The sinking ship lurched violently. Something fluttering by caught his attention. It was a woman — falling. The unexpected jolt had pitched her overboard. Clinging to the cable, Paul saw her splash into the churning sea. He concentrated on the spot, watching for any movement. When the woman finally surfaced, Paul realized with horror that she wasn’t swimming. Was she dead or just unconscious? In a few minutes it wouldn’t matter. Paul had to decide. Was it Ava? He strained for a better perspective, but in the storm, and from this distance, he’d never be sure. He closed his eyes and replayed his memory. Someone had fallen. He slowed it, trying to view the action frame by frame, like a football slo-mo. What had grabbed his attention? What had he seen? Something fluttering. What? Hair. Long hair. Beautiful long hair.
Ava.
Paul shifted his weight and gauged the distance: about fifteen meters. Taking a deep breath, he released the cable and jumped. Falling fast, he somersaulted once and extended his body. By gyrating his arms, Paul managed to stay upright and hit the surface feetfirst. He plunged and lost all sense of direction. Then, mastering his fear, he exhaled and followed the bubbles. When he broke the surface, a wave caught him in the face, blasting saltwater into his mouth. Fluid rushed up his sinus cavities. He felt as though he was drowning. Thankfully, his second inhalation was mostly air and he began to tread water.
Paul searched for Ava, but he saw nothing. Stay calm! Taking bearings from the rapidly sinking catamaran, he reckoned she was to his north. He began swimming, keeping his face above water. A monstrous wave swamped him, and briefly he was lost. Fighting off panic, he oriented himself and kicked even harder. When a second wave lifted him he used the opportunity to survey the area. There — he saw her! In that moment, though, she slipped helplessly beneath the water.
Without pausing to breathe, Paul lowered his head, and with a furious stroke propelled himself like a torpedo through the waves. It was the fastest way. At camp, when he was ten, he’d won the fifty-meter freestyle using this tactic. Push, he told himself. She’s close. A few strokes more. He accepted the heat building in his lungs. By forcibly exhaling, he squeezed out some toxic CO2, buying precious seconds, but now his respiratory system moved into rebellion, demanding oxygen. It was impossible. He wasn’t fast enough. It was getting too dark to see…
Ava! Underwater, he caught a glimmer of a white dress. He surfaced, sucked in all the air he could hold, and dived. As he kicked down, he tried to dislodge his heavy hiking boots, but they were laced up tight. Wait. What was that? A limp body.
Ava!
He wanted to scream her name. She looked terrible. Her eyes were shut. Her skin was a ghastly green. No bubbles came from her mouth or nose. Fear beset him. This was a lost cause. He’d arrived too late. It was her time. Just let go. Couldn’t he accept the obvious?
No. He kicked down and grabbed the hem of her dress. Taking a fistful of material, he pulled her toward the surface. God, she was heavy! He kicked harder and swam with his free arm, but it was no use. He felt the current dragging them down. The surface was so distant. It was getting farther, growing darker. Paul’s lungs were burning, even worse than before. Then he realized — the backpack! She was wearing that damn heavy backpack! He pulled the hunting knife from his belt and dragged its sharp edge against the straps. They cut easily. As he watched the pack disappear, he thought, “If we survive, she’ll kill me.”
Thus lightened, he made better progress. Each kick drew him closer to the surface. His lungs were screaming now, and he’d begun to have strange thoughts. His vision was failing, as was his ability to reason. Desperate, he urged his muscles to fight. Become a machine, he commanded. No wasted motion. Just kick and pull. Kick, kick, pull! A few hard kicks. Just a few more. Pull! Ten more. Don’t quit. Five more. Don’t quit. Three more. Pull!
Gasping, he broke the surface. He savored one delicious breath, then, against every vital instinct, he dived back under. Swimming behind Ava, Paul wedged his hands into her armpits and kicked. When they emerged from the sea, he rolled her onto his chest, lifting her mouth and nostrils into the air. Was she breathing? He couldn’t tell. He fought to keep her head above water. Fluid drained from her nose. How long had she been under? It seemed like hours, but it must have been less than a minute. Seventy seconds max. Come on, Ava!
His energy was failing. He hoped his head wasn’t bleeding much. From the Discovery Channel, he knew the Mediterranean was home to forty-five species of shark, including the great white. Paul looked around. No dorsal fins yet, but he didn’t see any flotsam either. How long could he tread water? Floating on his back, he clutched Ava to his chest. Between strokes he reached his fingers into her mouth and forced it open wide. Then he felt something. She coughed. Alive! He felt a rush of energy. He could swim for hours. Days, even! Her body wrenched with a spasm as she spat up water. Ava inhaled. Then she vomited. Her face rolled to one side and she began shuddering with dry heaves. Paul elevated her head and fought to keep it above the surface. They maintained that position for several minutes.
Ava was breathing, he was sure, but Paul was fading. He felt something stab his calf. Cramp! Jaw clenched, he battled to keep afloat. Rain fell in sheets now, as the storm whipped the sea into a frenzy. Saltwater stung his eyes and burned in his esophagus. He snorted and coughed. Ignore it! Just kick. Breathe and kick. A little longer…
Shrouded in silence, he saw a tunnel of light — a bright white glow shining down from the sky. It seemed to search for him. Paul was dazed. Is that God? Am I dying? He hugged Ava. If God wanted one of them, he had to take both. We’re a package deal, Lord. Take it or leave it.
The light was blinding now. It centered on him, and as though the jealous sea knew salvation was nigh, enormous waves began forcing the two under. Suddenly Paul felt hands on his arms. A powerful force took hold of him. He clung tightly to Ava, refusing to be separated from her. Then, miraculously, they began to rise from the water, ascending heavenward. The light was close now, almost close enough to touch. He reached out and realized that it was a searchlight suspended from a helicopter. As a rescue harness pulled them into the cabin, Paul rejoiced. They were saved!
Every iota of his energy spent, he released Ava and collapsed. Then, just before succumbing to exhaustion, Paul saw something that filled him with dread. It was the face of their savior: Simon DeMaj.
Gabe stared at the monitor. For a moment he experienced hysterical paralysis, limbs refusing to obey his mind’s instructions. Thus imprisoned, he felt compelled to reread the Associated Press wire report.
Ferry Explosion Death Toll Now 513, Government Confirms
VALLETTA, MALTA — At most 87 passengers and crew will survive last night’s suspected terrorist attack on the Maltese ferry Maria Dolores. According to Foreign Minister Dr. George Vella, many of the injured are being held in critical condition, including one young woman with both legs severed. Of the 22 patients at St. Philip’s Hospital, several experienced “massive trauma” from the shipwreck. Others were injured by falling or jumping into the water, said a hospital spokesman. The ferry’s captain, Benjamin Briggs, survived the incident. His condition is listed as critical.