Deep Cut

by Nick Sullivan

  “Can I borrow your weight belt?” Boone asked Melissa. She handed it to him, and he quickly stripped off two of the weights, leaving a pair of two-pounders. Strapping it on his waist, he pulled on his fins and hopped into the water beside the ladder. Ducking his mask underwater, he looked down to see Chad approaching a ridge of coral. Raising his head and hooking an arm on the ladder, Boone relaxed his body and cleared his mind, taking slow, deep breaths through his mouth, making each exhalation four times as long as the inhalation to decrease his heart rate. After a minute, he took one final deep breath, feeling his ribs expand as he filled his lungs to capacity. Releasing the ladder, he slipped beneath the waves. A splash nearby signaled the arrival of Emily’s impromptu safety-stop air.

  Back in Bonaire, the Rock Beauty Divers boat had a weighted chain that could be lowered over the side with a regulator on a long hose rigged to a spare tank above. In practice, they only deployed it for deep sites and few divers ever used it. As Boone let himself drift a bit deeper, he saw a pair of reef sharks off to the left, probably at about seventy feet. Chad was inverted, looking under a shelf, no doubt trying to locate his lionfish honey hole. Suddenly, he kicked away from the shelf and oriented himself upright, drawing the spear back, the elastic band pulling taut. The tip darted under the shelf and when Chad withdrew it a sizeable lionfish was impaled on its barbed points, its long pectoral fins and poisonous spines extended to either side. With practiced ease, Chad popped the fish into the tube and lined his spear up for another strike.

  Boone’s eye was drawn to movement. A reef shark banked sharply, heading toward Chad. Kicking his fins, Boone headed down to fifty feet. Chad’s spear struck again, and the reef shark dipped its pectoral fins and snapped its tail, increasing its speed to a sprint. Boone picked up speed as well. In the peripheral vision to his right, two more reef sharks shed their slow, graceful movements for more abrupt shifts in direction, agitated by the death throes of the fish on the spear points.

  Chad pushed the second lionfish into his tube and quickly speared the third, rising from the ledge to head back to the boat. Seeing Boone, he raised the impaled lionfish, showing off his kill. That was when the first reefy struck. With a final burst of speed, it snapped the lionfish right off of the spear, dashing for the blue. One of the other reef sharks peeled off after it, the other continuing to approach Chad. Now, from the left, another reef shark appeared, swimming in erratic half-circles. Boone estimated it to be nearly seven feet long. Realizing that Chad’s tube still held two bleeding lionfish, he jerked a thumbs-up symbol at Chad, pumping it three times. Ascend now! The Californian signaled OK and began to rise.

  Boone knew he probably had only a minute, maybe a minute and a half, before he’d run out of oxygen and begin to gray out. He also knew that a “shallow water blackout” could strike quite suddenly. Kicking hard, he headed to the dangling tank. Looking back, he saw a smaller reefy abruptly turn away as Chad poked his spear at it. Boone reached the air supply and took the regulator in his mouth, breathing in and out several times, doing his best to remain calm even in the current situation. His eyes locked onto the larger reef shark. It wove back and forth, then cut sharply away from Chad. Boone breathed easier and Chad saw the change in direction too, flashing another OK sign as he rose to thirty feet in depth, taking his time now. Ascending too rapidly was a good way to get decompression sickness and win a no-expenses-paid trip to the hyperbaric chamber.

  Then the shark turned back. Boone sucked in a rib-straining lungful of air, pointing at the shark with several jabs of his finger. Chad turned, bringing his spear up in time to arrest its approach. It swung to its left, moving away… then suddenly whipped its head to the right, coming in on Chad’s flank, mouth opening and upper teeth protruding as it snapped its jaws at the lionfish tube dangling against the Californian’s hip. It missed the tube… but found a leg instead.

