Mike Dixon

„The bloody thing‟s stuck!‟
More heavy breathing.
„O‟Neill! Get off your fucking arse!‟
Tim reloaded his speargun and signaled to David. If they
didn‟t leave they‟d be trapped. He swam towards the stern.
One of the motors was clear of the water. The other was
totally submerged. He squirmed through the shrinking gap
and came out on the other side.
Puffs of sand rose as he made his exit. Tim knew what
was happening. He‟d been on man oeuvres when live ammunition
was used. Someone was firing at him and they
were not making allowance for the way light is bent when it
enters water. They were shooting at his image - but he was
not along the line of sight.
If he didn‟t act fast he was dead meat. Tim released his
weight-belt, slammed his feet on the bottom and rocketed
up. His body left the water and he came face-to-face with
Footsie. They fired together. Tim‟s spear left his gun and
the resulting explosion left a red gouge on the chest of
someone standing behind the ugly man.
A fraction of a second later Footsie‟s bullets smashed in-
to Tim‟s chest penetrating his lungs and collapsing them.
Others hit him in the face and exited through the back of
his skull leaving a cloud of foam. His body twitched and the
twitching seemed to go on forever.
David was thrown into a state of shock. Then a rush of
adrenalin concentrated his thoughts. He couldn‟t stay where
he was. The catamaran was sinking and he had to get out
from under it. He headed for the front and found his way
blocked. His only chance was to leave by the rear. He shut
his mind to the horror of the situation and swam through
the red haze where Tim had once been.
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