Page 153 of Clive Cussler Ghost Soldier
She’d already made her peace with God in the five minutes since the launch. Trading her life for the lives of many was an easy decision, really. But she needed to get something off her conscience.
“Linda? You copy?”
“We copy.”
“Tell Juan…Tell Juan I—”
But she waited too long to spit it out. Her eye just caught the streaking torpedo striking twenty yards away. The resulting explosion tore open the sub’s hull, breaking it apart and roiling the water in a mass of bubbles, shrapnel, and debris. TheSpookrolled over with the blast.
Callie screamed, more shocked than terrified. Something struck theSpook’s acrylic screen just as the lights went out. Her screens all went blank.
An emergency red light kicked on. It gave her just enough light to see that water was seeping in through the crack, but the red glow against the acrylic blocked her view outside.
She could tell theSpookwas still attached to a fragment of thesinking hull, and judging by the rush of bubbles speeding by, she was being dragged down fast.
Suddenly she had another decision to make and only seconds to make it.
She could ride theSpookdown to the bottom and hope there was enough air to last until a deepwater rescue could be organized before she froze to death or the leak in the acrylic filled up her cockpit like a goldfish bowl.
The other option was to swim to the top. She was at least ninety feet down now. Every second she hesitated dragged her down another foot.
She hadn’t held her breath for a hundred feet in over a decade. She’d never make it. And even if she could hold her breath that long, she’d die of the bends.
So really the only question was, how did she want to die?
Easy choice.
She grabbed the first of two emergency release handles and pulled it. Frigid seawater poured into the cockpit. The shock of it stole her breath away. She fought off the panic and filled her unpracticed lungs with the deepest breath she could. She shut her mouth just before she was completely submerged.
With the water pressure equalized, she pulled the second handle and a small charge blew the cockpit door off. She kicked her way out of the sinkingSpook Fish, still welded to the shattered fragment of theGhost Swordhull, and began her ascent.
Callie felt strangely calm. She glanced down and saw theSpookvanish into the abyssal dark.
She glanced back up. High above, the dim, silver disk of the sun shimmered through the dark, clear water. The image warmed her despite the icy grip of the sea.
All of her old deep-diving tricks came back to mind. She calmed herself, and slowed her movements. Pursing her lips, she hummed, expelling a light and steady stream of air to prevent her lungs from bursting. She told herself she was going to make it.
But a few seconds later her lungs began to ache and pain like ice picks stabbed at her eardrums. Against all of her training she quickened her kicks and clawed up at the sun above her, desperate as a woman buried alive trying to dig herself out of an unmarked grave.
The extra effort stole away the last few moments of her breath, her lungs burning with fire. Her throat begged to open to suck in the cold water to quench it, but she fought it…
and fought it…
and fought it.
Until her vision dimmed and the pale light above melted into black.
79
Aboard theOregon
Callie’s eyes fluttered open. All she could see was white.
Her head ached as if her skull were pinned inside of a hydraulic press. A hiss filled the air.
She rolled her throbbing head over to find relief. Instead, she saw an angel’s familiar face in a portal window.
“Hello, sleepyhead.” Dr. Huxley’s voice sounded tinny on the speakers inside of theNomad’s hyperbaric chamber. “I bet you feel terrible, don’t you?”
