Em returned it, then looked back down. Boone and Lyra should be about two-thirds done… huh. That’s odd. Emily could only see a single stream of bubbles now. One of them is probably in a solid stretch of tunnel, she thought, continuing to make her way to the drop-off to greet Boone when he came out. A moment later, the bubbles seemed to halt… then started to move back the way they had come.
Em kicked hard and descended to the roof of the Throat. The bubbles were now stationary. Did Boone and Lyra cluster together? Perhaps Lyra got cold feet too, and Boone was taking her back?
Em looked up at Calypso and raised a flattened palm to her. Stop. She swam to the point where the bubbles were rising from. Damn, just a little crack. She began to scan the outcrop, searching for a penetration point.
Boone had briefly considered removing Lyra’s vest and tank completely. This went against everything he’d learned in rescue classes, but the tank was empty and she was breathing his air. Plus, turning her around in the narrow tunnel and maneuvering her out of the Throat would be easier without the extra bulk. But these thoughts had quickly been cancelled out by the knowledge that removing her rig would take precious time, and keeping the octopus in her mouth during the procedure would be tricky. Also, some residual air might actually remain, and as he reached the lower pressure of shallower water, he might be able to inflate her bcd, which would make things easier when they hit the surface.
He managed to turn her around in the swim-through, the action kicking up a lot of sand that nearly created a white-out as the dive lights reflected off of the clouds of particles. Fortunately, Boone had a clear mental picture of the immediate surroundings and aimed himself up the forty-five-degree angle of the tunnel, starting to kick. Lyra appeared to be in a state of semi-consciousness, and Boone was okay with that at the moment. If she suddenly came fully awake and went into panic mode, this rescue could end very, very quickly. Grasping her firmly with one arm behind her lower back under her tank, he pressed her against him, using his other hand to keep the spare air source tightly in her mouth.
Metallic bongs of tank on tunnel echoed around them as Boone finned with bold strokes, the confines of the Throat making it inevitable that they periodically collided with the sides. Lyra’s tank was empty, and Boone’s was half-full; their impacts rang with different tones, like two distinct musical instruments, playing a haphazard duet.
A shaft of light shone in the tunnel ahead, moving to and fro. Emily? Nearing the beam, Boone noticed that it was coming from outside the swim-through. He made his way into the light and looked up, the light illuminating his mask. The beam abruptly switched to the bearer, as Emily shone the dive light on herself, then returned it to Boone. The white spot of the light moved slightly to the side, and he could see she was spotlighting Lyra.
Quickly, Boone fired off a rush of signals. He slashed his hand across his throat, then tapped the flat of his palm against his regulator, then pumped a flattened hand in the direction of The Foyer, and finally jerked a thumb up. Without waiting for recognition, Boone resecured his grip on Lyra and kicked hard for the entrance.
Out of air. Sharing air. Heading to Foyer entry. Ascending.
Emily understood each of the signals and what was meant by them, given the context. Lyra had run out of air, was on Boone’s octo, and he was taking her to the shallow end for an emergency surface.
Quickly, she signaled to Calypso with a thumbs-up, ordering her to ascend. The woman shrugged, holding her arms out, palms up. Not an official dive signal, but Emily took it to mean What’s going on?
Emily began to ascend, quickly pointing at the bubbles and signaling “out of air,” before repeating the thumbs-up signal. For most people, a “thumbs-up” meant things were good, but this was certainly not the case today.
She checked her gauge, making sure not to rush her ascent, and ensuring Calypso was doing likewise. Boone might be in danger of getting the bends this day. No sense in everyone risking decompression sickness.
In a situation where a diver was unconscious—or, in Lyra’s case, borderline unresponsive—the cardinal rule was to get the distressed diver to the surface and get them medical help as quickly as possible. While the temptation might be strong to ascend quickly, the problem with a rapid ascent was the risk of decompression sickness.
Through the course of a dive, as greater depths exert increasing pressure, nitrogen from the air a diver is breathing is absorbed into the tissues at a higher rate than at sea level. When a diver ascended too rapidly, the sudden drop in pressure could cause the nitrogen to be released into the body at a dangerous rate, the bubbles blocking blood flow to crucial organs, including the brain and heart.
