by Glen Robins
Chapter Twenty-Four
Western Caribbean Sea, 2 miles north-northwest of Providencia Island
June 15, 8:21 p.m. Caribbean Time
Another wave crashed into the side of the boat, unsettling and destructive. Collin had forced himself to move forward, resisting the urge to shut down. He was surrounded by water, trapped in the dimly lit cabin of the Admiral Risty, facing an unwitting burial at sea.
In this dark moment, a ray of hope struck through the mental fog, the fright, the paralysis and opened his mind. For the first time in two days, he felt 100 percent clearheaded and focused. In that instant, images of himself opening the storage compartment below the second bunk and finding an air tank flashed across his mind. With astounding clarity, he knew an air tank, the last remaining item he needed to make his escape, would be there. Images of him releasing the back panel of the microwave to retrieve his iPhone in its lunch-bag-sized waterproof pouch ran through his mind as well. Prior to this split-second vision, Collin had worried about not being able to open the hatch and gain access to the outside. Thanks to the mysterious preview, he was certain he’d find his way safely out of the cabin and into the blessed air outside.
He had no time to ponder or appreciate the significance of this series of images that came to him or give thanks for the confidence they instilled. He only knew he had to act on the impressions, and he had to act now.
Infused with new inspiration and courage, he picked his way forward.
With the vision of what he needed to do clear in his mind, Collin plowed through the watery cabin, shining the dive light toward his first goal, the iPhone secreted behind the back wall of the microwave. He grabbed it and stuffed it in one of the mesh bags.
Next, the storage compartment under the bed. As he approached the darkened bunks, he didn’t waste any time fumbling to figure out how to open the inverted storage compartment. With remarkable ease, Collin adjusted to the upside-down configuration, found balance, and performed the tasks he needed to perform, one by one, calmly and efficiently. He was able to carry out the entire sequence with only the air in his lungs.
There was only one surprise during the process. As Collin tugged the air tank out of its storage compartment, something large and squishy bumped him from behind with unexpected force. His elbow knocked it back, but the contact with the mass felt grotesque, prompting him to examine it. He reeled around, pointed his light to see, and realized what it was. He jumped back with fright. Stinky’s lifeless body floated through the cabin amid a myriad of other objects, twisting and turning aimlessly. His hollow eyes stared forward, vacant and fixed, the terror of his final moments permanently expressed on his face. Sickened, Collin pushed the lifeless, spongy corpse away and shook off the shock. He had no time for distractions, even horrific ones.
Collin headed to the doorway, moving quickly and carefully in the unstable boat’s cabin.
When the hatch released, the door swung open to a dark and forbidding cavern-like space between the Admiral and the slope of a rising pile of rocks. It was filled with water, barnacled boulders, kelp, and a few broken pieces of the boat scattered around. Collin crouched in the doorway, balancing himself and the load he carried. The boat listed at an odd angle. That and its continual shifting and swaying made his exit treacherous. One misstep or loss of balance and he could be pinned between the hull and the jagged rocks. Overshooting his target could send him careening into oblivion.
Moving his weight, with all the items he carried with him, altered the boat’s delicate equilibrium. He repositioned and prepared himself to drop through the open doorway, down past the cockpit, and onto a rock ledge five feet below him. Using the handrail by the steps for balance, Collin dragged the dive tank through the opening with his free hand. The dive light spun on the strap of the wrist holding the rail, making it impossible for him to see where he was going.
At that moment, a wave hit the boat and it rocked violently, throwing Collin’s back against the wall and knocking his feet from their purchase on the threshold. He dangled there, hanging by the handrail with one hand, holding the tank in the other, unable to see below him as his flashlight twirled above his head. He couldn’t let go of the tank. It was essential equipment for his escape. He kicked and flailed with his feet, trying to find a foothold. Using the tank like an extension of his arm, he sought a surface he could use for leverage to hold himself in place. There was nothing that gave him more than a second or two of relief. His feet and the tank kept slipping in the agitated surf.
