Free Pressure by Brian Keene Page A

watched them vanish beneath the murky surface.
    â€œThey may be scientists,” he muttered, “but I’m the only one smart enough not to go back down in that mess.”
    *   *   *
    When they were gone from sight, Abhi fished out his flask and took another drink. Then he retrieved his meerschaum pipe and his tobacco pouch. The pipe had belonged to his father, who had bought it in Syria during World War II. His father had never smoked it, but when he died, Abhi had broken it in. He had realized too late that actually using the pipe would cause it to lose its ivory color, but it was still precious to him, and a source of comfort. He had been all over the world in his sixty years, and the pipe had accompanied him for most of those travels. He had smoked it in countless ports of call. He packed it now with aromatic tobacco—a mix of cherries and ginger scents, and lit it. It took him a few minutes to get it going, and he had to shield it from the wind with his hand.
    â€œAh, there we go.”
    Puffing thoughtfully, he leaned against the rail and considered how quiet it was. Even the waves seemed muted as they lapped against the boat.
    Slowly, his gaze turned to the cooler. He thought about the horseshoe crab inside. Despite the heat, his skin prickled. He puffed his pipe more furiously, and rubbed his arms.
    He stared out at the surrounding ocean, and noticed for the first time that they were the only vessel in sight. Usually, this area would be busy with nautical traffic, but sea lanes had been rerouted due to the studies of the collapse. Still, he thought there would be at least a few civilians or tourists daring to break the quarantine. At the very least, there should be some boats from the scientific flotilla about. But the ocean was deserted. It then occurred to Abhi that the sky was deserted, as well. Back at the harbor, it had been choked with squabbling sea birds, but they seemed to be avoiding this region. Even the water seemed lifeless. Except for the waves, it remained still. There were no fish jumping or curious dolphins coming up to inspect his craft. The latter could be attributed to the collapsing sea floor, but he didn’t think that would deter the birds.
    He smoked and stared for a while longer, until the ocean and the sky merged into one endless, unbroken gray and white plane. Then he retrieved his flask and had another drink, shuddering as the molten liquid burned its way down his throat.
    Eyeing the vacant horizon, Abhi suddenly felt very alone.
    Puffing the pipe, he returned to his Sudoku book, but found it hard to focus. He kept looking up, and eyeing the cooler nervously.
    â€œAny minute now,” he whispered. “They can’t stay down there forever.”

 
    SIX
    Halfway through the second dive, while Carrie gathered a plant sample and placed it in a container, she noticed a sudden and drastically pronounced decrease in the temperature of the water around her—the equivalent of walking from the heat into a freezer. The ocean, already murky with the stirred up silt and sand, seemed to grow darker. Her skin prickled. Quickly sealing the container and securing it on her belt, she glanced around the gloomy waters for Paolo, to see if he’d noticed the temperature drop, as well. She spotted him, illuminated by the ambient light of his torch, as he hovered almost directly over the trench, collecting samples from an overhanging wall of broken coral. A sea anemone was perched nearby him, tentacles frozen in mid-wave. The anemone’s usually vibrant body was uncharacteristically bland, to the point of being almost completely devoid of color.
    The coldness and darkness grew more pronounced. They seemed to press against her like physical entities.
    Carrie didn’t panic, but she definitely felt unsettled. Her diver’s directional sense of temperature told her that the steadily increasing cold was emanating from within the trench itself. This was