No Man's Land - A Russell Carter Thriller (20 page)

18

Carter pulled himself onto the board after Erina with his daypack strapped tight to his back. They both lay facedown, his chest arched over her smooth back and his legs pressed against hers.

In a few fleeting seconds the third wave in the set would hit shallow water, jack up and launch forward, transforming the wind-blown rolling face into a steep and unforgiving precipice the size of a two-storey building.

The helicopter was moving away from them, making a beeline for the sinking boat heading back toward the headland, drawn by its spotlight bobbing up and down.

The decoy would give them enough time to get into position and make the take-off, but there’d be no second chances.

Erina remained perfectly still so as not to throw off the balance of the board, making his job a lot easier.

He needed to find the sweet spot, the one point on the face of the wave where they could take off safely at the right angle. To have any chance of surfing across the reef, he needed to position the board so they’d cut across the smooth face ahead of the crashing wall of white foam generated by the breaking lip.

If they positioned themselves too wide of the sweet spot, they’d miss the wave when it came and almost certainly get cleaned up by the next one. If they sat too far inside of it, the board would nosedive down the face and they’d get caught by the breaking lip. It’d pick them up and smash them onto the coral reef.

He lined up the board at forty-five degrees to where he figured the giant wave would break.

Erina’s back muscles flexed under his chest.

He slid back an inch so the nose tilted upward a little more, reducing the risk of a nosedive, the biggest hazard when riding tandem. The board was now at the optimum angle and their weight distribution felt just right. The undertow started sucking them toward the approaching wave.

Once its arching face swept them up, he’d only be able to make fine adjustments, shifting his weight incrementally and leaning left or right to trim the board.

He moved forward an inch and shouted, “
Hang tight!
”

He stroked hard and deep, his inner arms brushing past Erina’s thighs.

The ten-foot board sprung to life, and as the full force of the wave took hold, they charged across the steep face, the bottom of the board whooshing against the water. They accelerated high above the earthly plane, perfectly in tune with the forces of nature. It felt like they’d been catapulted into another dimension, where the laws of gravity ceased to apply.

He leaned into the wave, lifting them further up the face, the height of two stacked semitrailers above the water. The surf gods rode with them, guided them, as they hurtled through time and space.

The deck started vibrating.

He eased his weight off Erina’s back and leaned further into the curl, lining up the board so that they maintained height, speed and position and stayed ahead of the breaking lip, roaring a few feet behind them. Any further back and the breaking section would eat them. Any further forward and they’d be thrown off the wave.

This sense of dancing on the edge of oblivion made surfing big waves a profound and soulful experience. It was addictive, driving surfers to travel the world seeking the next adrenalin-fuelled high. And just when he thought it couldn’t get any more intense, it did.

The lip curled over them, encasing them in a cylindrical tube of water – what surfers called a stand-up barrel – big enough to stand upright and stretch your arms out wide.

Their world became eerily quiet and pitch-black. They’d entered the zone known as the “green room.” The mystical place every surfer longed to be. Like being suspended inside Mother Nature’s womb. A moment of holy stillness surrounded by the surging power of nature, a fragile snapshot of perfection.

He slid his weight a fraction forward to generate more speed, his chest pressing on Erina’s back. He felt her muscles tense as the board flew across the face through the eerie darkness.

Nothing seemed real, except Erina’s taut body beneath him.

One second they were deep inside the tube, the next they flew out onto the open face.

A rush of exhilaration raced through him. It was like they’d travelled to the other side of existence and returned to tell the tale.

For a serious surfer, nothing could ever match this experience, every micro-second tinged with the prospect of a watery death.

Yet such perfection couldn’t last.

Sounds from outside their cocoon crashed in. They’d re-entered the real world, where the laws of time, space and gravity ruled.

Somewhere behind them, the helicopter roared. To their left, waves smashed onto the shallow reef.

More disturbingly, the angle of the board had changed, shattering the perfect symmetry they’d experienced inside the green room.

He shifted his weight further back and leaned harder into the wave.

The board wobbled from side to side.

He yelled, “
Hold on!
”

Just as he spoke, the board nosedived, plunging forward into the abyss.

The nose twisted and turned. The board rolled and bucked.

He tried to hang on, but the power of the wave wrenched the board out of his hands.

He grabbed Erina by the waist.

The full force of the wave crashed into his back, driving them down into the unholy depths of no man’s land, spinning them around and around through the ink-black swirling water. There was no up or down or anywhere in between.

He had no idea how far down they’d been pushed.

His arms gripped Erina’s stomach and squeezed tight, trying to maintain a secure hold.

Her skin was slippery. His legs entangled with hers.

