Tomb of Atlantis

by Petersen, Christopher David

  “Damn, it's hot,” he said simply.

  Sitting up, he unzipped the top of his farmer-john style wetsuit and carefully removed it. Next, he pulled off the sleeveless overalls that lay underneath. With only his brightly colored swim trunks left for cover, his body was now dangerously exposed to the sun. Using the two neoprene garments as padding, he lay back down and continued to rest.

  The stress of his disaster had exhausted him and he quickly drifted off to sleep. As the heat of the day increased, so too did the winds. Slowly but consistently, the steady breezes that skimmed along the surface of the water, kicked up the waves, and transformed the surface into a rolling chop. Wave after wave rolled under the float and outrigger, slowly rocking Jack from side to side. In a moment of colliding surf, their momentum slammed broadside into the float, abruptly sending him into the water.

  Jack was flung in, head first, propelling him down several feet before his natural buoyancy overcame his weight. Upside down and disoriented, his eyes popped open in shock and confusion. Immediately, his body’s natural instinct took over and he stopped his breathing and swam to the surface. As he burst through the rolling waves, he gasped for a breath, taking in small amounts of water, causing him to cough uncontrollably.

  He reached up and grabbed the edge of the float as he continued to cough and grapple for air. Like a gymnastic routine, he kicked his feet and pulled himself up while twisting his body in the air. He laid himself across the float on his stomach. Finally catching his breath, he gazed into the water as he thought about his rude awakening.

  He watched as particles of plankton and other small matter floated through the streams of sunlight that penetrated the water below. As the current circulated the bits and specks that fed the larger marine life, he watched a tiny shadow begin to grow in size.

  Small at first, then larger by the second, the speck transformed into a small fish. As he watched in fascination, the small fish quickly became a large menacing barracuda that headed straight up, attracted by the sound of Jack's thrashing maneuvers in the water.

  With a loud shriek, Jack pulled his arms and legs in closer to his body as he tried to minimize his exposure to the charging monster below. Climbing swiftly and steadily, he could see the razor sharp teeth as the large fish neared the surface.

  With no other recourse, Jack slapped the palm of his hand on the top of the water, creating a tremendous clapping sound and displacing a large amount of water that resulted in waves and foam.

  Instantly, the barracuda broke off its charge, curving its long sleek body nearly in two, as it changed direction and headed back down to the mysterious depths below.

  “What the hell…” he said to himself in shock. “Where’d he come from?”

  He looked back down into the water, searching for the menace.

  “Must be a fluke,” he rationalized. “I haven’t had any visitors before. Probably just a freak event.”

  Scanning once more, he felt a sense of guarded relief at seeing nothing, although he knew somewhere down there were more dangerous fish loitering, waiting for something or someone to attract their attention.

  Jack felt his stomach grumble. Looking out over the outrigger at the buoy, he saw the duffel bag that held his food and water. Very slowly, he slipped into the water, being careful not to splash or make any sudden moves that would attract attention of the unknown.

  Hand over hand, he worked his way across the outrigger to the buoy four feet away. Looking down as he went, he kept an eye out for dangerous fish. Reaching the buoy, he untied the duffel bag and quickly slipped back to the float. After throwing the bag on top of the foot wide platform, he climbed back up on top himself, breathing a sigh of relief that he'd accomplished his task unmolested.

  He open the bag and let the water drain out. Pulling out his plastic Ziploc bag that held his sandwich, he opened it and immediately took a large bite.

  “Mmm, damn this is good,” he said out loud, not realizing just how hungry he really was.

  After a couple more bites, he took out his water bottle and had a few sips, being careful not to drink too much. Not knowing exactly when he would be rescued, he knew he would need to conserve his food and water. Finishing half the sandwich and a quarter of the bottle of water, he stowed them back in the bag. Taking a length of rope from his towline, he tied the duffel bag to the outrigger for easy retrieval.

  “Now what?” he said to himself, trying to find a way to occupy his time.

