Tomb of Atlantis (17 page)

As he closed the door, he took one last look inside the cabin. Deep sadness overwhelmed him as he knew this would be the last time he'd ever see his plane again.

Standing next to the float and buoy, he took his spare air tank and began to fill up the hoist bag just as he had done with the urn. As it filled up rapidly, it pulled taut against the rope, shifting the float from its resting position. Smiling for a moment at the potential success of his plan, he continued to fill the hoist bag with air.

Little by little as the hoist bag filled, the float lifted off the ground and started to rise.
He held onto it and guided it past the wing struts until the line holding the buoy came taut. Suspended above the floor of the ocean, he marveled at the simplicity of the plan.

With the float poised to ascend and Jack holding his duffel bag of survival items, he had one last task left to do. Unbuckling his nearly spent air tank, he switched to the fresh tank used to fill the hoist bag. With this new tank, as well as the other items,
he felt he now had a chance at surviving. 

He eyed the buoy still tied to the fuselage and wing struts. He took out his knife and held it against the length of rope. Looking up, he took a deep breath and exhaled.

‘Well, this is it,’
he thought to himself.

With nervous apprehension, he sliced through the rope. Instantly, the float started to rise. Slowly it moved as the hoist bag and buoy strained to lift the heavy weight of the float and twisted structure. Standing back and monitoring the progress, Jack watched the float inch its way higher. Floating slightly above the operation and matching the ascension foot by foot, he steadied the float on its way toward the surface.

Minutes later, he checked his gauges. He was now passing the fifty-eight foot level. With the sun’s rays shining its way through to the shallower depths, he put away his flashlight and relied on the sun to guide him higher.

‘
Another ten feet and I’ll be able to just make out the waves on the surface
,’ he thought to himself.

Slowly, his cargo climbed. Now passing the seventy foot level,
he began to think about his decompression stage of the dive. He needed to hang and decompress at the fifteen foot level, but felt that stabilizing the float first was a more pressing issue. He watched his depth gauge anxiously, anticipating breaking the surface at any moment.

Suddenly, the float slowed to a stop. Four feet below the top, it sat and bobbed as the hoist bag and buoy broke through and stabilized on the surface.
He swam up and took and enormous breath of fresh air. The sun’s rays never felt so good and he floated for a moment absorbing their essence.

With work to do, he refocused on the float. Dipping back down below the surface, he carefully unzipped the duffel bag and pulled out the bilge pump. He then slipped the bag's handle through his free arm. Swimming to a circular cover on the top side of the float, he unscrewed it and allowed it to dangle by its chain. Under the water, he placed the pump into the hole and pressed the rubber cork into the opening, creating an airtight seal. Jack now floated near the surface and held the intake hose out of the water. With a quick pull and push of the pump’s lever, he was now emptying the contents of the float.

With each surge from the pump, a quart of seawater was drawn from the float and replaced by fresh air. Maintaining a balance between floating at the right depth to hold the pump in place and holding the hose out of the water, he needed to kick his fins continuously to facilitate the operation.

In no time at all, the float started to rise. With the weight of the struts dangling off the side, it caused the float to hang sideways in the water. Jack knew he needed the float to sit upright, but with the extra weight pulling it down, it would never float upright unless he made some form of correction.

He quickly untied the buoy from
the float then dove under the water to the twisted tubing below. Taking a length of rope, he tied it to the furthest most point on the bent tubing that extended from the float. He then swam to the surface and fed the end through the clip hanging off the buoy. With everything in place, he began to pull the rope through the clip. As he did, the buoy acted as an anchor point on the surface and allowed him to draw the bent wreckage up to it from under the water.

Slowly, the entire float rotated to the upright position as the wreckage drew closer to buoy. Mere feet from the surface, he reached below and grabbed the end of the bent tubing, and while kicking his fins hard, was able to lift the bent structure up to the buoy and tie it off.

Floating on the surface now, Jack marveled at his idea.

