Timeless

by Teresa Reasor

  The stone slid forward, dragging the bottom of the meshing against the boulder beneath it. The drop gaped before it. Quinn grasped one of the Kevlar straps with both hands. Not strong enough to redirect it, he stumbled forward. One booted foot hit a partially buried rock, and he tripped. The stone shot out over the edge of the precipice, leaving him dangling from the strap by one hand. “Bloody hell—” the words jerked from him as his heart leaped. A black pit stretched beneath his dangling feet.

  He heard Struthers yelling. “Topside- topside, she’s broken free and shifting out over the drop-off. Quinn’s caught in the webbing. Pull her up.”

  “Roger.” The steady voice sounded flat compared to Struthers’ high-pitched yelling.

  The steel cable, already taut, jerked the straps tight around his hand. His heavy work glove kept the Kevlar from cutting his fingers, but it squeezed it against the stone with bruising force. A yelp of pain broke from him as he grasped the edge of the air pontoon and jerked, trying to free himself. If he could get loose, he’d drop down to the loch bed.

  The load swung to the right, back across the barren plateau of mud they’d been working on for days. Quinn braced one boot against the stone and pushed. “Topside, you’re going to have to release some of the air and bring her down. My hand’s caught and I can’t get free.”

  Logan’s voice came over the radio. “Roger, Quinn.”

  Air bubbles shot out around him blinding him.

  Quinn heaved against the strap and his hand, nearly numb from the pressure, came free of the glove. The water, just a few degrees above freezing, burned his skin. The water’s buoyancy floated him down to the seabed. He landed on his knees and looked up. The stone barreled toward him. He rolled out of the way. Air bubbles shot into his face at the same time the displaced water shoved him over the side of the precipice. His light went out. “Jesus Christ—”he breathed. Why the fucking hell could he not get free of this twenty-ton sodding rock? “Struthers, I’m hanging over the side next to the load.”

  Dangling from his umbilical, his back against the wall of the abyss, he rocked back and forth until he managed to turn around. The sudden quiet inside his dive hat had him momentarily going still. His gas had stopped. “Topside, my gas has been compromised. I’m going on my emergency bottle.” Silence met his announcement. His bare hand ached with the cold and the strong squeeze it had sustained. His fingers clumsy and uncooperative, he reached up and turned the knob that would feed him gas from the tank on his back.

  Don’t panic. Don’t panic. Struthers would be here any moment.

  Quinn felt across the mud before him looking for handholds to climb up the face of the crater. The emergency bottle would only last a few minutes, and he’d run out of air if he fooled about too long. He unlatched the weight belt from around his waist and let it drop. His strokes strong, he swam upward to the sea floor. Cold had already started to leach the warmth from his suit. His hot water supply wasn’t working, either. Was the umbilical sliced through, then? Gripping it with both hands, he gave it a strong tug. Nothing. “Shite.”

  Bubbles drizzled from the exhaust hoses fastened to the pontoons. The canister lights at the original site shone fifteen meters away, the lights of the bell another two, at least.

  A small circle of light bobbed in the distance. Struthers. He could unhook the umbilical and start walking and meet him halfway, but with his light out and the drop-off only feet away, if he fell back over the side he’d not be able to make it back up.

  “Move your ass, man,” Quinn yelled. Nothing, no answer came to his urging. All he could do was wait. Would Struthers reach him in time? Or would his gas run out?

  CHAPTER 22

  “Regan, what is it? What’s wrong?” Hannah asked as she tried to keep pace with her.

  Regan quickened her strides, her heart racing. “I have to go out to Grannos. Quinn’s in trouble.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I just do.”

  Hannah grasped her arm and pulled her to a stop. “What did you see in the lab? You went white, and you looked as though you might weep.”

  God, what could she tell her? “I can’t talk about it right now. I have to go.” Chill bumps broke out on her skin, and she shivered.

  Hannah’s expression mirrored the concern that gnawed at her. “I’m coming too, then.”

