IN ALL HER PLANNING, JANE had never considered that she would barely be able to see while only a few feet beneath the surface. Because she was so used to diving with a mask on, she had forgotten how poor visibility was with salt water in your eyes. Her backward plunge into the water had not helped matters.
Where am I?
The hull of the boat loomed off to her left like a blurred white whale. She couldn’t even see the rudder. Shadows of bubbles rose in the direction of her feet. Great, she was upside down. Her sinuses felt as if they were bursting from the pressure of expanding ice; she had taken a lot of water up the nose. The night before, snug inside her full wet suit, the ocean had felt thirty degrees warmer.
Fortunately, she didn’t panic; she didn’t have time. Wild Wind was crawling at a snail’s pace, but even so, the ship would be past her within seconds unless she hooked on somewhere. It had been her original intention to immediately swim to where she had attached the scuba equipment. Now that would have to wait until she got her bearings.
Jane twisted around, stroking downward, her sweater bunching up on her arms, soaked and heavy. The momentum of her clumsy dive had carried her approximately fifteen feet from the ship. Quickly, she closed the distance, feeling forward with her hands. Her search was not entirely haphazard. When they were about to set off, Dr. Palmer had wrestled with a boarding ladder, but he never had been able to pull it up all the way. It lay at about midship.
A glint of metal caught her attention, above and off to her left. That had to be it. Kicking hard, she thrust out her arms. Something hard cracked her knuckles. She closed her fingers around it and felt the yank go through the length of her body. She was being towed.
Jane didn’t remember having taken a breath before hitting the water, but she must have grabbed a good one; her lungs were not complaining in the least. But then, she had only been under about fifteen seconds. Yet already they must be waiting for her to break surface. Now that she knew where she was, it was time to jump ship altogether.
Blinking, her eyes adjusting somewhat to the dimness and the salt water, she shoved off the ladder with her legs and again swam downward, pulling slightly to her right, following the curve of the hull, seeing the rudder for the first time. However, as rapidly as the visibility had begun to improve, it started to fail. By going under the boat, she was slipping into its shadow, losing what feeble light the sky far above had to offer.
It’s not here! It must have fallen off!
She couldn’t see the equipment. Worse, far worse, she suddenly realized she had not checked to see if Dr. Palmer had been running the engine. He’d had the sails up, but the wind had been dismal. It was possible—at the moment, it seemed likely—that he had resorted to the engine for a little extra boost. If she continued to float in her present position, her face might be kissing a triad of hungry propellers any second.
Jane strained her eyes through the salty gloom. And damn her stupid brilliance if there wasn’t a whirlwind of turbulence toward the rear of the ship. At least she thought there might be. Suddenly she couldn’t be sure of anything.
She began to panic.
I’ve got to get out of here!
She no longer knew which way was up.
What saved her, for the moment, was her paralysis. By drifting and doing nothing, she had naturally begun to bobble toward the surface, right into the rudder. A black ball bumped her shoulder. Instinctively, she grabbed it, putting herself once again under tow.
She’d found the scuba gear.
A few seconds of anxiety could consume a lot of oxygen. In an instant she went from the terror of being shredded to the nightmare of drowning. A thick band began to tighten around her chest. Relying solely on touch for guidance, she fumbled for the valve to the air tank, a silent wail in her head oscillating rapidly into a full-throated shriek.
I’m dying. I’m dying. I’m dying.
Many painful heartbeats later, she found the valve right where it was supposed to be—at the top of the tank. Giving it a frantic clockwise twist, she sent a stream of ghostly bubbles piling into her face. Clawing toward their source, she thrust the mouthpiece into her mouth and created a watertight seal by biting down hard enough to crack a fossilized nut with her teeth.
A little air sure could make life a lot easier.
For a full minute Jane breathed gratefully, strength and confidence pouring back into her limbs. When she was fully sated, she glanced around—the bottled air had even improved her eyesight—and noticed to her amazement that the turbulence at the rear of the boat was not being caused by propellers, but by kicking legs and arms.
They’re looking for me. Isn’t that nice.
