Deep Dive

All seemed calm as we followed the guide line down to the wreck. Bubbles drifted around my head and toward the surface. A school of fish rushed by. A turtle glided above us.

We touched the cargo ship. In the ocean since World War II, the beauty had been reclaimed by coral and rust. I had never seen anything so incredible up close before.

Throwing caution to the wind, I released the guide line to explore the wreck. My diving team shouted in my ear. I didn’t listen.

I made my way to the bow. Something glittered in the range of my flashlight: gold. I followed the flashing to a watch on a skeletal arm. Startled, I hesitated to approach it.

I reminded myself that this was a wreck, that it was normal to find bodies, and forced myself to swim forward.

“You have five minutes of oxygen left!” I heard someone exclaim in my ear. “Get back on the line and come back up now!”

I approached the skeleton as quickly as I could. Just one close look, then I would go back.

I reached forward to touch the watch when a chill ran up my spine. Everything was still—too still. I looked around. Where were the fish? The other sea creatures? I’d kill to see a shark at that moment, even. For a part of the ocean that had been so full of life minutes ago, it was now so empty.

And yet I knew that something was watching me.

“Do you hear me?” came over my ear piece. “Answer me.”

“I don’t think I’m alone—“

The last thing I saw before I started gasping for air was the vague shape of a gigantic reptilian swimming toward me.

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