Hungry Darkness: A Deep Sea Thriller (9 page)

Gabino Iglesias is a writer, journalist, and book reviewer living in Austin, TX. He’s the author of
Gutmouth
(Eraserhead Press),
Zero Saints
(Broken River Books) and a few other things no one will ever read. His work has appeared in
The New York Times, Verbicide, The Rumpus, Entropy, Z Magazine, Red Fez
,
Word Riot
, and other print and online venues. You can reach him on Twitter at @Gabino_Iglesias.

RIP Tyde

This is going to save our marriage. It will give us time to sort through the pieces of a broken life and fit some of them back together. It’s just like a puzzle. I used to be really good at those. The pieces will fit back together.  All we need is the time to do it.

Tyde Gregory tried to calm his nerves with that bittersweet mantra as he threw the last of his things into his yellow duffle bag and zipped it closed. The nametag hung from a loop on the bottom of the bag. Tyde flipped the tag and examined his own name. Over the years, he had come to accept the fact that his parents were California surf hippies and had the best of intentions when they named him, but he would be lying if there weren’t times that he really wished his nametag said ‘Bob’ or ‘Scott’ instead. Then again, his parents must have been onto to something when they named him Tyde; sure they were definitely on something when they did, but he couldn’t deny that they seemed to instinctually know he would love the water.

Being in the water was one of the few times that Tyde ever felt truly at peace.  The water brought him Wendy. Memories of her walking into his diving class all those years ago flashed through his mind. She was beautiful, tanned and giggling with her friends as they waited for the class to start. It had been one of those classes people took on vacation, half-drunk, bobbing around in the hotel pool and breathing through the regulator. No one ever really learned how to dive, but Wendy cornered Tyde after the class and insisted that he give her a private lesson. There was no way in hell Tyde was going to turn down a bikini-clad request for a private class. Wendy left after her week was up and Tyde followed. They had been inseparable since.

Life had been easy, like they were destined to be together. Wendy took a job teaching kindergarten and Tyde started working in a local dive shop. Even though he wore surf shorts to work on most days, it felt a little too corporate for him. But he was willing to deal with timesheets and inventory if it meant he got to go home to Wendy every night.

Weekends had been devoted to dive trips with friends. Everything fit together and worked. They had been happy. Their friends had been happy. The water brought them all together and made their happiness possible. Life made sense when they were diving or at least it used to.

Tyde shook his head, trying to banish thoughts of the past from his head and laughed when the mirror on top of Wendy’s dresser reflected an image of the dirty blond rat’s nest that blossomed from the side of his head. He didn’t want to waste time getting lost in the past. He was looking towards the future. That’s why they were going on this trip, or maybe it was more accurate to say that was why he was going on the trip. Wendy refused at first. Later just protested. And finally reluctantly agreed to go.

Wendy’s things were already packed. She was always more prepared than Tyde, though neither of them had been prepared for last year’s diving trip. No checklist or equipment double-check could have prepared them. More past that Tyde didn’t want to think about. He grabbed Wendy’s bag and walked towards the door. The rest of their gear was in the garage. Wendy was out there double-checking everything before the taxi came to bring them to the airport.

Tyde tried to convince himself that last year’s trip was when his marriage began to fall apart, that the trauma of the trip drove a wedge between him and Wendy, but he knew that wasn’t true. Things were bad before the trip, probably for longer than Tyde even knew, and the trip only made them worse.

It was true that Wendy agreed to go on this trip. That had to count for something. It had to mean there was some small splinter of hope and love left in her heart. Tyde hoped for all of those things, but knew that his wife’s motivation might have more to do with the fact that they were flying to Long Island in the Bahamas to dive a blue hole. They had swam just about anywhere there was water, but never had the opportunity to explore the amazing underwater cave systems known as blue holes. Aside from Belize, the one on Long Island was probably the best in the world. This breathtaking blue world plunged over six hundred feet below sea level, opening into a honeycomb of rooms that had only just begun to be explored. It was unlike anything Tyde or Wendy had ever seen, completely alien and intoxicating.

Still, Wendy agreed to go. They weren’t going to spend the entire time underwater. There would be time to talk, to reconnect. Time to save their marriage.

