Methodical. That’s what she needed to be. A grid pattern, searching the floor around where he should be.
She could do this.
***
Darkness surrounded Sam as he sank below the water. It wasn’t more than twenty metres in the gulf, so he didn’t have to worry about sinking too deep that no one would find him. No, the dark would be more of an issue for that.
He fumbled for the regulator on the BCD, shoving it in his mouth and sucked.
Nothing.
Fuck.
His lungs squeezed as he sank, his hand scrabbling to find the top of the scuba bottle. There. He twisted it open before taking another breath.
Air. Sweet, sweet air.
Quickly he slipped the BCD on and clipped it up. He was still descending and his ears hurt. He equalised and was debating whether to use some of the air to inflate his BCD to slow the descent when he hit the bottom.
Sam breathed slowly, knowing it wasn’t good to hold his breath, but not wanting to use up his precious supply. If only he knew how much he had.
In the pitch black he felt around for the gauges and found a couple. Now if he had a light, he might see something.
Penelope’s torch. He grinned and reached for his pocket.
Sam flicked it on and then opened his eyes, bringing the gauges as close as he could. Everything was blurry, and the salt water stung his eyes, but a button on the gauge illuminated it, which helped him pick out the numbers as they cycled. Twenty bar, twenty-two metres.
Maybe twenty minutes if he was very lucky before he ran out of air.
He switched off the light, not sure whether they would see it from the surface, and closed his eyes again. No point keeping them open when he could barely see in front of him.
He just needed to move far enough away from the boat that they wouldn’t see him surface.
Sam hauled on the anchor, but it didn’t budge.
Shit. Bending down he felt around, found the smooth cold anchor and the sharp coral reef. He tugged and it shifted, but not much. It must be lodged under a ledge.
A push of water against his skin like something large swimming by him.
Don’t think about it. There was almost nothing he could do if a shark wanted to take a bite out of him. The blood from his bullet wound had probably attracted them.
He slowed his breathing and focused on what he could control.
Getting the anchor free.
It was stuck tight, jammed underneath an outcropping.
Another wave of water and this time Sam felt the brush of something swimming past. He switched on the torch, waving it around in an arch, hoping to scare off whatever was there. Then he tugged on the anchor again.
Part of the reef broke off.
He’d apologise to Penelope when he saw her next.
The thought of her gave him strength, and he yanked again. He sucked in a breath.
His air was gone.
***
