Beneath the Surface

by R J Dent

It was time.

          Katrina looked carefully at her watch. 2.45am. She glanced around at the dark and silent land surrounding the lake: trees, shrubs, grass, gravel, the parked car behind her, Brian putting his wetsuit on in front of the open car boot.

          She waited, staring down into the impenetrable depths.

          Finally, she heard Brian slam the boot closed. He was ready.

          “Okay, Kat, I’m ready,” he said unnecessarily.

          She turned to face him. He was fully suited and equipped; torch and brand-new forty centimetre long serrated-edged knife looped onto the belt, one-hour tank cinched into place, mask on his forehead, mouthpiece hanging around his neck.

          She smiled.

          “Okay, turn around.”

          Brian grinned and turned clumsily. Katrina checked his regulator and saw it was working perfectly. She slapped the tank.

          “Regulator fine,” she said evenly.

          “Want me to check yours?” Brian asked.

          Katrina resisted a shrug and nodded, turning her back to Brian. He checked her regulator and said: “It’s fine.”

          She turned to face him, watching him as he stepped carefully to the lake edge and waded in. When the water reached waist height, he stopped. He spat into his mask and wiped the spittle around, then fitted the mask over his face.

          “Good luck, Kat,” Brian called. He then inserted the mouthpiece into his mouth.

          Katrina heard him breathe in through the mouthpiece and knew he was watching her, so she wished him good luck in return, then stepped into the chilly water, wading up to her waist and splashing lake water into her own mask to stop it misting. She fitted it into place and breathed through the mouthpiece, inhaling an oxygen mixture that had a slight metallic taste to it. Brian, who obviously approved of her actions, due to them clearly imitating his own, nodded once and dived beneath the surface, leaving a widening pool of ripples behind him.