Turtle Reef

by Jennifer Scoullar

  Zoe stood up, stretched, and went to fetch a jumper. She felt stiff all over, and cold too, in spite of the warm afternoon. Probably just nerves, but her head was heavy and starting to ache. Maybe Karen was right? Maybe she was coming down with something. That would be problematic. She had no time to be sick.

  She poured herself a drink and sat back down to search for promising email links or phone numbers. She scrolled down the website’s home page. One of the largest and most diverse group of marine scientists and engineers in Australia, with over fifty independent research group leaders, fifty postdoctoral researchers and two hundred PhD students. Where to start?

  Zoe emailed any likely contacts and then began making phone calls. ‘Yes, that’s right, I need a list of all your current research projects . . . Great, I’ll try his number.’

  It was harder than she thought to pry information from people, but two hours and three glasses of wine later, she struck gold with the secretary of the Director. ‘I’d rather not send that information to a private email address,’ she said. ‘However if you have one associated with the Reef Centre, I can send through a complete list of our current projects. You said it’s urgent?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘I’ll see what I can do, but I’m afraid it might not be until tomorrow afternoon. I’m snowed under right now.’

  ‘That’s wonderful. My work email is z.king@reefcentre.com.au.’

  She put down the phone. Tomorrow afternoon. How would she wait? She craved to confront Bridget this very instant, show her the discarded sample bags, demand an explanation. But how strategic was that? She’d seen too many movies where the hapless hero confronts the villain on the moor. When we get back to town I’ll expose you for the monster that you are! It never ended well. No, better to keep her powder dry until she had undeniable proof that Bridget was up to no good. My god, they were diving together on the reef first thing in the morning. Could she really last the whole day pretending nothing was wrong?

  CHAPTER 26

  Zoe packed the last of their gear into Seafarer’s starboard console storage. She was twitchy and on edge after a frustrating, restless night. Exhausted too. As if a university department would send information through after hours. But she’d still obsessively checked her emails until late, and it was after midnight before she got to bed. Too much wine, a mind that wouldn’t turn off and a headache from hell led to a sleepless night. But none of that could erase the shiver of excitement she always felt before a dive on the outer reef. Or did she shiver because she had a temperature? Her throat was growing scratchy and sore, and it hurt to swallow. What a day to be under the weather.

  ‘Ready?’ Bridget was already seated at the wheel with the motor running.

  ‘Ready.’ Zoe cast off the lines and stowed them away. The sky was bright and cloudless, with a freshening breeze, a perversely beautiful day. They were heading for Bora, a small outer reef. She sat in the stern, as far away from Bridget as possible. Staring out to sea, letting the salt air revive her, blow away the cobwebs. Zoe checked her phone for emails. Still nothing, and soon they’d be out of the range of her ancient mobile. She scoffed some Panadol and tried to put on a brave face. This wouldn’t be so hard. Keep the conversation light, avoid anything contentious, get through the day whatever way she could. Then get home for some answers.

  ‘Zoe.’

  Shit. She’d been hoping to make the trip out without having to talk. Bridget patted the seat beside her and Zoe sat down. Bridget turned to her, and Zoe forced a smile. As usual, her boss looked stylish and elegant. Not a hair escaped from her shining ponytail. Zoe still wondered how she did it, but was no longer envious, even though her own hair was swirling round her face in an unruly, tickling tangle – too short to tie back and too long to stay put. So what. Who’d want to be a lying snake like Bridget?

  ‘Good to get this job out of the way,’ said Bridget. ‘A storm’s forecast for early next week.’ Zoe pretended to see something off the port bow. She did not intend to be lured into small talk. ‘How did things go while I was away?’

  ‘Fine,’ said Zoe.

  Bridget abruptly increased the speed and the outboard purred louder. They skipped over a larger-than-usual wave and Zoe’s stomach dropped alarmingly. The small boat, the growing swell, feeling sick to begin with – not a good combination. She lurched to the side and vomited.

  ‘Are you all right?’

  Zoe raised her hand and gave a wave without turning round. Her head still hung overboard in case there was more to come.

