Dive to Oblivion

Epilogue

Al pulled himself over the Sunshine’s transom and plopped onto the deck feeling chilled to the bone and momentarily dizzy. The fog was so thick that he could barely see his hand in front of his face, and as his dizziness passed, he heard in the background a strange sound that was disturbingly familiar. The air itself smelled alien, and he couldn’t help being reminded of his childhood.

His hand brushed up against a large straw hat that lay on the wooden deck before him. Having completely forgotten about his two passengers, he stiffly stood and tentatively called out.

“Doc? Missy? Where are ya?”

The only sound to greet him was the monotonous humming noise that he had initially heard as he pulled himself out of the water. This steady, pulsating chorus reminded him of the racket produced by the swamp frogs and crickets, and with this odd comparison in mind, he began a thorough inspection of the trawler.

It didn’t take him long to find out that he was all alone. He searched everywhere, including the galley, storage locker and engine spaces. The only evidence that he found of his passengers was their luggage, and a few personal items such as toiletries and clothing.

As he returned to the open stern he realized that even the cat was missing. Fearing that they had fallen overboard during the brief storm that had engulfed them, he peered out into the fog-enshrouded waters and called out forcefully.

“Doc! Missy! It’s Captain Al. Are ya out there?”

His words reverberated throughout the veiled dusky twilight, only to be answered by a strong male voice.

“Hello over there!” cried this nearby stranger.

The powerful beam of a light cut through the fog, and Al anxiously leaned over the port gunwale as the ghostly outline of another vessel took form. It was a strange-looking ship, shaped much like a fat cigar. An open hatch was situated on its rounded upper deck, where the upper torso of a man could just be seen. He held a flashlight in his hand, and used this source of illumination to scan the Sunshine.

“Boy, are we ever glad to see you!” he shouted.

“Our engines are out of commission, as well as our communication and navigational systems.”

“What kind of vessel is that, mister?” asked Al.

“And where ya headed?”

“This is a U.S. Navy Deep Submergence Rescue Vehicle, and right now our destination is the nearest port.”

Supposing that this was some kind of newfangled submarine, Al readily responded.

“That would be Nicholls Town, mister. My cousin Sherman runs a fishin’ camp there, and he’ll take care of ya. If you’d like, I’ll give ya a tow.”

“That would be most appreciated.”

Before turning for the wheelhouse to crank over the engine, Al asked one more question.

“Say mister, you didn’t happen to pick up two women and a cat out of the water? It looks like I lost a couple of my passengers during that storm that just passed.”

“I’m sorry to say that we haven’t seen any sign of them,” returned the crew-cut stranger.

“Though with all this fog and all, they could have floated right by us and we’d never have known it.”

With his heart heavy with disappointment, Al turned for the wheelhouse. He was in the process of passing by the card table, when a warm, humid breeze hit him full in the face. The scent of this gust had a fetid ripeness that smelled vaguely of decaying vegetation.

With its arrival, the fog momentarily lifted, and he spotted another vessel floating in the water directly in front of the Sunshine’s bow. This sleek ship was of tremendous size, and sported the distinctive sail of a submarine, with a five-pointed red star emblazoned on its side. There was an unusual-looking pod on the protruding rudder, and not a soul visible on its wide deck.

The breeze also temporarily uncovered a patch of tree-covered shoreline beyond. Supposing that they had drifted to the eastern shore of Andros Island, he rushed for his binoculars and turned them on the shore before the fog returned. What he saw there caused the hairs on the back of his neck to raise. It seemed unbelievable — the trees were not mangroves at all, but tall swamp cypresses, with thick, green moss hanging from their limbs.

His hands were slightly shaking as he focused on a small collection of buildings set at the base of these trees. He knew that it wasn’t possible, but spread out before him were the distinctive outlines of Port Mayaca, the town he had grown up in! And it was then he identified the familiar smells and sounds that surrounded him as belonging to Florida’s Lake Okeechobee.

Disturbing question remained to haunt him. How in heaven’s name did he ever end up in this landlocked body of water, along with the two oceangoing submarines, a good two hundred miles from the waters off Andros?