"Man, it's a freakin’ outrigger. It may not hold me very well, but at least the float will be stable," he speculated.

Above the surface, he was now able to pump even harder, speeding up the evacuation of water. In ten minutes time, the float was nearly empty and he struggled to hold the pump in place as he reached up out of the water to complete the operation. Sensing the folly of his actions, he unbelted his air tank and clipped it to the float along with his duffel bag, then climbed up on top in order to finish the operation.

Straddling the long narrow float, he hadn't realized how small its top surface actually was. Measuring fourteen feet long and only about a foot wide at the top, he quickly realized his stay would be an uncomfortable one. Shrugging it off, he scooted along to the front, placed the pump back into the hole, and finished the pumping process. In less than fifteen minutes,
he had completely emptied the float.

Mentally and physically exhausted, he sat for a moment to collect his thoughts. He looked around the vast ocean and saw nothing. Floating alone in the endless body of water, sitting on a single float, the reality of his isolation slowly began to sink in. He was fifty miles from the nearest person, nearly a two-day walk if he were on land. A cry for help, a plead for basic needs, a simple word of solace, would all go unanswered.

The dangers from below raced through his mind. At some point, he would be visited. He knew this. On a long enough time line, the unimaginable was inevitable. Without a rescue, he would have to fight for his life. Unlike a human that could exercise conscience and restraint, the foes from beneath were cold, calculating, and functioned on raw instinct. Any survival out there in the middle of the ocean would have to come from him. He was truly alone.

Atlantis - Chapter 12

DAY 1

Jack stared down at the float his legs were now straddling. Sitting a foot above the water, the foot-wide platform was barely wide enough to hold him. Shifting routinely, he tried to find a comfortable position. As the sides of the float tapered down from the top, the bottom of the float expanded in width under the water to nearly two feet across, giving him the feeling that he was riding a horse.

He lifted his feet out of the water and removed his fins. White and shriveled from continuous exposure, his feet looked like they belonged on a corpse. Holding the fins in one hand, he rubbed them with the other, restoring the circulation back into them. From his waist belt, he sliced off a length of towline and tied his fins, mask, and snorkel to his makeshift raft.

Sitting alone, the only sound he heard was the wind and the gentle lapping of waves against the float.
His mind began to process his reality.

“How could this have happened?” he said out loud. “It's like a bad dream I'm having.”

Looking around in disbelief, he felt like a prisoner jailed unjustly. He knew this was real, but his mind hadn't come to grips with the truth of this new reality. He was in the depths of deep despair and began to think about the circumstances and what could have created a catastrophe of such magnitude.

Examining the
struts extending from his float, he could see the twisted metal that once connected the other float to the one he was on. The force required to shear the bolts and twist the metal from the missing float could only have been generated by a series of large waves, continuously striking the plane.

Jack looked around him. The seas were calm and the skies were clear. It had been less than an hour that he last saw his plane intact.

“No way,” he said to himself. “No way a freak wave did this. Not in calm seas… impossible.”

Then it dawned on him, “Whales. Those shadows I saw. The whales must have done this,”
he said in realization.

He looked around again and surveyed the remains of his most valued treasure. He could feel the anger radiating off his face as he visualized whales viciously assaulting his prized possession.

“Freakin' bastards,” he thundered in anger.

He took a few deep breaths of air and calmed himself as he tried to figure out what to do next. Looking down at his watch, he noted the time: ten fourteen. He wouldn't be missed for another forty-five minutes when...

“Moses. He'll be expecting me to show by eleven o'clock,” he said to himself. “I’ll be ok. As soon as he realizes I’m overdue, he’ll sound the alarm.”

Counting the chain of events that would lead to his rescue, he estimated out loud. “Let's see. He'll probably call for help about two hours after I no-show at the airport, somewhere around one
-o’clock. Add another three to four hours for the Coast Guard to find me and that should make my rescue around four or five,” he finished confidently.

Jack had an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. Although his last statement seemed logical and reasonable, his subconscious alluded to a far different and less forgiving scenario.