  Looking around his floating home, there was nothing for him to do to fill the void.

  He looked at his watch and read the time aloud: “One thirty.”

  He thought of Moses and the anguish he must be suffering not knowing whether he was dead or alive. Staring off into the water, his mind wandered, thinking about what Moses was doing at that moment. He envisioned that Moses was probably on the phone alerting the local authorities. He could almost see the anxiety in his face as he would undoubtedly be trying to explain his last known position at sea, further explaining to them that he was to be back two hours ago.

  Jack felt sadness at the hurt he was putting Moses through. He wished there was some way to call him and tell him he was all right.

  Once again, he looked around as he tried to find something to do. Staring at the duffel bag, his mind drifted off once more. He began to think about his parents. He hadn't called them in two days and was due to call them tomorrow. He hoped he would be back on the island well before then so as not to subject them to any undue worry and stress.

  As his mind skipped along, bouncing from one topic to the next, he began to feel the heat of the day. Looking down at his arms, he realized that he was just starting to show a bit of color. Without sun block, he knew he could easily suffer from a painful sunburn. Thinking of the first-aid kit Mosses had given him, he shuffled over to the duffle bag and pulled it out. Tearing open the Velcro straps, he scanned through the compartment.

  “Band-Aids, batteries, gauze… nothing special about this first-aid kit. All the standard crap,” he said aloud as he searched. “Man, I wonder how much Moses charges for one of these things?”

  Next to a compartment that contained scissors, aspirin and alcohol wipes, he noticed a yellow container sticking out the top of small pocket.

  “How funny… a toothpick holder. Mom used to carry one of these in here pocketbook,” he chuckled to himself. “If I’m in desperate need of a toothpick, I know right where to look…”

  Suddenly, from behind him, he heard a loud splash. With a frightened jolt, he spun around to investigate. Several feet from the float, he saw a large swell in the water where something had just been. Quickly, he stowed the first-aid kit and carefully stood. Scanning the water, he saw movement deep below. It darted back and forth momentarily, then vanished.

  “What the hell was that?” he exclaimed, nervously. “Don’t tell me he’s back?”

  He watched for the barracuda for several more minutes, then finally sat down. Looking around him, he wondered what else was hiding below.

  “Man, three dives, and I barely see a minnow. Now that I’m stuck on a raft, the nasties are coming out of the woodwork to have a look.”

  He reached down and felt his knife strapped to his leg. Now knowing what lurked beneath, the tiny weapon gave him little comfort.

  Once again, the sun’s rays beat down on him and he realized the need for protection. He scrambled over to the duffle bag and pulled out the first-aid kit. Realizing there was nothing in it to protect him from the sun, so he tossed it back in. Seeing his fleece jacket, he decided that overheating was better than burning. He pulled out the still soaking garment and after wringing out as much water as he could, he put it on and shuffled back to the center of the float.

  “Damn, it feels like I'm wearing a pair of wet socks,” he commented.

  Once again, he sat still and daydreamed, allowing his mind to move off on any tangent it desired. Staring at the duffel bag, he began to look through it as he thought about his adven
ture in Peru. As he relived the climb up the snowcapped mountain, his eyes became heavy and he had trouble staying awake.

  He lay back for a moment and closed his eyes. Immediately, they popped back open.

  “Let's not have a repeat of my last nap,” he said to himself.

  He grabbed his wetsuit and moved it down along the float a couple of feet, then repositioned himself on it and laid back. Straightening out his legs, he moved them over so they just rested on the forward bar of the outrigger that extended from the float.

  “Well, it's not very comfortable, but at least I'm a bit more stable. Should be able to nap without falling off, anyway,” he said to himself.

  With his calves resting on the bar, he folded his arms over his face to shield it from the sun and closed his eyes. Listening to the soothing waves lap the sides of the float, he nodded off as his boredom slowly drained his strength.