When the next wave hit, he lost his grasp on the rail and began to plunge into the depths below. His knees bumped a solid object. His arm struck the steering wheel and nearly caught on it. All the weight he carried pulled him downward at an alarming rate. He was in free fall with the steel tank, which he gripped fiercely, leading the way. Desperately, Collin stretched out with his free hand until it caught on the serrated, barnacle-encrusted edge of a boulder, tearing the flesh of his palm and fingertips. His feet swung under him, slamming his knees into the same type of sharp surface. Two new trails of blood swirled in the water, possibly alerting more hungry sharks to the presence of wounded prey. What he imagined might be the equivalent of a dinner bell. Or the smell of fresh bread coming out of the oven. A signal that food was ready.
Despite the pain, Collin was able to jam one foot into the seam of a rock and hold onto the lip of another with his free hand to arrest his plunge. Then the other foot soon found the horizontal seam as well, allowing him to rest the tank on a surface so it would stop dragging him downward.
Collin’s lungs burned. He looked up and saw the Admiral above him, swaying and creaking in the surf. To the right of the stern, the glint of moonlight shone faintly. Without hesitation, Collin began to scramble upward and to his right, feeling the burden of the load as he climbed.
As he scampered past the Admiral, he swept the light to his left and realized things were even more precarious than they had sounded inside. Collin could see in the beam of the Captain’s dive light, the masts and bow of the Admiral Risty wedged in and among rocks, jutting down through the murky water. The long aluminum masts were bent and misshapen, but lodged in the darkness below, caught between car-sized boulders dozens of feet down. The entire weight of the Admiral pivoted mostly on the main mast, but the other two provided some additional support. For the moment, the boat tottered back and forth, its hull slamming on submerged boulders as the waves pushed and rising as the next wave advanced. This, he knew, couldn’t last in the relentless surge. It would all break to pieces before too long.
He never stopped moving upward, despite taking quick glances to his left to survey the sunken ship he had come to love.
As he hefted the load, clawing his way up the rocks past the jammed vessel, Collin realized that all of his years of running, surfing, and working out with weights had prepared him for this. His breath hadn’t failed him, and his strength had proven more than adequate.
It wasn’t until he breached the surface and drew in fresh air that Collin realized what he had just done and how long his breath had held out.
This was not the time to celebrate or commend himself, however. Collin gasped for air as he knelt on a round, half-submerged boulder, clinging with all his might against the sucking of the outgoing wave. He moved rapidly to stabilize his balance on the rocks and haul up his load so he could rest for a moment. The relentless waves wouldn’t allow him to relax just yet. Using the tank almost like a cane, he waited for the rise of a wave and pushed himself upward to a higher ledge, set his feet, then pulled the tank up next to him and leaned against it. He repeated this action, bracing each time for the next wave, until he was beyond the waves’ reach. As he scuttled up the piled rocks, the flashlight dangled from its strap around his wrist, shooting light in all directions as it spun, while Collin positioned the tank safely on a long flat boulder.
Darkness was closing in. The sun, long hidden behind the thick piles of clouds, had disappeared altogether. The moon�
��s glow coming from just above the horizon was diffused by the thinner, wispier clouds that now passed overhead.
Collin hoisted himself and his load of gear up to a polished, mossy boulder out of the water’s reach, switched off the light, and collapsed onto the rock, breathing heavily. His whole body shook as he held his head in his hands. Reality crashed into him like the waves that pounded the rocks below his perch. He had narrowly escaped death, holding his breath far longer than he ever believed possible. He had survived ruthless beatings and physical trauma. He had melted under the mental and emotional barrage from Pho Nam Penh. He had been forced to behold his frail mother and his dear friend Emily subjected to the whims and unspeakable barbarism of two of Penh’s mangy miscreants. Buckling under the pressure, Collin had felt the need to give his enemy the computer that held the key to his new life in order to save two lives that were important to him.
