WALKABOUT 2 - The Back of Beyond (Part 6)

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“I’m David,” a red-haired fellow in his mid-to-late twenties said, offering his hand as he and another guest approached. “I’ll be your guide.” An older fellow, probably about my age, joined us. “This is Nathan,” David said. “Your dive partner. You lucked out, being in a small group.”

“Jared Mulligan,” I said, and shook their hands.

“Let me give you a hand with your gear,” David said. I stood still as he secured the breathing tank on my back. It was far more awkward feeling than I would have thought. The tank was bulky and heavy, and the combination of it and the weighted belt immediately put a strain on my lower back. I hoped that once in the water, it would be less cumbersome. The mouthpiece was uncomfortable, but I fought off the urge to gag. I waited as he repeated the procedure with Nathan.

“So where you from, Nathan?” I asked.

“Grew up near Seattle,” he replied. “Vancouver now. BC, not Washington. Moved there in the early seventies.”

I nodded.

“You know, what with the Vietnam war, and all. Seemed like the thing to do at the time.”

Unlike the other groups that had gone before us, there were only the three of us in my group. David, Nathan, and me. It seemed our luck wasn’t going to be good. We saw nothing for a long time, and I wondered how hard it would be to get the outfitter to honor its refund policy. If they would be true to their word, or like so many other businesses these days, a pain in the ass to deal with. Then I thought, ‘What do I care? I’m playing on Mulligan’s money, and there’s more than enough of that to—’BAM!—The cage was rammed hard from beneath, knocking me off balance. I fell against David, pinning him against the side of the cage, with his head and arm hanging perilously out the viewing gap. I nearly shit when I saw wide-open jaws coming toward us. Instinctively, I grabbed David by the hair and yanked him toward me into the safety of the cage.

There were not one, but two great whites, who at that moment looked to me like those prehistoric megalodons, the sixty-foot, one-hundred-ton sea monsters you hear about in documentaries on television.

My heart was trying to beat its way out of my chest, and my knees were buckling beneath me, making it so that I had to grab onto the bars on the cage in order to remain standing. I didn’t hold on for long, though. One of the sharks was coming toward me, its mouth wide open. Even if it couldn’t eat me alive, it could do a lot of damage to my hand, so I pulled it back and began floating around in the cage, my knee banging into the back of David’s head when the shark rammed the cage again.

David grabbed me, helped me get stabilized. He then tapped my shoulder, and when I turned to face him, he gave me a thumbs up. Not once, but twice. I nodded, feeling my confidence return with his reassurance. You’ve wanted to do this for years’ I reminded myself. Just relax and enjoy it. I turned back to face the sharks.

One of them rammed the cage yet again, harder than before, if that’s possible. The impact slammed my left elbow, against the side of the enclosure. It’s hard to say “Shit!” when you have a regulator in your mouth, but I did what I could. A moment later, the other shark hit us on the opposite side. And then . . . they were gone.

I remember thinking at least now it was safe. The sharks were gone and—before I could finish the thought, a streak of gray and white came from nowhere, barreling down on me like a freight train. The impact bent the frame of the cage, despite all the assurances from the crew that it was structurally sound. The shark’s head was inside, thrashing around. My heart was pounding, my breath short and shallow. I’ve experienced adrenalin rushes before, but this one was off the chart. I looked first to my left, then to my right, hoping for some instruction from David. He was nowhere to be found. Gone too, was Nathan. At that moment it occurred to me I was getting a bit more than I bargained for when I booked the dive.

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One of the cables keeping the cage tethered to the boat snapped, and the cage spun wildly as the shark thrashed around trying to extricate itself.

Somehow, I was thrown out of the cage when the front panel ripped away. Which was good, sort of. Out of the cage meant the shark wasn’t going to take a bite out of me, at least not at the moment. But, you always trade one problem for another. There was the matter of the other shark, which I still couldn’t see.

Don’t ask me how, but in some way I became entangled with the tether cable. I was being whipped around violently, like a rag doll in the agitate cycle of a washing machine. I was totally disoriented.

Above, the welcoming outline of the Fetching Wench beckoned me, and I began clawing my way upward through the water. I was vaguely aware of Nathan, only a few feet to my right, swimming in the wrong direction, away from the boat. Just beyond him, I could see the outline of one of the sharks, circling menacingly. I couldn’t call out to Nathan, and despite my desire to help him, there was no way in hell I was going to swim toward the shark. Not with a perfectly good boat overhead.

Last thing I remember is banging against something solid.

When I regained consciousness, I was back on the boat. My tank had been removed and I was flat on my back, gasping for air, looking up at the sky.

“Thought we’d lost you, there, mate,” David said. “Why didn’t you come up with me?” He looked up from me to the handful of people standing around us. “I pointed topside, and he nodded. I thought he was right behind me when I came out.”

