Chapter Twenty-Two

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

COUNTDOWN TO ZERO HOUR 12 HOURS AND 29 MINUTES

“WHAT HAPPENS IF he touches the rods?” George had asked.

“He dies,” Joss told him.

George blinked at her.

“If he were to swim down, touch them, then immediately swim back up,” she continued, “that alone would be enough radiation to kill him. If he stayed down there in physical contact with the rods, he’d be dead in minutes.”

Steve’s unresponsive body sank headfirst to the bottom of the pool, where the nuclear rods waited to catch him. It was like a perverse countdown; every inch his body descended ticked off the decades, years, months, days, he had left to live. The water temperature rose the farther down he went, but Steve, blacked out, did not notice.

The rods were right there. He was just about to hit them when—

snap —the stinger’s cable, attached to the weighted dive belt around his waist, went taut. Steve’s body recoiled, then flipped in slow motion through the weightless environment, doubled over like someone was pulling him up from behind by the belt strap; his arms hung down, and the tips of his gloved fingers brushed against the top of the rods.

There, at the bottom of the pool, Steve floated, suspended, dangling just above the rods as flecks of rubber shed furiously from the suit, dancing around him like he was in the center of a snow globe filled with black snow.

On the surface, the stinger line was slipping through George’s trembling rubber-gloved hands. After screaming for backup over the comms, he grunted and looked around, trying to figure out what to do, how to get to Steve. He couldn’t dive in after him. If he let go, Steve’s body would hit the rods flat and it would be over. And if George or anyone else swam down to him, they’d suffer the same fate and double the number of people needing rescue.

In his peripheral vision, George saw the door to the pool burst open and several firefighters in hazmat gear run in. Up above, the crane operator repositioned the claw attachments over the pool, closer to where Steve was. One of the firefighters dropped to the ground beside George and lay prostrate with his arms reaching over the edge of the pool, trying to grab the line to help him pull Steve up. Another firefighter climbed down the ladder fixed to the side of the pool, heading, rung by rung, toward the water’s surface. He stopped, held on with one hand, and leaned out as far as he could to grab the line and help George pull him up. But the line was beyond his reach.

The claw attachment dropped into the pool to grab Steve and drag him back up. But the movement in the water made waves, distorting the visual, making it impossible to get a fix on where Steve was.

“Someone direct me!” the crane operator yelled into the comms.

Before anyone could say anything, the firefighter on the ladder hurried down the rest of the way and dropped into the pool with a splash.

George put one hand carefully under the other as he pulled Steve up. Small, meager progress was made—until the wet line slipped through his wet rubber gloves and Steve dropped back down.

The firefighter in the pool, treading water on the surface like a snorkeler, held his breath and peered down to the bottom. Motioning with his arms— left, left again, up, now back a little more, drop —he directed the crane operator. The claw was in the water, moving in accordance with the directions. After a moment, the firefighter made a motion with his fist that could mean only one thing: Grab him.

Everyone waited. The seconds felt like hours. Then, suddenly, the firefighter in the water gave a thumbs-up and frantically started pointing up.

George felt the resistance on the line in his hands ease as the crane brought Steve up slowly. Slowly. Very slowly. George held on to the line, adjusting his grip as it went, taking up the slack in case Steve slipped out of the claw. The firefighter on the pool’s surface nodded, continuing to give a thumbs-up as he watched the progress under the water. Yes. Good. Keep going… keep going … until finally Steve’s body was close enough to the surface that the firefighter could grab him.

With Steve firmly in the firefighter’s arms, George dropped the stinger line and scrambled to the ladder where the other firefighters were already waiting. The man farthest down the ladder hooked one arm under a rung and grabbed Steve with the other. Awkwardly, with difficulty, they relayed the fire chief up and up, until his limp, unresponsive body was finally at the top.

George watched this from all fours next to the top of the ladder. He was the last to grab Steve and drag his boss, his friend, out onto the deck. Everyone circled around the body, breathing heavily from the exertion, as George screamed Steve’s name.

Someone rolled him onto his back.

There was no movement, no response.