The Erotic Expeditions - Complete Collection (55 page)

The bronze castings acquired a green patina over time, corroding even under thirty feet of water and a couple feet of sand. They renewed their excavation with even more energy. After several minutes, the cylindrical shape of the first cannon was revealed and, just below it, the start of another laying at a ninety-degree angle.

Just like the dream.

Kirk paused as he took it all in. Though they didn’t have the equipment to raise anything this size or a camera to document the markings, they had found the cannons. Kirk surveyed the surroundings. In his dream, the ship had rolled to starboard. The roughly rectangular mound of cannons had lain along the right side of its hull. That meant that to the left was the bow and to his right–he looked in that direction–was the aftcastle.

The motherlode.

Though the Spanish gold galleons were laden with treasure below decks, the finest and most valuable cargo was kept near the Captain, at the raised back of the ship. Unlike the cannons, though, the artifacts from the stern might be light enough to have moved. Storm surges like the one they’d seen yesterday and the natural flow of current and tide could easily have scattered and spread the treasure out over dozens of yards. Given the small measurements of a galleon, only two hundred feet from bow to stern, Kirk moved toward what had to be the original location of the aftcastle. The officers would have gathered right about here for meals, he thought. That meant the Captain’s cabin had to be about
here
. He scanned the sand though he didn’t think he’d see anything and then he looked back toward the cannons to check his orientation.
 

He could clearly see Mel’s pink diving suit in the clear water. The sediment had cleared nicely but…something was wrong. Mel wasn’t excavating. In fact, she wasn’t moving at all. Kirk swam with every ounce of speed his legs could give him. Bubbles rose from her regulator–she was still breathing.

By the time he reached her, his heart was pounding and he positioned his face mask directly in front of hers. Her eyes were open but her face clearly told the story. She was in pain. Kirk could see her body wasn’t limp either, it was rigid and slightly bent at the waist, as though she were trying to tuck into a ball.

Kirk skipped the hand signals, took both her hands in his and began the ascent, facing her. Her breathing seemed to be okay and, so far, that was the most important thing. Even so, he needed to get her to the surface as quickly as possible. The sea floor had risen as they’d approached the site of the wreck and the ascent was a little shorter than their angled descent. In minutes they surfaced. The whole time though, she hadn’t tried to swim. He pulled the emergency tab on her vest and it immediately inflated. Then he removed the regulator from her mouth. A low groan immediately escaped her. He raised her mask, then his, and got rid of his regulator as he tread water in front of her.
 

“Mel?” he said. “Can you tell me what it is?”

“Pain,” she squeaked.
 

“Where?”

“In my hips, all around my waist,” she managed to get out, breathing hard.

He grabbed the fastening strap at the front of the vest and began swimming backward. He glanced back to see the boat about a hundred yards away.

“When did it start?” he said, as water tried to wash into his face.

“About…the second cannon…”

Pain in the hips, circling the waist.

He glanced back at the boat. Another fifty yards.

“Has this happened before?” he asked, kicking his fins furiously, leaving a small wake in their path.

“No,” she croaked, but then she frowned.

“When?” he said, spitting out some water.

“Yesterday?” she whispered, her eyebrows knit together and then she groaned again.

They were at the boat. As Kirk towed her past the starboard side toward the dive deck at the back he yelled up to the boat.

“We could use some help!”

Emile’s face appeared over the side and followed them toward the back. Kirk heard him call out to Seydou.

At the diving deck, Kirk bypassed the ladder and tugged Mel next to the platform.

“Emile!” he said, and he grabbed Mel’s vest at the left edge, in front of her shoulder. “You!”

Emile immediately reached down and grabbed there.

“Seydou,” Kirk said, still holding onto the front. “Here,” he said, pointing at the right side of the vest.

When they both had firm grips, he let go of the front and quickly moved behind her.
 

“Now!” he yelled

As he kept one hand on the dive platform, he submerged and pushed up under her tank. He watched as her torso disappeared and then her legs as he surfaced. He scrambled up the ladder and followed Emile and Seydou as they half dragged half fell with Mel onto the deck. Kirk quickly rid himself of his gear and, with Emile and Seydou’s help, got Mel out of hers. She lay on her side and clutched herself around the midsection, almost a fetal position.

