyra laughed harder.
Emily wasn’t sure what reaction she would get from the younger sister, and frankly she didn’t care. But Callie surprised her. The sullen sister’s face cracked a smile that looked somewhat authentic.
“Nice one,” she offered. Her smile faded to her default expression, but she added, “You’re all right.”
“Oh, far from it,” Em said, capping the pen. “I’m positively barmy. Was nicknamed Emiloony in middle school. Surprised no one’s locked me up, yet.”
“Lucky for me, the men in the white coats haven’t caught up with you,” Boone said. “If you can keep the madness at bay, head up top and take over the wheel and send Ricardo to the bow.”
“You’re not the boss of me!” Em sang, scrambling up the ladder. “Ricardo, you’re up!”
Boone nodded to Ricardo as the Cozumeleño passed by him, stepping up on the gunwale and making his way forward. Boone gathered the upper part of his wetsuit that dangled from his waist and slid into it with practiced ease. “Lyra, Callie… gear up while we put the Lunasea above the Throat.”
Callie stood in front of her gear and turned on her air. Boone saw that Lyra had already Velcro’d herself into her bc harness and was reaching back over her shoulder, trying to find her valve. Boone leaned over and twisted it on.
“Thank you, Boone.” Lyra raised the integrated computer on its hose and looked at the screen. “It says I have 3200 psi… wait… 3100…” She held it out to him.
Boone took the computer. The readout was at 3100 but after a second it flickered back to 3200. “Tanks sometimes lose some pressure during the boat ride. I’m betting you’re right on the line of about 3150 and it’s just bouncing around. You’ve got plenty. You’re very good with your breathing.”
“You’ve been watching me,” she stated, a curl at the corner of her full lips.
“I wouldn’t be a good divemaster if I didn’t.”
She grabbed his arm. “You will protect me down there?”
Boone didn’t think the question had any true anxiety in it, and this was probably more of her flirtation. But that line of thinking wasn’t professional; claustrophobia could take hold of some people on this dive. He placed his hand on hers. “You’ll do great. I’ll be right in front of you, guiding the group. You need me, tug my fin. But ya know what?”
“What?”
“You won’t need to do that… ’cause you’ll be too busy experiencing a once-in-a-lifetime dive. Breathe easy, gentle kicks. The angle of the tunnel will practically let you fall. You’ll just be gliding through a coral tunnel. Sit back and enjoy the ride.”
“Yes…”
Boone suddenly realized he was circling the pad of his thumb on the back of her hand. It was something he sometimes did when talking someone down from a panic attack or a bout of seasickness—he must have unconsciously started the motion. He quickly withdrew his hand.
Lyra blinked, then smiled, pearly whites flashing. “Thank you.”
“Uh… sure… no prob.” Boone scrambled for the flybridge ladder. “Em? How we doing?”
“Ricardo’s on the scent!”
<
br /> Boone joined her at the wheel and looked over the dash at the bow. Ricardo was crouching on the starboard side as they moved slowly south. After a moment, he chopped his hand to starboard and Em turned the wheel, stopping when Ricardo held his palm up. He stood, pointing just off the starboard bow.
“Right down there!” He scrambled around the side to head up and take the wheel.
Boone descended to the deck. “All right! Here we go!”
Emily descended last, dropping toward the sandy bottom above and behind Calypso. Far below, she could make out Boone near the coral outcrops that framed the entrance to The Foyer. Lyra was nearly to the bottom herself, angling toward him. Emily gently emptied her lungs to speed her descent, pausing to pinch her nose and equalize her ears. Boone was able to effortlessly equalize with just a movement of his jaw, a skill Em was envious of. She could do it with some difficulty, but the nose pinch was far easier for her.
Boone raised his mask to her and lifted his hand in an interrogative “ok” sign. She flashed the gesture back to him, and he switched his attention to Lyra and Calypso in turn. When everyone was gathered around him, he turned and finned toward the coral. Finding the entrance to The Foyer, he dropped inside. Lyra followed. Calypso hesitated, looking back at Emily. Em raised her fingers to flash a signal to Callie, but the young woman had already turned away and was following Lyra into the opening.