But of all the life-altering events of the past two days, most devastating to his soul was the inescapable fact that he had taken another man’s life. There was no reversing his actions, no do-overs. This wasn’t a video game or a movie. This was reality and nothing he did or said would ever undo what he had done. The man was dead, dead because Collin killed him. Despite all of his justifications for doing it, he had killed someone. This was not something he had ever considered in his former life. Never needed to. Moving past it was paramount to his survival, but he knew that at some point, he would be required to deal with this fact head on.
This new life of his now seemed destined to be marred by death. And this time, he was the one to blame. To him, the man didn’t even have a name. But certainly there were people somewhere on the other side of the world who would miss him, maybe even mourn him.
These thoughts consumed Collin, leaving him short of breath and trembling.
The image of his mother bound to a metal chair in some deserted warehouse in the middle of nowhere, looking pale and feeble and pathetic, flashed across his mind and chased away the guilt. He thought about the pierced guy and his despicable display with Emily. He thought about the gash that barbarian had left on Emily’s cheek and chest and the rage welled up anew. Recalling that video made his blood boil and pushed away, at least for the moment, any remorse for killing the unnamed man.
A renewed strength filled the emptiness that, just moments ago, had made him feel like he might break into shards of glass. A raw vibrancy took hold, pushing him to his feet. There were two more animals out there that needed to die. The world would be a better place without them.
Somewhere in the recesses of his mind, Collin knew his parents were praying for him. A thought he chose not to dwell on. Somehow he knew that they knew he would return to them when this was all over. For the first time since the death of his sweet wife and children, he wanted to go home. He wanted to heal and to restart his life. But first, he had to finish the business Penh had started. The running and the chasing and the hiding and the hurting would end. Then his new, new life would begin.
****
Rojas held Captain Sewell’s head out of the water with his arms woven through the Captain’s armpits. Jaime held one leg under the knee; Miguel held the other. With their spare hands, Jaime and Miguel clutched the life vest of the man next to him in order to keep the group together and increase their communal chance of survival. The four men had once again receded into their own thoughts as they bobbed together in the choppy swells. The storm had moved to the northwest, but a light rain continued to fall.
Nothing, it seemed, could or would penetrate through the darkness of their collective mood. It was heavy and thick, as was the silence that enshrouded the four men. There were so many unknowns, so much sadness and loss to contemplate. And nothing they could do to further help themselves or save either of their fallen friends.
That’s when they saw it. A flicker in the distance, coming from the east. It disappeared as quickly as it appeared. It returned, briefly, and was gone again. Rojas almost said something to his friends, then decided not to raise false hopes. The beam of light came again. This time it lingered, dancing unsteadily as if it was unsure of itself, sweeping left and right, before hiding once more. As soon as it was gone, it reappeared. Rojas’s smile mirrored the light’s movements, coming and going in a whimsical ballet.
The silence was broken when Jaime asked, “Did you see that?”
Rojas jerked his attention to his right, where Jaime’s voice was. “You saw it, too?”
“Yeah, what is it?”
“I’m not sure, but I think it might be a flashlight,” Rojas said.
“Isn’t that where the Admiral is? Over there?”
“I think so.”
“Then that could be Collin. Maybe he’s signaling to us,” said Jaime, the hope in his voice rising.
“Maybe.”
“Maybe? But you’re the one that said he would survive because God is with him.”
After a moment of reflection, Rojas admitted, “Yes, that’s true. I said that. And now, I want to believe it, I really do, but that’s a lot to hope for.”