It also made sense they were searching for her in the wrong place. They couldn’t know she had used the boat to tow her away from where she entered the water. Nevertheless, she was still too close for safety. Holding the mouthpiece securely in place with one hand, she unhooked her equipment and the clamp that had held it in place, and pushed off lightly with her feet. She began to sink almost immediately.
Jane could not be sure of the precise depth of the water, but she had figured it must be close to fifty feet. Although she was going down more swiftly than she would have under ordinary circumstances, by repeatedly popping her ears, she kept the pressure from building inside her head. It was while coming back to the surface that you had to be careful to take your time.
The light faded steadily and soon vanished altogether, leaving her drifting in a freezing void without a single visual reference. Yet her panic did not return. Indeed, she began to experience a strange euphoria. As far as the world was concerned, she no longer existed; and the majority of her senses would have agreed with the world. More than at any other time in her life, she found it easy to pretend that she was more than flesh and blood, that she had died and survived to think about it.
When her feet finally did touch the ocean floor, she could hardly feel it. Her toes were completely numb, and her lower legs would be along soon to join them. The temperature was at least fifteen degrees lower than that at the surface. She remembered Sharon’s warning about cramping. It was time for phase two.
Jane flicked on the waterproof flashlight she had taped to the side of the tanks, pointing it into the sand. The light came out a sober red; she had colored the glass the night before, worried that those up above might be able to spot her. Her concern had been unnecessary; the light appeared to penetrate no more than an arm’s length in any direction before encountering an impenetrable wall of pure darkness.
The next step was to put on her face mask and clear it. Looking surfaceward, holding the mask firmly against her forehead with both hands, she exhaled steadily through her nose. The air entering the face plate began to occupy the upper portion of the mask, forcing the water out the bottom. She could actually see the water level dropping before her blurred vision as she continued to exhale.
My God, look at them all!
To her immense surprise, she could suddenly see the silver outline of the surface, the shadowed hull of Wild Wind, and the faint motion of a dozen searching swimmers. But she wasn’t concerned her classmates would see her. She understood well the principle of the one-way mirror. They were visible to her because they were in a relatively well lit area. She would be invisible to them because she was in a darker region.
As long as they stay on the surface.
Other people besides Alice had brought scuba equipment aboard. If Sharon had been unable to isolate Alice and explain the situation, Alice could possibly be preparing to dive down into the depths. Again Jane cautioned herself to hurry, sliding out of the sweater and into the rest of the wet suit, pulling on her fins, and fitting the air-tank harness over her shoulders. Life quickly returned to her icy skin. Her weight belt and flotation device went on next. Finally, she strapped a phosphorescent compass over her right wrist; she already wore a diver’s watch on her left wrist. Turning off her light, she oriented herself in a northern direction and set off at a respectable clip. Dark sand swept beneath her as she left Wild Wind and Wilcox High’s finest behind.
On her back was a 71.2-cubic-foot, 2250-psi tank. From experience, she knew the air would last approximately forty minutes at this depth, longer if she moved closer to the surface. It was her plan to consume half her air before resurfacing, saving the remainder for when she hit the beach; should she happen to come up where there were people, she wanted to have the option of moving underwater to another locale. She had excellent endurance. In twenty minutes, she would be able to put a mile between her and the boat.
After the excitement of provoking Kirk and Patty and the fright of not being able to reach the equipment, the long swim proved somewhat anticlimactic. Her euphoria started to fade. In this area, the ocean floor was remarkably featureless, with few plants and even fewer fish. The sand slipped beneath her with almost hypnotic sameness. But at one point the surface overhead began to change from silver to blue. The sun had topped the horizon.
After swimming for twenty minutes, she partially inflated her flotation device and began to curve upward in a long sweeping arc, again carefully popping her ears. By now she was begining to feel the first signs of fatigue. Her left hamstring had tightened the night before while she was planting the equipment, and the same tightness had now returned. It would be good to breath real air again.
Popping into daylight, she found herself at the exact top of a huge swell. A brief glance around was enough to locate Wild Wind.
“Woh!” She laughed aloud. It looked so tiny, so far away. Another boat of about half the size appeared to be closing on it; no doubt to render assistance in locating the body.
Good luck, fellas.
