My name is Kada. I take pride in my work, and I work
on the pipes. My current job revolves around an oil pipeline in the Persian
Gulf, to the very bottom of the sea between Saudi Arabia and Iran.
It's just gone midday, but unfortunately we are too far down for the light
of the surface to reach us, so my current surroundings are illuminated by nothing
more than the yellowish beam of my flashlight. A small collection of bubbles escape
from my diving mask. They ripple up and out of sight as I gently
kick my flippers, slowly propelling myself through the gloom as a worker down here,
I am one of three, but the others are not currently visible to
me. My beam lands on a great mittle pipe, the one that extends
up into the habitat, a cage like artificial pocket of air, and down
down to the depths below. I look down and cast my beam over the
pipe's body. The light catches on nothing but the rusted metal, alone cylindrical
obelisk in the watery world around me. I lowered the beam. I cast
it as far down as it will go, but all I see are my
flippers beneath me gently kicking, and the great pipe vanishing into the blue black
darkness beneath my feet. A chill passes through my body. I hear the
sound of my heartbeat to my ears. Where this vertical pipe connects through its
horizontal brother on the ocean floor, there is an enormous metal structure of sorts,
one with the purpose of keeping a series of temporary installments attached to the
pipe in place. I cannot see this monstrosity at present, but the simple
act of knowing, knowing that far below lurks a monstrous metal skeleton waiting patiently
beneath my feet A shiver. They tell tales about this place, you know,
about the sea, Tales of malevolent spirits. They play tricks on divers
water ginn. They're called these spirits, show divers, illusions and distortions to
confuse them. They get them deliberately lost as a form of amusement, the
tales say, and then, depending on the spirit's moods, they either get
bored and let them go, or they devour them. Something glitters in the
gloom in the corner of my eye, and I wheel around in the water,
raising the beam of the flashlight. A gasp escaping into my mask,
but the beam lends on nothing more than a school of tiny silver fish.
They flit aby and pay me no mind, and I catch my breath.
Idiot kadah, I muttered to myself, my voice obscured by the mask.
Then I kick my way up through the water, following the pipe towards the
habitat's air pocket. I see the waterline rippling above me. It draws closer
and closer, and I catch sight of flashes of collar beyond my comrades.
Eventually I break through the surface, popping off my mouthpiece and raising my mask,
shaking my hair as I clamber up onto the little platform that surrounds us,
a bench like apparatus that goes all the way around the inside rim of
the habitat. As I said before, I am one of three. My
colleagues are called Amir and Ahmad, and they sit waiting for me, their
legs dangling over the side, their flippers dipped in the water beneath. I
let out a grunt and a sigh as I take a seat beside them,
my own flippers half submerged in the water beneath. It seems almost paradoxical,
this little space a marvel of physics. We sit far below the surface of
the sea in the small confines that the habitat provides, and yet we have
air. The habitat is a metal box about four meters in width and three
in height. The air in here is dank and stale, but it is
at the least quite breathable. From the center of the water between us,
the pipe extends up and into the stagnant air. The pipe is currently carked
by an enormous rubber plug, one that we will need to deflate before our
shifts is over. Its purpose is to prevent the oil inside the pipe leaking
out into the sea. Thanks to the habitat, we can se safely remove
it now without risk of environmental damage. The pipe in question goes all the
way down to the bottom of the sea in a straight line, and there
it's split in two and travels horizontally across the sea floor. One end travels
north, a few miles out of the Saudi Arabian coast, and the other
travels south. It's just about wide enough for a man to squeeze down should
an emergency repair need taking place from the inside, but the diameter is not
large. I wipe some of the salt water from my face. As a
mere connects a long black cable to the depressurizer. The end of the cable
leads down into the pipe and is connected to the rubber plug. See any
spirits down there today, Kadar Emir asks me as he fastens the seal on
the cable. The Genel Baha Akama chuckles, scratching his beard his voice as
there's Amir's echoes around the somewhat clostrophobic confines of the habitat. I smiled dryly.
No spirits, Amir, Just I think about the pipe disappearing down into
the darkness far below. I can't quite explain why it gives me the creeps,
It just does, just what Emir asks, Nothing I finish. What
about you, guys, any spirits? I turned ark mad? Have you
finally caught sight of Gino Baha? I wave my hands and fingers, mysteriously,
teasing him. But Ahmed is undaunted. You mark Kadhah. But the
sea, this ancient sea. If we're going to see one, then it'll
be here. He claps his hands together and a small shower of water droplets
splashed down onto the water by our feet, the shimmering blue gateway to the
sea below, the sea above, and the ocean all around. And I'll
tell you what else, He continues, raising a finger. I did see
something. Oh here we go, Emir mutters, rolling his eyes. No,
no, listen, Akhmed says, hurriedly, just listen to this.
