So there I was, falling toward my death at about a zillion miles an hour. My mind raced with all sorts of important information like: Do fifty-year-old torpedoes blow up when they hit ocean floors? Do twelve-year-old boys? And, most importantly, will God think Queeny and I are dating if we suddenly appear before His throne holding hands?
As I fell toward this certain uncertainty, I heard more grating of steel against rock. I realized the submarine was settling back into its old position. Great, I thought, if you’re going to die, it’s always best to leave things the way you found them, neat and tidy, so your Mom can be proud at the funeral.
As we kept falling, the pressure in my ears was going crazy. I wanted to blow against them and clear them, but at the moment I was using up all my air doing something far more important, like “AUGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”
Out of the corner of my eye, I caught some movement. Momma and Babe. What were they doing following me? Didn’t they know I was about to turn into a major explosion—that I was about to change my identity from McDoogle the Amazing Catastrophe to McDoogle the Human Mushroom Cloud?
Momma darted past me once, then twice. The third time, she dropped her nose slightly and dove directly into ol’ Queeny. I’m sure that had to give my monster girlfriend the world’s worst headache, or stomachache, or somethingache (it’s hard to tell the body parts of monsters).
But Queeny didn’t get the message. She still kept her tentacle wrapped around my arm and the torpedo. (Breaking up can be so hard to do.)
Momma swam past and dove in again. This time she made her point—hard, very hard, right in the center of my death date.
Queeny’s arm slithered away, and she dropped out of sight. Before I could say, “Sorry we’re not together anymore, but can we still be friends?” the torpedo hit one of the rocky ledges that stuck out.
CLANG!
I closed my eyes, waiting for the explosion. But nothing happened. No KABOOM, no KABANG, not even a POP-SIZZLE-SIZZLE. Nothing.
Still, the fun and games weren’t exactly over.
When Queeny let go, I expected to stop falling. But I was moving so fast, and the gold in my swim trunks was so heavy, that I kept right on dropping until I also hit the rocky ledge.
CRASH . . . CRACKLE, BREAK!
The CRASH was me landing on the ledge, just a few feet to the right of the torpedo. Unfortunately, I hit a weaker section of the rock, which explains the CRACKLE, BREAK!—that was me breaking through the ledge, which, of course, led to more falling fun.
“AUGHhhhh . . .”
Finally, there was the familiar and ever-faithful “OOMPH!”
I’d hit another, much wider, ledge. Great. That meant there would be no more CRASHings, no more CRACKLE, BREAKings, and definitely no more “AUGHhhh”ings. Unfortunately, for the moment, it looked like there would be no more breathing either. I’d gotten the air completely knocked out of me. Still, some habits are hard to break. After a moment I caught my breath and started inhaling again.
I was pretty dazed as I lay on my back, looking up to the rocks I’d just broken through. They were about eight or ten feet above me. There was plenty of mud and silt and stuff falling, but there was no missing my ol’ traveling companion, Mr. Torpedo. He sat on the ledge, teetering directly over my head.
It’s true I had finally finished my little falling routine. But it looked like the torpedo hadn’t quite finished its routine. Or maybe it was just lonely and wanted to join me for some company. In any case, as the mud and rocks continued to slide and break away, I knew the torpedo would also be dropping by . . . directly onto me.
Getting tired of the view, I tried to get up, but a sharp pain shot through my legs. Something inside of me was broken. Probably lots of somethings. I tried to crawl, but the ol’ legs just didn’t feel like cooperating.
I looked back up. The rocks and mud continued to fall—the torpedo continued to teeter.
Great, I thought, I travel all this way. I do all these things, and for what? To have my entire life reduced to this? A torpedo test target?
I knew whatever broken bones I had were keeping me from crawling out of the way. But I also knew that if I took the weight of the gold bars out of my swim trunks I could float up and dog-paddle out of there. Of course, that meant leaving behind whatever fortune I had left.
To die or not to die, that was the question.
Reluctantly, I reached for the bars, then stopped. What was I doing? A whole life’s fortune, and I was just going to throw it away?
More rocks fell.
On second thought, a whole life’s fortune without the life could be such an inconvenience.
I looked back up to the torpedo. There were only seconds before it would drop down and make its permanent impression upon me.
I reached into my trunks and pulled out the first bar of gold. It was beautiful and shiny and gorgeous. But it was also deadly. If I hung onto it, I would be one of the richest kids in the world—also one of the deadest. With a deep breath and a heavy sigh, I dropped it. It made a soft crunching sound as it hit the sand beside me.
