“The belt’s caught in it. I can’t see what I’m doing.”
“I’m in the water, Pete,” Shelly said.
“Maybe I can do it from down here.”
“You’re just in the way. Shelly,” Pete snapped, and for a brief moment, Daria felt hatred toward him. This was the man she planned to marry in a few months, and at that moment, she didn’t even like him.
“She hardly looks old enough to have a pilot’s license,” Andy said.
“I don’t think we can work on her from the boat,” Daria said. She was losing her balance. Her hand holding the T-shirt kept slipping away from the woman’s forehead.
“Yeah, and we can’t extricate her this way, either,” Pete added.
“We’ll have to get in the water.”
The plane, Daria realized, was slowly sinking, seawater creeping up the pilot’s body.
“Andy,” Pete said, “you stay in the boat. Keep it close to the plane.
Keep your eyes open for any fuel leaks” too.” He unzipped his shorts, pulled them off and jumped into the water.
Daria took off her own shorts and followed him in. The water took her breath away, it was so cold. “I thought you said it wasn’t cold?”
she said to Shelly as she pulled herself closer to the plane.
“You’ll get used to it,” Shelly said, but her teeth were chattering.
“It’s going down fast,” Andy said from the boat.
“We need a knife out here, damn it,” Pete said, and he dropped under the water to try to work the pilot’s seat belt free. Daria felt the fruitlessness of his effort. He would be able to see nothing underwater in the darkness. She tried to keep pressure on the pilot’s forehead as she let her body float out from the plane to make room for Pete to work. She wondered how long the pilot could survive being immersed in the cold water. How long could any of them survive?
“Shelly, Andy,” Pete sputtered as he surfaced from the water.
“This thing’s sinking like an anchor. Y’all do what you can to keep it upright while Daria and I try to get her out.”
“Okay.” In the boat, Andy skirted the plane to reach the other side, and Shelly swam to the plane’s submerged nose to do what she could to keep it afloat. Daria glanced over her shoulder at the beach, praying someone would bring tools out to help them.
The pilot’s eyes were open now. Open wide. The young woman stared into Daria’s eyes as Daria tried to stem the bleeding from her head wound.
She dared to lift the T-shirt once, only to have blood gush down the frightened pilot’s cheek. She didn’t know how cognizant the pilot was of what was going on or of how much danger she was in. She was not uttering a word, yet her eyes were filled with fear.
“Don’t worry,” Daria said.
“We’re going to get you out. You’ll be all right.”
Pete surfaced from underwater again, tossing his wet black hair out of his face with a shake of his head. “Maybe I can get at her better from the other side,” he said.
“I already tried the door over here,” Andy called from his side of the plane.
“It won’t open.” He sounded winded. Daria glanced at her sister to see how she was faring. Shelly was treading water directly in front of the plane’s propeller, her hands submerged beneath the plane’s nose. She appeared to be going strong.
A small yelp escaped from the pilot’s lips. The water had reached her breasts, and Daria felt a flash of panic course through her own body.
What if they couldn’t get her out? It was beginning to look doubtful, and there was no way that Andy and Shelly would be able to keep the plane above water once it made up its mind to sink. Daria’s legs ached from treading water. She struggled with her free hand to loosen the shoulder harness, trying at the same time to stay out of Pete’s way.
Her foot kept catching on the damaged pontoon, and it was tempting to rest it there to give herself a break from the relentless treading, but she knew that her weight would only pull the plane farther underwater.
Pete surfaced once again, gasping for breath this time. Daria saw fear mixed with the determination in his eyes. She wanted to talk to him, try to puzzle out the best course of action, but before she could say a word, he was underwater again.
“Please help.” The pilot’s voice was barely audible, and she reached out to grab Daria’s wrist.
Daria gently extricated her arm from the woman’s hand.
“I need my hand to get you out,” she said.
The water was rising more quickly now. It had reached the pilot’s chin, and the young woman tilted her head back as though she could somehow prevent the water from climbing up her face. If only she could.
Pete came out of the water on Daria’s right this time. He looked toward the beach, where a second ambulance had arrived.
“Hey!” he shouted vainly against the sound of the sea.
