This Might Hurt(71)

I moved away from the hole and imagined The Five starting the stopwatch. I considered the inky water around me, could not quite grasp how dark it was down here, not when I knew the sky to be bursting blue overhead. Gabe aside, another living soul did not stir in these parts, although how could I be certain about that? At this moment some primordial creature might be rising from its slumber on the lake floor. Fangs and claws—remember those old bogeymen? I was a silly girl then, one who had no idea that the monster in the boat was much worse than anything that dwelled underneath it.

How many points would this challenge be worth, Sir?

Depends if you get it right.

This was nothing like Lake Minnich. This time I had a choice.



* * *



? ? ?

I HAD NOT expected invincibility to be quite so laborious. For the past hour I’d sensed I was breathing through an increasingly pinched straw, as though something were obstructing my hose. The regulator I’d chosen was a model not yet on the market but rigorously tested, I had been assured.

I felt a tug on my rope. I pulled back. I would continue to do so no matter how shallow my breathing became, no matter how tightly the chill wrapped itself around my bones. I would not return to land until the record had been beaten.

Did the achievement even count if it didn’t hurt to get there?

Time slowed to the drip of a leaky faucet. Over and over I recited my mantra. Through the hourglass more sand passed. I closed my eyes and breathed in for four seconds, ignoring the obstruction of my airflow, out for four seconds. In, two, three, four. Out, two, three, four.

When I felt a pat on the arm, my eyes flew open. Gabe pointed toward the ice, signaling he was going to get out. I gave him a thumbs-up. I was surprised and more than a little proud that he had lasted this long. I began another four-second breath: in, two—

I sputtered as water leaked into my mouthpiece. I blew the liquid out before it darted down my trachea and into my lungs.

The rope strained.

I tried to breathe deeply again. This time I inhaled a dull chunk of ice, sending me into a coughing fit. Gabe turned to check on me, stopping his ascent. I pressed the purge button. Still I had trouble breathing. My regulator must have frozen. Those pricks at ThermoKline had sworn their equipment would hold up in water colder than this. In hundreds of practice dives, not once had this malfunction occurred.

The Five heaved the rope a second time.

I resolved to move on to the backup regulator, as we had prepared for worst-case scenarios. I peered down but couldn’t find the neon yellow hose. Gabe slowly made his way back toward me.

The Five jerked a third time. I cursed their neediness. Clearly I was occupied with the task of saving my own life. Could they not be brave for five minutes of their sorry existence?

Finally, with Gabe’s help, I located the backup mouthpiece, which had curled itself around my neck. I tried to untwist it, but my fingers were clumsy in the thick gloves. I panicked at the thought that I might drown down here blundering like an imbecile. It has been well documented that when humans are cold, they become less sensible, which is the only way I can explain my next action.

Since the gloves were impeding my efforts, I removed the right one and grabbed the alternate regulator with my bare hand. Success! Gabe shook his head wildly. Abruptly I was towed through the water. I gaped at the lake’s surface. The Five had disappeared from view, evidently having decided to pull me out.

I glanced at my watch, distressed, and reached my naked hand toward the underside of the ice. More time, I wanted to yell. A hulking form leaned over me; I hoped it was the camera. I envisioned the photo: my five fingers spread wide, palm shoved against the ice like glass, burn scars visible, a million tiny bubbles of breath surrounding the hand, proof of life, of something trapped beneath the surface.

Perhaps we could put the image on T-shirts, I thought dizzily as my hand wilted.

The safety rope yanked me toward the hole in the ice. I had trained far too hard and long to surrender this easily. I could correct the issue if they’d give me the chance.

What’s the only way you’re going to succeed?

Through my willingness to endure.

I let go of the backup regulator and fumbled with the harness instead. I was breaking every rule in the scuba handbook, but I also wasn’t an average diver. No matter how Gabe scoffed, I was absolutely certain that I had become immune to pain. As long as I remained levelheaded, danger would not find me. I unhooked from the safety rope and thrust my body downward. Gabe made a noise and reached for me, but I kicked my arms and legs to escape him. Once I was firmly out of reach, I relocated the backup mouthpiece, movements labored and awkward.

Gabe floated above me for a few seconds, then unclipped his own harness. I frowned. This was not part of the plan. Gabe hadn’t spent hundreds of hours acclimating for cold-water dives; he couldn’t hold his breath underwater for six minutes in case of an emergency; he didn’t have gear tailor-made for his body. He was supposed to return to the surface and leave me to my performance. He would pay for this. I’d send an army of seahorses after him. I giggled at the thought, bubbles erupting from my mouth as I swam farther down.

Above Gabe a few arms stretched through the hole into the lake. What were they thinking, sticking sockless arms into freezing water? Gabe swatted at them. I propelled myself a few feet lower so no one could reach me. After every gasp for breath, every invasion of water and ice, I cleared my regulator. I glanced at my watch again. What time did I want it to be? Why was my throat frosty?