Kimo hurried forward and slid her foot across the sand in an attempt to clear the path the door must take to open.
Another attempt, pulling back on the bar without as much sand in the way, allowed the door to open another three inches before bogging down in the sand.
Alana lowered the bar and swam backward, allowing Kimo to move close enough to shine the flashlight into the box.
Kimo shined the light into the container, trying to make out shapes in the murky water stirred up by the sand. Fish rushed toward her, in a frantic hurry to escape the interior.
When the sand slowly settled, blurred shapes cleared. If she hadn’t had a regulator in her mouth, Kimo would have gasped. Her heart leaped and hammered against her chest.
Inside the box were at least half a dozen semi-decomposed bodies—people whose wrists had been shackled to the sides of the metal container.
Her stomach heaved, and her hand shook so badly she dropped the flashlight.
Alana bent to retrieve it and edged around Kimo to shine the beam into the box.
She stiffened beside Kimo. She dropped the pry bar, and her hand shot out to clutch Kimo’s arm.
Her heart pounding hard against her ribs, Kimo automatically raised the camera perched on the selfie stick, stuck it through the opening, and pressed the button, snapping several photographs before she touched Alana’s hand and pointed upward.
Without hesitation, Alana kicked her flippers, sending herself rising toward the surface.
As Kimo hurried to catch up, the hum of a motor rumbled in her ears.
They hadn’t left the dive boat running, which meant another boat was in the area.
Alana slowed the speed of her ascent as if remembering to rise with the bubbles, not ahead of them. Though they hadn’t been very deep for long, decompression sickness was real and dangerous.
Kimo kept her ascent steady, the rumble of the motor growing increasingly louder as Alana neared the surface.
Kimo was three body lengths behind Alana when the other woman crested.
A spotlight shone from the edge of a boat cut low to the surface, barely visible in the night. The beam found and held Alana as she raised her hand to wave for help.
Instead of slowing, the boat driver increased its speed, aiming straight for Alana, while the spotlight continued to track her in the water.
Alana backpaddled in an attempt to sink below the surface. She barely managed to sink beneath the surface just in time for the boat to race over her exact location.
Kimo couldn’t tell from her position if Alana had gone deep enough to avoid being struck.
Hit or not, the force of the displaced water spun Alana around and back toward the surface, following the trajectory of the motorboat, and taking her further from where Kimo had come up.
The boat made a rapid turn and headed back toward Alana.
Kimo swam toward her friend as fast as she could but was too far to get to her in time.
The spotlight found Alana again. Someone on the craft extended a boat hook, snagged Alana’s gear and dragged her toward the boat.
No.
Kimo’s heart squeezed hard in her chest as she swam toward her friend. Alana’s limp body was dragged aboard the boat.
Dear God. Was she hurt? Was she dead?
The spotlight shifted from Alana to the water surrounding the boat.
“There has to be another diver,” a voice called out over the sound of the engine. “Find him. We can’t afford loose ends.”
When Kimo heard the words, she stopped swimming toward the boat.
