Falling Prey
Page 23
“Damn it,” Milo cursed inside his head. Five minutes meant five minutes outside of the damn ship. The last thing he and Jefferson needed was one of those morons getting hurt. Milo’s gauge ticked a little further into red. “Shit,” Milo thought. He would have to switch his tank out with one of the extras on the boat. Running out of air with only those three idiots to rely on was out of the question. Hopefully, those kids would watch the time and be close behind.
“Milo, where the hell are they?” Jefferson paced anxiously in the rear of the boat. He kept peering over the side, willing the three missing divers to break the water’s glassy surface.
Treading water, Milo pulled the regulator from his mouth and pushed his mask back on his head. His thin dreadlocks glistened with the dying rays of a setting sun. Jefferson was a pain in the ass and prone to panic, but it looked like he was right. Those college kids weren’t on the boat and it didn’t look like they had broken the surface yet either.
“Do you see them floating anywhere nearby?” Milo asked. “They were supposed to be heading for the surface right about now. Maybe the current took them?”
“If I saw them, would I be asking you where they hell they were?” Jefferson was beginning to lose it. He and Milo had dumped all of what little money they had into opening this diving business. A crappy boat and couple of dented scuba tanks later, they were in business, but all of that would be over if something happened to these college boys. “Get your mask back on and go look!”
Milo swallowed a string of curse words, pulled his mask down and cleared his regulator. He glanced at his air gauge. There wasn’t much left, but there was no time to switch his tanks out if one of those college boys was trapped in the wreck.
Maybe the three morons were still underwater screwing around. Maybe not. They were over privileged little shits, but from what Milo had seen, they knew how to dive. If he thought something like this was going to happen, he never would have taken them out past the breakers. But these three didn’t want to dive near the reef with all the snorkeling soccer moms. They wanted to wreck dive near the scuttled World War II German destroyer.
At the time, Milo didn’t think it would be a problem. Sure, the current was stronger and there was always the possibility of a shark or two, but neither of those things appeared to worry the college boys, so Milo pushed the worry out of his head.
The smoke stacks of the German destroyer pointed towards Milo like the barrel of a gigantic gun. He couldn’t help but think that the image was all too prophetic. Tourism accounted for more than half of the Bahamian economy. If he didn’t find these kids, the local authorities were going to make an international example out of him.
Swimming past the smoke stacks, Milo tried to remember the last place he had seen these idiots. He checked his air gauge. Not much was left in the tanks. It had to be the same for those kids, probably less with their excited, quick breathing emptying the tank.
As the War wound down, the Germans scuttled their own ships instead of surrendering to the allies. The Nazis would set a charge in the powder room and jump ship. A handful of these destroyers were scattered around the islands, having turned into artificial reefs over the years and become tourist attractions.
A large hole, ringed in jagged metal teeth loomed in the side of the ship. Milo envisioned the explosion that created this hole and remembered seeing one of the kids swimming towards it. He thought that one might have been named Chet or Chad or something along those lines. It was Chad. Milo remembered thinking it was one of the worst names he had ever heard, though he had to admit it kind of fit the kid. A few more kicks propelled Milo down to the gaping hole.
The setting sun and depth made it difficult to see. A large, handheld spotlight hung from Milo’s harness. He reached back and clicked it on. A yellowed beam of light cut through the darkness inside the ruined ship. Motes of algae, ragged bits of seaweed and other unidentifiable detritus drifted lazily inside of the hull. Milo panned the light from side to side.
The corner of a large blue and white flipper peered out from around the corner of what looked to have once been a set of stairs. Milo watched the flipper move gently. He hoped it was Chad or one of the others and that they had just lost track of time while exploring. Milo swam towards the flipper. He wished that he could have called out to the kid, just told him to stop screwing around and get his ass back to the boat.
The flipper peeked out a little more. Milo kicked hard, throwing clouds of underwater refuse swirling around his head. With his free hand, Milo grabbed the flipper and yanked. He figured it might startle the little turd, maybe send images of a shark swimming through his head – it was the least Milo could do to repay the favor.
A torn stump of flesh jutted from the flipper in Milo’s hand. Raw, red strips of flesh and meat danced in the light current, surrounding a white, splintered shank of bone. A muffled cry erupted in a cloud of bubbles as Milo gnashed his teeth into the length of rubber in his mouth. Bile burned Milo’s throat. He wanted to vomit, wanted to scream. He needed to keep his regulator in place.
Pushing away from the leg, Milo swam for the hole in the side of the destroyer. Thoughts of what could have done this flooded his mind and panic twisted around his heart. What if it was still in the ship’s hull? What if it was behind him?
Milo couldn’t stand not knowing. He turned and shone his light behind him, half expecting to see a gaping maw of white, pointed teeth. There was nothing, only the errant clouds of…of meat.
The water was teeming with torn hunks of shredded flesh. A severed finger, trailing ribbons of tattered skin like the tentacles of some hellish jellyfish gently bumped Milo’s mask. Milo swallowed hard. He was no longer able to fight the urge to vomit. It surged up his throat and, with no other exit available, gushed out Milo’s nostrils, filling the lower half of his mask. The acidic tang of puke stung his eyes and made it difficult to see. Milo wanted to dump his mask, but feared letting in the revolting stew of seawater and human meat. With no other option, Milo turned and swam for the surface, not caring that a gurgled scream knocked his regulator free from his mouth.
The regulator bumped against Milo’s side as he swam for the surface. He could have cleared it and returned his air flow, but he didn’t want to stop and risk finding out what had done that to Chad.
“Where are they?” Jefferson almost shrieked when he saw Milo break the surface alone.
Milo ignored his friend’s question and swam for the platform on the back of the boat.
“Where are they?” Jefferson repeated.
“Get me in the boat!” Milo cried as he pulled himself onto the platform. “Get the tanks off of me. Get me out of the water.”
“What happened down there? Where are they? Why won’t you answer me?” Jefferson couldn’t stop the stream of questions as he helped Milo out of his harness and dropped the air tanks onto the deck of the boat. “What is that crap stuck in your hair?” Jefferson plucked a ragged, pink chunk from Milo’s hair. He examined it, trying to determine its origin. “Is this chum or something?”
“It’s Chad,” Milo gagged. Vomit splattered across the deck of the boat.
“Chad?” Jefferson dropped the bit of meat as if it had suddenly become hot and leapt back. “What could do that to Chad?”
“The Lusca,” Milo gagged between dry heaves.
Jefferson was done asking questions. He turned to rush towards the steering wheel, but slipped in Milo’s vomit and belly flopped onto the deck.
Milo stepped over his friend, who floundered in an acrid puddle of puke, and started the engines. The dual Mercury outboards roared to life and almost lifted the boat out of the water before rocketing it across the water.
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