Free White Ginger by Susanne Bellamy Page B

of seeing such oddities was far better than contemplating other creatures lurking in the depths.
    As they descended, she took care not to touch the poisonous spines of the black sea urchins, remembering Arne’s warnings about the burning sensations caused by even a light touch of their spines. Parrot fish, orange-band surgeon fish and yellow tangs grazed the rocks and dead coral for seaweeds, constantly cleaning up their habitat. Schools of tiny silver fingerlings darted here and there, always just out of range. From a small cave off to her right, a green sea turtle poked his nose out, as though checking on his neighbors, before launching himself off his front ledge and sedately paddling away.
    For all her previous anxiety, with Arne by her side Amelie was entranced, avidly photographing fish and corals as though her life depended on it. She had known the reef would be interesting, although it frightened her, but the sense of wonder was unexpected as she glided effortlessly through the filtered blue light.
    Indicating she was confident enough photographing the corals where she was, Arne went some way ahead to check the next meter. Amelie scanned her immediate environs. Her hair floated, mermaid-like around her shoulders, and the long bangs floated across her vision as she back paddled. Why hadn’t she had the foresight to tie her hair back before diving? It wasn’t as if she could toss her head to flick it back over her shoulders and out of her eyes.
    Tilting her head forward, she noticed a smallish black box half buried in sand a meter or so to her left. It wasn’t one of Arne’s monitors. He’d been moving in a line more to her right. She stepped toward it as a streamlined shape crossed her line of vision.
    Oh, God, no! A reef shark.
    It filled her sight as it glided around the rocky outcrop just ahead. She couldn’t breathe. Fear paralyzed her legs. It circled right. Instinctively, she recoiled left, brought up short when her flipper caught in wire coils attached to the black box. Her hair floated in front of her mask and panic made her all thumbs as she blindly tugged at her flipper. Losing her balance, she floated to the sandy bottom, arms wildly reaching to put something, anything, between her and the monster. As she landed, a small puff of light sand arose round her hips. The shark circled just ahead.
    Where was Arne? What could she do?
    Water swirled at her back and she dropped the camera. The shark? Where was it?
    Ice filled her veins. Her chest felt tight. She labored to drag air into her lungs. Her mouthpiece was wrenched out and the weight of her scuba tank disappeared as it was yanked violently from her shoulders. She spun off to the side, a sharp burning sensation attacking the back of her left shoulder. A human leg passed in front of her face before her hair blocked her vision.
    Groping frantically for her air supply, her hand caught in the wires that protruded from the side of the black box. Wildly she tried to disengage from it while trying desperately to see where the reef shark was.
    Her tank was gone. She had to get to the surface. But which way was up?
    Lungs bursting, she pushed off from the sandy bottom. Panic on seeing the shark meant that she had taken short breaths. Now, she saw black spots on the periphery of her vision. A burning sensation rose in her throat.
    Without warning, Arne was beside her, fitting his mouthpiece into her mouth, encircling her waist with his arm. Blessed air mixed with a little water in her mouth. Carefully, Arne guided her to the surface. When she indicated he should take a turn at the mouthpiece, he shook his head and kept her moving until warm, clear daylight touched her face.
    She pulled the mouthpiece out and pushed her face mask up, gasping in great gulps of fresh air. Then she threw her arms around Arne’s neck and rested her forehead against his. His arms locked them together as she choked down a sob. He stroked down her cheek.
    “Let’s get back to the