“Mel?” he said, brushing wet hair out of her face.

She opened her eyes.

“You felt like this yesterday when?” he asked. “After the dive?”

She nodded and groaned.

Suddenly, Kirk knew what it was. He jumped up and pushed between Emile and Seydou, snatched the emergency oxygen from its holder, and held the nose and mouthpiece over Mel’s face. He turned it on full.

“Breathe deeply,” he said. “In and out, nice and smooth.”

It was the bends. It had to be.

Though most people felt it in their shoulders and at some delayed time after a dive, a small percentage of people felt a “girdle of pain” that sometimes started before the dive was even over. It had been explained to him by the only other person he’d seen get the bends in this same way–Mel’s father.

“It’s the bends,” he said, and Mel’s eyes opened and grew wide. “It can happen like this. I saw it happen to Earl.” He looked up at Seydou. “Nitrogen sickness. We dove too much too often.”
 

And as he said it, he realized that he hadn’t done a safety stop in the storm surge yesterday and that they spent the maximum time below on each dive. And they’d dived three days in a row. They’d been on the pirates schedule and not using a dive chart.

Earl had always been particularly susceptible to decompression sickness. Something about his heart, he’d said. But one hundred percent oxygen had almost always prevented the symptoms from worsening. Kirk knelt in front of Mel and kept the mask over her face as her eyes closed again.

“You’ll be fine,” he said, hoping that she responded the way Earl did. Then he looked up at Seydou. “But no diving today or tomorrow.”

“Did you find anything?” Seydou asked.

“No,” Kirk said, still looking at Mel. “There wasn’t any time.”
 

Seydou tsked loudly.

“You dive,” he said.

Kirk glared at him.

“Two dive,
always
,” he ground out through his clenched jaw. “
Always
. If there hadn’t been two of us diving, Mel would be dead.”

Emile chattered something in a high-pitched voice that seemed on the verge of panic.

Seydou said something dismissively and pushed the boy away.

“Nobody dives tomorrow,” Kirk said, fixing Seydou with his stare. “
Nobody
.”

Seydou waved his hand quickly and headed for the cabin.

“Jaston!” he yelled. Then he shouted something to Emile who gave Mel one last worried look and then headed up the ladder to the helm.

Looked like Seydou understood.

• • • • •

It was like a painkiller. Mel slowly sat up but kept the mask to her face. The effects had been almost immediate.
 

“Take it easy,” Kirk said. “The oxygen is good first aid but it’s not a cure.”

Mel nodded.

Kirk sat cross-legged opposite her, holding the small metal canister. Their scuba gear was strewn all over the deck behind him.

“Do you want to sit up on the bench?” he asked.

“No,” she said into the mask. “I’m starting to get used to the deck.”

Kirk smiled a little and glanced at Jaston.

He had returned with the gun while Emile piloted the boat.

“By the way,” he said. “The bends isn’t something to mess around with.”

“I’ve
never
had the bends,” she said quickly. “Not until today. Or…not until yesterday. If I’d known what it was, believe me I would have said something. I’m just glad
you
knew what it was.”

“The Captain used to get it that way too,” Kirk said. “Around the torso, during a dive. Very unusual but generally not severe. And hopefully yours isn’t either.”

“I don’t think it is,” she said. “Really. I’m feeling fine now.” Kirk nodded. “But I would like to get out of this dive suit,” she said. She stretched the collar away from her neck. It had started to itch. “I don’t think I’ve ever worn one for so long.”

Kirk glanced at Jaston again and lowered his voice.

“I think it’s time to leave,” he said, barely audible, staring into her eyes.

“What?” Mel said, taking off the mask.
 

Kirk lifted it back to her face and held it there for a second.

“I think we can use…the boy,” he said, avoiding his name.

Mel stared at him.
What had changed? Or had they bided their time long enough? Was Emile really going to help them?

“Tonight,” Kirk said, still holding the mask. He glanced at Jaston. “More later.”

Mel had played her part well
, Kirk thought. Though she was likely fully recovered, quick like the old man, she’d let Emile help her transfer to the dinghy and then to the island. Emile had only left them in their cells reluctantly, promising “food soon,” and glancing backward at Mel for as long as he could.

