I swam back through the dark submarine. After a minute or so I saw some light. It was filtering in very faintly, but it was enough to tell I was heading toward the opening where I’d come in. What luck! Imagine me, Wally McDoogle, actually choosing the right direction. Of course, when you only have one direction to choose from, the chances of making a wrong decision are kinda slim. But with my luck, I needed all the help I could get.
The hole came into view, its light growing brighter and brighter. I kept waiting for Queeny to pop out and give me another friendly hug, but she was nowhere in sight.
I reached the opening. Quickly, I shot through it and into the light. Ah, free at last. The minisub was just ahead, obviously searching for me. I could see Wall Street and Opera in the windows. I guess they’d talked Eric into letting them tag along. That was fine with me. The more witnesses who saw me claim my gold, the better. I also noticed Momma and Babe swimming around. Great. The more the merrier.
Eric flashed his lights at me. I’m sure he expected me to turn right around and follow him back to The Bullwinkle. But the thought of becoming an instant millionaire had changed my plans slightly. Instead of following him, I waved for him to follow me.
He didn’t get it, and he flashed his lights again. Then again.
Meanwhile, Opera was standing at the window making like a traffic cop, waving his arms for me to follow. I shook my head and waved for him to follow. He shook his head harder and waved even bigger. I shook my head even harder and waved even—well, you probably get the picture. The point is, Opera and I may have been doing Dueling Aerobics, but there was no way we were communicating. So, without another word (as if we were doing much talking, anyway), I turned and started for the front of the sunken wreck.
Momma and Babe zipped close by me a couple times. Almost too close. That’s okay. I figured they were just trying to warn me about the octopus. I wanted to tell them that I’d already run into their buddy and that we’d worked things out, but my Dolphinese was still a little rusty, so I just kept on swimming.
I glanced at my watch. Eight minutes of air left. I had to hurry.
I swam toward the front of the sub. It looked a lot more inviting on the outside in the light than it had on the inside in the dark.
I glanced down to the ocean floor and saw . . . There was no ocean floor. At least not for another million miles or so. I’d forgotten that the wreck rested on a ledge and that the front end was sticking out over a bottomless pit.
A moment later, I spotted the opening to the torpedo tubes. There were two on my side and, I’m sure, just around the nose there were two on the other side. But it was these two, particularly the top right one, that had my interest. It was the one with the orange knapsack, which of course meant it was the one that held all that life-changing, make-you-richer-than-you-can-ever-imagine gold (either that or some kid’s very soggy lunch).
I shined my light into the opening. Sure enough, there it was. Just as orange and promising as ever . . . and, this time, within easy reach. I knocked off the barnacles and coral that were in the way and carefully stuck my hand inside. Slowly, deeper and deeper I reached until I felt the nylon strap. I wrapped my hand around it and pulled.
It didn’t budge.
I pulled again.
Repeat performance.
The minisub was coming in closer. Eric flashed his lights at me quicker than ever. Opera waved from the window more comically than ever. And Momma and Babe darted around me more frantically than ever.
Obviously, no one knew what I was doing. Either that or they all knew something I didn’t. That last thought made me a little nervous. So far I had made it more than three and a half minutes without any major disaster or catastrophe happening. No fumbling, no stumbling, no dying. It just wasn’t normal. Something was definitely wrong because everything was so right. Luckily, I wouldn’t have to worry much longer. My suspicions would soon be confirmed.
I reached my other arm inside and, with both hands, gave the knapsack my hardest tug yet. It moved, but only a fraction of an inch. Then it dawned on me. The thing wasn’t stuck. It was just heavy. Gold is heavy. Real heavy. And a million dollars of it probably weighed a ton. (Too bad this guy hadn’t stolen a million dollars worth of chicken feathers—that would have been a lot easier to move.)
I started to panic. I hadn’t come all this way just to find my fortune and leave it. I had to do something. I moved my hands along the knapsack until I felt a buckle. Going strictly by feel, I unfastened it, pulled back the flap, and reached inside. There could have been a hundred animals hiding in it, waiting to take off my hands, but I wasn’t thinking about them.
All I was thinking about was the gold.
Then I felt them. Hard, cold bars. Like bricks but a little longer, a little smoother, and a whole lot more expensive. I wrapped my hands around one and pulled. It was surprisingly heavy, but not nearly as heavy as the knapsack. I pulled it out of the sack and dragged it out of the tube and into the light.
It was incredible the way it sparkled. It was beautiful. But it wasn’t enough.
Having no pockets, I heaved it into my swim trunks and reached for the next bar. It was just as incredible and just as beautiful.
