Thank God for Deus Ex Machina

I stared over the lip of the volcano. The venting gases and Earth tremors were not supposed to be happening.

I knew the volcano was technically active, but it hadn’t erupted for over a century. There was no report of any predicted seismic activity. It was why I was there, taking the opportunity to say I’d been to an ‘active’ volcano and look cool on Instagram selfies.

The first ball of red steaming lava shot high into the air like a rushing firework. The gust of burning air on my face disabused me of any notion this volcano was dormant. Time appeared to freeze; it was as if I entered a different universe and time flow.

The ground moved and wobbled beneath my feet. From my alternative universe, I considered my imminent demise for a second or two and how I was about to end up like the residents of Pompeii.

I guessed it would do no harm to leave the sanctity of my new universe and make a run for it.

I ran and headed for the slopes to safety, a safety that was, unfortunately, several miles away in this real universe. The ground shook and moved; the roar of erupting lava in the crater soared.

There was no way I was going to make it.

A whooping sound battered my eardrums and I pushed my hands over my ears as I ran. A fireball landed a few yards away and I diverted from the path.

A rectangular shadow fell over and around me as fire crashed around me like red-hot hailstones. I looked up at the source of the whooping shadow. A giant military double rotor helicopter hovered. A winch cradle lowered towards me from its belly. The cradle hit the ground a few feet away. A crew member wearing a large black helmet and royal-blue boiler suit with NAVY written on one chest ushered me towards him. He pulled me in and I fell against the base of the cradle.

The heat from the ground and the airwave behind us made me turn. White-hot molten lava oozed over the volcano rim, yards away. Huge plumes of ash cloud rose up like the aftermath of a giant bomb blast.

The cradle jerked and headed towards the aircraft’s belly. The helmeted airman looked up, holding onto the cable. We reached the open door and he tugged me inside. He threw me into a hard seat facing the back of two pilots and strapped me in.

The airman who had rescued me raised his black plexiglass face visor and put his mouth to my ear. “You were lucky we happened to be training near the volcano edge and spotted you.”

The aircraft nose lifted and my head jerked back as we accelerated away and up from the spewing volcano. The two pilots touched controls and chatted inaudibly, checking behind them as we flew on. The intense noise reverberated in my body as if someone was using my chest as a bass drum. The aircraft buffeted and rocked and lurched alarmingly.

Thick grey dust clouds flew past the craft’s windows engulfing the scenery. It was like a black foggy night. I watched the ash dust enter the helicopter’s motors and they spluttered.

The engines were going to get choked and we would fall from the sky.

I looked up at the white nimbus clouds and at that moment they changed direction and sped up. The wind had shifted and increased in speed. It blew the ash away for an instant: enough time for the craft to pick up speed. We burst away from the dense volcanic cloud and into the light.

The pilots’ heads were in constant motion. One pointed a black-gloved finger ahead through the windscreen which was now peppered with splodges of thick rain. Two wiper blades worked in counterpoise clearing the glass. I sat up to follow the pilot’s finger.

Below us, a long straight concrete airstrip had dark military planes and helicopters parked to the sides. The sky beyond was black. The pilot hadn’t been pointing at the airstrip but at an enormous funnel twisting from ground to sky. It spun in a slow spiral; it was the reason for the sudden change and speed of the wind.

The tornado touched the end of the runway and moved along as if consuming it in its path.

The helicopter swerved hard at right angles and my head lurched with it. To my left, I saw the tornado swirling inexorably closer, wide and menacing. To my right, the dust cloud from the volcano headed to us like a speeding enveloping curtain closing down on us.

We were going to be squeezed, caught in the mouth of Mother Nature’s gigantic vice.

The pilot pushed the control lever forward to its max; the engines strained and roared with a metallic grinding. We flew over the coastline and above the ocean. The far edge of the giant twister came into view as the chopper buffeted and rocked in the sky. The sky lightened, the sun brightened through thinning clouds and the rain petered out. The windscreen wiper blades stopped flapping.

I twisted to my right and the blossoms of grey volcanic ash clouds receded into the distance. We’d made it.

A series of heavy thuds rocked us. The windscreen became obscured in a mass of blood and feathers. The engines sputtered, choked and stopped. The nose dipped and the silence was broken only by a speeding rush of wind as we fell towards the rapidly approaching sea.

“Brace,” the young airman’s mouth was at my ear. “We’ve hit a flock of seagulls. Going down.”

We were crashing into the sea out of control.

I leant into the brace position in my seat. The bottom of the helicopter hit the water with a battering splash of noise. The impact threw me forward into the seat belt which ripped into my shoulders with a sharp jag of agony. The sliding door on one side flew open and seawater surged into the cabin like a mini tsunami.

I hit the seat belt release. It was jammed. The craft bobbed in the sea, sinking slowly under the rising tide rushing in. The two pilots were out cold, slumped forward in their seats. The airman who had rescued me had been thrown against the wall and floated in the seawater. Water gushed in and around him.

I grabbed at the seat belt again. It was stuck fast, water raised up and over my knees. In seconds it was over my crotch. I pulled in desperation at my jammed seat belt.