So there I was, right about an hour ago, swimming around near the
pipe when it may have gotten a little distracted by a fish. Emir shakes
his head and we exchange a glance. You should have seen it, Emir,
a great golden thing. I wanted a better look, so I left
the pipe and followed it, just for a short while, and eventually he
got spooked and vanished into the blue. Ahmed falters. He rubs his chin.
It was actually quite an alarming experience. I turned back to the pipe,
and of course I saw nothing but the endless void of the ocean.
I try to rejoice my steps, but again there were no steps. I
was alone. It was frightening. Amir and myself remain silent. But then
that's when I saw it. I saw them. Akman continues, practically jumping
on the metal ledge. We're all perched on. Ay, easy, I
say, as I feel myself rattle in time to his jumps. Emir flicks
a switch and a depressurization machine. It starts to rumble. Ahmed leans forward,
looking between us. Out there in the far distance, I see a
trio of shapes, three figures, like shadows in the deep, in the
gloom. You should take a poetry, Amir mutters as he flicks another switch.
Against my sense of better judgment, I am too engrossed by Ahmed's story
to pay it to to exactly what it is he's doing. What kind of
shapes? I ask? What kind of figures? They were? Like smoke,
except no, more like mist, maybe thick, dense mist, with
eyes that flickered pale, like refracting sunlight. You had to look a certain
way to see them. Akman's voice drops low, becomes wistful. I saw
them for only a second or two, and then they were gone, vanished.
How do you get back to the pipe? I ask? Did the
spirits show you the way? Emya chuckles, Well, no, I just
used the compass, Akhmed says, But that's beside the point. I saw
something I know I did. I thought the spirits were supposed to be dangerous.
They may says the stories always tell of how cruel they are. They
play pranks on divers like us. You. Oh, they bang on the
pipes, they groan and moan from the inside, makes you think that they
are monsters inside waiting to burst right out and get you. Maybe that's why
they appeared to me, Acmed says thoughtfully, then gestures to the pipe between
us. Maybe they were trying to warn us. Perhaps there's a monster in
the pipe. Emir snorts, don't be ridiculous. Maybe once the plug is
deflated, Achmed says softly, maybe the beast will spring right out. And
where would we go? We were effectively trapped down here. When you really
think about it, there is a moment of uncomfortable silence, broken only by
a slow hissing produced by the depressorization machine as it begins its work deflating the
plug in the pipe. Nonsense, Emir says, after a beat, shaking
his head. Don't say such stupid stuff. All I'm saying, Ahmed finishes,
shrugging, is that the spirits aren't necessarily something to be feared. I
know you guys don't really believe, but they can be helpful too. They
don't devour people. The genial Bihar mischievous maybe, but not unkind in their
own way. The mere grunts and waves his hand dismissively. Akhmed looks at
me for support and I just laugh. Come on, I say, enough
is enough. I think we have work to do. I would want to
hear to snitch on us again. The conversation shifts, and a collective grown
echoes around the habitat. I can't stand that guy, Amir says traumatically.
We all laugh. Our collective dislike of the man has become a running joke
between us. So Here is technically a colleague of ours, and although we
rarely work in close capacity, his projects always seem to be in tandem to
our own, so we're never quite rid of him. He has thick red
hair and a ridiculous scraggly beard, and all in all, he makes himself
an easy target, a busy body and a teacher's pet. You see,
he clocks in more hours than he has to unpaid I my ad. Yet
despite his enduring and tragic efforts, he always gets passed up for promotion because
he has a vacuum for a personality. So Here is entirely devoid of charisma.
Maybe we should play a prank on him before we go up, Emir
suggests. As the machine deflating the plug kicks up a gear, the hissing
grows louder. What kind of prank, Ahmed asks, I don't know.
We could head over to his site in Azrakwan. Bang some pipes, make
some noise, give him a little spook of his shift is over. Could
be fun. Wouldn't be worth it? I reply, As much fun as
that sounds, as Rakwan is a kilometer and a half away, do you
really want to swim all the waves and childish prank? And besides, we
never falls a here with that spirit nonsense. The man doesn't believe in anything,
He's got no imagination, true, Emir nods regretfully. He fiddles with
a machine beside him, then gives it a light slap, and it does
its job. It finishes deflating the plug to a sufficient degree, freeing up
a space around it, and opening a way down into the pipe. What
this was supposed to do was allow us to reach in all the deflated plug
out check for leaks, damage, and whether the plug needs a potential replacement.
We should have been able to do this easily and safely, as the
pipe at this time and on this day is supposed to be filled with oil
for whatever reason. However, the pipe is not there is, as it
turns out, significantly less oil inside than we were told and as was believed,
And so what happens instead takes place over the course of a few terrible
seconds, a true nightmare that I will never ever be able to forget.
The positive pressure inside the habitat, the little atmosphere keeping us alive, rushes
instantaneously into the pipe and forces down the small amount of oil at a monstrous
inhuman speed. This motion creates what I can only describe as a blinding vortex.
