Good—
—Just not good enough.
He floated on his back so he could peer upward through the gap between the stairs. There was light up there, brighter than before. He watched his bubbles rise up through his headlamp beam toward it.
He did the numbers in his head. The math was not negotiable. The bends were no longer a risk, no longer a possibility. Now they were simply inevitable. The only question was how to manage the ascent to make them survivable.
They had maybe twenty minutes of air left in the tanks, maybe thirty. They had at least fifty feet still to ascend. That is, if the dive computer was correct. James sorted through his memories—his research, his training, and the experiences of other divers.
His instinct was to ascend slowly and safely. That was what his training demanded. But the math said no—not gonna make it. The alternative was to rise to a point maybe ten or fifteen feet just below the surface and wait there. At that depth, their air would last much longer, giving them more time to decompress before it ran out. From there, they could safely ascend the last short distance to the surface.
James would have preferred to stick with the advice of the nagging, beeping dive computer, but that wasn’t his best option. The water was still receding, draining out of the building around them. Even if they waited here, they were still ascending—or rather, the surface was descending to meet them.
And in addition to everything else, he was starting to feel the cold as a painful presence. He was starting to shiver. That was okay. If he stopped shivering, that would be very not okay. It would mean his body was shutting down. He wasn’t worried about that, he knew his tolerances. But what about the others?
He was reaching that point where he really wanted to get out of the water—he wanted to get out now. And if he was feeling this way, then it was probably a lot worse for the others. He turned his headlamps toward Julia and her mom, who was holding Julia close to her body, trying to share warmth. In this water, it was a futile effort.
James took his three breaths. He looked across at Hu, who looked back at him hopefully.
It was enough.
Fuck it. We are not going to die today.
He swam from one to the other, Julia, her mom, the boy, and finally Hu, checking once again to make sure that each was all right. Later on, perhaps, he might be able to marvel at their endurance—but right now, they had no choice. Either they hung on, or they became like all those others they had passed below. Like poor Mrs. Hayes.
More breaths. And another flight of stairs. Another and another.
The surface was a lot closer than he realized. The stairwell must be leaking somewhere. Had they closed the door at the bottom? He didn’t remember. Or maybe the fire doors weren’t all that watertight. Or maybe there was enough structural damage that the whole building was as secure as a screen door.
The good news, the afternoon light flickered brightly above. He could see rippling light through the water’s surface now, a promise of survival, and even though he still swam in a dirty murky world, filled with little floating things, the walls of the stairwell were no longer hidden behind a fog of gloom. But he wasn’t ready to feel confident. Not yet. Overconfidence is just another way to die.
They had to wait here as long as possible. James took his three breaths and studied the dive computer. It had finally given up and stopped beeping, but it still insisted that the surface of the water was steadily descending to meet them.
A large rubber trash can drifted by. Was this the fourth or fifth? Why so many? Something else to wonder about. He began to imagine the episode of Nova that would examine these events.
Three breaths. Three breaths. Three more breaths.
He checked the gauges again. He studied the dive computer, blinking. It didn’t make sense. No, it made sense. He wasn’t making sense. It didn’t matter what the gauges said, they were running out of air. There was no more time.
James fumbled for the plastic slate, felt along the leash for the grease pen, wrote on it frantically. “Drop tanks. Go up. My signal.” He turned to the others, holding the slate so that each of them could see the words. He took three quick breaths, then pointed up. Waving his arm in a broad “Let’s go, now!” motion.
He didn’t have to push them. They were eager to go. They each took a last long suck of air, then dropped the regulators and scrambled up. Hu grabbed Julia by the waist and they half-swam, half-walked up the last flight of stairs. James pushed Julia’s mom and the teen after them. He followed, the pressure in his lungs growing. He should have taken a last breath himself.
He looked back. The tanks were tumbling away, bouncing in slow-motion irretrievably down the stairwell, a lost opportunity. He pushed himself upward. He couldn’t see. His vision was blurry, closing in, he needed one more breath, he couldn’t hold it—
The top of the stairwell was open to the sky. The walls were broken here. A twisted doorframe remained where a fire door had been. James struggled to reach for it, he felt himself sinking back—
—and a pair of hands reached down and yanked him roughly out of the water.
A confusion of words, an unfamiliar voice, “Are there any more—?”
“No, no. Just the five of us—” That was Hu. His voice sounded strange, garbled by water. Someone else was choking, a small high voice. Julia?
He couldn’t see. Everything was a glare. He was on his back, gasping, choking, coughing up water—how had that happened? His last strangled ascent? Everything here was blue, incongruously bright. Two faces abruptly blocked his view, dark silhouettes, he didn’t know them. Where had they come from?
“Don’t try to talk. Just concentrate on breathing, okay?”
There were hands all over him, pulling away the last of the rig on his back, pulling his mask away, loosening his shirt. Someone had their head to his chest, trying to listen to his heartbeat. James coughed, choked up more water, and the person pulled away. His lungs hurt badly.
“Hu—?” he called. “Hu?”
“I’m here. I’m okay.” A hasty answer.
James concentrated on breathing now. A deep breath. Another. Stop to cough, spit up, cough, then breathe again.
Three deep breaths. Three more. Three more. Don’t hyperventilate. Hold your breath a moment and appreciate that you can.
He was almost back when he suddenly remembered an old movie, a favorite. He called out, “Are we dead, mon?”
Hu called back, falsetto. “I’m not dead yet, I’m not.”
James laughed. He laughed until he choked and coughed up even more water. His throat hurt, but he laughed anyway. He rolled over on his side and looked across at Hu. His husband was half up on his knees, also laughing.
James flailed helplessly, trying to sit up. Hands grabbed him from behind, someone helped him to a sitting position. James looked around. They were on a wide empty floor, slightly tilted, very broken. But his vision was still blurry, partly from the glare of the day, partly from the painful tears filling his eyes, an involuntary reaction to the overwhelming dazzle. The whole world looked overexposed, the people here were silhouettes, vague shapes in the glare. Maybe a dozen, he wasn’t sure.
Hu scooted over to him, looked at him carefully, then scooted around to sit beside him. He bumped him affectionately with his shoulder. James looked at Hu, a weak grin on his face. Hu looked tired. But alive. Even smiling.
After a moment of silent acceptance, a moment of just surviving, James looked around at their rescuers. “Who are you people? How did you get up here? How did you get through?”