Emily gently kicked and angled herself down the swim-through into the sandy chamber. A vast school of big-eyed, silvery fish flashed in the dappled light. Glassy sweepers, Em noted. The Devil’s Throat dive wasn’t about spotting marine life, but this gathering was impressive. The scintillating school parted for the divers and re-formed in a far corner of The Foyer.
Boone was near the back wall, his dive light in hand, scanning the edge of the chamber. Turning back, he gestured to the group, then circled the beam of his light on a chute in the sand that dropped into darkness. A final “ok” sign was offered up and everyone responded in the affirmative. Reaching down to the sand, he took a small handful and tossed it into a little cloud, then waggled his finger: No, no. He then brought up his index and middle fingers and wiggled them up and down aggressively, miming someone kicking too hard. He shook his head. Then he “kicked” his fingers gently and nodded in the affirmative.
Lyra smiled around her regulator, nodding back before taking her dive light from a pocket and turning it on. Callie took hers out too. Boone turned, rose slightly, then tilted his body forward and dropped into the hole. After a moment, Lyra followed.
Em watched Lyra’s long legs drop from sight and moved toward the entry point, preparing to follow Calypso. It was then that the younger sister turned, scribbling on an underwater slate that was clipped to her bcd. Emily floated closer as Calypso held it up to face her.
I changed my mind. Sorry. Let’s go over the top and wait for them.
Em stared at her. You have got to be… no, no… if she’s scared, she’s scared. A sudden onset of fear or anxiety… no one was immune. Emily herself had been struggling with occasional bouts ever since her harrowing ordeal on the slopes of Saba’s Mount Scenery during Hurricane Irma. And Boone, too, had had a panic attack last year that might have been tied to an underwater incident he’d experienced. Emily had been taking weekly online therapy sessions with a woman she had been fortunate to find during her time in Belize and it had helped immensely.
Although Callie didn’t strike me as the wilting flower type. But maybe her ill-mannered demeanor is all an act. All things considered, though, it sure would’ve been nice if she had gotten cold feet before Boone and Lyra had dropped down the Throat. Signaling them to come back was an option, but they’d have the difficult task of turning around in there, which was a surefire way to end up with a whiteout of sand. The actual transit of Devil’s Throat didn’t take all that long. Better to swing up and over. She could follow his bubbles and find one of the smaller tunnels and tubes that cut into the Throat in a few places, then flash her light down there to let him know she and Callie were outside and okay. And worst case, she could signal Boone as he came out.
Em held up an “ok” sign and gestured for Callie to follow as she finned back toward The Foyer’s skylight.
Despite having dived Devil’s Throat numerous times, Boone felt a surge of adrenaline as he dropped into the inky gloom. He had turned his dive light down to its lower setting, so Lyra and Callie could enjoy the atmosphere of the swim-through, which was much of the reason this experience was so memorable. He glanced back and saw Lyra’s light sweeping around, throwing shadows as its beam came into contact with uneven surfaces inside the tunnel. Along the roof of the swim-through, a glittering trail of bubbles led back the way they’d come. Callie must’ve gotten a slow start, as he couldn’t make out a light further back. Em will have her well in hand, he thought. He looked forward again, taking a moment to cover the beam of his light with his palm. A dim glow came down from above and to the right, one of several smaller openings that pierced the Throat in places. Ahead and far below… dark as pitch.