The air and the ocean are hauled up and around us like a sudden
whirlwind of chaos and terror. In the blink of an eye, my vision
is lost to a brutal and immediate rush of darkness as my body is slammed
into the habitat wall. I scream, but all that I could produce is
froth and bubbles. As my shoulder cracks on the edge of something metal,
I do not know which way is up or down. The safety and sanctuary
of the habitat is shattered. I can see nothing but shadow, as water
blasts into my nose and my mouth and eyes, and I am sucked instantly
and brutally down into the pipe. I can feel its walls pressing against me
on all sides as I am dragged cataclysmically between them. I am forced through
the water and the oil head first, at near breakneck speed. Blood rushes
to my head as my arms and legs are smashed and battered against the metal.
There is only terror, terror, and darkness. My head strikes against
the metal as the pipe levels out, and the world behind my screwed shut
eyelids flashes red then white. Are ringing echoes in my ears and competes with
the thunderous rush of the water. As I release an involuntary bellow of pain,
oil and sea water pour into my mouth my lungs, and I swallow
some and breathe in the rest, choking and drowning as I am dragged to
the pipe along the seafloor. I'm going to die. This one singular thought
plays over and over in my head. I'm going to die, and this
is the end. The terror of my situation, for a quick fleeting moment
is replaced by an eerie calm. The sounds of the rushing, hammering water
do not lessen, but I find my altitude changed. It soothes me,
and I think about a beach I visited as a young child with my family
as I prepare to exhale my final breath, except instead of producing bubbles as
I do so, I instead begin to choke and to splutter. I start
a cough, spluttering, coughing, and I realize at once that this can
only mean one thing. I have found air. I gasp and wretch.
I tried to bring my hands up to my mouth, but they banged painfully
against the inner wall of the pipe. My right wrist robs angrily, sending
shards of pain shooting up my arm. I think the entire hand may be
broken. Air, I think to myself, and the vision of the beaches
lost. The terror floods immediately back into my mind in the same manner as
the water was hauled into the pipe. Most of my head is submerged in
water, though my eyes, nose, and mouth are free. I can
lift my head. Then my ears are raised above the waterline, and I
am able to hear. But the action presses on my forehead against the cold
metal above me. I've stopped moving, and the reality of my situation sets
in. I'm in the pipe. Oh no, My murmur aloud, wretching
as I cough up water and oil. Oh no, no, no no,
I scream. I slam my good fist against the metal, shouting for
help. Please, I scream into the pitch black darkness, please someone,
Amir Ahmed. Panic strikes. There is nowhere to go, nowhere to run,
and no one to hear me. I can barely move. The water
ebbs and sloshes around my face, and I gasp. My breathing becomes shallow
and dangerous. You're not drowning. I have to keep telling myself, You're
not drowning. You have some air, you can breathe, You can breathe.
Calm yourself, Calm yourself. Gaddah. I tried to raise my legs
and one of my flippers kicks against the roof of the pipe. I try
to turn a little to my side and realize that to do so requires significant
effort and a reasonable degree of pain. I've done some serious damage to my
shoulder and my neck too. Perhaps the simple act of raising my head causes
immense pain to shoot down my spine, but to allow my head to lower
completely would mean the majority my face is submerged. I forced myself to slow
my breathing. That's the priority. Nice slow breathing in and out, slow
deep breaths, with grunts of pain and a hammering heart. I shuffle and
twist as best I can, searching my person for my scuba equipment. I
believe that I am wearing only a single flipper. Now I think the other
must have been torn off as I was sucked into the pipe. No other
equipment can be found. My breathing mask in the air tank. It's all
gone. It's gone. Oh God, I whisper, and despite my sense
of logic, I bang on the pipe. Hello, I shout into the
inky darkness. Hello, is anyone there? Kadah? Comes a voice,
a little waist back along the pipe. It echoes from the darkness beyond my
feet. I try to raise my face a little higher to look down into
the void, but it's futile. I can see nothing. Hello, I
shout back. Who is it? Ahmed? Are you all right? Kad
ah? He shouts, a relief tempered with terror. You're alive. I
can breathe. Are you okay? Another voice echoes from beyond even Ahmed.
It is fainter, but I can still hear it. Guys, Guys,
comes the voice of Amir. Guys, are you both all right? Thank
the Lord, My mutter, holding back a sob of relief. Amir,
Ahmed, it's kadha. Are you hurt? Yes, Amir calls after me.
I believe one of my arms is broken. Likewise, Amir shouts,
then a little quieter, Damn, I think my legs are too. Oh
God. He releases what sounds like a cry of pain, then swears,
what do we do? Ahmed calls into the pipe. What do we do?
