Silt

A shroud of silt everywhere. A maelstrom of bubbles. A quick glimpse of Dave's bulging eyes in the circle of my flashlight. His elbow, or knee, or who knows what, knocks me in the head and my mouthpiece comes loose. I fumble for it. The bulky gloves that keep my fingers from getting frostbite make it, so I can't feel it so I grab the line by my shoulder that comes from my back-mounted tanks. I kick away from Dave's frantic movements while my fingers follow the tube to my mouthpiece. Found it. The cool air feels wonderful in my lungs and all I can do is suck it in; once, twice, three times. My panic subsides a little.

I look around, but all I see is a scraggly rock wall. Where's Dave? That last glimpse of him was disturbing. I've never seen eyes bulge like that. He was in full panic mode. Then another thought hits me.
Where the fuck is the guideline?
My flashlight picks out the nearby textures of rocks, drifting motes and beyond, nothing but black nothingness.
Calm down, I tell myself. Think it through.
I check my instruments. Thirty three minutes of air. Depth, 28 metres. I try to slow down my breathing so I don't use up the air sooner.
I try to piece together our dive so far, the landmarks, the rooms and chimneys. Nothing. My mind's completely blank.

Twenty three minutes left.
Shit. Either I've been hyperventilating or I've been sitting here for ten minutes.

Doing something is always better than doing nothing so I choose to go left, along the wall. I follow its undulating curve, pass otherworldly pillars and come to a vast openness. This feels wrong. Keeping my hand on the wall, I turn around and go the other way. I wonder what happened to Dave. I hope he's ok. There's a big crack in the wall. I hop it and – miracle of miracles – find a guideline. But there's bad news. There are no tags. I stare at the glowing white line uncomprehendingly. Who put up a line without arrows? Which way is out?

Twelve minutes left.
Make a decision!

I go left. After a while the line goes up slightly. That's encouraging. Hand over hand I pull myself along the line. It's double looped around a big boulder. I duck around it and find the other end waves around freely in the mild current, like the tentacle of a sea monster.

Two minutes left.

I take out my slate and write a message to my mom and tuck it into my dive suit. I tie myself to the line so they can find my body later. As each breath ticks seconds away, I think:
I hope Dave made it out.