“Ready.”
“Transfer to regulator.”
As Costas disengaged the umbilical, Jack shut his eyes tight and flipped back his helmet, at the same time shoving the regulator second stage in his mouth and extracting the face mask kept in a side pocket for emergency use. He pressed it to his face and blew through his nose to clear the water, remaining still for a few moments to let his breathing rate subside as the shock of the cold wore off.
After unclipping a hand-held torch, Jack drew himself up to the aperture, Costas following close behind to ensure the hose was not stretched taut. As Jack grasped the lintel he felt an indentation where the lava had folded over the rock surface. His fingers traced the form of a symbol cut deep into the basalt.
He turned towards Katya and gesticulated excitedly. She gave an exaggerated nod before returning her gaze to him, clearly more concerned by his chances of making it through the tunnel.
Jack turned back and relaxed completely, his body suspended from the lintel and his eyes closed. Using the technique of a free diver he breathed slowly and deeply to saturate his body with oxygen. After about a minute he gave the OK signal to Costas and placed his hand over the regulator. He took five quick breaths, then spat it out and launched himself forward in a frenzy of bubbles.
Costas reached out to grasp the tape which was their precious lifeline. As it began to slip through his fingers he spoke quietly under his breath.
“Good luck, my friend. We need it.”
CHAPTER 22
For the first few metres Jack had to claw his way through the narrow confines of the tunnel where the lava had sagged over the entrance. He could feel his suit rip as he squeezed past the razor-sharp knots of lava. He glanced back to make sure the tape was undamaged and then set off rapidly down the tunnel, his arms extended forward and the torch shining directly ahead.
As he rocketed along he could sense the gradual incline where the lava flow conformed to the rising angle of the passageway. He flipped over and saw pools of luminosity on the ceiling where the oxygen from Costas’ regulator had collected. Almost exactly a minute after taking his last breath he popped his head into a pool that filled a fissure in the lava. He took three breaths in rapid succession, at the same time checking his depth gauge and breaking out a Cyalume chemical lightstick to leave floating in the bubble as a beacon for the others to follow.
“Three metres below sea level,” he said to himself. “A piece of cake.”
He ducked down and pushed off again into the passageway. Almost immediately it forked. He guessed that one passage would lead to safety and the other would follow the vent where the lava had blown through from the core. It was a life or death decision which would determine the fate of the other two.
After checking his compass Jack swam resolutely up the left-hand passage, exhaling slightly to prevent his lungs from rupturing as the pressure decreased. A shimmering lens of iridescence appeared before him, a surface too wide to be a pool of oxygen caught against the ceiling of the tunnel.
His lungs began to spasm as he scraped with increasing desperation through the narrowing folds of rock. As he pushed beyond the lava and broke surface he almost crashed his head against the rock ceiling. He gasped repeatedly, then staggered out of the water. He had reached sea level but was still deep within the volcano, the passageway ahead showing no sign of an exit as it continued to rise.
It had only been three minutes since he had left Costas and Katya but it seemed an eternity. As he fought unconsciousness he focused all his energies on the orange tape that emerged behind him, pulling again and again until it slackened in his hands and he lay still.
There was a huge eruption of spray as Costas hove into view, his body welling out like a surfacing whale. Katya followed seconds later and immediately began inspecting Jack’s wound, her face etched with concern as she saw the crust of blood which had oozed through the gash in his suit.
Costas ripped off his mask and breathed heavily, his dark hair matted to his forehead and his face puffed and red.
“Remind me to diet,” he panted. “I had a spot of bother with that final section.”
He struggled to the edge of the pool and kicked off his fins. Jack had recovered enough to raise himself on his elbows and was unscrewing the beam projector on his flashlight so the exposed bulb would cast a shadowy candlelight around them.
“Join the club,” he replied. “I feel like I’ve been through a meat grinder.”
Their voices sounded rich and resonant after so long on the intercom. Jack eased himself further up the slope and flinched with pain.
“I stowed Katya’s backpack just inside the tunnel,” Costas said. “There’s enough trimix left for two of us to buddy-breathe back to the submarine in case we need it. I also tied the end of the tape to the lightstick in that air pocket. If we have to go back we just remember to turn right at that fork.”
The water was peppered with tiny bubbles fizzing to the surface. They stared at it as they caught their breath.
“That’s odd,” Costas said. “Looks like more than just the remains of oxygen from the regulator. Must be some kind of gas discharge from that volcanic vent.”
Now they were all safely out they were able to look around their new environment. Up the slope was another rectilinear rock-cut passageway leading inexorably upwards, yet the view was oddly different.
“It’s algae,” Costas said. “There must be just enough natural light for photosynthesis. We must be closer to the outside than I thought.”
Now that the commotion in the pool had died down, they could hear the steady sound of dripping.
“Rainwater,” Costas said. “The volcano will be saturated after the storm. There’ll be a vapour plume the size of a nuclear explosion.”
“At least Seaquest should have no trouble finding us.” Jack’s words were laboured as he raised himself to his knees. The rush of oxygen had sustained him through the tunnel but now his body was working overtime to flush the remaining nitrogen. He staggered as he stood up, careful to avoid the slippery patches where the rainwater spattered around them. He knew his trial was not over yet. He had beaten the clock on his air supply but would now have to face much greater pain without the numbing frigidity of the water.
Jack saw the looks of concern. “I’ll be all right. Costas, you take point.”
Just as she was about to move, Katya glanced at Jack.
“Oh, I almost forgot.”
Her olive skin and sleek black hair glistened as the water trickled off it.
“That inscription on the lintel,” she said. “I had a look while we were waiting for you to get through. The first symbol was the Mohican head, the syllable at. I’m certain the second symbol was the sheaf of corn, al or la. I have no doubt the complete inscription reads Atlantis. It’s our final waymarker.”
Jack nodded, too groggy to speak.
They began to make their way up the slope. Now that they had discarded their breathing apparatus they no longer had the headlamps which formed part of the helmet assembly. The hand-held torches were designed as emergency strobe beacons, and using them continuously quickly drained the batteries. As they worked their way up the slope, the lights began to waver and fade in unison.
“Time for chemical illumination,” Costas said.
They pocketed their torches and Costas and Katya cracked open their lightsticks. Combined with the faint beginnings of natural light, the sticks produced an unearthly aura, a glow chillingly reminiscent of the emergency lighting they had activated in the submarine’s shattered control room.