He kicks against the pipe, and the sound reverberates down and over my
head. Okay, hold on, hold on, I shout, clenching my
hands into fists, thinking, using my overheating brain as best as I can.
The three of us are alive. We're trapped in the pipe at the
bottom of the sea. No one knows we're down here, and once they
find the wreckage of the habitat, they'll probably assume we were killed instantly cast
out into the sea. Perhaps I feel the panic returning. I try to
stretch my limbs, but I'm unable. I kick the pipe in frustration,
and let out a shout of rage. Good ah, calm down, calls
Ahmed. It's all right, We'll be all right, Yes, yes,
I need to calm down. First things first, the pipe, when it
reaches the sea floor, splits into two. I do not know if we've
been pulled north towards the site of Azrakwan or south towards the site of Azraktu.
How far away are they? I tried to think Azarakwan is situated around
one point five kilometers north of our former location of the habitat, Asraktu is
over twice our distance south. I have no idea how far along we were
pulled down the pipe. It all happened so fast, we could be hundreds
of meters in either direction by now. All I know is that the air
we're breathing the pocket created. It's likely due to the undulations of the pipe,
small bumps and raises over support beams. It's entirely possible that there are
more of these further down the tunnel. But how large is each air pocket?
And at what point do they run out? Okay, I shout down,
friends, I have an idea, and we do not have time to
waste. I'm all ears, brother, Akhma calls up. There is a
moment of silence, A mere Akhmed calls down. Yes, he replies weakly,
I'm here, but I'm not in good shape. I'm going to be
honest. It's okay, I shout, forcing my own confidence to grow,
believing in hope, for us, for the sake of my friends, if
not for myself, we will be all right. Just listen. I clear
my throat and the sound bounces off the pipe above me and back into my
face. I raise my head to clear my ears from the water and WinCE
from the pain. We need to move, I shout simply. We cannot
stay here or we will die. Any further press changes and the pipe could
fill with water to the brim, and regardless, sooner or later, we
will use up all of the oxygen and we will suffocate. So I propose
this. We do our best to move. We shuffle away along the pipe
as far as we can. If we're in luck, we've been pulled north,
and I do not know how much distance we've already covered. Azrakwan is
only one and a half kilometers away, max. That's a distance we can
make. I'm sure of it. And if we've been pulled south. Emir
calls to this, I remain silent. The sound of something low and deep
reverberates along the pipe. Then shake lely. Ahmed replies, all right,
Kada, I'm with you. We'll do this. We crawl away along the
pipe and we pray. Amir, I call down. What do you think?
He coughs and groans. Kadah, He says, Look, I can
barely move. I can't do this. You can, Ahmed shouts down,
you can no, Ahmed. The mere groans again, Ahmed, my injuries
are bad. I cannot move an inch. We can't leave you behind,
Ahmed splutters, but Amir interrupts. Go, he says, and once you've
escaped, you'll know where to find me. Just go, all right,
you said yourselves. The clock is ticking, So go. I hesitate,
then release a long, shuddering sigh. God save you, brother. I
call down. We'll be back. I promise we won't leave you. I
know, he says, his voice distant and quiet. Damn, I mutter
angrily, slamming my fist against the pipe. Akhmad, are you ready?
There's a pause. Yes, he says, I'm right behind you. Goodhah.
Let's do this, and so we begin a venture excruciatingly claustrophobic does not
even begin to cover it. The knowledge that beyond these narrow confines is nothing
more than the great weight of the ocean does not fill me with bravery.
Every inch that we travel requires an exertion. I find little to no leverage
on the wet, slippery, and oil soaked base of the pipe, so
I have to find the slightest, narrowest of grooves, mostly around the upper
half, and press my toes or heels into them, using my one good
hand and my one broken hand to help force myself along through the sloshing,
sinister waters. I can see nothing. There is no level of light at
all for my eyes to adjust to, so hitch darkness we remain. As
we move. I try my best to keep track of the distance traveled.
My estimate I think is reasonable after two or three meters. After ten,
my grasp is feeble, and beyond that I simply lose track. It's impossible
to tell. We keep shuffling our way down the pipe, listening to the
sounds of our breathing, occasionally calling down to each for reassurance. Act Mada
and I slowly and steadily through this underwater pipe inch by agonizing inch. It's
tough to tell how much time passes, but after around twenty minutes, I
make a disturbing discovery. It was gradual at first, so gradual that I
did not notice that there is now a significant stress placed on the back of
my neck. I'm having to hold my face as high as I can,
and my forehead has been pressed against the metal for a while now. It
is only when I have to ulter the shape of my lips to inhale the
air then I realize we are running out. I suppress a wave of panic
and stop moving at once, shuffling back the way I came to give myself
a little more air space to work with. Water sloshes in my ears and
obscures my hearing. But I call down to Ahmad. Ahmad, I call,
can you hear me? Yes? He shouts back, coughing, Everything
all right, Ahmed, I falter, Ahmed, we're about to run out
of air. There's a pause. What do you mean, he asks,
his voice higher, more anxious. I mean the air pocket is about to
expire. Another pause. Maybe there's another further down, he says. I've
seen the schematics of the pipe the undulations are not regular, so there could
be another pocket. What if there isn't, I shout back, chest now
rising and falling desperately. Damn it, damn it, there is no space,
no light. I can't breathe get a hold of yourself, become a
childs Then it cuts through the madness. I seize hold of his words and
allow them to anchor me. We can do this, brother. I take
a deep breath. All right, I say, all right, here's what
I'm gonna do. I'm going to move as fast as I can along the
pipe. I'll hold my breath and I'll search for an air pocket. Regardless
of whether I do or don't, I'll be back to let you know.
