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Tate backed away. With nowhere to go.
Finally, the door could hold back the water no longer. It burst from its hinges and was hurled to the back of the firing range, a tsunami gushing in.
Tate open his mouth to scream again. The sea instantly filled his lungs, and the last thing he felt was the agonizing pressure of a thousand feet of water crushing the life out of him.
75
As Juan sank into the fjord, he opened his eyes and saw that he was far enough from the surface that darkness had closed in around him. With all of his extremities numb from the cold, Juan couldn’t tell if he was moving his limbs or if they were just drifting lazily with the currents. He was too tired to care. His mind must have been numbed as well. He felt oddly relaxed, as if he were in a sensory deprivation chamber.
Still, he resisted the urge to inhale as long as he could. He could sense the slowing of his heartbeat and realized he might be able to set a new personal record before he had to breathe. When he did, it would be his last. I’ll go out on a high note, he thought.
Then something changed. At first, his mind was so fuzzy that he couldn’t tell what it was. Finally, he blinked and understood.
It was getting lighter. He was moving toward the surface.
He couldn’t be swimming. He had neither the strength nor the will to move his arms or legs. He looked down to see if he was doing it involuntarily and noticed something metal on his arms. Bracelets? Handcuffs? It didn’t make sense until he got closer to the light.
The shiny metal objects were holding on to him, propelling him upward. They were jointed. Like hands, yet different.
Not hands. Claws. A robot’s claws.
The surface was close now, but Juan couldn’t fight the compulsion to not breathe any longer. He convulsed as he sucked water into his lungs.
At the same time that his head broke into the air, everything went black.
* * *
—
When Juan came to, he was no longer in the water. He was lying on his back with heat packs and a thermal blanket covering him. While his chest and throat ached, he was breathing air again.
Julia Huxley hovered over him with a concerned expression.
“Welcome back to the company of the living,” she said. “It was touch and go for a while there.”
Juan coughed and sat up with Julia’s help. He saw a submersible cockpit in front of him and realized he was inside the Nomad.
“How long have I been out?” It felt like his voice box was being dragged across a cheese grater.
“About an hour. You heaved up a lot of water after I performed CPR on you, then you immediately passed out again once you’d been revived. I thought I was going to lose you.”
“At least I set a record,” he said.
“What?”
Juan shook his head. “Not important. How did I get here?”
“It’s thanks to those two.” She pointed to his right, and he turned to see Max, leaning against the sub’s inner wall. Kevin Nixon was sea
ted next to him, wrapped in a towel. His hair was damp.
“I know you told us to stay away,” Max said, “but sometimes I’m not so good at following orders. I trailed after you. Figured you might need some backup. So when I saw you go under, I raced over and snagged you with the robotic arms. It was Kevin who did the hard work.”
Kevin shrugged. “Once Max grabbed you with the robot, I saw that you weren’t conscious. All I did was dive into the water and pull you over to the side so we could get you on board. When I hit that cold water, it knocked the wind out of me. I was in it for just a few seconds, with a life jacket on. I don’t know how you lasted as long as you did with that bum arm and no flotation device.”
Juan had forgotten about his arm. He looked down and saw that it was neatly bandaged.
“I guess I need some stitches,” he said. Now that he’d warmed up, the feeling was back, and the entry and exit wounds in his biceps were throbbing.