  ‘You poor thing,’ said Bridget. ‘You should have taken seasickness pills before we left. What an awkward problem for a marine scientist to have.’

  There was a sarcastic, almost hostile edge to Bridget’s words. Or was she imagining it? Things had been okay between the two of them since the day Kane escaped and they’d had that heart to heart. ‘Let’s start afresh,’ Bridget had said. ‘No more secrets.’ And Zoe had believed her. What a monumental sucker. Well, not any more. Her eyes were wide open.

  Zoe stood up a bit shakily, wiped her mouth with an old tissue she found in her pocket and sat back down. ‘I’m fine. A bit of an upset stomach is all.’

  Bridget gave her a sympathetic smile that didn’t fool Zoe for a second. ‘Better out than in, that’s what Dad always says.’ Bridget cast her a sideways glance. ‘How is my father? I hear you two are seeing a lot more of each other since I moved in with Quinn.’

  So that was it. Bridget was snooping. Should she put her mind at rest? No, let her squirm. ‘Your father’s very well. He sends his love.’ Zoe went back to staring at the sea and thinking about the day ahead. Bridget would be collecting specimens. Zoe’s job was to photograph bommies: the great, mounding outcrops of coral forming the boundary of Bora Reef. Normally she would have been asking lots of excited questions about the purpose and possibilities of their trip to the outer reef, where bleached areas of coral had visibly grown, even in the few months that she’d been there. Damage that normally healed on its own did not mend when colonies were near pollution sources on land, and a scientific sampling program and photographic record could help establish that. But Zoe didn’t believe their dive trip had anything to do with science. For all she knew, Bridget merely wanted some new varieties for her tropical display tanks.

  They didn’t talk for the remainder of the trip, which suited Zoe just fine. When they reached Bora Reef, Bridget killed the motor. Zoe gazed around at the sparkling water and far horizon. Frigate birds, those supreme acrobats of the skies, soared overhead and a pod of dolphins frolicked in the distance. A place as remote as it was beautiful. Perfect. At that moment it was easy to believe that she and Bridget were the last people left on Earth.

  ‘Shouldn’t we be moored near a marker buoy?’ asked Zoe.

  Bridget shook her head. ‘This is the spot I want. Don’t worry, we have a GPS.’ They dropped anchor and changed into dive gear. Zoe couldn’t resist a small, shallow surge of satisfaction when she realised they were wearing the same size wetsuit.

  ‘Shall we synchronise our watches?’ Bridget turned her wrist to check her gorgeous Meridian dive computer. The little beauty did everything but hold your hand underwater. An LCD display showed depth, water temperature, remaining air time – it even suggested decompression stages on ascent. A far cry from Zoe’s discount store watch. Still, it was waterproof to fifty metres and reliable enough. ‘I make it nine-thirty,’ said Bridget. ‘Meet me back here in an hour.’

  ‘Righto. You go first.’

  Bridget fell backwards into the blue. She orientated herself on the surface for a few seconds, then vanished beneath the strengthening swell. Zoe began to cough. She popped a butter menthol in her mouth. A glorious reef dive lay ahead of her and she wasn’t going to let any cold steal away the joy of it. Now, where was her camera?

  Zoe slid beneath the waves and exhaled. Freedom, beauty, danger, bliss – sinking into the sea was always a spiritual experience. Like being in heaven, but on borro
wed time. A backbone of large bommies flanked the lagoon, offering deep diving on one side and shallow on the other. Zoe headed for the outer shelf, where giant groupers faced into the current. Marine life was more abundant here than inshore. Turtles, wrasses and rays abounded. On the sand below sat five fat brain corals, colonial species, prime indicators of an expanding reef. A promising find. Passing shadows caught her eye. In deeper water cruised a pair of tiger sharks. Fond as she was of sharks, the sight of these sleek predators frightened her. She had to pull herself together, concentrate on the job at hand. Zoe found a patch of bleached coral and started snapping away.