This is going to save our marriage. It will give us time to sort through the pieces of a broken life and fit some of them back together. It’s just like a puzzle. I used to be really good at those. The pieces will fit back together.  All we need is the time to do it.

Tyde repeated his mantra as Wendy greeted him with a sad, broken smile from the waiting taxi. Tyde threw the rest of their gear into the trunk of the taxi and climbed inside. He reached over and gently squeezed Wendy’s hand. She looked out the window. Tyde squeezed once more, a simple, pleading gesture that spoke volumes about their relationship. Wendy’s fingers fluttered in Tyde’s and tightened ever so slightly.

This would work. It had to work. Tyde could fix this. He could find a way to fit these pieces together, just like all of those puzzles from so long ago. Tyde loved puzzles when he was a child. He just never wanted his marriage to become one.

-2-

The needle on Milo’s air gauge ticked slightly over from yellow to red. There was plenty of air left in the tanks considering that the surface was only twenty to thirty feet overhead, but his tanks had been problematic ever since Jefferson dropped them on the dock. There had to be a small leak somewhere in the system, not that Milo and Jefferson had the money to fix it. He would need to head for the surface.

Milo signaled the three college boys he was guiding today – time to head to the surface. One of the kids held up five fingers. What harm could five more minutes do? Milo gave him the thumbs up, the college boys were experienced divers, and began swimming for the surface. He turned to watch the three college boys swimming near the wreck they had explored today. One ducked inside the ship. Experienced, not smart.

“Damn it,” Milo cursed inside his head. Five minutes meant five minutes outside of the damn ship. The last thing he and Jefferson needed was one of those morons getting hurt. Milo’s gauge ticked a little further into red. “Shit,” Milo thought. He would have to switch his tank out with one of the extras on the boat. Running out of air with only those three idiots to rely on was out of the question. Hopefully, those kids would watch the time and be close behind.

“Milo, where the hell are they?” Jefferson paced anxiously in the rear of the boat. He kept peering over the side, willing the three missing divers to break the water’s glassy surface.

Treading water, Milo pulled the regulator from his mouth and pushed his mask back on his head. His thin dreadlocks glistened with the dying rays of a setting sun. Jefferson was a pain in the ass and prone to panic, but it looked like he was right. Those college kids weren’t on the boat and it didn’t look like they had broken the surface yet either.

“Do you see them floating anywhere nearby?” Milo asked. “They were supposed to be heading for the surface right about now. Maybe the current took them?”

“If I saw them, would I be asking you where they hell they were?” Jefferson was beginning to lose it. He and Milo had dumped all of what little money they had into opening this diving business. A crappy boat and couple of dented scuba tanks later, they were in business, but all of that would be over if something happened to these college boys. “Get your mask back on and go look!”

Milo swallowed a string of curse words, pulled his mask down and cleared his regulator. He glanced at his air gauge. There wasn’t much left, but there was no time to switch his tanks out if one of those college boys was trapped in the wreck.

Maybe the three morons were still underwater screwing around. Maybe not. They were over privileged little shits, but from what Milo had seen, they knew how to dive. If he thought something like this was going to happen, he never would have taken them out past the breakers. But these three didn’t want to dive near the reef with all the snorkeling soccer moms. They wanted to wreck dive near the scuttled World War II German destroyer.

At the time, Milo didn’t think it would be a problem. Sure, the current was stronger and there was always the possibility of a shark or two, but neither of those things appeared to worry the college boys, so Milo pushed the worry out of his head.

The smoke stacks of the German destroyer pointed towards Milo like the barrel of a gigantic gun. He couldn’t help but think that the image was all too prophetic. Tourism accounted for more than half of the Bahamian economy. If he didn’t find these kids, the local authorities were going to make an international example out of him. 

Swimming past the smoke stacks, Milo tried to remember the last place he had seen these idiots. He checked his air gauge. Not much was left in the tanks. It had to be the same for those kids, probably less with their excited, quick breathing emptying the tank.

As the War wound down, the Germans scuttled their own ships instead of surrendering to the allies. The Nazis would set a charge in the powder room and jump ship. A handful of these destroyers were scattered around the islands, having turned into artificial reefs over the years and become tourist attractions.