Since she had swum parallel to the shore, she had gained no ground on it; the beach was still a mile away. However, the hardest part was over. From now on she would be able to see exactly where she was going. She began to dog paddle lazily toward land.
The early hour favored her. Except for a stray jogger far south, there was no one on the beach. For this she was grateful. Her left leg had begun to stiffen painfully, and even treading water with the help of her fins and flotation ballon hurt. She hung off shore for a break in the swells, and when it finally came, she put the remainder of her energy into a mad dash for the sand. But when she reached it, and had slipped off her fins, she had difficulty getting to her feet and had to lie panting for several minutes on the ground.
“You did it, baby,” she whispered. “You’re incredible.”
Her celebration would have to wait. If she was spotted now and a reasonable description was passed on to the police, she could be in serious trouble. That was unlikely, however, and she had anticipated her present fatigue and had parked her car nearby so she could make a quick getaway. She hoped the blasted carburetor would get her to Sharon’s cabin in the hills. The police would head to Jane’s house first, looking for her parents. Thank God her mom and dad were completely isolated in the mountains. She planned on spending the entire weekend at Sharon’s place.
And then she would show up at school on Monday as if nothing had happened. She could hardly wait.
Jane pulled off her equipment, bundled it into an easy-to-carry pile, and hiked up to the road. It turned out she had hit the beach only a couple of blocks from her car. Walking the deserted sidewalks past the sleeping houses, she felt like whistling. It wouldn’t surprise her one bit if Kirk and Patty had already been arrested.
“Leave me alone! You’re hurting me!”
Instead of whistling, Jane laughed.
Her car, and the key taped to the bottom of the engine, were where she had left them, in an alley behind a McDonald’s. Stowing the gear in the trunk, she got behind the wheel, mumbled a silent prayer, and turned the ignition. To her immense relief, the car started without a hitch, and she was on her way.
Before she could get out of town, however, Jane realized she had made the same mistake that had been the death of villains and heroes throughout modem history. She had forgotten to make sure she had enough gas. The needle lay between the quarter mark and the big E. Climbing the road to the cabin would use a lot of fuel, especially with her out-of-tune engine. But stopping for gas would be risky if her picture was being flashed on local TV stations. Then again, she didn’t have any money. For a minute she debated swinging by her house. Her dad kept a couple of gallons of gas in the garage for his lawn mower.
Yet, in the end, she decided against it. Even if she had to walk part of the way to the cabin, it would be better to play it safe.
The big E caught up with her five minutes too soon. About two miles from her destination, on a crummy collection of asphalt that passed for a road, the Toyota spurted and died, leaving her with just enough momentum to roll off to the side. The latter move wasn’t crucial. Sharon’s parents had built their cabin in a rather isolated area of the hills. There wasn’t another place around for miles. Except for Sharon, chances were no one would be coming up the road in the next two days.
Jane parked and got out. The past summer had been particularly hot and dry. The local terrain was more brown than green. Standing there in her shorts, Jane could feel the warmth of the sun on her tired legs. Although she was very much aware of her isolation, she worried about abandoning her rented equipment in the trunk of the car. The catch on the lock was broken, and if someone happened by he could give it a solid yank and be off with a thousand bucks’ worth of gear that she’d have to pay for. She couldn’t very well go reporting such a theft to the police.
I’ll carry it. I’ll have plenty of time to rest when I get there.
Jane discovered another minor hole in her planning as she trudged up the rough road with the tank and wet suit slung over her shoulder. She had forgotten about shoes, making her choice of courses lousy: she could either walk on the asphalt—which was already beginning to cook—or she could stay on the shoulder in the dirt with all its nasty prickly thorns. She ended up alternating from one to the other, and as a result, both burned and bloodied the soles of her feet.
It took her over an hour to cover the last two miles.
The cabin was open frame, two stories of lacquered redwood, set on the side of a steep hill. A row of thick upright logs supported the rear. Jane understood that Sharon’s parents had situated the structure in such a precarious position for the sake of the view; nevertheless, she would have hated to be inside in the event of an earthquake. The cabin had a front door, but the back door was no way out; it led onto a small porch situated high above the ground.
Sharon’s parents kept a key to the cabin hidden under a stone behind a tree about fifty yards from the porch. Fetching it, Jane unlocked the front door and stumbled inside where she collapsed in a chair in the kitchen.