While the classic term “the bends” referred to the pain occurring in joints or extremities, the bubbles could cause far more serious damage, affecting the nervous system, and in some cases causing sudden death.
As Boone finally exited the tiny entrance to The Devil’s Throat and rose into The Foyer, he took a moment to assess Lyra’s breathing. She seemed to be taking in air from the octo, and bubbles continued to be expelled. Behind the lens of her mask, her eyelids were fluttering.
I’ll try to rouse her again once I get us outside.
No longer in the cramped confines of the Throat proper, Boone was able to ramp up the speed. In moments, he reached The Foyer’s exit and threaded Lyra through it, angling up into sunlit water. As soon as he had room to maneuver, he shifted his grip to the bottom of the octopus, letting part of his hand cup her chin, tilting her head back to maximize the breathing passage.
Out in the open, Boone breathed a little easier. Since Lyra was taking in air, he decided against a rapid ascent. Because she was not fully conscious—and thus not in full control of her breathing—there was a risk of an overpressure injury in her lungs. If she wasn’t exhaling naturally during a fast ascent, the abrupt drop in the surrounding water pressure could cause a pocket of air to expand suddenly and cause a rupture. However, if she didn’t come to her senses before they reached the shallows, he would skip the safety stop.
Before beginning the ascent, Boone thought about the orange surface marker buoy, or “safety sausage,” at his side. The device was a simple inflatable tube, connected to a line and reel. This was ordinarily filled with air from the secondary regulator and sent to the surface for the dive boat to spot. But my octo is otherwise occupied, he thought. And one of my hands is occupied, too. Boone realized that unrolling the smb and inflating it from his primary regulator while maintaining the octopus in Lyra’s mouth would be a tall order. Fortunately, he wouldn’t have to.
Emily was kicking down toward them, and Boone could see she had just deployed her orange float; far above, the inflated tube shot toward the surface. Calypso floated about twenty feet above Emily, looking down at them, her form silhouetted by the sun’s glow. Boone reclipped his buoy and signaled to Emily with his free hand. He tapped his backup regulator and signaled “ok,” which wasn’t strictly accurate, but he wanted Emily to know Lyra was breathing. He pointed at Emily and then Calypso, then waggled a horizontal hand and flashed a three. You two, level off and take a safety stop.
Emily flashed a “three” and an “ok” sign back at him, indicating she understood. Slowly she ascended, continuing to face him, the eyes behind her mask full of concern.
Boone moved behind Lyra, triggering the inflator on his bcd to give the pair of them some positive buoyancy before gripping the valve of her tank in his free hand and beginning to kick for the surface. Twin sets of beeps emanated from their dive computers as he pushed the ascent a little too much at times, but in general he kept it slow and steady. Normally, he hated hearing those beeps, but since his hands were full, it was a good way to control their ascent without looking at the gauge. At about fifty feet, he leaned forward and shouted through his mouthpiece in the vicinity of her ear, giving her tank a little shake. One of her hands came up and weakly pawed at the water bef
ore floating limp again.
Boone spotted Emily above, his eyes following the line rising from her, locating the surface marker buoy. Hopefully, Ricardo would be homing in on it. Boone continued his ascent, only slowing when the twin computers scolded him. The distinct rumble of a marine engine sounded in the water around him and Boone scanned the surface. There! The underside of the Lunasea approached from the west; Ricardo had likely been keeping station over the exit to Devil’s Throat, waiting to see if they went left or right.
Boone passed Emily, who was at about thirty feet. She flashed him an “ok” sign and he nodded back, maintaining his grip on Lyra. A final decision to forgo his own safety stop was made, and he broke the surface.
The dive boat’s stern was within fifty feet of the safety sausage and Boone inflated his vest fully and tilted Lyra back, kicking hard for the stern ladder. Ricardo, seeing the situation, made a last course correction and left the wheel, practically sliding down the flybridge ladder and dashing aft.
Boone filled his lungs and shouted as loudly as he could. “Oxygen!”