The water flowed against the prone airman. He shook his head, stood and dived over the surging wave through the open door and out into the sea without hesitation.

One pilot sat up with the cold seawater lapping around his waist. He hit his central belt release and it snapped open and flicked away like an elastic band. He leaned across to his colleague, clicked his belt open and pulled him out of the seat. He opened the pilot side door and dragged himself and his unconscious colleague out into the rising sea.

The helicopter tilted and the nose went up and the back went down. A wall of water was now a couple of feet behind my back. I watched helplessly through the windows at the three airmen bobbing together in the gentle sea and away from the sinking helicopter. The young airman said something to his colleagues. He turned and swam towards me, arms flapping wildly. He was coming to rescue me again.

The aircraft tilted more and I lost sight of my prospective rescuer as the craft slid down. I gulped a huge intake of air before the cold seawater engulfed me.

I punched the seat buckle with my fist: it would not give. I was going to drown.

The pressure of the water pushed hard against my complaining eardrums. I sank further into the sea. Items floated around me like weightless objects on the space station: notebooks, pencils, goggles, a knife. A knife. I reached out and wrapped a hand around it grabbing the blade and cutting open my palm. The craft sank further while I took the knife and manoeuvred the handle into my other hand. Lines of blood flowed away like a red river delta.

My eyes bulged and my chest burnt with a desperation to breathe. I hacked at the belt with the large blade. It sliced away and I was free. I didn’t know how far we’d sunk but I couldn’t see me making it to the surface; I guessed I had been holding my breath for a couple of minutes already.

I was at my limit, I could hold my breath no longer. This craft was to be my water-filled metal coffin.

I was dizzy and the blackness swooned before my eyes. I flapped towards the open door anyway and through the sea of objects floating around me.

My lungs burned, my throat closed, this was the end. There was no way I could make it to the surface in time. I was about to drown.

I pulled a floating tunic from my path, a diver’s mask and oxygen tank floated by the door like a dead squid. I grabbed the mask and pushed it to my face, the rubber sucked into my cheeks. I breathed in and nothing came into my expended lungs.

Blackness fell over me and I couldn’t think straight. I lifted the oxygen tank in desperation and spotted a small black plastic wheel. I twisted it and a rush of cool refreshing oxygen surged into my desperate lungs quenching the fire in them. I gorged on the air for several moments like drinking in the best champagne from a bucket. My senses returned. I was still sinking inside my potential coffin.

I swam out of the door leaving the stricken helicopter behind me. I rose to the surface kicking my feet and trailing the oxygen tank in one hand. The light grew as I moved towards the surface, a flickering sun and a diffused sky. I broke the waterline as if bursting through a custard skin. I dropped the face mask and tank and laid back in the water breathing fast and heavy, my heart thumped like a war drum.

I calmed and looked around for the airmen. They were not there. No one for miles. I heard a regular thump-thump in the distance. A military helicopter was heading away towards the land. The airmen’s colleagues must have picked them up and assumed I’d drowned.

I kicked my legs to tread water, they were heavy as if they had lead weights tied to them. It’s not every day you outrun a volcanic eruption, evade a tornado, survive an air crash and escape drowning from a sinking helicopter.

I kicked my leaden legs to prevent my shoulders from dipping below the water. Tiredness swept across my eyes, I wanted to close them and sleep. Heaviness thumped in my head.

I couldn’t kick or swipe my arms much longer, they ached and hurt, my muscles were giving up the fight.

I floated amongst the debris of the crash. A panel with NAVY on it bobbed by my head. I leant on it but it was not large enough to sustain my weight. I paddled towards a black seat cushion. It was not large enough either and sunk under me. I was too tired to continue.

I was going to sink beneath the waves and follow the helicopter to my watery tomb.

Something orange floated a few yards ahead of me. I flapped towards it with my last dregs of energy. I tugged at the orange float with my fingertips and caught a dangling cord with almost the last breath of movement. The orange material instantly unfolded. It inflated into a small circular life raft with a tent and open entrance. It must have fallen from the crashed helicopter.

I held onto the rimmed edge of the raft. From somewhere deep inside, I found a hidden reserve and pulled myself onto the raft. I laid gasping and recovering on the plastic floor of my saviour. I crawled into the tent, my clothes and hair dripping around me.

Tucked into the wall of the tent was a flare pistol. I pulled it out and pointed the black gun through the open door flap and into the air. I pressed on the trigger and a flare streaked into the sky and exploded hundreds of yards above that lit up the sky with a sickly bright orange glow.

I laid my head back down and waited for my rescue. The top of the raft blinked — a rescue beacon was emitting a signal. In a while, I would be rescued. I had to wait, all would be good.

The waves flapped against the edge of the raft like gentle handclaps; the only sound around me. The sky was clear, the sun glowed warm but not too hot. A soft cooling breeze whispered around my face.

I gazed wistfully across the peaceful expanse of water. My muscles ached and my hand was sore and bleeding from when I’d grabbed the knife blade. I dangled my cut hand in the saltwater to soothe it. A trail of thin blood rivulets drifted and bobbed away. I was safe and alive. I watched the streaks of blood float away from me.

A triangular black fin cut straight through my stream of blood like a hunting knife.