  Boone inverted and shot toward Chad, his mind already working on a course of action. Contrary to Hollywood creature features, sharks were not mindless eating machines, and the reefy clearly wasn’t expecting the mouthful it had gotten. It broke off from Chad, circling, jaws working as it debated what it had tasted. From the tendril of blood streaming back from the corner of its mouth and the spreading cloud at the Californian’s side, it was clear it had tasted Chad. Reaching the stricken diver in seconds, Boone grabbed the tube with the two speared lionfish inside. In the distance, the seven-foot reef shark turned. Chad had rigged a couple straps to the tube and Boone released the nearest carabiner, his fingers scrambling for the second one as the blunt nose of the reefy rocketed in. Unclipping the second carabiner, he held the tube at arm’s length and swept it to the side, releasing it just as the reef shark clamped the cylinder in its jaws.

  Boone gripped Chad and kicked for the surface, putting his mask to Chad’s own. He was relieved to see there was no panic in his eyes—although that could be the onset of shock. Boone saw the lionfish spear slip from Chad’s fingers and he instinctively shot his hand out, grabbing it before it could sink to the bottom, his thoughts rushing by in a flurry. Grab it! Might need it… aannnnnnd yep, gonna need it. Two smaller sharks coming in. Okay, one’s turning away. Oh, you’re not? Here’s a poke in the nose for you then, Mr. Shark. Good, that worked. How deep are we? Less than twenty, I think. Man, that’s a lot of blood. There’s the boat, fifteen feet, kick for the ladder, oh good, there’s Emily. Plenty of air, don’t black out, don’t black out, don’t—

  When Boone came to, the first thing he saw was… himself. Two of himself.

  “Boone, wake up! Boone!” Emily’s voice came from the dual images of his face and he realized he was looking into her sunglasses. He felt a gentle rocking sensation, and waves lapped at his ears. Suddenly, he sucked in a gulp of air as his body decided he was no longer underwater and it was safe to breathe again.

  “Oh thank God!” Emily was cradling his head above the water with a grip in his hair, one of her legs wrapped around his body, the other leg and arm holding them both against the ladder.

  “Chad?”

  “He’s in the boat. They’re stopping the bleeding.”

  “How long was I…?”

  “About five seconds. You passed out just as you got to the surface. Can you get up the ladder? We’ve got to go now!”

  “Yeah…” His fuzzy thoughts were quickly sharpening, the effects of the shallow water blackout dissipating quickly. Not wanting to bother with his fins, he reached up and grabbed hold of the top rungs, his wiry muscles pulling him up and out of the water. He swung onto the swim platform, stripping off the fins as Emily climbed up the ladder after him. On the deck, two of the New Yorkers were pressing a rapidly reddening towel to the side of Chad’s thigh. The injured diver’s face was very pale.

  Anika jumped down into the cockpit, tossing the pole hook aside as she turned the key, bringing the engines to life. “Emily! Grab my phone on the dash. Dial 911. Faster than the radio to get the paramedics down to the bay. Boone! Ladder!”

  Boone quickly swung up the bottom half of the ladder on its hinge and fastened it in place.

  “Everybody, hang on to something!” Anika yelled.

  The Servant paused to look down at the sea below. A single rock jutted out of the waves, a small amount of greenery on its flattened top. He remembered the map had called it Green Island. Shifting the heavy backpack on his shoulders, he started down the steep slope. Though on an incline, this part was surprisingly flat, the ground covered in short, brownish grass. It almost looked like a Midwestern prairie—if that prairie sat at a forty-five degree angle. Nearing the edge of the cliff, he looked to his right and could make out the tiny landing strip of the Saba airport, perched on a tiny plateau. He had not arrived on this island by air, but he had heard that the take-offs and landings were legendary. Beside him was a wooden sign, painted in faded white-and-green, one arrowed edge pointing the way to what the green lettering spelled out in all caps: SULPHU
R MINE. Stepping off the low grass, he followed a gravel-strewn trail along the edge of the cliffs overhead until the entrance to the mine came into view. It was a small cave opening, the mouth of a tunnel, but hole was the word that came to mind when he looked at it. An oval of black in a canvas of dusty gray.