Ricardo abruptly halted his charge and changed direction, moving to where they kept the emergency supplemental oxygen.
Boone brought Lyra to the edge of the transom and was debating removing her vest and tank when the young Mexican reached down and took over the grip on Lyra’s tank valve, beginning to haul her out of the water. With help from Boone, they managed to bring her up onto the swim platform, the octopus pulling free from her mouth.
Boone stripped off his fins, hurling them past Ricardo, who was attending to Lyra, removing her bcd. On the deck beside her, the green hard case with the oxygen lay open. As Boone scaled the ladder, he spotted a dive boat slowing off the port side. Marino Mundo’s Barco Rápido! He could make out Jorge at the wheel.
“What happened?” Ricardo asked frantically.
“Out of air.” Boone pointed to the approaching dive boat. “Ricardo, get us underway and radio Jorge. Have him pick up Em and Callie beside the marker buoy.”
Ricardo was already climbing the ladder. “We’re not going to wait?”
Boone dropped to the deck beside Lyra. “No time. We need to get her to San Miguel. Em and Calypso still need to do a safety stop. Currents are good, they’ll be fine.” He looked down at Lyra. She looked pale, and if she was breathing it was shallow. Boone shouted up to Ricardo, who was halfway up the ladder, “Wait! Make sure Jorge sees the surface buoy. Once they confirm they’ve got eyes on, floor it!”
“You got it!”
Boone leaned over and placed his ear above Lyra’s mouth. Might need to clear the airway before grabbing the oxygen, he thought, sparing a brief second to listen. Good, I can hear—whoa!
A warm splatter of bile and saltwater shot straight into his ear as Lyra spat up and began coughing. Boone quickly tilted her onto her side and reached into the case to retrieve the O₂ wrench, turning the oxygen valve into the open position and grabbing the mask.
“Lyra! Can you hear me?”
She continued to cough violently, but managed a nod.
“Good! I want to put this oxygen mask on you… can you give me a few more coughs first? Make sure you’re cleared out?”
Lyra didn’t need any encouragement, but she did seem to imbue the next few coughs with added purpose. Boone lowered the mask and she took it with a trembling hand, holding it over her mouth and nose. The deck under Boone’s knees rumbled with vibration as the Lunasea leaped forward from her idle. Ricardo angled the boat toward the ocean, no doubt intending to increase to full speed once outside of the reef. Boone raised himself up and looked to starboard. Jorge was waving back at him, then pointing into the water ahead of his own bow. Like most skippers out here, he was a diver as well, and flashed two fingers to his eyes, then pointed into the water ahead of his bow and signaled “ok.” Boone understood his message: I see the buoy. All’s well.
Boone let out a breath. Leaving Emily behind was a tough choice, but under the circumstances it seemed the right thing to do. He knew her skill level, he knew Marino Mundo was a top-notch dive op, and the current was minimal. Lyra had to get to medical attention as quickly as possible. He was fairly sure Emily would have done the same, if their places were reversed. Still, he felt rather sick about it.
“That’s not our boat.” Calypso was floating alongside Emily, looking around, trying to find the Lunasea.
Minutes ago, as they neared the safety stop, Emily had watched the underside of her dive boat race away as another one approached. She knew immediately what was in Boone’s head. He’d seen the arriving boat—another charter for Devil’s Throat, no doubt—and had opted to get Lyra ashore for medical attention immediately. It’s what I would’ve done, Em thought. During the eternity of the three minutes as she floated at fifteen feet, she’d spied a trail line being deployed, the fifty-foot rope and buoy slapping into the water behind the new arrival’s stern. When the three minutes were up, she had ascended toward it, signaling Callie to join her.
Now at the surface, she grabbed hold of the trail line and tossed a loop of it over to Calypso. “It’s okay. It’s the Barco Rápido from Marino Mundo. I know them. Boone must’ve decided he couldn’t wait.”
Calypso grabbed the line and started hauling herself toward the boat. “So, he just left us?”
“If you mean, ‘He left us to be picked up by a buddy from a capable dive op so he could save your sister’s life,’ then yeah, he left us.” Em realized her words had come out a little heated. “Let’s get aboard.”