Quietly he sat, forcing himself to stay positive with affirming thoughts, but with each denial of reality, a stronger more powerful image of truth forced its way to the forefront of his conscious.

“Damn,”
he said with subtle malaise. “What if Moses shows up late or what if he takes longer to report my disappearance? And what if the Coast Guard can't find me?”

As anxiety and desperation raced through his mind, he contemplated increasingly more negative scenarios, blurting out in grave finality, “What if everything goes horribly wrong?”

Jack stared out at his stark isolation. He was just an infinitesimal speck in that vast universe of water and sky. With strong currents continually pushing him from his landing site, his light of hope began to dim.

“This could take a while. I could be here overnight,” he said to himself. He swallowed hard and continued, “I could be out here two nights, maybe more.... Wow, what have I done?”
he finished, now coming to grips with his difficult road ahead.

----- ----- ----- -----

The sun’s early morning rays were soft and comforting and Jack lay back on the float and absorbed them. Balancing on the foot-wide platform, he crossed his feet to keep them in place as he stretched out and rested. Soon, though, the sun’s penetrating heat bore down on his wetsuit, warming the thin membrane of water that surrounded his body inside. Within a half hour, his temperature rose to an uncomfortable level.

“Damn, it's hot,”
he said simply.

Sitting up, he unzipped the top of his farmer-john style wetsuit and carefully removed it. Next, he pulled off the sleeveless overalls that lay underneath. With only his brightly colored swim trunks left for cover, his body was now dangerously exposed to the sun.
Using the two neoprene garments as padding, he lay back down and continued to rest.

The stress of his disaster had exhausted him and he quickly drifted off to sleep. As the heat of the day increased, so too did the winds. Slowly but consistently, the steady breezes that skimmed along the surface of the water, kicked up the waves, and transformed the surface into a rolling chop. Wave after wave rolled under the float and outrigger, slowly rocking Jack from side to side. In a moment of colliding surf, their momentum slammed broadside into the float, abruptly sending him into the water.

Jack was flung in, head first, propelling him down several feet before his natural buoyancy overcame his weight. Upside down and disoriented, his eyes popped open in shock and confusion. Immediately, his body’s natural instinct took over and he stopped his breathing and swam to the surface. As he burst through the rolling waves, he gasped for a breath, taking in small amounts of water, causing him to cough uncontrollably.

He
reached up and grabbed the edge of the float as he continued to cough and grapple for air. Like a gymnastic routine, he kicked his feet and pulled himself up while twisting his body in the air. He laid himself across the float on his stomach. Finally catching his breath, he gazed into the water as he thought about his rude awakening.

He watched as particles of plankton and other small matter floated through the streams of sunlight that penetrated the water below. As the current circulated the bits and specks that fed the larger marine life,
he watched a tiny shadow begin to grow in size.

Small at first, then larger by the second, the spec
k transformed into a small fish. As he watched in fascination, the small fish quickly became a large menacing barracuda that headed straight up, attracted by the sound of Jack's thrashing maneuvers in the water.

With a loud shriek, Jack pulled his arms and legs in closer to his body as he tried to minimize his exposure to the charging monster below. Climbing swiftly and steadily, he could see the razor sharp teeth as the large fish neared the surface.

With no other recourse, Jack slapped the palm of his hand on the top of the water, creating a tremendous clapping sound and displacing a large amount of water that resulted in waves and foam.

Instantly, the barracuda broke off its charge, curving its long sleek body nearly in two, as it changed direction and headed back down to the mysterious depths below.

“What the hell…” he said to himself in shock. “Where’d he come from?”

He looked back down into the water, searching for the menace.

“Must be a fluke,” he rationalized. “I haven’t had any visitors before. Probably just a freak event.”

Scanning once more, he felt a sense of guarded relief at seeing nothing, although he knew somewhere down there were more dangerous fish loitering, waiting for something or someone to attract their attention.