Okay, you're a brave man, calls the voice of Akhmed. Don't overdo
it, good luck, okay, I say, heart pounding, I begin
to take a series of slow, deep breaths, gently and gradually expanding my
lungs, preparing them to hold for as long as they are able. The
sound is cold and eerie in the darkness. Steady deep breaths, My chest
rises and falls. I shuffle back along the pipe, my face pressed against
the pipe. The air metallic and oily and grim. I can't hear anything.
Now. The water comes all the way up to the side of my
lips, shaking. I press my hand against the side, doing my best
to ignore the pain shooting through my right hand wrist. Here we go,
kadah. I take my final breath in, my lungs filled to the maximum
capacity, and I brace myself against the pipe, using my hands and feet
to push myself further along. The air is lost and I am completely submerged.
Beneath the water. It forms a constant, steady, roaring rumble in
my ears. I use anything that I can to increase the distance I'm able
to move. My elbows, knees, heels, shoulders, I use all
of them to search for leverage, inch by inch, faster than before.
I force myself through the pipe. My heart pounds, the beat is loud,
so so loud. My chest trembles, but I keep moving as far
as I can, inch by inch, inch by inch. Don't panic.
If I don't find air, then there's really nothing for us. We'll suffocate
or drown or worse in the belly of the pipe, and we may be
discovered. I have to keep moving inch by inch. My hands reach a
particularly oily section of the pipe. Then instead of pressing against the sides,
they slip right off in a blink. My momentum is lost, and I
fumble and splutter in terror as I realize that my means of propulsion has now
failed me. No, I think, with flashes of terrible urgency. No,
no bubbles unseen escape from my lips. As I writhe in the darkness,
suffocating in the cold embrace of the rusted beast. Please, I beg,
sending up prayers to a god I have neglected, Desperately searching for a
workable surface, My foot finds a subtle groove, and I'm able to push
myself another inch, and from there I'm able to move another my chair and
he continues. But I'm rewarded with no relief, because soon I will need
to breathe in my lungs have already begun to ache, And if I don't
find another pocket of air, then I'll have to return through the pipe back
the way I came back, past the slippery, oily walls. What if
I get stuck on my way back, What if I don't make it back
in time? How the hell was this allowed to happen? I'm overcome with
a sudden burst of rage, and bubbles spilled through my clenched teeth. As
I forced myself deeper and deeper through the water as hastily as I'm able,
my lungs start to burn. I'm going to run out of air. Just
a little further, I can search a little further. I'm going to run
out of air. I'm going to die just a little further. I can
do it. I can do do it. And with a sudden gasp and
a great shuddering breath inwards, I almost laugh in desperate thankfulness as the angle
of the pipe is suddenly changed and I feel my face emerge into a fresh,
new pocket of air. It's not fresh, of course, but in
that moment, it's the sweetest air I've ever tasted. I come to a
stop and allow some great and grasping breaths, filling and replenishing my lungs.
Thank God. It is all like a murmur, over and over, thank
God, thank God. I can't myself, and once I have my breath,
I try shouting. I don't think you'll be able to hear me,
but I try anyway. I receive no response, so I try knocking a
rhythm on the pipe, there is still no response, so regretfully I prepare
for the return journey. I'm scared, of course, but I now know
it can be done, that there is air waiting safely for me on the
other side. So I filled my lungs once again and shuffle back through the
pipe feet first, this time back towards Ahma's location. I use the material
of my diving suit to help me pass by the particularly oily section and emerge
back into the former pocket, spluttering and coughing, Oh, good lord,
Ahmed, shots good, ah you took it. Damn time I thought you
might have. It's all right, I replied, we can make it.
There's another pocket ahead. Now listen, and I go on to explain the
distance in what he'll need to do. Then, finally, with a third
and hopefully final time, we force ourselves through the watery darkness back beneath and
through the pipe with the promise of the next air pocket, our guiding light,
inch by inch as fast as I can, praying that Ahmed is able
to keep up, And then, as before, my face emerges welcomingly into
the new air pocket. But I continue moving the long to a loudspace for
Rakhmad. The seconds pass, and it's just as I'm beginning to fret that
I hear his coughing, the sound of great longfalls of swallowed air as he
breathes in. Yes, I shout, banging my good fist and the pipe.