  He approached the mouth of the mine and shrugged off the backpack. He remembered how low the ceiling was at the opening—backpack would likely scrape the rocks overhead. Walking in a crouch, the Servant entered the mine. The sunlight from outside didn’t reach far and soon he had to stop, setting down the backpack to dig the headlamp out of a pocket. Those he served had blessed him with excellent night vision but in another twenty feet it would be pitch black. Securing the lamp’s band to his head, the Servant noted his hair was already drenched in sweat. The air in here was stifling! Switching on the headlamp, he bent to retrieve the backpack, scraping against the side wall as he did so. The walls were close, such that two men would not be able to walk abreast. At least the ceiling was a little higher here, though he still had to bend slightly, given his height. The headlamp’s beam caught sparkles on the walls and he leaned in, peering at the substance. Grazing two fingertips against the mustard-yellow material, he played his fingers in the light. Sulphur. One of the holy substances those he served brought up from the Great Below. Wiping his hand on his coveralls, he continued deeper into the mine.

  He reached an intersection, the right tunnel plunging down an incline, the left remaining relatively level. Taking the left, he soon came to an iron grating, painted yellow, set into the mouth of a side tunnel. A padlock joined two of the thin bars, sealing shut what passed for a gate. This had been where the Servant had met the smuggler before. Beyond the barrier was a room, several dust-encrusted tools and buckets lying in the corners like historical artifacts. At the back of the room, another tunnel extended as far as the headlamp’s beam could reach.

  “Gunter?” The Servant’s voice echoed off the walls. Nothing. “Gunter, I have your water. And news.” Still nothing. The smuggler had told him that if he didn’t want to be found, the Servant would never find him. Perhaps he’s playing a game with me. Or perhaps, he’s simply somewhere else. Turning away from the gate, he headed deeper into the mine. It was at this point that the heat began to build, seeming to jump thirty degrees in as many feet. The rotten egg smell that had been barely evident before was stronger here. The Servant smiled. And some say this one is extinct. This place… it was ripe, just waiting for his arrival. Clicking off his headlamp, he set down the backpack, carefully straightening until his hair brushed the low ceiling. Reaching out to either side, he pressed the palms of his powerful hands against the walls of the tunnel, feeling the mineral deposits compress under his skin. Standing in the pitch black, breathing slowly in the sweltering reek, the Servant pictured the tunnel ahead burrowing down, down, down into the mountain. His mind sank deeper still. He pictured the magma flowing below, like the blood in the veins of the earth itself, connecting this place of power with many others nearby. Unbidden, he felt a spark of arousal stir within him. Perhaps this time. Perhaps this sacrifice would finally serve to awaken them. But, if not this time… then another… there would always be another cycle.

  “Hey! Come back to the gate!” a heavily accented voice echoed in the darkness. “I vanted to be sure you veren’t followed.”

  Switching on the headlamp, the Servant lifted the backpack and returned the way he had come. When the gate came into view, he slowed his advance. He knew Gunter didn’t trust him. That was only reasonable—he didn’t trust the smuggler, either. Nonetheless, they each had their usefulness to the other. Taking one step at a time, the Servant approached the gate, his headlamp gradually illuminating the space beyond. The tunnel at the back of the little room was just at the limits of the headlamp, but as he took one more step, he could make out a dark shape crouched in the gloom of that tunnel. It was Gunter. And he was armed. It was difficult to tell, but it appeared to be an assault rifle of some kind.

  “Halt! Far enough,” the smuggler said. The Servant caught a glint at the level of the man’s eyes and could just make out a set of night-vision goggles. “Rotate your headlamp to the back of your head. This vill give you enough light und I von’t have to stare into die verdammte thing.”

  The Servant set the backpack down and did as the man asked. Enough light reflected off the walls that he could still make out the metal bars and see a short distance into the room beyond.

  The smuggler coughed, the sound coming from the gloom. “The air. It stinks more some days than others.”

  “I have your water.”

  “Set it by the grating.”

  The Servant extracted the case of two dozen bottles of water, the plastic wrapping enclosing the pallet crackling as he dragged it out. He set it on the ground near the padlock. He tipped the backpack forward, holding it open so Gunter could see inside, then withdrew two plastic grocery bags full of fruit, bread, and a few canned items. “I brought you some additional food. You may be here longer than you thought.”

  “Vat? Vhy? Is there a problem vit the passport?”

  “That’s part of it. The forger needed to outsource to someone with experience in EU passports. He requires another two thousand for this added expense. It will be available tomorrow night at the earliest. I will deliver them the next day, when I am able. And I will expect the remaining $11,000 at that time.”

