Chapter 7 - The Black Abyss
The cold was absolute.
It punched the remaining air straight out of my lungs, a shock so intense my body tried to take an involuntary breath underwater. I swallowed a mouthful of bitter, burning salt water, struggling frantically as the ocean dragged me down into its silent, black depths.
The momentum of the fall carried me five, ten, fifteen feet below the surface.
Above me, the twin bronze propellers of the Vance Voyager churned the dark water into a white, lethal froth. The heavy thudding of the diesel engines vibrated through my ribs like a physical hammer.
Fight! a voice screamed inside my head. FIGHT, CASSANDRA!
I kicked wildly with my bare legs, my arms slicing through the freezing water, fighting against the down-draft of the yacht's wake. My nightgown felt like a hundred-pound weight wrapped around my limbs, dragging me down into the abyss.
I tore at the silk fabric, ripping the front of the gown down to my waist to free my legs, and clawed my way upward toward the surface.
My head broke through the waves.
I gasped for air, coughing violently, salt water burning my throat and nose.
The storm was terrifying up here. Twelve-foot waves rose around me like black mountain walls, blocking out the horizon. Rain lashed my face like tiny needles.
Fifty yards away, the Vance Voyager was already pulling ahead, its white hull glinting in the dark, its stern lights casting long, red streaks across the churning water.
I could see three figures standing on the aft deck, leaning over the rail, staring out into the darkness where I had fallen. Flynn. Aidan. Fiona.
They stood there for twenty seconds, watching the empty, violent ocean to ensure I didn't resurface. Then, slowly, the three shadows turned and stepped back inside the warm, dry luxury of the main salon. The glass doors closed, and the ship continued its course through the storm, leaving me behind to drown.
"FLYNN!" I screamed into the wind, though I knew no human voice could carry over the roar of the gale. "YOU MONSTER!"
A massive cresting wave crashed over my head, driving me back under the surface.
I fought my way back up, gasping, my muscles already burning with fatigue, my core temperature plunging rapidly in the seventy-two-degree water. Without flotation, I had less than twenty minutes before hypothermia and exhaustion claimed me.
Then, through the spray, I saw something bright orange floating twenty yards to my left.
A life ring.
Mateo.
He had done it. While Flynn was dragging me to the deck, Mateo must have dropped one of the emergency bridge life rings over the side from the lower deck access.
I swam toward it with everything I had left. My arms felt like lead, my vision swimming with grey spots, but I forced myself forward, stroke by stroke, until my shivering fingers caught the rough canvas strap of the ring.
I pulled it over my shoulders, tucking my arms over the orange foam, and let out a shuddering, breathless sob.
Attached to the ring was a small, battery-operated water-activated strobe light. It flickered to life, casting a intense, rhythmic white flash across the crests of the surrounding waves.
I turned the light off instantly.
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If Flynn looked back from the stern windows and saw the strobe, he would turn the ship around and finish the job with a propeller blade.
I floated alone in the vast, dark expanse of the Mona Passage, rising and falling with the massive swells, watching the red stern lights of my father’s yacht slowly shrink into the rain-swept distance until they vanished entirely into the night.