We did it. We did it, brother, Yes, he splutters,
Yes, we did. Then he releases what sounds like a laugh,
and it fills my heart with hope. Come on, I shout to him.
Let's keep going. And so we do, and our journey through the
pipe inch by inch, as the hours pass by, the timeless hours,
in the perpetual watery darkness, my joints sake, my muscles tense and throb
with exertion. But I have to keep going. There's nothing else for it.
Our air pocket comes to an end, and as with before, I
scout ahead, I have to, of course, as there simply no way
possible for Ahmed to pass me by. After holding my breath for another painful
period of time, I am blessed with the discovery of a new breathable space,
and so we continue in the same manner. These air pockets, however,
grow shorter and shorter as we progress, much to my quiet alarm whether
they're still just enough? And so our journey continues. Every time I have
to hold my breath and go on ahead. It is a cruel exercising willpower
and mental strength, but I do my duty. I have to. We
have to get out, We need to. An exhausting struggle through the pipe
comes to a temporary halt as we reach an air pocket, a mere three
or four meters in length. I start with fright as my bad shoulder knocks
up against something hard and cold. It moves in little response to the pressure
I exert upon it. So it isn't a blockage of any kind? Could
it be? My heart leaps, wriggling squ I'm in the pipe. I
do my best to bring my good hand up towards my head. It is
not a quick process and requires some uncomfortable maneuvers, but eventually my hand can
reach my neck and beyond, and my fingers explore the mysterious object. Despite
everything, A grin spreads across my face and I cry out loud with joy.
Ahmed, I shout, Ahmed, I found a tank. I think,
yes, it's all connected, It's all here a tank. He replies,
what do you mean? I mean an oxygen tank. Ahmad, it's
all in one piece, the breathing troop. Yes, it's all here.
That's fantastic, he exclaims. How many are there? My enthusiasm drops.
I shuffle further down the pipe, searching blindly in the darkness for evidence of
a potential second set of diving gear. Despite my silent please, however,
there is only one. I can only find one here, I tell my
comrade. But there might be another further down. This is a game changer.
We can do this, We can get out. Whose tank is it?
Kada Ahmed asks me. I think my own was about half full?
Yes, Likewise, I reply, what about e Mears e Mears? Ahmed
begins hesitating. Kada, I think Emirs was almost empty. I take a
deep breath, right, I reply, well, still, this will help.
I'll use it now, and I'll see if I can find another set
a little further along. Wish me luck, good luck, man Akm says
god speed. I checked the tank over as best I can, the mouth
beests around my lips, giving it a few test breaths. Then on I
go back beneath the water, though this time armed with the tank to help
me along my way. I grunt and shift my body around, shuffling through
the pipe, squirming my way along, and I find what will come to
be the final air pocket of its type, a mere meet along, not
even big enough for Achmed and I to share at the same time, and
to my growing frustration, there is no sign of a second tank. So
I push deeper onwards through the pipe, breathing with the tank, pushing it
along with me. As I go, I discover, to my bitter amusement,
what could well be my second missing flipper. But there is still no
second tank and no further air pockets either. Clenching my fist, I realize
that I need to go back before Akhmed starts worrying. So I make the
painstaking return journey in a time that to my friend must have felt like ours.
But at last I returned to our shared location and inform him of the
disappointing news. He is quiet as I relay my findings, and then he
says, in a soft voice, good ah. I think that this is
the end of the road for me. There is no use in me going
any further. I think that I'll have to wait here. I begin to
protest, but my words dye in my mouth. What is there for me
to say? He's right. Of course, it's a harsh truth, but
he's absolutely right. He'll simply have to stay behind. The next time leg
of the journey I'll have to do alone. A sudden rush of emotion swells
up inside me, and I force it back down. There's a time and
a place. I try not to consider the fact that this may be the
last time I ever hear his voice. Perhaps I've heard both their voices for
the very last time. No time and a place. Keep moving, ah
Mad. I begin fumbling for some words that'll do the moment justice, but
he interrupts. See you soon, buddy, he says. In the dark.
I'm not able to reply immediately, but when I do, I say
to him, yes, for sure, see you soon, buddy, And
with that I'm gone. I force myself further along the tank, crawling and
shuffling. Then I am submerged. My breathing is loud to the tube connected
to my mouth, and when I reach the final air pocket, I allow
myself a second to pause, to steal my constitution, and then this pocket,
too is left behind. On I go under water. The rest of
my journey will be underwater. And since I cannot see, there is no
way to tell how much air is left in the tank. If it was
mine, Akhmed, then I should have ours to spare. If it was
a Mear's, well, no point in being coy. If it's a Mears,
then I'll likely die down here unless I'm blessed with another surprise air pocket.