  “You vill have it. But if I vill have the papers two days from now, das is not so bad. Vhy did you say—”

  “There is a hurricane on the way.”

  “Scheisse. Do they think it vill hit Saba?” He pronounced the island’s name “SAH-buh,” the way many Europeans did.

  “It may. They are still not sure. But there is enough of a chance that the ferries and planes will be full, and the port will be cleared of boats. It may be some time before you can arrange to leave safely.”

  “Vat about you?” the smuggler asked.

  The Servant smiled. “I’m right where I want to be.”

  “He should be fine,” the Saban doctor said to the group in the waiting room of the A. M. Edwards Medical Center. Sighs of relief emanated from everyone assembled. “It was just a test bite. Unfortunately, from the look of it—and from what Boone described—it was a fairly large shark, so there was a lot of blood loss.”

  Lucky shook his head. “It’s crazy! I looked it up.” He held up his smartphone, turning the screen to face the others. “The International Shark Attack File shows only four unprovoked attacks from Caribbean reef sharks in history. Ever. And no deaths.”

  “Well, technically… attacks on spearfishers are considered a provoked attack,” Boone said.

  “Oh…” Lucky said, looking back at his phone.

  “So how many…?” Emily began, looking over Lucky’s shoulder.

  “Twenty-three. Still, not much.”

  “I’ve been working in this hospital for twenty years,” the doctor said. “This is only the second bite I’ve treated. The other was on a fisherman trying to free one from a line. No diver has ever been bitten before.”

  “What about decompression sickness?” Boone asked. “The attack happened at about forty feet. I tried to come up in a controlled manner, but I admit I may have been a bit fuzzy at the end.”

  “I spoke to the technician down at the hyperbaric chamber in Fort Bay. I understand this young lady brought your computers to him?” Emily nodded. “He said neither of you were in the red and the ascent rates seemed reasonable. Neither computer locked you out, he said. As long as there are no DCS symptoms, you both should be fine. Still, pay attention to your body for a while.”

  As the doctor went back to Chad’s room, Anika sat down with a sob, her eyes tearing up. “I shouldn’t have let him do it.”

  “Anika, don’t beat yourself up,” Lucky said. “He’s one of the best lionfish cullers on the island. It was just a fre
ak accident. Hell, I woulda let him do it, if I’d been skippering.”

  Boone placed a gentle hand on Anika’s shoulder. “He’ll be fine, Anika.”

  “And you… You could’ve…”

  “Hey, that was my decision. But if I’d taken the minute or two to suit up with a new tank, I wouldn’t have been there in time. And that blackout was on me, too. I thought I had enough air, but I must’ve exerted myself more than I thought. And you got us back to port lickety-split with paramedics waiting. You saved Chad.”

  “And think of it this way, ’Nika,” Emily said. “Now Chad’s going to have a shark bite scar to show off to all the ladies. You’ve just upped his game!”

  Anika managed a smile. “Is that a good thing?” she asked with a sniffle.

  The following morning, Boone was down in Fort Bay, assisting Lucky with the preparations to bring the Shoal ’Nuff up the boat ramp and into storage in The Bottom. Emily was in the office with Anika, the Dutch girl finishing up the last of the cancellations and reschedulings while Emily pored through weather data.

  “I’m telling you, Sophie is an excellent teacher,” Anika was saying. “The self-defense tricks she’s taught me have really boosted my confidence. Not like I need it here on Saba. There’s probably less crime here than anywhere in the Caribbean. But it’s nice to know if I need to defend myself, I’ll know right away what to do. Come on. Join us!”

  “Well…” Emily thought about it. In hindsight, she might have overreacted a bit when the green-eyed jealousy monster had come a-knockin’. And apparently Sophie was trying to mend fences, suggesting to Anika that she invite Emily along for their Sunday “lunch-and-lessons.” And, truth to tell, watching Boone practice martial arts in Bonaire, Emily had found herself wishing she had some of that skill.

  “Oh, bugger it, okay! I’m in.”

  “Wonderful!” Anika immediately began texting Sophie. “And if you enjoy that, maybe I can get you to join me and the Saba Lace Ladies… I like to do that before going over to Scout’s for Tricia’s Martini Night.”