The freezer better be stocked like Sharon promised.
Jane rested a few minutes before drinking about half a gallon of water. It tasted wonderful, and she was thinking of having more when she remembered the day’s big story. She ran into the living room and turned on the radio and TV.
Hey, I’m dead. What are all these cartoons?
A half hour of listening and watching brought her not a word about her untimely end. When she thought about it realistically, she supposed she didn’t rate a special bulletin. But the news would be on later, and she hoped she’d be at “the top of the hour.”
She felt guilty when she saw how she had dumped her messy gear on the spotless floor. There was sand all over the tank and wet suit. Remembering that the only finished bathroom was upstairs off the master bedroom, she gathered together the stuff and crawled up the steps, every muscle in her body aching.
I’ll take a hot shower and clean the equipment at the same time.
Jane didn’t quite make it. She deposited the gear in the bathtub and went back into the bedroom for a moment. Then she sat on the bed to take a splinter out of her foot. But she couldn’t find it—she might even have had the wrong foot, she was so groggy with exhaustion—and she decided to lie back for a second before looking further. Putting her head down did it. She went out like a light.
It was dark when she awoke. Her sleep had been deep and dreamless. Glancing down, she realized she hadn’t moved the whole time; her bare legs were still dangling over the side of the bed. The window above the chest of drawers had been left open. Goose pimples covered her exposed flesh. A deep silence pervaded the whole hilltop. She could hear her heart slowly pounding.
A glance at her watch made her sit up with a start. The news would begin in two minutes! This she couldn’t miss. Bouncing off the bed, she hurried downstairs, flipped on the TV, and huddled in the corner of the couch. As the pretty redheaded anchorwoman came on the screen, Jane began to bite her nails through a wide grin.
Her grin did not last.
“Hello, I’m Kathy Morrison. Welcome to News at Seven on KNIT. Our top story tonight: tragedy strikes a school boating trip. This morning at dawn, aboard the sailing ship Wild Wind, a series of arguments and accidents led to the death of two teenagers: seventeen-year-old Jane Retton and eighteen-year-old Kirk Donner.”
Pictures of Kirk and herself appeared beside Ms. Morrison’s head. Jane blinked, not understanding. The lady continued.
“The outing was to be a weekend of pleasure. A prominent local dentist, Dr. Palmer, had rented the boat and invited approximately five dozen of his daughter’s classmates to sail out to the Santa Barbara Islands. Problems began when Jane Retton got into an argument with two other teens: Patty Brane, head cheerleader of Wilcox High, and Kirk Donner, boyfriend of Jane Retton. The cause of the argument is not clear at this time, but during the course of it, Jane Retton either fell or was pushed overboard. She did not resurface, and police are speculating that she may have struck her head on the hull of the boat while going into the sea. Approximately thirty minutes later, while efforts were being made in the water by a number of students to locate Miss Retton, Kirk Donner drowned. Donner was the first to begin diving and had continued to dive repeatedly even when it became apparent that Jane wouldn’t be found alive. Since he was close to Jane Retton, the police feel he must have driven himself past the point of exhaustion and cramped. His body was discovered floating face down not far from the ship. Resuscitation efforts proved unsuccessful.…”
A mistake, there must be a mistake.
Denial and grief cracked through Jane’s soul. Kirk could have swum all the way to the islands without cramping. It was simply impossible that he had drowned. No, this lady had her facts jumbled; she always did have a tendency to exaggerate.
It’s me, only me, who drowned! Damn you, shut up!
At the same time, a part of her knew with absolute surety that Kirk was dead and that she was responsible.
Ignoring the TV, the follow-up interviews with lieutenants and lifeguards, she slowly crossed the room to the telephone, a lifeless wraith in a nightmare she had dreamed up for her own amusement. She would call Alice. Dr. Palmer would come and get her. The police would question her. Maybe she would make bail, maybe not. She didn’t care. Suddenly she didn’t care about anything except how she had blamed Kirk for her humiliation when she had known in her heart that he’d had almost nothing to do with it.
But the phone was dead.
The TV flickered off. The lights went out.