It's not impossible, I tell myself as I crawled through the pipe,
water all around me. It's not impossible. And yet as the hours go
by, there are no more air pockets to discover, just more pipe,
the endless, claustrophobic dark of the tunnel. How far have I come?
No idea, impossible to tell, really, and I don't even know which
way I'm heading. If it's north, then this hope. If south,
then this whole venture was pointless. Anyway, I'll never make it back to
Azrak tow Asraque. On the other hand, for Asrak, one hope remains.
There's still hope onwards through the pipe, through the oily, poison water.
My elbows burned with pain from the friction, my shoulders have been rubbed
raw. My feet are developing painful blisters from the places I've been forced to
press them against the pipe for leverage, over and over. My neck is
killing me. It hurts the term I head too far in either direction.
I just grip my teeth and keep on going. Too late to stop now,
must keep going on and on and on. God give me strength,
I muttered to myself, as my muscles contract and sting. Give me strength
to see this through. Thinking about Ahmed, about Amir, all alone,
just like me. It helps propel me forward. I can't give up,
not while they're counting on me. I can never do that to them,
not ever. So on I go endless, ceaseless dark, endless, ceaseless
torture of the pipe. Except it's not endless, not as luck would have
it. The good news regarding my oxygen tank is that it definitely was in
a meuse. If it was, it would have expired by now. The
bad news is that I've been kneading deeper and deeper breaths to fill my lungs,
and soon the oxygen that the tank can spare me just won't be enough.
It won't go on forever. I have found no other tanks along my
journey. It's just the one on my person currently, and then that's it.
Game over come on, you pipe, I haste as a mouthpiece.
You can't go on forever. You can't, And of course it doesn't.
My head bashes against hard metal, eh, I murmuring confusion. I try
to continue along my journey, but the way is blocked. I simply cannot
go any further. My first thought is one of panic. I fear that
I've reached some kind of wall in the pipe when that shouldn't exist, and
I've come all this way to find nothing more than a dead end. Upon
little inspection, however, I realize that a space is opened up above my
head. I squirm around, and for the first time in hours and hours,
I'm able to change positions and to sit upright. My back cracks,
and a rush of unbelievable relief in muscle tension flows through me. I bring
up my hands to feel around me in the darkness, and I almost shout
for joy. The pipe has reached this end. It's going up now,
vertically, up through the sea, towards the surface. We came north.
I laugh, the cracks of hope widening flowing into me like rivers of silver.
We've been traveling north the whole time. The end of the pipe upwards
to the installation at Azra Kwan and to salvation. Unless I take stock and
consider the choice that now faces me. If I'm going to push onwards,
then this really is it. It's a coin flip for life or death.
There's not much air left in the tank. And if I climb this pipe
to discover the worst, if the pipe has been stoppered or plugged, then
definitively for me there will be no way out. I really will reach a
dead end. All hope will be lost, and I will drown down here
with nowhere to go, no way forwards and no way back. And shake
my head. There's no choice here, not really, it's just power.
I don't have enough air in my tank to get back to Ahmed, even
if I wanted to. It's only forwards, forwards and upwards, all right,
I murmur, bobo spilling, Here we go, and I begin my
slow, deliberate ascent. Back pressed against the pipe behind me, knees and
calves against the pipe in front. Up I go, kicking at times,
half swimming, half shimmying up the pipe, up the pipe to the surface,
slowly but surely, grimacing through the strain and the pain, and still
so dark, so unbelievably dark. The lack of light does not fill me
with confidence. If the pipe was not stopped, surely I'll be able to
see some light. Right I open my eyes in the water, The salt
and oil stings like hell. But I need to see, or to try
and see at least. But there's nothing. There's no hint of light at
all. Don't lose faith, I tell myself, screwing my eyes shut again,
Keep going, Keep going. This vertical section of pipe is unlike the
one we were stuck down. This part here goes all the way up to
the surface, up to the bustle and the relative commotion of Azrakwan. Except
it won't be bustling right now, of course, I hesitate, taking a
deep, strained breath through the mouthpiece, grunting with the strain. Thinking about
it, the place could be entirely deserted. I don't even know what time
it is. I've been crawling through the pipe for hours upon ours. I'm
not sure of the exact time, but I'm exhausted, I'm starved, and
my oxygen is about to expire if I recall correctly. In fact, the
sight won't even be open tomorrow. I rack my brains and try to remember
when were they all off sight? Was it tomorrow or the day after?
