She looked past Dan, where their friends weren’t quite visible around a bend in the reef. She couldn’t see them, but their twin streams of bubbles rose above them toward the surface. Dan had been in the same spot for the past few minutes, and the others were moving even slower for some reason. Natalie was getting restless. She looked back at the large coral prominence. It bulged downward, toward the hollow depths beneath the overhang.
The foursome was diving a wall off the Florida Keys. They’d arrived in the islands three days ago, part of a week-long vacation to escape the pre-winter cold in Canada. It was only October, but already snow had fallen back in Toronto, providing them the excuse they needed to find an incredible last-minute deal online. Since none of them had kids, it wasn’t hard to be spontaneous with travel. Last year they’d all managed to take a six-night trip to Costa Rica to raft and explore the jungle, also on very short notice.
This being their first of two dives today, they had gone deep—planning for a 110-foot max depth—to explore a mostly vertical wall that rose to within fifty feet of the surface. The wall dive had offered some interesting channels and other coral features to explore, like the large knob in front of her now. Besides being upside down, this one almost looked like it had somehow changed in shape since she last looked at it moments ago. As if it had become smaller.
Dan was still thirty feet above and behind her, moving slowly in her direction. They would soon need to start heading into shallower water and back toward their rented boat. If she wanted a better look at the coral prominence, she’d better hurry. Dan would easily be able to find her, with the vis around eighty feet. She descended under the overhang, into the dark hollow.
As she drew closer to the knob, something moved on its surface. Maybe it was an eel hiding there, or a camouflaged reef fish. She finned harder, to see what had caught her attention. A body length away, she stopped.
The rough reef surface looked mostly the same as the rest of the wall. As she’d seen elsewhere, what appeared to be a huge, encrusted barrel sponge clung to the knob. But there was something different. For one thing, this feature lacked any substantial micro-structure—no deeper cracks, no crevasses for fish to hide in. And . . .
That was it. There were no fish here. The entire stretch of wall had lacked any larger sea life—grouper, sharks, reef crabs. But this coral formation was itself strangely devoid of any sea life at all.
None of the smaller organisms that normally moved in and out of the cracks in a reef were present here. No fans or brighter living corals, either—as though everything had died. Maybe the prominence took the brunt of the ocean currents, which could have sculpted away the more delicate features and prevented the establishment of reef organisms, but from her experience, sedentary reef organisms preferred to affix themselves in areas swept by a regular flow of water. What had she seen move on the knob, then?
The bottom surface of the prominence suddenly shifted upward. Ever so slightly. As if it were collapsing.
Impossible.
She stared at it for ten or fifteen seconds. Nothing. She blinked a few times. Her imagination was starting to take over. Too many beers with everyone last night in that Key West bar, and maybe too much of that kickass weed afterward. Maybe she should surface now. She looked at her air. She still had five more minutes at this depth, and she wouldn’t be diving again for a long time after this trip.
She drifted closer. She was just beneath the knob, almost close enough to touch it.
There. Something moved again. She was certain. Something was definitely hiding here, on the downward face of the reef. Something that hid itself very well. Her heart began to pound. She might see something interesting on this dive after all.
She focused on a dark crack the size of her forearm. Was there something within that hole in the reef? She stared at the dark slit, and saw movement again. But it wasn’t a fish, or anything else hiding inside. The crack itself had moved.
It wasn’t part of the coral reef. It wasn’t coral at all. It began to change color.
The line moved again.
It blinked.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
The author wants to thank the following individuals for making this book possible:
My wife, April, for holding down the fort; Matt, my brother and editor-in-arms; High Plains Scuba, for certifying me as an open-water diver two decades ago; Bahamas Divers, for providing my first introduction to the reefs of their beautiful island nation; KT and Sara Col-orosa, for helping me get some necessary time off from work; Brian Woodward, for manning my desk while I was away; Mrs. Brant, who got me started on the path to a good education; Gary Goldstein, my dreadfully busy editor; Arthur Maisel, Lou Malcangi, Karen Auerbach, and the other professionals at Kensington; Jim Donovan, my agent and trusted advisor; and my father, for teaching me early on the values of personal motivation and self-reliance.
I also want to thank Dennis, Frederico, Tony, Patrick, Axel, Erin, Anastasia, Brian, and the other very special staff of a quiet (and intentionally unnamed) resort on Andros Island, who helped me learn about the area and the fundamentals of technical cave diving and made me feel more than at home. Thanks also to fellow divers Drew and Chrissy Kinsman, for sharing their underwater images (and Led Zeppelin–inspired videos), and to the other friends I met in the Bahamas, especially globetrotters Andrew and Lydia.
Finally, a special thanks goes out to those who helped support me in achieving success with my first novel, Below: Tony Morelli (and TONMO!), Craig McClain (aka Dr. M), Danna Staaf and her Squid A Day blog, Jake Gengler at B&N, Web designers Wally Thompson and Dave Holmstrom, KT, Gwen (my other mother), the Arkwoods, the Alabama clan, superfan Sara Heideman, bulk book buyers Chinn, Beck, Kala, Norv, and Curtis, Mom (as always), and all my wonderful friends and fans—your support has been invaluable, especially at those times when I felt like I couldn’t write another word.
PINNACLE BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
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New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 2015 Ryan Lockwood
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
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If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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ISBN: 978-0-7860-3289-1
First electronic edition: June 2015
ISBN-13: 978-0-7860-3290-7
ISBN-10: 0-7860-3290-1
What Lurks Beneath Page 35
