The Steel Shark

Chapter 38

Joe bounced through the ocean behind the DPV, trying to decide if it would be easier to just die. He’d never been so sick. He didn’t have any way to rinse out his regulator, so his mouth tasted of seawater and vomit every time he took a breath, and it felt like he was getting stabbed in the side every time he took a breath. He’d long since run out of things to throw up, but that didn’t stop the dry heaves.

Worse, he’d left Vivian behind.

But she was efficient. She’d probably already carried out her mission. She was a better navigator and lighter than he was. She’d probably reach the Voyager before he did.

He pointed the DPV east. Cold water pressed against the outside of his suit. At a depth of three (red) feet, waves lifted him up and down, and pale starlight shone on the surface. Just enough to trigger a light panic attack.

The compass heading was all that mattered. He used breathing exercises to ignore rising nausea, pain in his ribs, increasing light-headedness and guilt. He had to focus on one (cyan) thing — getting back to the ship. There’d be time to feel everything else later.

Eventually, a bright blue spot beckoned. Captain Glascoe must have dropped a light into the water. Joe made for it. The boat was moving more slowly than he, and he kicked to speed up the DPV. Harder and harder to hold on.

He headed toward the light. Safety. But he hadn’t practiced getting onto a moving boat. He’d planned, but he’d been too sick.

The most important thing was to keep clear of the propeller on the stern. He knew that much. Unfortunately, that’s where the swim platform was. He had no idea how he’d scale the smooth sides of the boat. He swam around, looking for something.

On the port side, he found it. A fishing net trailing into the ocean. But he knew from pictures he’d seen that once he got to the surface, it was at least a six-(orange)-foot climb until he’d reach the railing and someone could pull him in. Six (orange) feet. Above the water.

He latched on to the net and hung on. The wake banged him against the boat, knocking the wind out of him, and the pain from his side was so bad, he almost passed out. His DPV smacked his other side, but he couldn’t do anything to adjust it. He lifted himself up until his head was just below the waterline and started doing breathing exercises. Part of him wanted to let go and drift off into the sea. Quit fighting and rest.

But he had to get on board and make sure Vivian was OK. He hung on.

Then the net started to move. He threaded his feet through the holes and curled his fingers around the rope. Only then did he notice the cold. His fingers were claws. He shivered so hard he worried he’d fall off the net. How long had he been shivering?

Unseen figures lifted the net out of the water. Hands helped him over the side and dragged him until his back settled against the inside of the boat. Someone tugged off his hood and regulator. A warm tongue licked his cold face.

“Vivian’s back there,” he said. “She stayed behind to attach the transponder.”

“I know.” Captain Glascoe’s deep voice rumbled out.

Joe tried to push himself up into a standing position but collapsed against the wall.

“Sallow complexion.” The captain peeled back his wetsuit and put warm fingers on his neck. “Pulse fast but weak. Get him on an IV, saline, and an antiemetic. And warm him up.”

Joe’s brain was having trouble parsing what the captain had said.

“Vivian. Vivian OK?”

“I don’t know.” The captain gestured to someone Joe couldn’t see. “Get him inside.”

“Yes, sir,” said Marshall.

The captain turned to someone else. “Increase speed along the submarine’s last heading.”

“Vivian. She’ll never find us if we change course.”

Someone heaved Joe over his shoulder. Pain lanced up from his side, and he screamed.

“Broken rib,” the captain said. “Shift him to the other side.”

“Wait!” he yelled. “Vivian!”

“She isn’t coming back to the ship. She’s been spotted.” The captain gestured to the man carrying him. “I’ll be inside soon to explain.”

Joe’s world got hazy. His head bumped some guy’s back. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Edison trotting along. The dog didn’t seem worried. If the dog wasn’t worried, then he shouldn’t be either. Wasn’t that the rule?

But Vivian was still out there.

His arms ached. His stomach ached. His side ached. How could he have broken a rib? His head throbbed, and his mouth tasted foul.

The guy carrying him — Marshall, he could see that now — dropped him down on his own bed.

“Stay,” Marshall said, like he was a dog.

Joe tried to sit up, but couldn’t. He’d never felt so weak. Edison jumped up on the bed next to him and licked his face, then his hands. He wanted to pet him, but couldn’t even move his arm.

Marshall was back with a bag and an IV pole.

“I’m a trained medic,” he said. “Don’t worry.”

“Worry?”

Marshall grabbed his hand, swabbed the back of it with a gauze pad, and inserted an IV. It hurt a lot less than Joe would have expected.

“You’re suffering from pretty serious dehydration. Probably had some when you went into the water, and it looks like you’ve been vomiting a lot since then.”

Joe closed his eyes.

“You were vomiting so hard I think you broke a rib.” Marshall pressed his fingers down Joe’s sides until he got a groan. “Yup.”

Joe tried to open his eyes, but they wouldn’t listen to him. He felt himself drifting off to sleep. He tried to fight it, but his eyes were too heavy.

Marshall fussed around with his gear, taking it off. Joe wanted to thank him or help him, but he couldn’t formulate the words. He had to go back for Vivian.

“Vivian,” he said.

But Marshall ignored him.