Damn? What if everyone's gone back to shore? What if the sight is
empty? What if there's no one to hear me? What if the pipe
is stoppered? What if? What if? I bellow and frustration and continue
my ascent. Each breath becomes hard work. I'm starting to feel lightheaded,
but there's nowhere to go but up. This section of pipe can't be longer
than eighty meters or so, so surely if it was open, I'd see
the light, right, wouldn't I see the light? Please? I whisper
as I opened my eyes again, squinting through the darkness, terrified that at
any second I will hit a barrier or a stop, and my journey will
come to an abrupt and bitter end. Any second, at any moment,
I could strike the ceiling and I'll be trapped. In the very next second
I emerge from the water, they hear the sounds of splashing as my head
breaks free of the surface. I'm still in complete darkness, but I've reached
the top air. I pull off the mouthpiece and suck it all down,
refilling my lungs with far greater ease, rubbing and brushing the oily waters from
my face and eyes. I made it, I say to no one in
particular, my voice echoing around the narrow little space afforded me. Now I
have to come to perhaps the final hurdle. How cruel it would be,
I think, how cruel to make it so far and there to be denied
rescue, so close and yet so far. I squirm and bring up my
good arm. With my good hand, I reach it above me, feeling
through the darkness, as the water spills and drips from my elbow. A
few inches above my head, I feel the lid of the pipe screwed tight
shut. My heart starts pounding again. Come on, please, please,
I search desperately for a release mechanism or a valve that will open the pipe
from the inside, but alas, just as I suspected, there is no
such valve. I bring up my other hand and try to force open the
lid. I try to spin it to shift it, but nothing works,
nothing at all, and there will be no one on the other side.
Why would there be. This shift is over. They'll have left the sight
by now crossed back to the shore, I'm stuck. After everything, I'm
just as trapped as a merr and as Ahmed. I started pounding desperately on
the lid, I banging the pipe as hard as I can. I start
to scream. I start shouting, though the sounds will be muffled from the
outside. My shouts for help will just sound like a load of moaning and
groaning, potentially even mistaken for the general rumble of the pipe itself. Help.
I scream, slamming both fists on the metal with all my remaining force,
not caring for the spikes of pain that shoot through my broken wrist.
Panic threatens, though overtake me now at this final stage of my journey,
Help, I cry, slamming the lid, kicking the pipe, making as
much noise as I'm able before my constitution breaks anyone. I roar into the
darkness, and with the sound of a grate and sudden grinding directly above my
head, the lid shifts and a curved crack of light spills blindingly into the
pipe. I gasped with astonishment, the wind taken from my sails, and
I slumped back down into the water with a splash. My eyes are forced
closed and the world beyond my sealed eelt is a dazzling orange red. I
don't even know what to say. I'm too afraid to believe what is happening.
I sent someone talking to me. The voice is confused and alarmed.
They grabbed me by the diving suit, by the shoulders, and with some
considerable degree of effort, they haul me out and onto the platform that surrounded
the pipe's exit. I'm unable to help myself from weeping. I still cannot
see. With the tears, streak, the salt and the oil from my
face. I've never felt so free. I turn and WinCE and stretch my
arms and legs in ways that they were unable for what felt like ages.
I feel her hands squeezed my shoulder. A bottle of cool, refreshing and
above all, clean water is gently poured over my face. Gadar, comes
a familiar voice. Gadhar, what on earth? He fumbles for words,
cared to explain yourself, Gadar, what the hell is this? I finally
managed to open my eyes, just a sliver, gradually painfully adjusting to the
light from the flood lamps all round, and I am greeted by the sight
of the only employees still at his station, long after his shift has come
to an end. He stares at me, his scruffy red hair and his
beard a mess, his expression almost comical. In confusion, A dry chuckle
escapes my lips. Helloza here, I mutter. You know, I don't
think I've ever been happier to see anyone in my entire life. In this,
my friends, is the truth. The hours that followed passed by in
a whirlwind. The company and the authorities were alerted immediately, and the helicopters
were sent up into the sky and rescue boats were out in the water.
Within the hour. The ruined habitat site was investigated and safely secured. Vast
teams of divers were sent down, and they traversed the entire length of the
pipe way into the night, knocking and tapping in the metal and hunting diligently
for Amer n Ahmad, knocking and tapping on the metal and hunting diligently for
Amir and Ahmad. There was tragically no response. I remember pacing up and
down in one of the control rooms, fielding calls from family in the presence
of several officers and officials, as the pressure in the pipe was carefully leveled
as it was disconnected at the safest point and opened for inspection. I remember
the way I reacted when I was told the news the next morning, after
a long and sleepless night, arm bandaged. I remember the breath escaping me.
I remember collapsing into the nearest chair. That's impossible, I murmured,
there's no way. But the bodies of Amir and Ahmad were discovered together about
ten or so meters north from where we were suckered down. It was ruled
that the two men died on impact with the pipe, almost instantaneously. It's
likely they weren't even aware of what happened. Their last conscious moments, I'm
told most probably took place in the habitat itself before the disaster. To this,
I say nothing. I simply look out of the window as the morning
sun reflects and glimmers sparkling in the gentle waves of the sea far below.