They were breathtaking eyes, he had to admit, as she shoved the regulator into his mouth for a breath of air. Those eyes, they almost provided warmth by themselves. He took a deep breath of air and passed the regulator back, realizing his mind was slipping. He tried to refocus on his tiring legs and kicked harder, reminding himself that they had to make it to shore.
It had been a snap decision, and the only one that would save their lives. With the expanding cloud of carbon dioxide gas completely surrounding them, they had to turn to the water. Summer considered cutting the anchor and making a frantic run through the vapor, but if there was any delay in starting the engine and fleeing they would die. Plus, there was Dirk’s life to consider. If he happened to surface under the stern as they got under way, he could be cut to ribbons. He might have little chance of surviving as it was, but there was always hope he could outswim the gas with his remaining air.
“We’ve got to get into the water,” she yelled as the gas erupted. Trevor saw her step toward a fully rigged dive tank on the side rail.
“Get into your dry suit. I’ll grab the tank,” he directed.
With less than a minute before the boat was engulfed by vapor, Summer jumped into her dry suit and grabbed a mask while Trevor hastily buckled on the tank. She barely had time to slip her arms through his buoyancy vest straps when the carbon dioxide wafted over the boat. They fell more than jumped over the side, splashing loudly into the cold water and submerging beneath the lethal cloud.
Unprotected from the cold, Trevor felt the immersion like an electric shock. But his adrenaline was pumping so hard that he didn’t freeze up. Clinging together face-to-face, they kicked awkwardly through the water, passing the regulator back and forth for shared air. They eventually worked into something of a rhythm and soon made good headway toward the island.
But the cold quickly caught up with Trevor. The effects were imperceptible at first, but then Summer noticed his kicking slow. His lips and ears showed a tinge of blue, and she knew he was drifting toward hypothermia. She increased her kicking pace, not wanting to lose their momentum. She struggled another hundred feet, realizing that he was slowly becoming a deadweight. She looked down, hoping to find the seafloor rising up beneath them, but all she could see was a few feet of murky water. She had no clue as to how far they were from the island or whether they had in fact been swimming around in circles. The time had come to risk surfacing.
Taking a deep breath from the regulator before forcing it back into Trevor’s mouth, she kicked to the surface, yanking him with her. Breaking the calm surface, she quickly spun her head in all directions, trying to get her bearings. Her worst fear proved to be unfounded. They had escaped, at least temporarily, the thick clouds of carbon dioxide, which still billowed into the sky a short distance away. In the opposite direction, the green hills of Gil Island beckoned less than a quarter mile away. Although they had not swum in a direct line, their course had been true enough to approach the shoreline.
Summer sampled a few breaths of air without consequence, then reached under Trevor’s arm and pressed the INFLATE button on his buoyancy compensator. The vest quickly inflated, raising Trevor’s torso from beneath the water. She looked at his face and he winked in reply, but his eyes were dull and listless. Grabbing the back of the BC, she kicked toward shore, towing him behind her while he loosely flopped his feet.
The island seemed to keep its distance as fatigue caught up with Summer, who was already burdened by a sense of desperation to get Trevor ashore. She tried to keep her eyes off the shoreline and just focus on kicking, but that only made her realize how leaden her legs felt. She was struggling to keep her pace when Trevor’s BC suddenly jerked out of her hands and his body moved ahead of hers. Startled by his movements, she let go in surprise, observing that his limbs still hung limp. Then a head emerged from the water alongside Trevor’s chest.
Dirk turned and gazed at Summer, then spat out his regulator.
“He must be frozen. Did he inhale the gas?” he asked.
“No, it’s just the cold. We’ve got to get him to shore. How did you find us?”
“I saw a dive tank was missing from the boat and figured you were making for shore. I surfaced a little to the south and spotted you.”
Without another word, they made for the island as quickly as they could. Dirk’s appearance served as a morale boost to Summer and she suddenly swam with renewed vigor. Together they moved briskly through the water with Trevor in tow and soon yanked him up onto a thin band of rocky beachfront. Shivering uncontrollably, Trevor sat up on his own but stared off into space.
“We’ve got to get his wet clothes off. I’ll give him my dry suit to wear,” Dirk said.
Summer nodded in agreement, then pointed down the beach. A small wooden structure sat perched over the water a hundred yards down the shoreline.
“Looks like a fishing hut. Why don’t you check it out, and I’ll get his clothes off?”
“Okay,” Dirk said, slipping off his tank and weight belt. “Don’t enjoy yourself too much,” he chided, then turned and headed down the beach.
He wasted no time, realizing Trevor was in real danger. Jogging in his dry suit, he crossed the distance to the structure in short order. Summer was right, it was a small fishing hut, used for overnight excursions by members of a local fishing club. A simple log structure, it was smaller than a one-car garage. Dirk noted a fifty-five-gallon drum and a cord of chopped wood stacked along an exterior wall. He approached the front door and promptly kicked it open, finding a single cot, a wood-burning stove, and a fish smoker. Spotting a box of matches and a small stack of dry wood, he promptly ignited a small fire in the stove, then hustled back down the beach.
Trevor was sitting on a log shirtless as Summer removed his soaking pants. Dirk helped him to his feet, and with Summer on the other side, they half dragged him toward the cabin. As they moved, Dirk and Summer both gazed out at the strait. The white clouds of CO2 were still surging from the water like a volcanic eruption. The vapor had swelled into a towering mass that stretched across the strait, rising over fifty feet into the air. They noted a reddish tinge in the water and saw dozens of dead fish bobbing on the surface.
“It must be the LNG tanker,” Dirk said. “They’re probably pumping it from a terminal on the other side of the island.”
“But why do it in broad daylight?”
“Because they know we’re here,” he said quietly, a touch of anger in his voice.
They reached the cabin and lay Trevor down on the cot. Summer covered him with an old wool blanket while Dirk brought in some of the cut wood from outside. The stove had already started warming the small hut, and Dirk fed more wood on the fire until a small blaze was roaring. He stood to fetch some more wood, when a deep bellow echoed in the distance, reverberating off the island hillsides.
Dirk and Summer rushed outside and looked up the strait in horror. Two miles to the north, a large Alaskan cruise liner was making its way down the passage, heading directly toward the lethal bank of carbon dioxide gas.
45
The French cruise liner Dauphine was scheduled for a weeklong voyage up the Alaskan coast before returning to its home port of Vancouver. But a major outbreak of gastrointestinal illness had sickened nearly three hundred passengers, forcing the captain to shorten the trip in fear that a large number would require hospitalization.