  Suddenly, he sprang to a seated position. He reached up to touch his face, but couldn't feel his hands. They felt like they were missing. Holding them out in front of him, he tried to move his fingers, but they were asleep. With his arms held over his head while he rested, the circulation slowed and he lost all feeling in both hands.

  Still disoriented from his restless sleep, he noticed something scary. The float no longer sat proud above the water. It was now very low and appeared to be sinking. Quickly, he shuffled forward and tried to open the duffel bag. With his hands still asleep and useless, he fumbled with the zipper only to realize he couldn't open it.

  Jack was scared. He needed to get his pump out of the duffel bag but with both hands having lost all feeling, he had no choice but to sit and wait for the feeling to return. As he sat and stared at the water slowly climbing the side of the float, he could see it was just inches from washing over the top of the platform. In desperation, he tried to wake his hands by slamming them on his legs. Over and over, he slapped them hard and as the feeling began to return, he heard something.

  Cocking his head, he listened for a moment. Quickly he spun his head around and listened again.

  “Damn, is that a plane?” he said out loud, unsure what he had just heard.

  He frantically looked around him, his head darting from side to side. He stopped for moment and sat perfectly still. With all his focus trained on his sense of hearing, he cocked his head in the direction of anything he perceived to be sound. Aside from the wind, waves, and his own breathing, he heard nothing.

  Suddenly, he heard it again—a low rumble that lasted only a second. He cocked his head once more in the sound’s direction. Softly, intermittently, he began to hear something.

  Jack quickly turned, rotating his body one hundred eighty degrees around to the opposite side of the float. Scanning the horizon, he looked for any movement. As the sound grew louder, it changed from intermittent to a steady, low hum.

  His heart began to pound. This was it. This was his rescue. He focused on the sound, squinting into the sunlight. Shielding his vision with his still numb hands, he caught a distant speck out of the corner of his eye. Like radar, he zeroed in on the sight and sound.

  "It’s a plane!" he yelled out loud.

  He spun back around and shuffled over to the duffel bag. Quickly, he tried to grasp the zipper on the bag, but it was no use... his hands were now painful and tingly as the circulation began to return. With the sound growing louder and more distinct, Jack became desperate and more determined. As painful as they felt, he began to pound his hands into his legs once again.

  He turned his head. He could now see the plane clearly. Low on the horizon, but growing larger by the second, he felt his chance slipping away from him. He bent forward and tried to grab the zipper with his teeth. Small and buried under the zipper flap, his teeth couldn’t find a purchase.

  "Dammit!" he yelled.

  Running out of time and options, he turned and waved his painful hands in the air in one last desperate attempt to signal the plane. Horror swept over him as he watched the path of the plane travel far to the south of him. Quickly he turned back around and made one last attempt at the zipper.

  Never before had any part of his body fallen that far asleep. His hands felt like he had just grabbed a thousand pins; the pain was excruciating. Trying to ignore the torturous pain, he was able to pry the zipper out from under the flap that protected it. Bending over once more, he clasped the zipper in his teeth and pulled hard while pushing the bag away with his hands. Now partially open, he reached in and worked the first aid kit out of the bag and onto his lap.

  With the feeling returning, he opened the kit and found the mirror. His hands were still in agony but now functional. Pushing the mirror out from its compartment, he grabbed it, closed the kit, and stuffed it back into the duffel bag.

  Turning toward the now departing plane, he angled the mirror directly at it and began to rock it in all directions, hoping the sun’s rays would reflect off it enough to catch the rescuer’s attention.

  Jack's attempt failed. As quickly as the plane appeared, it disappeared from his field of vision, its sound quickly dissipating into deafening quiet. For that moment, all of his hope vanished. He felt broken and defeated.

  Instantly, his sorrow turned to shock and fear. He felt water creeping up his legs as his only hope for survival was now slowly sinking. Quickly, he threw the mirror back into the duffel bag, pulled out the bilge pump and rolled off the float into the water.

