Seekers

Bryon Miseph


The next dive went straight to the opening at the floor of the reef. Paul checked carefully with a powerful dive light and determined the opening was large enough for safe entry as far as he could see. He motioned for Megan to swim in first. His intent was more than a gesture of chivalry. If she somehow got hung up he would still be free and in a position to help her. After the first turns the passageway was still lit and seemed to be getting brighter as they swam along. To Pauls surprise the tunnel remained large enough to swim through easily.

The walls were colorfully decorated with plant life and soft sponges. Schools of small, electric hued reef fish darted from place to place on errands of their own. The white sand trail did not lead directly through the reef as Paul had thought. They emerged into a strangely lit cavern instead; an underwater cathedral deep inside the reef. Light sprinkled in through cracks and openings in the roof. The path became a large white scar like a lightening flash across the floor of the vault.

Meg let herself settle to the bottom to lie on her back and watch the sunlight filter into the cavern from so far away. Her fingers raked through the silky white sand. The current pulsed constantly and her fingers dug deeper for stability. The brush of her fingers across a smooth, hard object in the flourlike sand was such a surprise she simply took hold and pulled it free, floating to her knees to take a look. The coin was worn smooth, possibly misshapen, but with the heavy constant glimmer and feel of real gold.


The pain was mostly in his shoulder; dull, almost distant, but it woke him. Water hitting his face was annoying and he tried to wipe it away, but his right arm was pinned and it wouldnt move. A bolt of pain shot through him and his eyes squeezed shut, but it opened his mind. Now it hurt everywhere.

Moving his head as little as possible, Paul used his eyes to search around him. He followed his arm, no feeling in it after the pain, all the way to the crumpled bundle at his fist. Something moved. She was still alive. Thank God!. With small, careful, delicate movements he twisted his knees around under him. The left arm seemed to be okay, the fingers all worked. He used the left to gingerly free the right from the webbing of Megs safety harness and limp buoyancy vest. His right arm hung dead like a piece of driftwood.

He checked Meg over quickly. Nothing appeared to be broken or badly damaged, but she was pale, and bruised. And her breathing was shallow. An ugly gash was leaking blood slowly from above her hairline. She must have struck something when they went off the back of the boat. For the first time in a very long time, Paul concentrated very hard, and said a little prayer.

It was difficult to move. His own inflated vest was constricting and bulky. He eased carefully out of the fabric balloon and used it to prop the girls head and shoulders. She began to breathe easier, but her eyelids didnt even flutter.

It looked and felt as if they had been recklessly tossed out of a passing wave. Megan was just crumpled like any other flotsam on the broken beach. The savage, wind blown rain stung, and murderous surf broke on the washed out sand sending occasional floods up and around them.

He was afraid to move her too much, and didnt have a lot of his own strength left, but they couldnt stay exposed like this waiting for the next big breaker to come along and wash them back to sea.

Not far away the beach turned to low bushes and fallen palms. Moving as carefully as he could, Paul slid Megan up the beach toward dubious shelter, dragging her by the harness. He moved them both into relative safety under a few fallen tree trunks. Any port in a storm, he thought wryly. It wasnt much, but it was the best he could do for a while.

Something had to be done about his shoulder. Sitting under the dripping canopy, he took a strap from the buoyancy vest and tied a loop around his right wrist, then passed the strap a turn around a fallen tree above him and held the end tight with his left hand down low. He took a couple of deep breaths, closed his eyes, and allowed his upper body to just fall back to the soft sand. The lights went out.

He awoke hungry and cold to find the storm abated. It was replaced by a lucid tranquillity of both mind and nature. He had slept heavily despite the damp shelter exposed to all the elements. He removed the strap from his wrist. The shoulder must have popped back in. He was pleased to find his arm working better already.

Surprisingly, his mind was still filled with his recent, haunting dreams: so much of the past flitting by so quickly. And even more strange, light flickering images like pieces from a puzzle that he felt certain was the future. But this was no time for dreams or recollections. Survival must come first.

Megan looked better now, but she was still not awake. Paul gathered himself together as much as possible by tying his injured arm into what remained of his shirt. The shoulder was back in place, but still painful. He got to his feet and staggered to the bushes to relieve himself, then searched the beach for any useful remains the storm might have left behind.

The surf was gone and the water was relatively calm and quiet out to the reef and beyond with only a gentle swell. It was difficult to envision the wild maelstrom it had been such a short time ago. Now, all the way to the horizon, nothing moved. Almost nothing.