“Hola, Emily!” Jorge called down to her from the swim platform.
“Jorge! Thanks for the save! I’m gonna owe you a brill bit o’ dance for this one, yeah?”
“I’m thinking next Friday night at Tiki Tok and we will be even,” Jorge said with a laugh, reaching past Emily to take Calypso’s fins as she reached the ladder.
“It’s a deal!” Emily tossed her own fins onto the platform, shrugging out of her bcd as Calypso climbed out of the water. “Did Boone say where they were going?”
“Not yet, but I’ll call them in a moment.” He took Emily’s tank as she scaled the ladder.
“There are four hyperbaric chambers in the city, but I don’t know what our diver’s condition is. Can you take us to the Iberostar?” Emily asked, referring to the resort nearest Punta Sur. “Have them arrange a taxi? I’m so sorry if we delayed your dive…”
“No es nada.” Jorge waved his hand dismissively, as he turned back to the group. “Nobody minds if we do a good deed before we dive, no?”
Emily grinned broadly as the six divers aboard all made it clear they could delay their gratification for half an hour. She waved to the water behind the stern as the Barco Rápido rose up on plane and headed northwest for the shore. “Just so you know, the current is ace, so you’ll have a grand time of it!” She walked forward, joining Jorge at the wheel.
“What happened?” he asked.
“Diver ran out of air in the Throat,” Em explained. “Exactly what happened, I don’t know. Oh, hey… next Friday? Drinks are on me.”
“Oh, no, no… I always buy, pollito.”
“Not this time… ’cause I need to borrow cab fare. All our stuff is on the Lunasea.”
Sitting on the deck with Lyra’s head on his lap and his cell in his hand, Boone ended the call he’d just made and rang up Ricardo. The man answered quickly.
“I don’t think I’ve ever had someone phone me from a few meters away,” Ricardo began.
“I didn’t want to leave Lyra lying on the deck to come up to you.”
The Lunasea’s hull form didn’t offer the smoothest ride when she reached top speed. Lying flat on the deck would’ve been a recipe for a bruising transit with a side order of seasickness, so Boone did his best to protect her head from the jarring bounces. He’d made sure to stuff his wetsuit and a balled-up tarp under her knees, doin
g his best to keep her legs elevated. Furthermore, Lyra was swathed in every dry towel Boone had been able to scrounge. She was still a little pale but seemed to be breathing easily now.
“So, where to?” Ricardo prompted.
“Head for the Aqua Safari pier. We’re taking her to the International Hospital up the street. I called ahead.”
“Si, claro.”
Boone hung up and slipped the phone back into his drybag. He glanced to starboard as they passed by the southern cruise ship piers, the sterns of the Nordic Starr and the Apollo receding as they raced north.
Lyra couldn’t see the piers from her position, but she’d clearly heard his end of the phone call. “Wait… aren’t you taking me back to my ship?” she asked, her voice muffled by the oxygen mask. “We have a doctor on board.”
“And I’m sure he’s very good, but here in Coz we’ve got specialists for diving accidents. I’m taking you to the Cozumel International Hospital. They’re not far from a pier we can use, and they’ve got a hyperbaric chamber.”
During his time in Belize, Boone had heard good things about Subaquatic Safety Services, which had a location on Ambergris Caye. A call to the sss facility in San Miguel had confirmed their chamber was free, and a uhms accredited physician was currently available and on site.
And their chamber there has room for four…. Having skipped the safety stop, I might need to make use of it.
Boone hadn’t felt any symptoms of dcs, though, and his rapid ascent hadn’t pushed the deco limits too far, so all might be well. Lyra on the other hand…
“How are you feeling?” he asked.
Lyra held up a hand and waggled her fingers. “My fingertips are tingling.”
That’s a symptom of dcs. “Any pain?”
“My elbow hurts… maybe I banged it in the tunnel?”
Or maybe nitrogen bubbles are clustered there. “Any pain in your other elbow or your knees? Headache?”
Deep Devil (The Deep Book 4) Page 11
