Page 3 of Easy

It slid toward him and pushed him into the wall, pinning him there. He was trapped, unable to reach his comm, or to get his hands up to push at the fridge. Then, at an alarmingly accelerated rate, seawater started pouring into the galley.

Easy had never feared the ocean, even when he was drownproofing in BUD/S. But now he knew he was in a really bad place. Pinned and unable to get free with the ocean pouring into the breach in the hull, there was nothing he could do but wait and hope his teammates would miss him, now that all the hostages, minus the three dead, were up top. He reverted to his training because it had saved him so many times before. Calm, focused, stay in the moment, and don’t project to bad future scenarios.

The water creeped up and the ship listed, unfortunately in the wrong direction. He still couldn’t move, the water now up to his chest. He started to breathe deep, taking in as much oxygen as he could, then fully expressing it. He wasn’t alarmed. He never seemed to be in these instances between life and death. Fear wasn’t a factor. During his life, he learned that if he didn’t control his emotions, emotions would control him.

Suddenly, he heard, “Easy!”

That was Bondo’s voice.

“Here!” He managed to get out as the water reached his chin, and he took his last breath. It rushed over his head, plunging him and the guys under.

Shark, Bondo, Flash, and Dagger materialized. Easy had been on many cave dives with Shark. They were in tune with each other as if they were one body, swim buddies, and one of the best friends Easy had ever had. In that moment when Shark assessed the situation, it was clear he was terrified for his safety, trapped, and underwater. They immediately began to try to move the massive fridge.

Easy could hold his breath for six minutes at least, maybe more if he had to. As they struggled, he concentrated on not breathing, but there would come a point when his larynx spasmed and the urge to cough would be overwhelming.

He couldn’t hold it any longer and knew his brain couldn’t go without oxygen for more than five minutes. If they didn’t hurry, he was going to be forced into inhaling.

Suddenly some of the pressure was released from his body, but it wasn’t in time. He had to let go and inhaled. There was a terrible burning sensation, then a kaleidoscope of pretty colors flashing before his eyes as his lungs filled.

He felt instantly anchorless, incorporeal, and the look and feel of incidents in his past came back to him now with complete clarity. They flashed and froze there in his consciousness, in a kind of nostalgic collage of meaning.

Then a white light flashed, and he looked over his shoulder as the truck smashed into his car, sending it rolling over and over, the spinning disorienting, like the feeling he was feeling right now. He could see Jeri’s face as if there were a strobe light showing him her stop-action death. Then it changed, to the moment when he’d fallen just outside the barracks after Hell Week, and he couldn’t rise just as it had all happened back then. Hemingway was there, slipping his arms around him, Rock supporting his other side, as Easy burst into tears, sobbing like a baby, his breath hitching in and out of his open mouth. The weeping was cathartic and cleansing. A millisecond later, he saw his father’s concerned but calm eyes outside Easy’s face mask as the world started to retreat. His tanks had been tainted on a cave dive and he was suffocating. His dad’s quick actions in ripping out his respirator and buddy breathing with him to the surface made him smile.

It all scrolled past him now, and each memory carried with it the exact same heart-tugging emotion he’d felt at that time.

“He’s back,” came in a muffled sound, leaving the visions behind. Then he was coughing, and gagging, sucking in deep lungfuls of precious air, his throat and lungs burning, the deck listing beneath his body. He tried to roll onto his back, but Shark’s tense voice said, “Stay on your side, man.”

He tried to breathe around the excruciating pain, like he was some sea creature that belonged in the water not on land.

At the periphery of his sight, he knew the team was around him, the tension heavy against his skin.

“Let’s get him to the chopper. This boat is going under,” Tex growled. He was lifted off the deck, and he drifted in some gray limbo, trying to make sense of what was happening. Had he drowned?

He went in and out of consciousness until someone tapped his face and shined a bright light in his eyes. “Matt, can you hear me?” The voice was flavored with a heavy Jamaican accent, and all he could think was that he was being saved by Bob Marley’s ghost. He smiled. That was all right because he loved Reggae music. He opened his eyes to find a guy with dreads standing over him. “There you are. Can you tell me how you’re feeling now?”

“My chest and throat hurt, but other than that, I’m okay.”

“Good. Do you understand what happened to you?”

“I think I drowned.”

“That is correct, but the good news is your medic revived you minutes after you ingested seawater, so he got oxygen to your brain almost immediately. We’re going to do some tests and make you comfortable. You’re going to have a nice resort stay here in Kingston.”

It was a day later when he finally started feeling himself, yet he was waking frequently from nightmares he couldn’t remember.

The doctor came in and looked at his chart, then said, “You’re doing extremely well, Matt. You have pulmonary edema showing on your chest radiograph, but that’s common. You’ll experience shortness of breath and wheezing, but that should clear up as you heal. We’ve given you prophylactic antibiotics, and we’re monitoring you for pneumonia.”

He thanked the doctor and, true to his word, Easy was released four days later and the team was on their way back home to Virginia Beach. On the plane ride back, he could feel even more tension; barely anyone spoke, which was unusual. After a deployment, one where shit went down, they were trying to break that tense feeling with laughter and jokes. He was definitely surprised that Shark hadn’t asked him about Davy Jones’s Locker, or Twister wondering if he’d glimpsed the Kraken, or Flash smirking about him being wooed by mermaids.

None of that. Even in his dazed state, he was aware that something was going on behind all those shuttered male faces—not just deployment shit, but heavy emotional shit. Not wanting to get into any explosive arguments on the plane in front of techs and others, Easy kept his peace. These types of things had a way of working themselves out. Little did he know that it was all about him.

* * *

After they got backfrom Jamacia, Shark couldn’t sleep. He tried everything recommended, but as soon as he closed his eyes, all he saw was Easy on that deck, dying, and the fact that their corpsman was fucking saving some pirate’s life, one who had just recently tried to blow Easy away. Easy was faster on the draw. He would have died down in that hold if Shark hadn’t insisted on going to look for him when he hadn’t shown up with all those hostages he’d saved.

Shark tried with all his might to get the look of death in Easy’s face off his mind, but his vacant stare haunted him. He’d seen it before in combat. He knew what it looked like, but the trauma of losing Easy was not the same.

Every time he saw Easy now, it was a shock—a good shock, but one that hit him like a ton of bricks all the same. Even through the numbness and the sense of powerlessness, the only emotion that surfaced was anger. Every time he saw Twister, he wanted to kick the shit out of him.

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