Helpless

Chapter 81

Moonlight danced across the rippling quarry water. Roland was somewhere in the dark woods. Jill was nearby, too. A waterproof duffel bag rested on the quarry bottom, some sixty feet beneath the water. Roland had given Tom his flashlight. Even with the moonlight, Tom needed that light to locate the bag.

“I’m going to have to come up another way,” Tom said. He could hear Roland but didn’t know where he was standing. “The cliff is too steep for me to get back up here. I’m going to have to take the longer way out.”

“That’s fine, Tom,” Roland said. “I’ll watch your light. You just get the job done and come back to the Spot.”

Oh, you bet I will, Tom thought. With a big surprise, too.

Tom looked out over the water. He raised his arms high above his head and took in a deep breath. He kept his clothes on, opting to sacrifice some mobility for the extra layer of warmth. He breathed in four sharp, quick breaths. To build up his final oxygen supply, he gulped the air like a fish breathes on land. With his legs bent, Tom propelled himself off the quarry’s ledge and into the air.

He went into his dive, confident he’d gone out far enough to avoid hitting the railroad ties below.

Tom’s body pierced the water’s surface with barely a back splash. The air was cold, but the water was freezing. At first, Tom was too stunned to swim. The cold felt as if it had stopped his heart. But he was already ten feet deep, and his body had angled to let him dive even deeper. Tom used dolphin kicks to descend. The flashlight’s beam cut through the darkness and offered only a pinhole-sized glimpse into the infinite. He kept close to the quarry’s smooth rock wall as he sank.

In the navy, he could hold his breath longer than most other SEALs. Five minutes was his record. But out of practice he had three, maybe four minutes of surplus oxygen in him at best. To conserve oxygen, his body would soon begin shutting down nonessential functions. Eventually, the essential ones would stop working as well.

Tom’s skin went numb and blood pounded in his ears as the pressure in his head built up. It was coming, Tom thought. That irresistible, desperate need to breathe. It was coming, and a lot sooner than he expected.

Keep pushing…. Don’t give in…. Don’t try to breathe.

Tom kept his body inverted as he sank. His chest was on fire. The tightness in his throat held down the most intense pressure building up in his lungs. He might have given up and surfaced had he not reached the point in the dive where the cliff face jutted out.

Tom guessed that he’d traveled forty feet down. Perhaps as deep as fifty. Ten or so to go. Tom’s mouth began to open. Water seeped inside. Stale tasting. Frozen. Terrifying to take in. He tried to close his mouth tight. But he couldn’t control his own muscles. He was losing consciousness, too. He couldn’t resist the urge to open his mouth even more. It was ready to take in water for air.

Tom tried to find the belief in himself. The will to complete the mission. The belief he needed to survive. But the pain in his chest, his throat—that constricting, all-consuming agony—only intensified. Water continued to penetrate his mouth. Water that he lacked the strength to expel.

Just a few more kicks…

He reached with his hand. His vision went dark. But he could still feel the flashlight in his grip. More important, his other hand felt the ledge. He’d discovered the little underwater alcove as a high school kid who loved to challenge anybody to try and dive deeper than he could.

I’m blacking out…. Hurry….

Tom maneuvered his body under the ledge and felt about the alcove in the darkness. He touched something made of fabric. It brought him back. He gripped the slick duffel bag. The bag bunched up enough so that Tom could grab hold. He pulled, but the bag was stuck on something and wouldn’t budge. He pulled again.

Breathe. That was all his brain wanted him to do. Breathe.

Tom opened his mouth wider. Water began to fill his lungs. He pulled once more. The duffel bag, which he’d last seen fifteen years ago, slid out from underneath the ledge. But the bag was heavy with the extra weights Tom had added. It dragged Tom deeper into the abyss. He kicked. He kicked with every bit of his remaining strength.

Tom imagined himself as a young man again. Going up, this time with the drugs. Not headed down. Doing what he should have done years ago. Kicking against the past. Using the power of his youthful muscles and strong lungs to make things right again. And he kept on kicking. Even though he knew he wasn’t going to make it back to the surface.

Tom had no idea how deep under he was when the darkness about him turned to light. His eyes fell upon the most beautiful bright white light he’d ever seen. So intense and spectral that he thought it truly divine. Spiritual. It was warming, too. It pleaded for him. The light summoned him to it like a calling.

And Tom went. He sped toward that light, weightless and swift. He felt full of breath and life. He couldn’t tell if he was going up or down. He couldn’t feel anything but desire and peace.

His head broke the water’s surface. Tom felt cold air hit his face like a thousand tiny needles puncturing his skin. Water jetted from his lungs. He took in a deep, life-restoring breath. He felt the slimy slickness of the duffel bag still in his grasp. Tom gazed up at that beautiful white light.

He marveled at the moon.