He needed to get a better grip, somehow wrap his arms under her shoulders and his legs around her torso in a vice. Or he’d lose her.

He adjusted his arms to get a firmer grip.

At that precise moment the tumbling wave gave a violent jerk, picking them up and hurling them toward the ocean floor.

The surging wall of water twisted him to the left.

Her to the right.

He clutched at her waist. His grip started to slip.

One second he had hold of her.

The next …

She was gone.

19

In the chaos of no man’s land Carter was gripped by a feeling he almost never succumbed to.

Fear.

Erina was a good surfer and swimmer, but she wasn’t anywhere near as familiar with this violent, out-of-control world as he was. In such extreme conditions she’d be vulnerable. And there was the distinct possibility that the board had struck her on the head, rendering her unconscious.

The thought of losing her terrified him.

The rampaging wave drove him down, down, down and spun him around and around. His arms flayed about in the darkness, seeking Erina among the chundering mass of raging water moving in every direction. The more he thrashed about, the more the ocean pummeled him, and he achieved nothing.

After a few minutes his lungs began screaming for oxygen. Just when he felt sure they’d burst, a moment of clarity descended upon him.

To survive in heavy surf such as this, you needed to understand, accept and ride out the wild whims and violent moods of the ocean with detachment, humility and patience. If you failed to do so, it would exact cruel vengeance. Thrashing about had only wasted precious air.

He ceased fighting and surrendered totally to the force of the ocean.

An immediate shift occurred. His body relaxed and his movement became effortless, like a cork bobbing in the water.

—

In its own time the ocean spat him out into still, calm water.

Carter’s head breached the surface and he drew in deep lungfuls of air. The daypack remained secure on his back.

He trod water, circling on the spot.

The wave had transported him across the reef to the deepwater channel, but there was no sign of Erina.

He closed his eyes and tried to feel her.

His racing heart slowed and he tuned his senses to the world around him.

The rain had backed off to a gentle pitter-patter and the rolling swell lifted him up and down without breaking.

He sensed Erina nearby.

His eyes flashed open and he swam to his right.

After five strokes he saw her ahead of him, facedown in the water.

He took another four powerful strokes, took her in his arms and rested her head on his shoulder.

His elation at seeing her was short-lived.

She was unconscious. Barely breathing.

He felt the back of her head. His hand caressed a large swelling. The board had collected her skull, knocking her out cold.

He continued to tread water, kicking hard to keep her head clear.

He squeezed her chest and shook her in an effort to expel the water from her lungs and kickstart her breathing.

Her arms hung limp by his side.

His oxygen-starved legs started to cramp. The struggle through no man’s land had taken its toll. He started dropping back into the water.

He forced his toes upward to ease the cramp, then kicked even harder, still pumping her chest.

“Erina, come on.”

He reached around and forced two fingers into her mouth and stuck them down her throat.

A slight spasm rippled through her body.

He pulled his fingers out.

She shook violently. A warm river flowed down his back. He felt her heart beat and the rise and fall of her chest.

He eased her onto her back into the warm ocean, making sure her mouth and nose were clear, and then looked up.

A full moon shone through a break in the cloud cover.

Even though they were in the middle of the ocean off a remote and hostile island, he felt more connected to the universe than he could remember.

20

Again, Thomas picked up Carter’s presence.

He still lay on the bench in his cell. His body throbbed with pain, and he knew Wayan’s condition had, if anything, deteriorated.

His perception had changed, though, and that made all the difference.

Like everything else in life, a person’s response to suffering served a higher purpose. The challenges he faced in that cell were forcing him to look into his own soul and confront the truth.

He needed to walk his idealistic talk and reconnect with his fundamental beliefs. Nothing else truly mattered.

His personal ambition was simple: Treat every test in life as a battle for personal power and face every challenge with humility and courage.

For Carter and Erina this philosophy was an interesting theory that they adhered to as best they could. For Thomas, though, it was the cornerstone of his life.

In the last few years, Carter had drifted away from his spiritual foundations, eventually walking out on the order. Thomas had only needed to spend twenty minutes with him to see that his rejection of the order and its principles hadn’t worked for him. It was obvious, whether Carter realized it or not, that he needed to rediscover and commit to the path of the spirit. And so, Thomas now realized, did he. It was always easier to see what another man needed to do.

The true measure of a man revealed itself in the face of disaster. Thomas needed to get past the pain and focus on what needed to be done. The first step was to find the positives in his position.

Carter was nearby and wouldn’t give up.

Furthermore, Samudra and his men’s behavior had reaffirmed Thomas’s belief in his life’s work.

Someone needed to make a stand against prejudice and hate, and protect those who couldn’t protect themselves.