  Oh no, here was trouble. Two crown-of-thorns starfish, bristling in spines and much larger than she’d imagined. The first she’d seen. They weren’t normally found this far south. A native species, crown-of-thorns fed on vigorous corals like plates and staghorns, allowing slower growing brain and boulder corals to take hold. But sometimes their numbers grew out of control, devastating whole reefs. Outbreaks had been linked to polluted waters. Zoe snapped some photos.

  Diving was an inherently forgetful experience. A weightless world, dreamlike, views blinkered by the margins of the mask. Things drifted mysteriously on the edge of vision, and a brand-new window on the underwater world appeared with each turn of the head or change of direction. Angelfish and bright blue sea stars browsed among forests of staghorn coral. Purple sea fans seemed to wave in an underwater wind and massive giant clams lurked in deeper water, large enough to close on a foolish diver’s arm if examined too closely.

  A deadly banded sea snake swam by, breaking the spell. She checked her air tanks. Getting low. Must be time to go up. Shit, according to her watch only five minutes had passed. The damn thing wasn’t working. She thought longingly of Bridget’s wrist computer. Some day.

  Keeping the bommie wall on her left, she retraced her footsteps, so to speak, ticking off remembered landmarks in her mind: the overhang that looked like a horse head, the underwater arch. Finally Zoe arrived at the distinctive pillar-like outcrop where she’d started. She took one last photo of a particularly grand fire coral resembling a miniature castle, then headed topside. Her throat was parched and her head throbbed. She could use a couple more Panadol.

  No matter how much she loved diving, it was always a relief to break the choppy surface, to bury her head into that vast dome of life-giving air. The sun shone bright and hot, warming her chilled bones. Zoe removed her mask, shook out her hair and gulped down a great lungful. Much better. An hour underwater always left her disorientated and she badly needed a drink of water.

  She looked around for the shadow of the Seafarer, squinting in the strong light. Wait a minute, where was it? She spun slowly around. Not left, not right, not behind her. Not anywhere. She was all alone on the wide, wide sea.

  Zoe struggled to control a surge of panic. Every diver’s nightmare: to be left behind. Where was the boat? Maybe the anchor failed and the boat had drifted during their dive. That meant Bridget would be stranded too. Zoe looked wildly around for her. Hard to pick a bobbing head in this swell. If only the wind would die down, then she might be able to see something. Out of habit she looked at her watch. Useless thing. What time was it? She tried to judge by the position of the sun in the sky. At a guess, she’d say ten-thirty. That would tally with the amount of air left in her tanks. But knowing the time didn’t help her. She needed to know where Bridget and the boat were.

  A wave washed over her. Zoe spat the saltwater from her mouth, trying to ignore her thirst. Dread was creeping into her bones. Had she lost her bearings, completely misjudged the underwater landmarks, surfaced miles away from the boat? It seemed unlikely, but not as unlikely as the boat just disappearing. She fumbled for the whistle built into her buoyancy vest. The shrill note sounded loud in her ear, a scream for help lost on the vast ocean. She blew it again and again, hopelessly, knowing as she did that she was wasting precious breath.

  A dreadful reality settled on her like sea-spray. There was nobody to hear. Bridget wasn’t nearby, lost and alone somewhere in the water. She wasn’t desperately searching for her dive companion. Bridget was on the boat, heading for home. Zoe dropped the camera and it sank from sight.

  Another wave doused her, pushing her under. There wasn’t even a buoy to cling to. She struggled to breathe, fear sapping her strength. Being left behind wasn’t an immediate death sentence. Like most divers she wore an emergency lifejacket and had enough air in her tank to inflate it. People had survived overnight in such circumstances, and surely somebody, somewhere, would come looking for her soon. But any search would rely on Bridget reporting Zoe missing and faithfully relaying her last known position to rescuers. A slim hope.

  She couldn’t stop thinking about what had happened to two American divers a few years ago. They disappeared on the Great Barrier Reef after their boat’s crew bungled a rollcall. The alarm wasn’t raised for two days, when the captain discovered their belongings in a dive locker. Despite a massive search they were never found. Ten days later some of their gear washed up down the coast, and a dive tablet bearing a chilling message: Please help us or we will die. January 26, 8:00 a.m. They’d survived the night, only to die of dehydration and exposure. Or worse. Zoe tried to put the large sharks cruising the reef out of her mind.

