Fay turned and descended the ladder to the waiting boat. She dug deep into her soul to gather what courage she now carried with her to the dark and foreboding place known to all seafarers as “Davy Jones’ Locker.”

The frigid night air slapped her face as the small boat raced across the flat surface of the night water; sea spray soaked her face and hands. She squinted and fixed her gaze on the wall of black now standing before her. I’m going to need severe beauty salon time when I get back to civilization, she thought.

Shortly after, the boat arrived at the prescribed dive location. The dive team donned their facemasks and tested their gear—then, one by one, the divers rolled backward from the boat and into the water. Fay was last to leave the safety of the small boat.

The cold salt water stung her skin momentarily, until the thin layer of water between her skin and her wetsuit warmed to a tolerable temperature. She bobbed on the surface for a moment, then flicked on her underwater torch. Fay then slipped beneath the water’s surface and began her descent toward the bottom.

The wreck was ninety feet below. The Carr came to rest upright on the edge of a reef. The ship had not completely settled and was subject to shifting with each tide change. All good reasons for her to exercise extreme caution.