  Regan nodded and hurried down the hill to the dock. She spied the skiff left there to travel to and from Grannos and broke into a trot. She climbed into the skiff and waited while Hannah settled on the seat beside her. Starting the motor, she spun the boat toward the Grannos.

  As they approached the vessel, Gordon Murdock, one of the divers, broke away from the two other divers and came to the side. He caught the rope Regan tossed him and tied it to the aft rail. Regan climbed the ladder he slid into place.

  “What’s happened to Quinn?”

  His brows rose beneath a shaggy tuft of sun-bleached hair. “How’d you know somethin’s happened, lass? Did someone radio you?”

  Regan shook her head and started toward the dive control unit perched above the SAT system on a platform. Since it was manned twenty-four hours a day, whoever was inside would know what was happening.

  Regan paused at the door as she took in the tense tableau. Sebastian Nicodemus and his assistant, Andrew Argus, stood to one side of the room. What were they doing here? What was happening?

  “Come in, Quinn.” Logan spoke into a microphone, his tone holding a note of forced calm though his features looked tense. Rob’s worried gaze met hers. Her heart plummeted, and she braced a hand on the door facing.

  Hannah laid a hand on her arm.

  “Topside, I’m almost to the stone. I’m following Quinn’s umbilical but he’s still nowhere in sight.”

  “Who’s with him?” Regan asked around the knot in her throat.

  “Struthers. Bruce is in the bell,” Rob said, his voice hushed. “His radio is out. His depth is the same as the stone but we don’t know his location. His umbilical could be severed.”

  “He’ll be with the stone,” she said, her voice dwindling to a whisper. It was always the stones. Were they trying to kill them both? The water at that depth remained just a few degrees above freezing, and without the hot water being pumped through his umbilical to his suit; the helium would leach the heat from his body quickly. He could die of hypothermia if they didn’t reach him soon. God, why was she thinking about all this?

  He would be fine.

  He had to be.

  Minutes ticked by. Regan’s muscles grew tighter, her breathing shallower.

  “I’ve found him.” Struthers came over the radio.

  Regan started at the sudden sound.

  The release of tension in the room was palpable. Regan slumped back against the wall her legs rubbery with relief.

  “His umbilical is trapped beneath the sodding stone. He’s connected to his emergency bottle. We’ll return to the bell so he can switch out the emergency line. He looks in good shape but he’s bloody cold.”

  Logan jerked the mike to his mouth. “Roger. Move your arse, Struthers. He’s going to be hypothermic by the time you get there.”

  “Roger. We’re moving.”

  “Come on. Come on,” Regan whispered. Anxiety squeezed her chest making it hard for her to draw a full breath. Minutes dragged on until time seemed to have stopped.

  Rob braced his hands on the counter and bent at the waist, his features taut with worry. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! Move, man,” he yelled.

  *****

  Quinn focused on the distant lights of the bell as they trudged across the twenty-one meter distance that separated them from the bell. His lungs pumped like bellows, and he made a conscious effort to breathe shallow for fear the emergency bottle would run out before he reached it. Every few moments violent shivers racked him. The heliox he breathed compounded the problem. It made it impossible for his body to maintain its own temperature without assistance. If he could make it to the bell,
he could plug the hot water supply into the port on his hip and it would gradually warm him.

  He clenched his teeth against their urge to chatter until his jaw ached. God, he was fucking cold. His muscles grew stiff and difficult to move. It took so much effort just to walk. Keep going. Get to the bell.

  He’d have a hot shower as soon as he got topside, and he’d feel better. Pushing the gas in and out of his lungs grew harder with each breath. God damn it, it was hard enough to breath seven atmospheres down without this shite.

  The effort to put one foot before the other grew harder, but his shivering had almost ceased.

  The light from inside the bell cast a weak spotlight on the floor of the loch. His feet weighed ten pounds each and the edges of his vision grew fuzzy.

  Just a few meters farther. The effort to force the gas in and out of his lungs took all his will. He stumbled, his movements weak, clumsy. His legs no longer wanted to cooperate. Struthers grabbed the back of his hot water suit and jerked him toward the open hatch beneath the bell. He shoved him upward through the hole.