  This kind of thinking wasn’t getting her anywhere. Was there something practical she could do? She scanned the horizon once again for a boat. Bridget may be gone, but other people must dive Bora Reef. She might get lucky . . . no, she would get lucky. Positive thinking could well mean the difference between life and death. The most important thing was to conserve heat and energy. She could feel the current moving her. Instinct said to swim back to her original position, but was that really the best strategy? And what was her original position anyway? Struggling against the sea sounded like a perfect way to exhaust herself. She paddled sideways instead, angling back in an arc during lulls in the swell, working with the waves to stay vaguely in place.

  What tools did she have at her disposal? Not much. The whistle, a signal mirror and a light. Nothing that helped her right now. Shit, what about her weights? She should have dumped them ages ago. Zoe began to jettison them one at a time, planning to hold onto the weight belt. She could use it to tie herself to . . . to what? With a sinking heart she unfastened the whole thing and let it slip into the depths. She hesitated to ditch the cylinder. They were expensive. The absurd irony of this thought actually made her smile. Bridget had left her to die, and yet here she was wanting to save the bitch a couple of bucks. Still, it might be best to keep the tank. It was almost empty and not weighing her down. If the life jacket leaked, she could use the last of her air to pump it back up again.

  Zoe wracked her brains for anything else she could do to gain an advantage. Nope, that was it. She pulled her knees to her chest to conserve body heat. Nothing for it but to endure. Now that she’d run out of things to focus on, her mind ranged in terrifying directions. She was constantly pulling it back from the brink of despair. Don’t think about Bridget, don’t think about sharks, don’t think about what will happen if nobody comes.

  Time wore on. Her head throbbed as the blazing sun travelled across the sky. It became harder and harder to judge how long she’d been waiting. Minutes? Hours? She dared not swallow for the pain in her parched throat and her thirst raged. Exhaustion was claiming her and she found it harder and harder to concentrate, to resist the buffeting swell. Her mind drifted along with her body. Why hadn’t she rung her mother lately, or talked to Dad? So caught up in the excitement of her new job, she hadn’t bothered to make the time. Next week, always next week. Well, maybe there wouldn’t be a next week. If she ever got out of this alive, that was a lesson she wouldn’t forget.

  Never had the ocean seemed so vast, so trackless, so filled with grand indifference. That was somehow a comforting thought. No doubt there were worse endings. If the sea took her, no malice would lie behind her death.

  This last, morbid thought rouse
d her, brought her to her senses. Of course there would be malice behind her death. Malice that belonged not to the great, thoughtless ocean but to Bridget Macalister. And what about Quinn? She must go to him and confess her true feelings. She could not die without him ever knowing that she loved him. That would be a shame. That would be a terrible, terrible shame. And he would marry a murderer and ruin his life, along with Josh’s. She couldn’t let that happen. She must hold on.

  But how? She allowed herself a mouthful of seawater, swirled it round, gargled and spat it out. It briefly eased her burning throat and she felt a little brighter, bright enough to take a look around. Maybe a boat had come? But what she saw stopped her heart.

  A five metre tiger shark, lurking so close she could touch it. She prayed it would sail past, pay no interest, but her luck was out. It made a U-turn, curious about this strange, clumsy creature bobbing in the ocean. Tiger sharks were adventurous about their diet. Rubber boots, bags of charcoal, boat cushions, hubcaps, and pets, among other things, had all turned up in their stomachs. They were known to investigate what came their way in the ocean by taking an exploratory bite. Sea snakes, turtles, even dolphins and dugongs were on the menu – and tigers came second only to great whites when it came to attacks on humans. But they also didn’t like their prey to fight back, and adrenaline was giving her strength.

  The shark approached again, almost touching her leg with its inquisitive nose. Zoe willed herself not to flail about, fighting an urge to scream. A combination of watching the movie Jaws and having studied sharks at uni gave her an idea. She slowly undid her air tank and held it in front of her, struggling to grip with icy fingers. Don’t drop it now.