That was the order’s primary purpose.

If he died that day, at least he’d die having fought for what he believed in.

That was something to be grateful for.

He felt himself recommitting to the principles of the order. Reminding him to:
Accept that what is, is. Expect the unexpected. And never give up.

Whatever was meant to happen would happen. He just needed to do what he could in that moment.

For now, that meant waiting patiently for Carter and Erina.

21

Carter wrapped his right arm lightly around Erina’s chest and then, using a one-handed breaststroke, swam with her in tow across the relatively calm channel, away from the turbulence of the surf pounding on the reef and toward the rocky shoreline.

The cove was just over a hundred yards away; their silent swim took less than five minutes. They passed through a ten-foot-wide opening and entered an oval pool of water, surrounded by rock walls on three sides. With the moonlight reflecting off the water, it was a place of uncommon beauty.

Holding Erina’s arm, Carter jumped out of the water, grabbed her under the shoulders and pulled her onto a wide rock platform that ran along one side of the cove.

The full moon provided just enough light to see. He laid her on her back with her arms by her side. Her eyes remained closed. She was in shock, exhausted, and needed time to regain her composure and strength. For now, they were relatively safe, but the helicopter still hovered somewhere over the reef.

He removed his daypack, sat next to her on the smooth rock and took a few moments to get his bearings, watching her breathe in and out.

She was a rare woman, one of those special people who responded to extreme pressure with grace, poise and a dry humor. These qualities more than matched her outer beauty and were the true source of his attraction to her.

Part of him longed to tell her how relieved he was that she was okay, how much he cared for her and wanted to be close to her. But this was not the time to talk about his feelings, nor try to understand them. They’d sort out their relationship, whatever it might be, when the job was done.

He held her hand and squeezed gently.

She returned the pressure and slowly opened her eyes. He helped her to sit up, reached into his daypack, pulled out a bottle of water and placed it in her hand.

She took a long drink and then drew in three deep breaths. He put his hand on her shoulder and felt her body relax.

“How’re you doing?” he asked.

She stretched her neck and touched the back of her head. “Considering I’ve been hit over the head with a surfboard, swallowed gallons of water, almost drowned and vomited over your back, I’m pretty good.”

She began to cough and took another long drink. They sat in a comfortable silence for a while, neither wanting to break the spell of the moment.

They both knew instinctively when it was time to move. He held out his hand and helped her to her feet.

“That was some wave we caught,” she said, pushing her hair out of her eyes. “I’ve never been tubed like that.” She paused. “It was as good as you said it’d be.”

“The green room is a holy place.”

“I want to go there again.”

“We will.”

He led her along the rock ledge, counting off the paces from the entrance to the cove in his head.

Fifty-eight, fifty-nine …

He stopped, laid down the daypack and took out the flashlight. She drew level with him and they stood shoulder to shoulder on the coarse rock, looking down at the smooth surface of the water.

“According to the map in my head,” he said, “the cave should be near here. I’ll dive down, find the entrance and be right back.”

She nodded.

“If the helicopter heads this way, grab both breathing devices and my daypack. Then join me underwater.”

“Okay.”

—

He dived into the warm water, his eyes wide open, and started stroking for the bottom, holding the glowing flashlight in his right hand.

The bright arc of light lit up a school of small tropical fish whose colors covered the spectrum of the rainbow. In unison they turned to face the light, then darted off to go about their business. A three-foot-long blue grouper swam past at a lazy pace, ignoring him.

He dived another thirty feet but saw no sign of the bottom.

The cave entrance was, he figured, further along. He switched the flashlight off and started floating upward, the slow movement in the dark through the tranquil water relaxing his muscles.

His head breached the surface and he took a long breath.

Erina crouched on the ledge. “We all set to go?”

“Hang on a bit longer. It’s very deep here. I reckon the cave is about a hundred feet that way.” He pointed further down the cove.

Erina picked up his daypack. He started to breaststroke parallel to the rock wall. She walked along the ledge, keeping pace with him. The helicopter continued to buzz over no man’s land.

He stopped swimming after a hundred feet and turned to face her. “This should be about the spot.”

“Go,” she said.

He sucked in a lungful of air and again plunged headfirst into the watery depths.

The first thing he noticed was that the bottom was shallower, suggesting the entrance to the cave was nearby.

The second thing that struck him was that the beam of light lit up nothing but crystal-clear water.

There were no fish at all.

He stroked deeper. The flashlight illuminated the deserted sandy ocean floor.

Something wasn’t right.

He shone the flashlight toward the cove wall and what he saw jolted his heart rate.

Come on
, he thought to himself.
Give me a break
.