Boone allowed himself to fall into the shadows, a touch of negative buoyancy allowing him to move down the sloping tunnel with only an occasional kick. The walls were close and the sound of his breathing—both the intake through the regulator and the expelled bubbles—seemed amplified in the closeness. The rhythmic sounds were interrupted by a dull, metallic clang from behind and above. Lyra probably hit her tank against the roof. Happens to the best of us. Reaching out to gently apply a two-finger hold to a nearby ridge of dead coral, he came to a halt and twisted his torso in the claustrophobic passageway to look back up the way he’d come. There was a slight bend in the tunnel as it angled toward him and he could just see the beam of Lyra’s dive light—but there was something off about it. It was illuminating the ceiling of the Throat, the circle of light moving slightly side-to-side. But it’s not getting any closer.
Boone quickly turned his dive light to its higher setting and contorted himself around in the Throat, careful not to kick up too much sand. He finned back up in three carefully controlled kicks. As he reached the bend, the first thing he spotted was the tip of Lyra’s fin. Kicking harder, he ascended into line with her and his heart rose into his throat.
Lyra was lying motionless against the side of The Devil’s Throat. Her dive light floated in the water column, attached to her wrist by its lanyard, spotlighting the ceiling above the opposite wall. Her raven hair, tied back in a ponytail, fanned out above her, black tendrils moving in the water like a gorgonian. Her mask lay facedown in the light sand of the tunnel floor. Fainted? Or something worse? Boone settled beside her as best he could—the tunnel was probably no more than four feet across at that point. He could see that the mouthpiece of the second stage of her regulator, the primary breathing apparatus, was in her mouth. Good. Boone let go of his dive light, letting it float on its own lanyard as he reached a hand behind her head and tipped her chin up, using his other hand to ensure her mouthpiece stayed in place. Her eyes were closed. He gently shook her. No response. It was at that moment that Boone noticed something else. No bubbles! Lyra’s integrated computer lay on the bottom beside her and he clawed for it, scanning the readout. 2200 psi? That’s better than what I have in my own tank! Unless… He tilted her to the side and grabbed the manual inflator for the air bladder in her bcd. Buoyancy control devices were basically a human version of a fish’s swim bladder. Connected to the tank along with the primary and secondary stages of the regulator, you could add air to the bcd to add buoyancy. Boone thumbed the inflator. Nothing happened. The tank was empty.
In a rush, Boone yanked the yellow-hosed octopus loose from where it was attached at his side and brought it to her face. The octo, or second stage regulator, was a backup air source, feeding off of the same tank. Taking a calming breath of his own, he positioned the octopus as close to her mouth as possible, then pulled her regulator free and inserted the mouthpiece betwee
n her lips, praying she didn’t take in much water. Rolling her slightly to the side, he tilted her head back to open the airway.
Come on, come on… Blackouts in the water could lead to laryngospasm, an automatic response where the body closed the airway to keep water out. He was fairly sure that the tank had only just run dry. The sound of the tank banging the ceiling might have been the moment she realized she wasn’t drawing any breath from the reg. Again, he gently shook her. If she didn’t breathe in the next five seconds, he’d focus on surfacing. Fortunately, as his mental count reached three, he heard a slight intake of breath, followed by a weak cough. Boone watched a welcome cluster of bubbles leave the octopus and flutter to the roof of the swim-through.
Okay… we’re probably two-thirds of the way through the tunnel, but taking her down to 135 is not a good idea. Ditto trying to get her out through one of the side tunnels. I’ve done that before, but it’s tricky enough without carrying an unconscious diver with you. Nope, back the way we came. This strategizing occurred in less than three seconds, and Boone was about to begin the process of turning her around when a new thought entered his mind.
Where are Emily and Calypso?
Emily had reached the top of the coral head that encapsulated The Devil’s Throat and she and Calypso had coasted along, watching the twin streams of bubbles rising from the landscape below. The Throat was not a solid tunnel, and the escaping air from Boone and Lyra found many places to make its way toward the surface.
Em glanced back at Calypso. The woman was glancing to and fro, looking at the fish, any sign of the earlier claustrophobia now absent. Callie looked at her dive watch, then checked her integrated computer. Looking up, she saw Emily watching her and flashed an “ok” sign.
Deep Devil (The Deep Book 4) Page 10