“Quick,” Kirk whispered. “Move your mattress to this side.”

Mel grabbed the edge and drug it over.

“What are we going to do?” she whispered.

“You,” Kirk said. “Nothing. You just lay there and look…like you always do. Don’t move a muscle. No matter what you hear.”

She cocked her head at him but started to lay down on the thin grey pad.

“No,” Kirk said. “On your side, turned toward me.”

As she did what he said, he backed up. He stepped off his mattress and drug it to the opposite side of the cell, away from her.

“What are you doing?” Mel whispered.

“Getting it out of the way,” he said. “I don’t want to trip on it.”

He stood at the door of his cell and looked toward the dark doorway into the cell block. Dinner didn’t generally take Emile long to make and now he was anxious–almost beside himself. He’d be back soon.

“Just lay here?” Mel whispered.

“Shhh,” Kirk said quietly.

He stared into the dark of the next room and listened carefully. He heard Emile’s footsteps on the creaky floorboards moments after the first light of the lantern appeared.

“Emile!” he called. “Emile!” Kirk wanted him off balance right from the start. “Emile! Help! It’s Mel!”

The lantern light danced chaotically as Emile ran into the cell block. Some type of soup sloshed from a pair of oversized cups he was holding. Two thick slices of bread fell to the floor as he quickly trampled over them without noticing. His eyes were wide as he dashed past Kirk’s cell. Kirk pointed at Mel.

“Please,” Kirk yelled. “She’s not breathing.” Emile gaped at him. “No breath!” Kirk yelled, holding his chest and then making a choking motion at his own throat. He pointed at Emile and then Mel. “No breathe!” he screamed. “You help now!”

Emile quickly set the almost empty cups down, slid the ring of keys down his wrist, and tried to unlock the door. Unfortunately, his hands shook so badly that he had trouble finding the keyhole of the padlock.

“Yes!” Kirk encouraged.

Finally, he jammed the key in and wrenched it around and the padlock popped open. He unwound the chain, scraping it loudly over the bars and throwing it aside. He pushed the door open and virtually leapt over to Mel’s mattress. He was just reaching out to her when Kirk covered the same distance in one giant step, jammed his long arm through the bars, and grabbed Emile by the hair. Then he yanked.

The boy flew toward him. His head, much too large to fit through the bars, collided with them. His body flopped down directly on Mel’s side.

“Oh my god!” she exclaimed, trying to sit up.

Emile’s body lay prone where it had dropped.

“Mel, quick,” Kirk said. “Get his keys and the gun.”

“Is he…” she said, as she scrambled backward from under him.

“I didn’t pull him that hard,” Kirk said, standing up. “He’ll be fine. It’s no worse than a wine bottle.”

Mel scrambled to her feet and quickly found the gun tucked into Emile’s belt, next to his back.
 

“The keys are still in the padlock,” Kirk said.

“Here,” Mel said, handing him the gun through the bars.

He took it without a word as Mel paused and glanced down at Emile.

“Really, Mel,” Kirk said. “I didn’t pull him hard. In fact, he might wake up at any moment.”

She nodded and headed for the open door.

“Lock him in,” Kirk said.

In just a couple of minutes, she had chained and locked her cell and opened Kirk’s. She flew into his arms so fast they collided.

“
Kirk
,” she said, though it was muffled in his shoulder.

Her arms wound tightly around him and he hugged her as though he’d never let go. He pressed his cheek into her hair.

“We’re gonna be okay,” he whispered.

For a few moments, they simply stood like that and, as much as Kirk could have held her forever, they needed to make use of what time they had. If Emile woke up, he’d start yelling and raise the alarm.

“We’ve got to go,” he said lowly and felt her nod.

Quickly and quietly they crept through the dark front office and then into the street. Though they’d never actually seen where Seydou and his crew lived, the lighted window made it clear. The saloon next door–of course. Though the liquor had been gone ages ago, it probably had a kerosene stove and separate bedrooms. The prison was close and, besides, it only seemed right that Jaston would live in a saloon. Kirk paused, hefting the weight of the automatic pistol in his hand. The attack on Mel flashed into his mind and his muscles tensed with anger. The cross, coins, and his medallion were probably inside too.