Arctic Drift Part 39

44

THRUSTING HIS LEGS IN A POWERFUL SCISSORS kick, Dirk skimmed rapidly along the main pipe. Though the visibility was too poor to see it, he could sense a nearby turbulence in the water and knew there something dangerous about the pipe's emissions. The image of the Ventura and its dead crew flashed though his mind. Thinking of Summer and Trevor on the surface, he kicked his fins harder, ignoring the growing protest from his lungs.

He reached the pipe junction and immediately veered to his left, following the smaller pipe where he had first dropped down. He could now hear the turbulent rush of bubbles in the water from the high-pressure discharge. Chasing down the pipe, he finally caught sight of the anchor line ahead of him. He immediately shot toward the surface, angling toward the anchor line until joining it just below the boat's bow.

When his head broke the surface, he felt like he was in a London fog. A thick white mist billowed low over the water. Keeping his face down, he swam along the hull to the stern, then stepped up a dive ladder Summer had dropped over the rail. He rose up on the lower rung just enough to peer over the transom. The white clouds of vapor floated across the deck, nearly obscuring the pilothouse just a few feet away.

Dirk pulled his regulator out of his mouth long enough to yell for Summer. An acrid taste immediately filled his mouth and he shoved the regulator back in and took a breath from his air tank. He stood and listened for several seconds, then stepped off the ladder and dropped into the water, his heart skipping a beat.

There had been no reply, he realized, because the boat was empty.

TWO HUNDRED YARDS TO the west and ten feet under the water, Trevor thought he was going to die. He couldn't believe how quickly the frigid water had sapped his strength and energy, and nearly his will to live. If not for the radiant pearl gray eyes of Summer visibly imploring him on, he might have given up altogether.

They were breathtaking eyes, he had to admit, as she shoved the regulator into his mouth for a breath of air. Those eyes, they almost provided warmth by themselves. He took a deep breath of air and pa.s.sed the regulator back, realizing his mind was slipping. He tried to refocus on his tiring legs and kicked harder, reminding himself that they had to make it to sh.o.r.e.

It had been a snap decision, and the only one that would save their lives. With the expanding cloud of carbon dioxide gas completely surrounding them, they had to turn to the water. Summer considered cutting the anchor and making a frantic run through the vapor, but if there was any delay in starting the engine and fleeing they would die. Plus, there was Dirk's life to consider. If he happened to surface under the stern as they got under way, he could be cut to ribbons. He might have little chance of surviving as it was, but there was always hope he could outswim the gas with his remaining air.

"We've got to get into the water," she yelled as the gas erupted. Trevor saw her step toward a fully rigged dive tank on the side rail.

"Get into your dry suit. I'll grab the tank," he directed.

With less than a minute before the boat was engulfed by vapor, Summer jumped into her dry suit and grabbed a mask while Trevor hastily buckled on the tank. She barely had time to slip her arms through his buoyancy vest straps when the carbon dioxide wafted over the boat. They fell more than jumped over the side, splashing loudly into the cold water and submerging beneath the lethal cloud.

Unprotected from the cold, Trevor felt the immersion like an electric shock. But his adrenaline was pumping so hard that he didn't freeze up. Clinging together face-to-face, they kicked awkwardly through the water, pa.s.sing the regulator back and forth for shared air. They eventually worked into something of a rhythm and soon made good headway toward the island.

But the cold quickly caught up with Trevor. The effects were imperceptible at first, but then Summer noticed his kicking slow. His lips and ears showed a tinge of blue, and she knew he was drifting toward hypothermia. She increased her kicking pace, not wanting to lose their momentum. She struggled another hundred feet, realizing that he was slowly becoming a deadweight. She looked down, hoping to find the seafloor rising up beneath them, but all she could see was a few feet of murky water. She had no clue as to how far they were from the island or whether they had in fact been swimming around in circles. The time had come to risk surfacing.

Taking a deep breath from the regulator before forcing it back into Trevor's mouth, she kicked to the surface, yanking him with her. Breaking the calm surface, she quickly spun her head in all directions, trying to get her bearings. Her worst fear proved to be unfounded. They had escaped, at least temporarily, the thick clouds of carbon dioxide, which still billowed into the sky a short distance away. In the opposite direction, the green hills of Gil Island beckoned less than a quarter mile away. Although they had not swum in a direct line, their course had been true enough to approach the sh.o.r.eline.

Summer sampled a few breaths of air without consequence, then reached under Trevor's arm and pressed the INFLATE b.u.t.ton on his buoyancy compensator. The vest quickly inflated, raising Trevor's torso from beneath the water. She looked at his face and he winked in reply, but his eyes were dull and listless. Grabbing the back of the BC, she kicked toward sh.o.r.e, towing him behind her while he loosely flopped his feet.

The island seemed to keep its distance as fatigue caught up with Summer, who was already burdened by a sense of desperation to get Trevor ash.o.r.e. She tried to keep her eyes off the sh.o.r.eline and just focus on kicking, but that only made her realize how leaden her legs felt. She was struggling to keep her pace when Trevor's BC suddenly jerked out of her hands and his body moved ahead of hers. Startled by his movements, she let go in surprise, observing that his limbs still hung limp. Then a head emerged from the water alongside Trevor's chest.

Dirk turned and gazed at Summer, then spat out his regulator.

"He must be frozen. Did he inhale the gas?" he asked.

