Chesapeake Bay Bridge and
Tunnel
Depth: Sixty feet
November 11, 2017
Cold and dark. He visualized the explosion and developed a mental picture of the situation. It was grim. “Orient” he commanded himself. He had about three to four minutes to get to the surface, and believed that he was breathing like an asthmatic suffering from an acute attack. There were three exits. One long one continuing through the tunnel; another long one that would head back the way they came or one up through what he thought was a breach in the tunnel wall. Options one and two were non-starters. The only way out was through what had to be a large fracture in the tunnel wall. He moved out of the car along the tunnel wall, feeling for something that might give him some idea of direction. Within thirty seconds he found what he believed was the FEDEX truck that he remembered being ahead of his car in the slower lane when he felt the tremor and just before the car was engulfed. He reasoned that he was heading through the tunnel and that the rupture would be to his right. He kicked slowly on a route that he believed would lead across the tunnel’s width and somewhere close to the breach. He reached the tunnel wall and began swimming along it. Was he swimming in the right direction? After what seemed like a minute, he felt a swirl in the water as he touched a series of heavy steel reinforcing bars pointed inwards like punji sticks. What else might block his way to the surface? He figured he had another eighty to ninety feet to go before he could pull in some fresh air. He thought about Jill and wondered whether to spit-out the mouthpiece and join his family in their dirty water graves. Training prevailed. He would try to pick his way through what was likely a rebar jungle.
Trying hard not to panic, he’d tried to feel his way through the twisted re-bar. Every second counted now. He shivered…the water temperature felt colder, and he knew that he was losing body heat. He pulled himself along the twisted re-bar hand-over-hand searching for a way out. Repeatedly, he moved forward only to find a structural box canyon of twisted metal and concrete blocking his escape.
Just as he started probing another pathway to what he thought was the outer shell of the tunnel, the spare air bottle clanked against a protruding metal spur pulling the rubber mouthpiece out of his clenched teeth. Desperate, Dan flailed frantically to catch the bottle as it fell into the muddy darkness. No luck. He was out of options. He pulled himself forward scraping his torso and shins trying to find an escape route. Arms feeling the way ahead, he squeezed his body through the tangled reinforcement rods towards what he hoped was open water. The idea of filling his lungs with seawater and drowning in a rebar cage petrified him. He pushed off a loose piece of concrete and pressed forward. Home free? Just another fifty to sixty feet to go to the surface.
Dan kicked hard towards the muted light that penetrated the turbid water. His lungs were burning, and he instinctively took a sip of seawater that caused him to cough, exhausting the spent air in his lungs. He was drowning. How much further? The light brightened as he neared the surface and finally gulped a life-restoring lungful of warm, salty air that tasted like diesel fuel. He didn’t care what it tasted like or how dirty it was…it was air and that’s what he needed. With his mind still racing, he forced himself to orient. He quickly focused and panned the horizon around him, spotting the red hull-stripe of a USCG boat bobbing a few hundred yards away. He started a slow breast-stroke towards the boat, keeping his head above water and enjoying the sensation of the oily air filling his lungs. Thinking about what he left on the bottom made him wonder what might happen next. Exhaling forcefully, he vowed to find out what happened and why.