“If it’s Collin and he’s alive—”
“We mustn’t breathe a word of it to anyone,” interrupted the Captain. “It would be best for him if his enemies think he’s dead.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Western Caribbean, 2 miles north-northwest of Providencia Island
June 15, 8:28 p.m. Caribbean Time
Collin’s moment of contemplation was long enough for him to catch his breath and hatch a plan for his escape. Action would be the ultimate antidote for the overwhelming angst that threatened to paralyze him. Standing tall against the breeze was a good start. The need to create an action list had been instilled in him by his father and was a natural part of his being. It kept his mind from getting stuck in neutral in difficult situations. “Find your starting point. Figure out what needs to be done first. Get it done and move on to the next.” How many times had his father said that to him growing up? How many times had it helped him solve problems? Too many to count.
Even after racking his brain, Collin’s list consisted of only one high-priority item: to call Lukas and ask him to find and rescue his mom and Emily. That was all he needed. With a starting place in mind, he pulled out the waterproof pouch and dug out his phone. He unlocked it and tried to call Lukas but was not surprised to find that there was no signal.
Now he switched his thinking to focus on finding a place with cell signal. He returned to the pouch for the yellow handheld GPS Captain Sewell had given him when he fled in the dinghy during Hurricane Abigail less than two weeks earlier. Stinky’s surprise attack had left many things undone and unsaid between Collin and Captain Sewell, including returning the GPS and the dinghy. It was a good thing, though. He needed that GPS now to guide him.
The fierce winds had calmed to blustery gusts. Light rain, soft as cotton pellets, glided down, barely noticeable. The swells looked no larger than four feet, their white tips curling and splitting innocuously in the breeze. Moonlight shone through billowy, silver-streaked clouds above. It appeared the storm had delivered its punch and exited the arena, perhaps seeking other victims. Dripping wet and wearing only the shorts and T-shirt he had changed into before the Asian men showed up, Collin began to shiver in the wind.
He picked up the GPS unit and switched on the power. Once it locked into the satellite signal, a map appeared with a blinking red dot in the middle of the vast sea of pale blue. Collin adjusted his eyes and oriented himself quickly. East by southeast of his position was a cluster of long, thin islands stretching southward. Surely there would be inhabitants and, being the Caribbean, surely there would be tourists. If there was civilization, there would be cell reception. With cell reception, he could call Lukas. Lukas could find his mom and Emily. Priority number one could be checked off. Then, he’d have to sort out the next priority.
Collin set the destination on the handheld GPS, then went straight to work assembling the scuba gear, piece by piece. This he had
done a hundred times. His moves were fast and fluid, but thorough. Each piece of equipment was familiar to him in its shape and function. He wasted no time, but double checked everything he did to make sure it was done properly.
First, he removed the buoyancy compensator vest, positioned the Velcro strap-and-cinch system on its back, and clamped it around the tank. Then he connected the regulator and checked the air flow. With the connection made between the regulator and the tank, he checked the air pressure in the tank with the gauge on the regulator. It was gratefully full, showing over 3500 psi of air pressure. In his experience, he could make that much air last ninety minutes in shallow water.
Collin attached the dive computer that included a compass, timer, and depth gauge. He marked his bearing at 150 degrees on the compass, a south by southeast direction, matching what the handheld GPS told him. After attaching the buoyancy compensator to a hose from the tank, he pushed the button that allowed air to flow into the vest, partially inflating it with three short bursts of air. He placed two of the large lead weights and two of the small ones into their pouches attached to the vest with Velcro. The others he left on the rock.
Collin located the fins, mask, and snorkel next and put them on. The Captain had larger feet than Collin, so he adjusted the straps on the fins, then removed them again. That’s when he remembered the dive boots. He fished them out of the red mesh bag and tried them on. They were too large, but he wore them anyway knowing they would prevent blisters and chafing on his feet and ankles. After adjusting the mask and snorkel, he reattached the strap for the dive light around his wrist and tested its beam. He sat on the rock in front of the outfitted tank and donned the vest, tightening the straps and adjusting the weights. With the buckles snapped, everything felt as it should: snug but not restrictive. Feeling as prepared as he could under the circumstances, he stood and braced himself on the rocks before moving carefully toward the water’s edge beyond the stern of the Admiral, where he had emerged.