I should have been happy with two. After all, two were practically a life’s fortune in themselves. But there’s a funny thing about greed. Enough is never enough.
I reached back into the tube. Maybe the knapsack would be lighter now. I pulled on the strap again. It moved, but only a few inches. I had to get a foothold. I had to brace myself against the sub and give it everything I had. I glanced down and saw the other torpedo tube below me. I put my foot in it. There. Now I had some leverage, something I could push against.
Just then, Momma zoomed in and gave me a poke with her nose. But this was no, “Tag-you’re-it,” poke. This was a major, “It’s-supposed-to-hurt-and-if-you-don’t-get-out-of-here-this-second-I’ll-break-your-ribs,” kind of poke.
“OW!” I yelled, waving at Momma. But of course, she was already gone. I turned back to my yanking.
“UUMPH!” The knapsack moved nearly a foot. All right!
I gave another pull, even harder:
“UUUUMMMMPH!”
It was almost out. One more heave-ho and I’d have her. I saw Momma coming at me again, but this time I was prepared. I waited, and then, at just the right second, I smacked her hard on the nose. She let out a squeal and veered off. I was sorry, but it served her right. This was my gold, and nobody was going to stop me from getting it.
I grabbed the strap, braced myself, and gave it everything I had.
“UUUUUUUUMMMMMMMMPH!”
Finally, the knapsack slid out to the very edge. That was the good news. Unfortunately, every silver lining has its cloud. Or in my case, major storm.
The knapsack was so heavy that its weight caused the whole wreck to shift, to tilt forward. Not a lot, but it had been balanced so precariously that a little was enough. I heard a loud grating sound and would have been worried, but I had other things on my mind . . . like losing the gold. As the sub tilted forward, the knapsack slipped off the edge of the torpedo tube and started to fall.
“NOOOO!” I screamed as I reached out to catch it.
It wasn’t a bad catch. In fact it was pretty good. The only problem was, the knapsack was so heavy that it immediately yanked me off my feet. I lost my balance and started falling with it.
“AUGH!”
Suddenly I was met with one of life’s little tests. I had basically two choices:
A: Hang on to the gold and fall all the way to the bottom of the ocean
B: Let go of the gold and grab hold of the second torpedo tube I was currently falling past
I hate pop quizzes, don’t you? Unfortunately, I’m never very good at them, so I chose the third answer:
C: All of the above
That’s right, even now, my greed wouldn’t let me part with the gold. So, falling past the lower torpedo tube, I reached out and grabbed it with my left hand while hanging onto the knapsack with my right. What a brilliant solution. I hung there a moment, amazed at my intelligence, until I noticed another minor problem. For some reason my handgrip inside the torpedo tube was moving.
I looked into it and realized I wasn’t hanging onto the tube. I was hanging onto something inside the tube. Something big and round and made of steel. Something big and round that looked exactly like a torpedo. There was a good reason for this.
It WAS a torpedo!
Somehow, with all of this weight shifting, I had loosened the torpedo that was in the tube, and it slid forward. No problem. Well, except that the new angle of the sub and my hanging onto the torpedo with all my extra gold weight made it keep sliding forward.
Now I had to let go of the gold . . . either that, or fall to my death. It was another tough decision, but I decided to let go of the knapsack. I wasn’t thrilled as I watched a life’s fortune (actually several life fortunes) drop out of sight into the deep murkiness. But that was nothing compared to my newest and greatest problem. (I hope you’re keeping score, ’cause it gets worse.)
The torpedo was still moving! My tug and the titling of the sub were enough to keep the torpedo coming forward, out of the tube.
No problem. All I had to do was get out of the way. Just step aside and watch it fall into the murky depths right behind the knapsack. Simple, right? And it was, well except for one, final, little problem. (I told you there was more.)
To my surprise, ol’ Queeny made an encore appear ance. That’s right. She had been lurking around the other side of the sub’s nose. That’s what Eric, Wall Street, and Momma Dolphin had been trying to warn me about!
In a flash, Queeny wrapped one of her long arms around my wrist. (I mean, I hadn’t even asked her to go on a date, and she was already holding my hand.) Unfortunately, when she wrapped her arm around my wrist, she also wrapped it around the torpedo.
Uh-oh.
Finally the torpedo slid all of the way out of the tube and started falling. And, since Queeny and the torpedo and I were like a package deal, we all fell together. Like a rock.
But that was okay. Because finally I could make my move. Finally I could do what I do best. I tilted back my head and shouted my lungs out:
“AUGHHHHHhhhhhh!”