A large hole, ringed in jagged metal teeth loomed in the side of the ship. Milo envisioned the explosion that created this hole and remembered seeing one of the kids swimming towards it. He thought that one might have been named Chet or Chad or something along those lines. It was Chad. Milo remembered thinking it was one of the worst names he had ever heard, though he had to admit it kind of fit the kid. A few more kicks propelled Milo down to the gaping hole.

The setting sun and depth made it difficult to see. A large, handheld spotlight hung from Milo’s harness. He reached back and clicked it on. A yellowed beam of light cut through the darkness inside the ruined ship. Motes of algae, ragged bits of seaweed and other unidentifiable detritus drifted lazily inside of the hull. Milo panned the light from side to side.

The corner of a large blue and white flipper peered out from around the corner of what looked to have once been a set of stairs. Milo watched the flipper move gently. He hoped it was Chad or one of the others and that they had just lost track of time while exploring. Milo swam towards the flipper. He wished that he could have called out to the kid, just told him to stop screwing around and get his ass back to the boat.

The flipper peeked out a little more. Milo kicked hard, throwing clouds of underwater refuse swirling around his head. With his free hand, Milo grabbed the flipper and yanked. He figured it might startle the little turd, maybe send images of a shark swimming through his head – it was the least Milo could do to repay the favor.

A torn stump of flesh jutted from the flipper in Milo’s hand. Raw, red strips of flesh and meat danced in the light current, surrounding a white, splintered shank of bone. A muffled cry erupted in a cloud of bubbles as Milo gnashed his teeth into the length of rubber in his mouth. Bile burned Milo’s throat. He wanted to vomit, wanted to scream. He needed to keep his regulator in place.

Pushing away from the leg, Milo swam for the hole in the side of the destroyer. Thoughts of what could have done this flooded his mind and panic twisted around his heart. What if it was still in the ship’s hull? What if it was behind him?

Milo couldn’t stand not knowing. He turned and shone his light behind him, half expecting to see a gaping maw of white, pointed teeth. There was nothing, only the errant clouds of…of meat.

The water was teeming with torn hunks of shredded flesh. A severed finger, trailing ribbons of tattered skin like the tentacles of some hellish jellyfish gently bumped Milo’s mask. Milo swallowed hard. He was no longer able to fight the urge to vomit. It surged up his throat and, with no other exit available, gushed out Milo’s nostrils, filling the lower half of his mask. The acidic tang of puke stung his eyes and made it difficult to see. Milo wanted to dump his mask, but feared letting in the revolting stew of seawater and human meat. With no other option, Milo turned and swam for the surface, not caring that a gurgled scream knocked his regulator free from his mouth.

The regulator bumped against Milo’s side as he swam for the surface. He could have cleared it and returned his air flow, but he didn’t want to stop and risk finding out what had done that to Chad.

“Where are they?” Jefferson almost shrieked when he saw Milo break the surface alone.

Milo ignored his friend’s question and swam for the platform on the back of the boat.

“Where are they?” Jefferson repeated.

“Get me in the boat!” Milo cried as he pulled himself onto the platform. “Get the tanks off of me. Get me out of the water.”

“What happened down there? Where are they? Why won’t you answer me?” Jefferson couldn’t stop the stream of questions as he helped Milo out of his harness and dropped the air tanks onto the deck of the boat. “What is that crap stuck in your hair?” Jefferson plucked a ragged, pink chunk from Milo’s hair. He examined it, trying to determine its origin. “Is this chum or something?”

“It’s Chad,” Milo gagged. Vomit splattered across the deck of the boat.

“Chad?” Jefferson dropped the bit of meat as if it had suddenly become hot and leapt back. “What could do that to Chad?”

“The Lusca,” Milo gagged between dry heaves.

Jefferson was done asking questions. He turned to rush towards the steering wheel, but slipped in Milo’s vomit and belly flopped onto the deck.

Milo stepped over his friend, who floundered in an acrid puddle of puke, and started the engines. The dual Mercury outboards roared to life and almost lifted the boat out of the water before rocketing it across the water.

RIP Tyde is available from Amazon
here