  Acting on pure instinct and adrenaline, he swam to the bilge cover, unscrewed the cap, and quickly shoved the pump into the hole. With one hand on the base of the pump to hold it in position and his feet kicking wildly to stay afloat, he began to actuate the lever, pumping out a quart of water from the float with each levered action.

  Frantically, he pumped away, ensuring he got the maximum amount of travel out of the lever. Alternating between pump and float, he watched the water line for any reversal of the sinking. For only a moment, he watched as the top platform dip below the surface, then quickly spring back out as the water inside the float was now displaced by air.

  Pumping life back into his makeshift raft, he breathed a sigh of relief. He had caught the sinking in time, but now realized he would need to monitor the water at all times and that included the night time hours.

  Jack's mind instantly snapped back to his failed rescue.

  "Shit! They're gone!" he realized in despair. "I really am going to be here overnight. Oh, no!" he continued, his body now wracked with fear and anxiety.

  As the float rose above the waterline, he immediately hopped back up on top and continued pumping. He scanned the water for movement and felt a small sense of relief at seeing nothing but tiny particles.

  "Well, maybe that barracuda really was just a fluke," he speculated.

  As the float reached its maximum height above the water, Jack noted the time: five twenty.

  "Ok, so the float fills up about every seven to eight hours or so. If I pump every six hours, I should be ok," he planned.

  Stowing the pump, he took out his water bottle and drank a large slug of the warm, but refreshing liquid. He looked at the level left in the bottle and made a mental note to start conserving.

  "Man, I'll be glad when this is all over," he said aloud, confident of his rescue.

  Jack scanned the horizon in sadness. He began to think about his parents once more and what they would be feeling. With the ocean all around him, he thought about his youth and his family’s vacations at the beach. The more he stared and reminisced, the more he felt mentally drained. Soon, his eyelids grew too heavy and overcame his strength. Positioning himself for a rest, he lay on his back and extended his legs over the pipe that created the outrigger. Unlike his previous nap, he laid his hands at his sides and tucked his thumbs into his swim trunks. He would not be losing his feeling in his hands this time.

  With the evening sunshine far less intense, his unshielded eyes enjoyed the comforting warmth of the rays and sent him fast asleep. Far off on the horizon, while Jack's mind
entered pleasant dreams, a small white ship sailed on by, quiet and undetected.

  ----- ----- ----- -----

  From the bridge of the Coast Guard patrol cutter, USCGS Fitzgerald, the crew scanned their own horizon for a missing float plane. Far from the originally reported landing zone, they searched the far reaches of the ocean's current, calculating and predicting the extent of the plane’s possible drift. Donning their binoculars, the crew made large sweeps of the area, hoping to catch a glimpse of anything suspicious. With Jack creating such a low profile in the water, the crew simply could not see him as they sailed five miles away. Slipping detection, the crew continued their search for him as they headed back toward Turk's and Caicos Island.

  ----- ----- ----- -----

  Jack's eyes popped open and he sat upright, stretching through his discomfort. Although he had the padding from his wet suit to help soften the hard aluminum platform, the thin neoprene rubber was barely effective.

  He looked at his watch and noticed the time: Eight forty.

  Looking out over the distant horizon, he watched the brilliant orange sun cast its long reach across the water just before it turned in for the evening.

  “Wow, this is probably the most beautiful sunset I've ever seen,” he said to himself.

  He watched for a short time, admiring the array of colors that painted the sky as well as the sea. With the day’s light nearly gone, he decided to take advantage of what little light was left.

  Sliding forward, he unzipped his duffel bag and pulled out the bilge pump. In less than five minutes time, he had pumped out all the water from the float and stowed it back in the bag.

  After spending the entire day exposed to the sun, his thirst was extreme. His mouth was dry and he felt somewhat weak. He desperately needed water, but knew his supply was limited. He reached into the bag and pulled out his water bottle. Unscrewing the top, he placed it to his lips and slowly took a small sip. So as not to succumb to temptation, he replaced the cap and returned the bottle to the duffel bag.