5

Concentrating the water stream around the plank they'd found, they turned up more wood, all equally rotted, crumbling at the lightest touch. But no treasure chest, no coins or jewels. Just sand, sand, sand.

With their tanks getting low and the light fading, Tom pointed to the surface. They were done for the day. Jack couldn't say he was sorry. He was tired and he was bored. He realized what he liked most about diving was the sea life. None of that here. He couldn't wait to get back to the surface.

But before he did…

Instead of hanging on the line with Tom for a decompression stop, he propelled himself to the rim of the sand hole and glided over the crest to see how far beyond the blight had spread.

He stopped and floated, gaping. Color… movement… life. He felt like Dorothy opening the door to Oz:

The area all around the sand hole teemed with darting, vibrant-hued fish, waving vegetation, and pastels of living coral. The die-off appeared to be confined to their sand hole. Whatever had killed all the sea life there hadn't advanced beyond it. Since coral predators and pollutants wouldn't have stopped at the lip of the hole, that removed them from the equation.

Something confined to the hole had killed off—and was continuing to kill off—all the sea life in its immediate vicinity.

And the only thing in the hole that wasn't anywhere else on the reef was probably the Sombra.


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