Suddenly I was much lighter. Good, I thought, maybe I can at least keep one—
More rocks fell. I looked up—the torpedo was slipping faster.
I quickly reached in and pulled out the other bar, dropping it to the ground. Bye-bye, riches. Hello, living.
Immediately I lifted off the ledge and started floating. Good. I could make it; I could get out of the way before the torpedo fell and—
Then I saw it . . . the knapsack I had dropped. It had been lying right behind me. I don’t know what came over me (though I suspect it started with the letters GR, ended in the letter D, and had a couple E’s thrown in somewhere in the middle). In any case, I knew I had to go for the knapsack. I had to try.
I started paddling toward it. I was a lot lighter now, and I had to fight against floating upward. But I slowly made progress. Three feet above, two feet, one—
I was floating directly over it. Unfortunately, it was about this time that the torpedo made its final slip and started falling.
I looked up. I was dead. Gone. McDoogle McNuggets all over the ledge. There was no way I could get out of there in time. I could only stare as everything turned to slow motion—as the torpedo plunged straight toward me—two tons of cold, very hard steel.
I don’t know what happened next. Everything turned kind of blurry and mixed up. I do remember swimming like crazy to get out of there. I also remember looking up and seeing the torpedo so close that I could read the letters on its nose. But what I remember most was Momma darting in. She squeezed herself between the torpedo’s nose and me. Then, using the torpedo as leverage, she flipped her tail backward. Hard. So hard that she sent me flying out of the way.
I tumbled and turned. Everything was topsy-turvy confusion. No ups, no downs, just swirling water and bubbles. It seemed to last forever.
Then, when forever was finally over, I realized I had made it. I had survived. I looked down to the ledge. I floated about five feet above it now. Everything was all clouded with mud and silt where the torpedo hit. I glanced up and saw Babe circling above me, around and around. But there was no Momma. I looked in every direction, but I still couldn’t see her.
I glanced back to Babe. He swam faster and faster, in tight little circles. I didn’t get it. What had happened? Where was Momma? What was wrong with Babe?
The mud and silt were clearing, and I finally made out the torpedo lying on its side. But there was another shape floating beside it. I couldn’t believe it. My heart began to pound in my ears. I swam in to get a closer look. If my legs hurt, I didn’t feel them. I didn’t feel anything except a weight growing deep inside my chest—a weight that got heavier with every foot I approached.
Finally I was floating directly beside the form.
It was Momma. She had not gotten out of the way. The torpedo had slammed her into the ground. Now her body drifted lifelessly in the current. The back of my throat tightened with emotion. Tears burned my eyes as I reached out to touch her. She felt just as slick and rubbery as before. But this time she did not respond to my touch. This time I felt no life.
My chest began to heave. Short spurts of bubbles escaped from my mouth. I was sobbing. To think she had done this for me. She had given up her life to save mine. And for what? For that stupid knapsack, those stupid bars of gold?
Babe approached from the other side. He seemed puzzled, confused. He nudged his mother with his nose. There was no reaction. He tried again, a little harder, like when they were playing. She still did not move.
Babe pulled back a moment and clicked softly. There was no answer. He tried again, this time stroking her back with his nose.
Nothing.
He continued, his pathetic little squeals and squeaks growing louder. But still, no answer.
I tried to touch him, to explain what had happened, but he instinctively pulled away. It was almost like he knew I was the one to blame. I turned back to his mother’s body. My tears were coming faster now.
I don’t know how long we stayed like that, Babe and me, looking down at Momma. But finally something took hold of my shoulder. At first I figured it was Queeny. That’s okay, I thought, I deserve to die. But it wasn’t Queeny. It was a couple of the divers from The Bullwinkle. I guess Eric had radioed that I was in trouble, and they had come down to get me. One of them was pointing at his wristwatch and my regulator, motioning that I was running out of air.
He was right, of course. But at the moment I didn’t much care. He grabbed my shoulder even tighter. I tried to resist, pointing to Momma, trying to explain that I needed to stay to help.
They both shook their heads, making it clear there was nothing more I could do. Whatever was done, was done. I reached out to touch Momma one last time; I tenderly patted her on the head. I’m sorry, old girl, I’m so sorry.
Then, ever so gently, they pulled me away, and we swam toward the surface.