“Oh, man… you’re kidding…”
Dex shook his head. “The debris’s just a bunch of little pieces of nothing. Hardly any smoke. Whatever happened, it was quick. And efficient.”
“You sure it wasn’t some kinda accident, maybe?”
“The last thing Don said was something about a chopper.”
“Coast Guard?”
“Again, maybe. No way to tell.”
“Jesus, well what’d they do — put a freakin’ missile on ’em?!”
“Could be.”
“I can’t believe anybody’d kill ’em. Just like that.”
“Look, we can’t be sure anybody’s dead yet. I’m just saying it doesn’t look good.” Dex paused, did some quick computations. “I mean, we couldn’t have gotten more than three or four hundreds yard from the wreck, and there’s pretty much nothing out here. Nothing.”
Tommy’s expression had changed to something like anger, but his voice belied his anxiety. “Bastards. What’re we gonna do? We gonna make it?”
“We’ll be okay. Let’s ditch these tanks. Our suits will just about keep us afloat.”
As they both wriggled free of the straps, Dex tried to keep his focus on what had just happened. What it could mean.
“Mine’s loose,” said Tommy. “What’s next?”
“We swim easy. Side, or backstroke.” Dex had retained the utility belt with his tools, the video, and the collection bag, even though he knew it was extra weight. Weight that might become significant if things got sketchy.
“Swim where? Where’re we headed?”
“For starters, anywhere away from here. Whatever blew up our boat might be back.”
Tommy rolled his eyes. “Hadn’t thought of that. Okay.”
“I figure we head for Gibson Island.”
“How far?”
“Two or three miles. Maybe more.”
“Man, I don’t think I’ve ever tried to swim that far.” Tommy didn’t sound too good.
“We’re not in a race. We take it nice and easy.”
“Still… miles?”
“People swim the English Channel. That’s more than twenty. We can do this. We just take it slow.”
“Okay, and what do we do when we get there?”
“Don’t worry about it. Gibson Island’s mostly woods. We can hole up till we figure out what’s going on.”
Dex pointed them in the right direction and they both started pushing the water with nice long strokes that wouldn’t fatigue them too quickly.
After a few minutes, the shoreline didn’t appear any closer, but Dex knew it was an illusion. They were making progress. A few sailboats were visible in the distance, but that was it.
Tommy paused to float on his back for a moment and catch his breath. “What’ll we do if the Coast Guard shows up?”
“I think we avoid everybody until we get things sorted out,” said Dex.
“Even those guys? I mean, isn’t that their job to save people in the water?”
“Listen,” said Dex, indicating they should keep swimming. “We just saw our boat get vaporized and we have no idea who did it.”
“Huh?” Tommy talked between strokes. “Which means what?”
“You kidding me? Which means that we can’t trust anybody. Especially for the absolute right now.”
“That is some scary shit you’re talkin’,” said Tommy. “And I seriously hope you’re wrong.”
“Yeah, me too, But don’t count on it.” Dex glanced shoreward. They were definitely getting a little closer, but they would still need to pace themselves. “Let’s put all our energy into the swim. We talk later.”
They continued to head toward shore in silence for another ten minutes. A sailboat meandered closer to their position, but whoever was on the rudder hadn’t spotted them, or if so, had chosen to ignore them. Thankfully, it was mostly overcast; a high sky with a bright sun hammering down would have made the journey twice as hard. Tommy pushed the water past him, behind him, but his motions began to get erratic, less rhythm and pacing. Dex was watching him closely, giving him words of encouragement. Even though he was plenty younger, Tommy was edging toward the panic state people reach when they’ve been in a vast body of water too long.
Another ten minutes, with a few in between to rest by back-floating, and they were very close to catching the tide off the channel — a big assist that would pull them toward the southern tip of Gibson Island. Good thing too. Tommy was running out of steam, and Dex figured the guy was just this side of giving up. He’d seen it happen to people marooned in the water. So, a few minutes of calm on their backs was a good idea right about now.
But before he could suggest it, he saw the approach of the cutter from south. It was way below them, but he could ID its profile along the horizon line. The next few minutes would be critical.
“Coast Guard,” he said, and pointed to the far-away ship.
“They lookin’ for us?” Tommy barely got the words. He was exhausted.
“Could be. I don’t know. Just keep moving. We’re not trusting anybody at this point, remember?”
They sidestroked their way toward the shallows. Not much farther now.
“Man, I hate this.” Tommy’s voice was getting weak.
“Almost there, man. C’mon.”
Out in the bay, at least a couple miles out, Dex saw the Coast Guard boat move in lazy circles in the general area where the Sea Dog had blown. If they were looking for Dex and Tommy, they were doing a damned good job of disguising it. More likely, they’d responded to a garbled distress call, and were now confused to find nothing in the vicinity. If they spotted any debris, it would keep them focused on that general area.
And away from us, thought Dex.
“We should be close to touching bottom,” he said. Tommy needed something to work for.
“You sure?”
“It gets shallow pretty far out. Any second now. Just keep pushing that water behind you, okay?”
“I’m with you.”
Dex said nothing as he continued to pull himself toward the sloping sand. He was just about used up. Every pull with his arms had become a near impossible task. Rolling over on his back for maximum flotation, he reached down and unclipped the videocam from the utility belt, consigning it to the oblivion of the sandy bottom. The slight lessening of weight allowed him to move forward in the water just a little easier. But at this point, every ounce was enough to mean something. Next, he unclipped the heavy iron prybar, and he felt instantly lighter. His arms felt as if they were ready to disconnect from his shoulders; Tommy was probably way beyond that. Dex forced himself forward. No idea how far they’d swum, but he’d most likely underestimated it.
“Dex… Dex, I’m done.” Tommy’s voice sounded so weak, so frail.
“No you’re not, man. Don’t talk like that.”
“I can’t do it! I feel like I’m not movin’ forward anymore. I got nothin’ left…”
“Hang on,” said Dex, feeling a fire in his thigh muscles as he tread water in languid half-assed leg-pumps. “Tommy, roll over on your back. You’ll float naturally till I get to you.”
“I can’t…”
“Yeah, you can.” Dex closed the several feet of distance between them, and it felt infinitely farther. When he grabbed Tommy’s arm, and helped turn him onto his back, he was amazed at how massive the kid felt. “Easy now. That’s it.”
Tommy rolled over, but his breathing increased as he started to panic, not believing he could keep his head above the light chop.
“Just relax, I’ve got you.” Dex was helping him float, but not entirely. Now he reached across his stomach, fumbling for the release on Tommy’s utility belt. “I’m going to get this off you. You’ll be lighter. You’ll be able to float better.”