  Bruce’s face looked pasty in the bell light’s glare. Quinn tried to grasp the edge of the hatch opening but his fingers wouldn’t work. Bruce dragged him over the edge and laid him on his side in the scant space between the hatch opening and the wall. “Topside, I’ve got him, but he looks bad. His fingers are blue and so are his lips,” Bruce said.

  Quinn lay helpless as the man removed his dive hat and the emergency gas bottle from his back.

  Struthers surfaced inside the chamber. “Give me the emergency umbilical,” his voice came over the radio. “We need to get back on the system and get him warm.”

  Bruce grasped the mask and handed it to him. Struthers dropped back through the opening to secure the device. He returned in a few seconds and climbed into the bell.

  He removed his dive hat, unplugged the hot water line from his hip, and transferred it into the port on Quinn’s hip.

  The heated water running through the tubing in his suit barely made an impression. “Than-s,” Quinn said his tongue clumsy and uncooperative. The look the Struthers and Bruce exchanged did not reassure him.

  Bruce closed the hatch and locked it.

  Quinn looked down at his bare hand. It did have an unnatural bluish cast to it. “I los- m’ glove.”

  Bruce squatted beside him, and grasping his hand, held it between both of his. Quinn felt nothing.

  *****

  “You have to get him out of there,” Regan said to Rob. “He needs to be airlifted to a hospital. If he’s hypothermic and he’s warmed too quickly, his heart will become arrhythmic and he could die of a heart attack.”

  “We can’t remove him from the system. He’s saturated to a depth of seventy-one meters. ‘Twill take us four days just to get him out of the system.”

  “But by then—“ Regan didn’t bother to finish her thought. Dizzy she eased into a seat at the radio. “Do they have a portable defibrillator inside the unit?”

  “No. Electronics don’t do well inside the pot because of the heliox. One spark could start a fire that would kill them all.”

  Regan blinked against the tears burning her eyes. Rob’s frown looked so much like Quinn’s her throat threatened to close. She dropped her head in her hands.

  “Quinn’s tough, he’ll be fine,” Rob said. He sounded as though he tried to convince himself as much as her. He turned to look over his shoulder at Nicodemus and his assistant. Something in his expression alerted her to an undercurrent that passed back and forth among the men.

  What had happened?

  Nicodemus motioned to Argus, and the man scurried to open the door. Nicodemus paused to face Rob. “Now that your brother has returned to the bell, we’ll return to shore. Should he need any medical treatment, let us know. A helicopter can be summoned at any time to transport him to hospital.”

  “A helicopter won’t help him. We can’t bring him out of the SAT system to transport him until he’s decompressed.”

  Nicodemus’s features tensed. “’Twas ultimately your decision to add more air pressure to raise the stone. I’m sure your brother will understand.” He gave a shrug. “These are the risks you take in choosing this kind of work.”

  Rob’s features grew tense, and his eyes held a look that sent a shiver down Regan’s spine. He appeared ready to spring at the man.

  Argus stepped between them. “You’ll keep us informed of your brother’s condition?”

  At Rob’s continued silence, the two men turned and left the control van.

  Regan looked up at Rob. “What did he make you do?”

  Rob’s throat worked as he swallowed and his eyes avoided hers. “Not a thing. Not a goddamn thing. But if something happens to Quinn—”

  The violent promise she read in Rob’s taut features made her shiver.

  *****

  Quinn couldn’t remember ever being so tired. His muscles trembled like jelly, and his head seemed full of wool. The two men lay on either side of him in the narrow bunk. Looking at their scruffy beards and grayish undergarments he was grateful odors were impossible to smell in the environment. One muscular arm tightened around him. “Don’t get any ideas, lads,” he said. Hell, at least he was able to talk more clearly, and he could feel his hands and feet again.

  Craig Drummond laughed. “I don’t know about John, but you’re safe from me. I like my partners without a beard and a little less hair everywhere else, too.”