I was groggy, still trying to figure out what had happened. I think my head must have struck against something. All I could think to say was, “That . . . that rang . . . that rang my bell . . . I . . . I know I’m in . . . Australia, but I don’t know why,” and then, “Don’t tell Dianna about this.”

“Who’s Dianna?” someone asked.

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The crew took good care of me all the way back to Port Lincoln. I was helped to a couch in the dining lounge area, given water to drink. Several of the other guests were seated at tables, engaged in conversation. My head hurt so bad, it sounded like everyone was shouting.

“How do you feel?” a young woman with a nametag identifying her as Zoey asked.

“Like I was shot at and missed, and shit at and hit,” I said.

“Good to see you still have your sense of humor.”

I groaned. “My head hurts pretty bad,” I said, “Could I have some aspirin?”

“Absolutely not!” Zoey said. “Aspirin, or anything with ibuprofen could increase the chance of bleeding.”

“Ughh,” I said. “It hurts so bad, I’m willing to risk it.”

“I can give you these,” she shook a couple of pills from a bottle and offered them to me. “Acetaminophen,” she said, like it was supposed to mean something to me. Hell, I can’t pronounce any of those words, let alone know what they mean.

“Whatever,” I said. “I’ll try anything.” Which was true, at that moment. “I feel like I’d have to get better before I could die.”

Zoey gave me two pills, with a fresh bottle of water to wash them down. “Take these, and let’s keep you comfortable and resting,” she said. I nodded weakly, and closed my eyes.

“What time is it? I have to sign in at 0330. I’m deadheading to LAX to bring the plane back tonight.” Clearly, I was loopy from the blow to my head, thinking I was still working at Polaris.

The rest of the trip back to Port Lincoln was miserable. The wind picked up and the chop was worse than before. Each time, just as I was beginning to drift off into a merciful sleep, we’d hit a wave that would send the bow upward and then come back down with a jarring blow. That, or Zoey would shake me by the shoulders and say something like, “We can’t be having that now, can we? You must stay awake, Mr. Mulligan.”

“Who’s Mulligan?” I asked.

Every now and then, some of the other guests—strangers who formed a one-day bond of sorts—would check on me whenever they were going to the head or stopping in to grab a snack or a drink. Most seemed genuinely concerned, or at least as concerned as you could expect, given the circumstances.

It was obvious a handful of them were pissed about not having seen sharks up close. A few of them even seemed to hold me responsible for their not having had an opportunity to go down a second time, once the sharks finally arrived on scene. Like I was the one who destroyed the cage. What can I say, sometimes, people are idiots.

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I was coming to my senses by the time Nathan came by to check on me, I asked him, “What were you thinking, swimming toward that shark?”

“I figured if I ended it that way, my daughter would get the insurance, plus maybe a nice settlement from the tour company and the manufacturer of the cage. Maybe then she could get away from that loser of a boyfriend she’s with.”

I shook my head, “You’ve got guts. I’d have been scared.”

“Didn’t say I wasn’t scared.”

“You love your daughter that much?”

The old man nodded. “Can’t say the feeling’s mutual,” he said. “She blames me for everything wrong in her life.”

“I can relate to that,” I said. “I’m glad you’re still among the living. I hope things work out better for you. And for her.” I closed my eyes. “I’m going to take a nap now. I don’t care what Nurse Ratched says.”

When I awoke, I needed to take a leak, but the thought of trying to make my way to the head in my condition at the moment seemed tantamount to climbing Everest. I just didn’t have the strength. I held it for as long as I could. Finally, there could be no delaying it any longer. I was still wearing the wetsuit they’d issued me before the dive. Who would know? I let it go, right there in the galley. Warm liquid, not an altogether unpleasant sensation, filled the wetsuit.

Later on, Captain Andy came by to check on me. “I’ll call ahead and have the ambos standing by when we make port,” he said.

“The what?” I asked.

“Ambos,” he said. “You know, paramedics. They’ll look you over, take you to hospital.”

“No!” I said. “I’ll be fine, Captain.”

“Yes, I’m sure you will,” he said, “but I really must insist. Company policy. I’m sure you understand.”

I looked him directly in the eye. “No. I will not allow them to touch me,” I said. “That’s my policy.”

“As you wish, sir. I do have a form for you to fill out. A hold harmless statement.”

Last thing I needed was to draw any kind of attention to myself. I could go to the hospital and end up in prison if they found out who I really was. “Give it to me,” I said. “I’ll sign.”

It seemed as if the day would never end, but after another hour of misery at sea, followed by a few minutes on the shuttle bus, I was finally back in my hotel room in Port Lincoln. With the sun setting and my shark encounter now becoming a distant, surreal memory, I buried my head into the pillow and slept for the next twelve hours.