"No, it's just the cold. We've got to get him to sh.o.r.e. How did you find us?"

"I saw a dive tank was missing from the boat and figured you were making for sh.o.r.e. I surfaced a little to the south and spotted you."

Without another word, they made for the island as quickly as they could. Dirk's appearance served as a morale boost to Summer and she suddenly swam with renewed vigor. Together they moved briskly through the water with Trevor in tow and soon yanked him up onto a thin band of rocky beachfront. Shivering uncontrollably, Trevor sat up on his own but stared off into s.p.a.ce.

"We've got to get his wet clothes off. I'll give him my dry suit to wear," Dirk said.

Summer nodded in agreement, then pointed down the beach. A small wooden structure sat perched over the water a hundred yards down the sh.o.r.eline.

"Looks like a fishing hut. Why don't you check it out, and I'll get his clothes off?"

"Okay," Dirk said, slipping off his tank and weight belt. "Don't enjoy yourself too much," he chided, then turned and headed down the beach.

He wasted no time, realizing Trevor was in real danger. Jogging in his dry suit, he crossed the distance to the structure in short order. Summer was right, it was a small fishing hut, used for overnight excursions by members of a local fishing club. A simple log structure, it was smaller than a one-car garage. Dirk noted a fifty-five-gallon drum and a cord of chopped wood stacked along an exterior wall. He approached the front door and promptly kicked it open, finding a single cot, a wood-burning stove, and a fish smoker. Spotting a box of matches and a small stack of dry wood, he promptly ignited a small fire in the stove, then hustled back down the beach.

Trevor was sitting on a log shirtless as Summer removed his soaking pants. Dirk helped him to his feet, and with Summer on the other side, they half dragged him toward the cabin. As they moved, Dirk and Summer both gazed out at the strait. The white clouds of CO2 were still surging from the water like a volcanic eruption. The vapor had swelled into a towering ma.s.s that stretched across the strait, rising over fifty feet into the air. They noted a reddish tinge in the water and saw dozens of dead fish bobbing on the surface.

"It must be the LNG tanker," Dirk said. "They're probably pumping it from a terminal on the other side of the island."

"But why do it in broad daylight?"

"Because they know we're here," he said quietly, a touch of anger in his voice.

They reached the cabin and lay Trevor down on the cot. Summer covered him with an old wool blanket while Dirk brought in some of the cut wood from outside. The stove had already started warming the small hut, and Dirk fed more wood on the fire until a small blaze was roaring. He stood to fetch some more wood, when a deep bellow echoed in the distance, reverberating off the island hillsides.

Dirk and Summer rushed outside and looked up the strait in horror. Two miles to the north, a large Alaskan cruise liner was making its way down the pa.s.sage, heading directly toward the lethal bank of carbon dioxide gas.

45

THE FRENCH CRUISE LINER DAUPHINE WAS scheduled for a weeklong voyage up the Alaskan coast before returning to its home port of Vancouver. But a major outbreak of gastrointestinal illness had sickened nearly three hundred pa.s.sengers, forcing the captain to shorten the trip in fear that a large number would require hospitalization.

At just over nine hundred and fifty feet, the Dauphine was one of the largest, as well as newest, cruise ships plying the Inside Pa.s.sage. With three heated swimming pools, eight restaurants, and an enormous gla.s.s-walled observation lounge above the bridge, she carried twenty-one hundred pa.s.sengers in high comfort and luxury.

Standing on the Gil Island sh.o.r.eline, Dirk and Summer gazed at the gleaming white liner on approach and saw only a ship of death. The toxic carbon dioxide gas still erupted from the seven pipe outlets, expanding the vapor cloud for over a half mile in every direction. A slight westerly breeze kept the gas away from Gil Island but pushed it farther across the strait. The Dauphine would take nearly five minutes to pa.s.s through the cloud, ample time for the heavy carbon dioxide to infiltrate the ducts and air-conditioning systems throughout the vessel. Displacing the oxygen in the air, the gas would bring quick death to every portion of the ship.

"There must be thousands of people aboard," Summer observed soberly. "We've got to warn them."

"Maybe there's a radio in the hut," Dirk said.

They bolted into the fishing hut, ignoring the mumblings from Trevor as they tore the small shack apart. But there was no radio. Stepping outside, Dirk looked into the billow of white gas, trying to spot the research boat. It was hopelessly concealed inside the vapor cloud.

"How much air do you have left in your tank?" he asked Summer hurriedly. "I can try to get back to the boat and call them on the marine radio, but I sucked my tank dry."

"No, you can't," Summer said, shaking her head. "My tank is almost empty as well, because we had to share air. You'd never make it back to the boat alive. I won't let you go."

Dirk accepted his sister's plea, knowing it would likely be a fatal attempt. He desperately searched around, looking for some way to alert the ship. Then he spotted the large barrel next to the hut. Rushing over to the grime-covered drum, he placed his hands against the top lip and shoved. The barrel resisted, then lifted with a slight sloshing sound, telling him it was nearly full. He unscrewed a cap on the top and stuck a finger in, then sniffed the liquid inside.

"Gasoline," he said as Summer approached. "An extra supply for the fishermen to refuel their boats."

"We can light a bonfire," Summer suggested excitedly.

"Yes," Dirk said with a slow nod. "Or perhaps something a little more conspicuous."

THE DAUPHINE'S CAPTAIN happened to be on the bridge checking the weather forecast when the executive officer called to him.