Jack felt his stomach grumble. Looking out over the outrigger at the buoy, he saw the duffel bag that held his food and water. Very slowly, he slipped into the water, being careful not to splash or make any sudden moves that would attract attention of the unknown.

Hand over hand, he worked his way across the outrigger to the buoy four feet away. Looking down as he went, he kept an eye out for dangerous fish. Reaching the buoy, he untied the duffel bag and quickly slipped back to the float. After throwing the bag on top of the foot wide platform, he climbed back up on top himself, breathing a sigh of relief that he'd accomplished his task unmolested.

He open the bag and let the water drain out. Pulling out his plastic Ziploc bag that held his sandwich, he opened it and immediately took a large bite.

“Mmm, damn this is good,” he said out loud, not realizing just how hungry he really was.

After a couple more bites, he took out his water bottle and had a few sips, being careful not to drink too much. Not knowing exactly when he would be rescued, he knew he would need to conserve his food and water. Finishing half the sandwich and a quarter of the bottle of water, he stowed them back in the bag. Taking a length of rope from his towline, he tied the duffel bag to the outrigger for easy retrieval.

“Now what?”
he said to himself, trying to find a way to occupy his time.

Looking around his floating home, there was nothing for him to do to fill the void.

He looked at his watch and read the time aloud: “One thirty.”

He thought of Moses and the anguish he must be suffering not knowing whether he was dead or alive. Staring off into the water, his mind wandered, thinking about what Moses was doing at that moment. He envisioned that Moses was probably on the phone alerting the local authorities. He could almost see the anxiety in his face as he would undoubtedly be trying to explain his last known position at sea, further explaining to them that he was to be back two hours ago.

Jack felt sadness at the hurt he was putting Moses through. He wished there was some way to call him and tell him he was all right.

O
nce again, he looked around as he tried to find something to do. Staring at the duffel bag, his mind drifted off once more. He began to think about his parents. He hadn't called them in two days and was due to call them tomorrow. He hoped he would be back on the island well before then so as not to subject them to any undue worry and stress.

As his mind skipped along, bouncing from one topic to the next, he began to feel the heat of the day. Looking down at his arms, he realized that he was just starting to show a bit of color. Without sun block,
he knew he could easily suffer from a painful sunburn. Thinking of the first-aid kit Mosses had given him, he shuffled over to the duffle bag and pulled it out. Tearing open the Velcro straps, he scanned through the compartment.

“Band-Aids, batteries, gauze… nothing special about this first-aid kit. All the standard crap,” he said aloud as he searched. “Man, I wonder how much Moses charges for one of these things?”

Next to a compartment that contained scissors, aspirin and alcohol wipes, he noticed a yellow container sticking out the top of small pocket.

“How funny… a toothpick holder. Mom used to carry one of these in here pocketbook,” he chuckled to himself. “If I’m in desperate need of a toothpick, I know right where to look…”

Suddenly, from behind him, he heard a loud splash. With a frightened jolt, he spun around to investigate. Several feet from the float, he saw a large swell in the water where something had just been. Quickly, he stowed the first-aid kit and carefully stood. Scanning the water, he saw movement deep below. It darted back and forth momentarily, then vanished.

“What the hell was that?”
he exclaimed, nervously. “Don’t tell me he’s back?”

He watched for the barracuda for several more minutes, then finally sat down. Looking around him, he wondered what else was hiding below.

“Man, three dives, and I barely see a minnow. Now that I’m stuck on a raft, the nasties are coming out of the woodwork to have a look.”

He reached down and felt his knife strapped to his leg. Now knowing what lurked beneath,
the tiny weapon gave him little comfort.

Once again, the sun’s rays beat down on him and he realized the need for protection. He scrambled over to the duffle bag and pulled out the first-aid kit.
Realizing there was nothing in it to protect him from the sun, so he tossed it back in. Seeing his fleece jacket, he decided that overheating was better than burning. He pulled out the still soaking garment and after wringing out as much water as he could, he put it on and shuffled back to the center of the float.