Retribution Road by Jon Coon (e reader comics .TXT) 📕

sank too fast and I couldn’t get the doors opened. Do you know if my daughters are all right?”

“Sorry, we thought they were with you. I’ll do my best to find them and bring them home. What can you tell me about the men who took them?”

“Both were Hispanic. One had a coiled snake tattoo coming down his arm. They were both young. Not thirty.”

Gabe saw bright light coming down toward them. “We’re out of time, but I promise you we’ll do everything we can to find your girls. In that light are angels and they are here for you. There’s nothing to fear. Go with them and be blessed.”

“What about Susan?”

“She’ll be right behind you. Not to worry.”

“Find our girls please and tell them we love them. I never dreamed our trip would put them in harm’s way. We’ll be praying for them. Thank you, and thanks to Tom. He’s been a great friend.”

The six-winged angels hovered over Bobby, who was wrapped in such brilliant light, Gabe had to shield his own eyes. And then they were gone. Gabe checked his computer and then the submersible pressure gauge on his tank. It was down to a third. Still safe, but no time to waste.

“Susan Benson, awake!” he shouted, and her spirit began to form. “Susan, come quickly. We haven’t much time.”

“What’s happening?” she asked. “Who are you?”

“Susan, you were killed in the plane crash. Angels are coming for you, and you will be safe with Bobby forever.”

“No, I can’t leave my girls. They need me.”

“We’re going to do everything we can to find them and care for them. There’s nothing more you can do. I’m sorry.”

The lights were returning. They were running out of time.

“There has to be another way. It can’t just end like this,” she cried.

Gabe remembered how Emily’s father had lingered to protect her and wondered could that happen again? The light became so intense, he had to turn away, but he could hear her begging, “No, don’t take me. Please don’t take me.”

The lights were gone and there was no indication that she had not gone with them. Gabe’s supernatural light was gone as well, and he turned on the dim dive light. He quickly checked the plane. Two bodies in the front seats and tightly wrapped bales of marijuana in the back. As Bobby had said, no trace of the three little girls.

The battery in his dive light was failing. He checked his computer for the digital compass and hit the button to turn on the LED. It was so faint he could barely read it. He dropped down from the plane and started back on the reciprocal compass bearing. He was trying to remember when he’d last replaced the computer battery when he hit the last breath in the tank.

He removed the regulator from his mouth and found the oral inflator on his BC. Not the best air, but one or two breaths should be all he needed to get back to the other tank. The dive light failed. He reached down to his leg pocket and pulled out his last cyalume stick. He broke it and shook it and was disappointed in how little light it produced. He couldn’t see more than three feet. This was going to get serious if he didn’t find that tank. I could use a little help here, Lord. If he went up, he would get bent like a pretzel. Come on, Gabe, get it together.

A huge southern stingray, more than six feet across, burst from the sand in front of him. He stopped and dropped to the bottom. He was still breathing the air from his BC and could feel the effects of nitrogen narcosis beginning. His face was tingling. He was disorientated. The spare tank had fallen over and was lying just ahead. He shook off the buzz and swam to it. He put the regulator in his mouth and pulled hard to get the gas. Nothing. The valve was off. He fumbled with the valve until he heard the rush of gas fill the hose. He hit the purge to clear the regulator and finally got gas. Blessed gas. Wonderful gas. lifesaving gas.

He stayed on his knees on the bottom and took several deep breaths. The nitrox helped. His head began to clear and the buzz was fading.

“Thank you. Thank you.” His prayer of thanks was one of the most real of his life.

As his head cleared, he was able to make sense of the numbers on the computer. As he had suspected, he was well beyond his zero decomp time of twenty minutes and in need of a prolonged hang.

He reeled in the cave reel line until he reached the buoy line and ascended to his first two-minute deep stop at a hundred feet. When he reached eighty feet, Brad was anxiously waiting and pointed at his computer. Gabe gave an okay, and they ascended to the deco stop at twenty feet.

Gabe needed fourteen minutes on 100 percent oxygen. As they waited and watched the computer tick down the minutes, Gabe reflected that he now had a much greater appreciation for the Navy’s emphasis on the buddy system. He knew academically, intellectually, the dangers of diving alone. But to carry out his special missions, there had been no choice, and today, again, violating the buddy plan had nearly been disastrous.

Chapter 12

“BOBBY RAN OUT OF GAS? That didn’t happen.” Tom fumed. “I don’t believe it.”

“Neither did he,” Gabe said. “He said he checked the fuel before they took off, and when the engines quit, he still had eighty gallons according to the gauges. Is there some way a timer or other device could have cut off the fuel?”

“I suppose so. And that makes sense. Imagine the headlines: ‘Son of Texas oil billionaire, US Senator Bob Benson, crashes with a load of Mexican grass.’ That sends a message, doesn’t it? Now whoever did this has Bob’s granddaughters to use as leverage against him. Vicious.”

“Is