Chapter Twenty-Seven Tula
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Tula
Bob’s video footage started wide, capturing the hazy waters of the Atlantic.
Schools of fish swam past the camera, fanning around the screen as if putting on a show for the rare camera.
Nathan swam into view and led the way deeper into the water toward the ocean floor, where the visibility was dimmer and murkier.
It wasn’t long before the other divers and Nathan reached the smooth sandy bottom, covered in trails of small, flat shells.
I remembered slipping my fingers along that silty bottom on my last dive with Mom.
The undisturbed floor had puffed into clouds as I swirled my fingers through the sandy muck.
I’d felt oddly nervous, as if I was trespassing.
Pressure formed in my chest as I watched Nathan glide along the ocean bottom. The sea had never made a secret of its dangers. Never. Humans were tentative guests in the undersea world, and we entered at our own peril. And maybe that was the appeal. We were entering the forbidden.
“We approached the Oceanus from her stern,” Nathan said. He stood close behind me. I could feel the cool ocean’s damp waters still clinging to his bare chest.
I’d forgotten he was standing behind me. Certain he’d warn me if there was something I shouldn’t see, I didn’t speak as my gaze remained locked on the screen.
And then the vessel’s debris field appeared.
The Oceanus had drifted from Carova Beach to the spot where she finally sank and had deposited trinkets and items along the way.
Many items had been found by weekend divers.
When it was still legal to harvest their finds, many had donated their discoveries to local museums, and some had not.
The debris field grew heavier, and I could envision the dying ship listing badly in the choppy waters as waves jostled her guts onto the ocean floor.
The first crumbs in the debris trail were small pieces of jagged and torn metal that looked as thin as paper.
Next a tangle of twisted metal, and beside it an uncorked wine bottle that had never broken, snarled chains, and a soldier’s helmet.
Portions of a mast covered in barnacles lay quietly in the silt.
These markers pointed toward a familiar trail that I’d swum past seven years ago. To see the debris field untouched felt odd. Life on the surface continued and changed, but down here, the world was locked in its own time capsule.
Up next would be the stern. The blunted edge was intact, as it had been seven years ago. Thicker layers of barnacles covered her metal hull. The faded word Oceanus came into focus. My heartbeat quickened.
I thought about the image I’d seen of Dr. Brooks standing in front of the Oceanus in Port of Spain. The ship stood proud and muscular, and the doctor wore a mild expression. His ordinariness had made him almost unforgettable by anyone passing by.
The vessel’s bow nosed toward the north, marking the original path of the Oceanus’ final days.
After her engines had stopped working, the southward prevailing winds and current had pushed her south, carrying her farther away from New York City.
When the ship finally sank to the ocean bottom, she was 300 nautical miles from New York City.
The camera hovered over the raw jagged hole on the upward-facing starboard side. Bent metal twisted inward, marking the path of the single torpedo. The strike hit below the waterline, and the explosion had destroyed one of the lifeboats.
The ship’s .50 caliber guns that Jeff had seen, and Chief Mate Kevin Riggs had bragged about, remained pointing upward, as if, given a chance, they could fire again.
I thought about the young officer who’d overseen the ship’s day-to-day operations.
He’d survived but was long dead, and I was sorry I couldn’t talk to him.
The Oceanus had been a powerful, fast ship, captained by a seasoned sailor convinced he could outrun the Germans without the protection of a convoy.
“Time always moves on, but it stops down there,” Nathan said.
“It’s super weird.” I kept my gaze on the screen, watching for signs of my mother. A tank, a flipper, or even her remains. But there was no evidence that Mom had ever been here.
“We didn’t see signs of her,” Nathan said softly. “I’m always on the lookout when I dive the wreck. But I saw nothing.”
I wished I’d known that those last moments when I’d looked back at her would be the last. If I’d known our time was slipping away, I’d have dragged her back.
A forgotten memory fluttered forward. Nathan was one of several rescue volunteer divers who were in the water as soon as the storm ended.
I’d been told to stay away from the docks, but I was unable to sit and wait at the rental house I’d shared with Mom.
I’d driven there and sat and waited for six hours until the first boats returned.
Nathan, still in pain from the car accident, emerged from the water.
Water dripped from his dark hair and the arm cast, wrapped in plastic and duct tape.
The water had leaked and seeped past the temporary barrier and soaked his cast.
When Nathan walked toward me, his steps were quick and determined, even as he cradled his arm.
Exhausted and angry, he argued with the lead rescue diver and asked to return, but he’d reached his dive limit. When his gaze met mine, he suddenly looked lost. He shook his head slowly, and I knew Mom was gone forever.
Without a word, I’d turned and walked off the pier. He didn’t chase after me or call out to me. Later, he’d tried to call, and I’d ignored it. When I’d reached dry land, a barrier had sunk between the water and me.
“I didn’t have a chance to get a good look at her the other day, but now, I took my time.”