  “The same could be true for the two of you,” Quinn quipped. He struggled to keep his eyes open but it was a losing battle. His body had exhausted itself trying to stay warm. “I’m a bit tired, lads. Think I’ll take another wee nap.”

  “That might be a good idea, Quinn,” John Murray said, his tone holding a note of studied casualness.

  They looked out for him, just as he would have any of them. The team had worked together for four years. They were an extended family. “I’m all right. Just a bit tired,” he said. His eyes drifted closed.

  *****

  Coira beckoned to him and he followed. The moon touched the leaves of the trees with silver and the grass sparkled with beads of dew.

  “Where are we going, lass?”

  “To the stones. ‘Tis not just a place of death, Braden, but one of healing as well.”

  He limped forward not to follow but to stop her. “’Tis not a place I treasure as you do, Coira.”

  “You do not have to treasure it to believe.” She turned to look up at him. Moonlight traced her profile with gold and threw her dark eyes into shadow. “Do you believe in me, Braden?”

  His gaze shifted to the dark indistinct shape of Eilean Maolruibhe in the center of the loch. Bryce’s tiny grave lay there. His son was there, alone in the cold ground. Grief and anger clogged his throat. “You did not save our child.” His voice sounded harsh, his tone accusing.

  She caught her breath and put out a hand as though seeking support. “I would have died in his stead.”

  “But you didn’t.” He strode forward, the pain in his thigh grinding with each step. He grasped her upper arms, and for the first time he made no attempt to temper his strength. “Damn you and your beliefs.” He shook her until her head snapped back and her shawl tumbled from her shoulders to the ground. “’Tis this place you worship, ‘tis the teachings you follow that caused this. ‘Tis a punishment from God.”

  “Nay!” She cried out. “Our son was strong, perfect in every way. Father Nathrach said so himself when he baptized him after the birth.”

  A chill touched Braden’s skin as fear for her coursed through him. “The priest was here?”

  “Aye. I had labored so long and had so little strength left, Ross thought I might die and called him to me.”

  “Bryce lay in the cradle you made for him next to my bed. I was so tired after the birth. He was well and breathing when I drifted off to sleep. When I awoke, ‘twas to find him so still, so cold. His lips were gray.” A sob shook her and she gripped his leather t
unic in both hands. “Ross said he must have choked or quit breathing.”

  Coira would have known had it been going to happen naturally. Ross, Nathrach, which one had harmed their child?

  Tears spilled down her face glittering in the dim light. “‘Tis my fault for not seeing it before. If I can see what lies ahead, why could I not protect my babe? Why could I not save him?”

  The raw sound of her voice, the way her body bowed in pain, drained his anger, leaving only grief gripping his throat, crushing his chest.

  He was so weary of death. He had seen so much of it on the battlefield.

  He drew Coira against him. Held her tightly.

  She clung to him. “Dinna hate me, Braden. I canna bear it.”

  A ragged sob broke from him. “I dinna hate you, Coira. I love you.”

  “Quinn—Quinn,” a high-pitched voice called to him. His lids sluggish, he opened his eyes to look up at Struthers. He was alone in his bunk. He looked about for the other men. Struthers and Bruce were the only men in the system. The others were on their dive.

  “Are you in pain?” Struthers asked.

  “No,” he swallowed back the grief that lingered and raised his hand, bruised bluish-purple, and swollen. He eyed the injury. It hurt like a bitch.

  “You were murmuring in your sleep.”

  Quinn wiped his face with his good hand to find his eyes wet with tears.

  “Will the com phone reach the bunk?” he asked.

  “Aye, I think.” Struthers reached for the heavy black phone mounted on the wall just above the bunk and handed it to him.

  “Topside, This is Quinn.”

  “’Tis good to hear you, brother.” Logan said on the other end of the phone. “How are you feelin’?”

  “I’ll live. I may have broken some bones in my hand. Rob will have to take my place inside the system.”

  “Aye—he’s already in the chamber.”

  “Good.” He hesitated. They didn’t use the COM phone inside the system for private conversations. But then none of the other men were in such a situation. Is—Regan about?”