I shoved down the memory. “Did you notice anything new?”
“She’s looking more fragile,” Bob said. “The crack in her hull runs almost across her midsection. She’ll eventually break in two one day.”
“She’s not as stable as I’d thought,” Nathan said.
Torpedoes had sunk nearly four hundred vessels along the entire East Coast of the US.
Over eighty of these ships went down off the Outer Banks, where the shifting sandbars near Hatteras had allowed Germany’s U-boats to hide in deep waters.
Sometimes storms unearthed these vessels, pushing fragments toward the shore, only for the tides to bury them in the sand.
But most sunken remains were like the Oceanus: forever buried from sight.
“We think we’re so powerful, but images like this remind me of how fragile it all is,” I said.
“Are you doing okay?” Nathan asked.
Seven years of waiting and wondering, and I wanted to let it all go, although I still had a small kernel of hope that Mom was still alive, diving and living her best life. But if that fantasy were true, then she’d have swum away and left me to fend for myself.
“I’m a survivor,” I said. “I’ll be fine.”
Nathan leaned forward as if he wanted to hug me.
And for a moment, I was tempted to lean back and prop myself against his chest. But I was aware of the other divers encircled around us, so I kept my shoulders ramrod straight.
I prayed he wouldn’t touch me. He was the closest I had to anyone on this planet who’d suffered this wreck like I had, but I knew if I touched him, I’d dissolve.
The others were drinking water and eating snacks as if this were just an evening in front of the television.
When the film ended, Bob shut off the camera. “Nathan must have gotten good footage of the starboard side,” he said. He sniffed and brushed back his wet hair as he walked toward me.
I thrust back any emotions welling inside. I wasn’t sure how much I wanted to see. “What did you see?”
“It’s kind of weird.” There was no hint of humor as Nathan moved toward me.
“Weird how?” I asked.
“I don’t know if the camera caught it or not.” He hit fast-forward.
I leaned closer, bracing myself as I kept my gaze locked on the screen. He hit play.
These images were farther along the debris trail, and then they cut left. The camera skimmed along the partly upended section of the Oceanus’ hull. The barnacle-coated underside was home now to small sea creatures who dwelled in cracks and crevices. Nothing out of the ordinary.
But as he swam toward the bow, a white cloud gurgled around the ship. Whatever it was, it wasn’t marine life or shifting sands.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“Good question,” Bob said.
Nathan stepped closer. His body warmed some of the chill seeping into my bones.
“That’s what I saw,” Tony said. “I thought it was a ghost.”
“I don’t know about ghosts,” Bob said. “But it was weird.”
Nathan drew in a breath.
“It came around the bow, hovered, and then receded back to the starboard side. Did you see it?” Bob asked.
Nathan nodded. “I did.”
“After dives, Mom liked to drink with the old sailors, and many had stories about sightings they couldn’t explain. They’d say the barrier islands are full of restless spirits.”
“There could be a dozen logical explanations,” Nathan said. “Most likely one of the divers churned up the sea bottom as we all came around the other side.”
Bob studied the screen. “Very logical. But whatever it was, it was gone when I rounded the bow.”
“Nineteen people died suddenly when the Oceanus sank, and then Mom vanished,” I said. “These are troubled waters filled with spirits.”
“Did anyone else see it today?” Nathan looked at the divers.
They all shook their heads no.
Tony shrugged. “I saw it last week, but not today.”
“Why the random appearances?” A chill slid over me. “Is it trying to tell us something?”
“When did you become so superstitious?” Nathan countered.
I shrugged. “Anyone who makes their living on the water is.”
Nathan fixed his gaze on my necklace. “That coin you’re wearing brought your mother good luck.”
My brow knotted. “When did she tell you that?”
“Seven years ago. I teased her about it being lucky, but she was insistent.”
“And she left the coin for me before the last dive.”
“And now you wear it with the sea glass,” Nathan said.
Seven years ago, when Nathan had noticed my new “fancy” sea-glass necklace, I thought I’d finally broken through his reserve.
I thought he was flirting. But beyond the quip, he’d said nothing else, and never made a move on me.
I was counting the days to my eighteenth birthday, hoping that’s what he was waiting for.
The boat rocked from side to side as I moved to the edge and looked over the side. The wreck was too deep to see, but I still combed the waters, hoping for something more.
The other divers chatted about the wreck as Nathan’s engines fired, and soon the boat was moving south toward the harbor. Water splashed up the sides. Several fistfuls of water hit me, cooling off my skin, now overheated by hours in the morning sun.
I didn’t move away from the edge. I watched the bow cut through the water as the waves playfully splashed. I dropped my hand over the side so my fingers felt the cool wetness spattering up. Energy pulsed against my skin.
I’d accomplished more in the last week than I had in seven years of therapy. I was beginning to glimpse the girl who had lived in and loved the water.
The idea of diving in these waters terrified me. But I knew now I had to dive. I had to see the Oceanus one last time.