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>DIZZY AND IN DESPAIR, SIMON LOOKED UP. HE WAS IN WAY >OVER HIS HEAD. WEAK, HE BEGAN TO KICK. SIMON SAW >STARS AS HE STRUGGLED TO REACH THE SURFACE. HE FELT >THE BLACKNESS ROLL OVER HIS FOREHEAD AND DOWN HIS >FACE, PUSHING HIS >EYELIDS CLOSED. HIS BODY SLOWED, NO LONGER ABLE TO >PUSH ITSELF THROUGH THE WATER. SIMON'S LEGS STOPPED >KICKING. THERE WAS NO FEAR. NO EMOTION OF ANY KIND. >ONLY EMPTINESS. EMPTINESS AND EXHAUSTION. HE DIDN'T >REMEMBER LETTING >GO OF HIS SPEARGUN. THE BLACKNESS OBSCURED EVERYTHING. >THERE WAS NO SOUND. NO SENSATION OF THE WATER. NO >COLD. NOTHING. THE BLACKNESS ABSORBED EVERYTHING, AS >IT DID SIMON. >"SO THIS IS WHAT IT'S LIKE TO DROWN," HE THOUGHT. >THE SPEAR SHAFT HIT THE SANDY BOTTOM HARD, STICKING >UPRIGHT LIKE AN UNDERWATER EXCALIBER, BECKONING TO BE >DRAWN BY THE NEXT RULER OF THIS DOMAIN. THE TEAK STOCK >FLOATED SEVERAL FEET ABOVE IT, ANCHORED BY THE KEVLAR >LANYARD. IT HAD MISSED THE REEF AND COME TO REST IN >118 FEET OF WATER. SIMON DIDN'T FEEL THE WARMTH OF >SUNSHINE ON HIS NECK AS HE BROKE >THE SURFACE. HE LAID THERE, FACE DOWN IN THE WATER >WITHOUT MOVING. >"HEY! ARE YOU OKAY?!" CAME A VOICE. IT SOUNDED >FAMILIAR. AS IF IN A DREAM, SIMON WAS AWARE HE WAS >BEING PULLED UP, OUT OF THE WATER. >"BREATHE DAMNIT!! >THE STING OF A SMART SLAP ON HIS CHEEK OPENED HIS >EYES. >"ARE YOU OKAY?! SIMON! ARE YOU ALRIGHT?!" >SIMON SHOOK HIS HEAD AND TOOK A DEEP BREATH. >HIS FRIEND BILLY HAD PULLED HIM INTO THEIR BOAT. >"YOU BLACKED OUT MAN. I THOUGHT YOU WERE PUTTIN' ME >ON, PRETENDING TO BE DEAD. YOU SURE WERE DOWN A LONG >TIME. ARE YOU ALRIGHT?" >AS SIMON'S COLOR CAME BACK AND HIS HEAD CLEARED, HE >LEARNED THAT HE HAD SURFACED ONLY FOUR FEET FROM THEIR >INFLATABLE BOAT. >"WHERE'S MY GUN?" ASKED SIMON, LOOKING AROUND THE >SMALL CRAFT. >"I DUNNO. YOU MUST HAVE DROPPED IT." BILLY'S WORDS >WOUNDED SIMON. >HE LOST THE FISH, HE COULDN'T LOSE HIS NEW GUN. THEN >SIMON'S EYES CLOSED TIGHTLY AND HE KNEELED, GRABBING >HIS STOMACH. "YOU'RE NOT GONNA BARF IN THE BOAT ARE >YA? >"NO!" SIMON GRUNTED, STILL TRYING TO CATCH HIS BREATH. >THE ONLY THING THAT WAS COMING UP WAS HIS NEW >SPEARGUN. THIS HE VOWED. > >SIMON SPENT THE NEXT TWENTY MINUTES CATCHING HIS >BREATH AND RELAYING HIS STORY OF THE WHITE TO BILLY. A >TRUE FRIEND, BILLY LISTENED INTENTLY, ABSORBING EACH >INTIMATE >DETAIL, NEVER QUESTIONING ANY STATEMENT. HIS BEST >FRIEND WOULD NEVER LIE TO HIM AND SPEARFISHING WAS A >MOST HONORABLE SPORT. NOT LIKE FISHING WITH A ROD AND >REEL WHERE LIES WERE SPILLED LIKE BEER. THIS WAS A >COMPLETELY DIFFERENT WAY TO CATCH FISH. ALMOST >SPIRITUAL IN NATURE. THE ACCOMPLISHED >SPEARFISHERMAN FOLLOWED A STRICT CODE OF ETHICS. NEVER >SHOOT A SMALL FISH. NEVER KILL ANYTHING YOU WON'T EAT. >NEVER KILL MORE FISH THAN YOU NEED. MOST >IMPORTANTLY, NEVER SHOOT A SPAWNING FISH. A FISH >PREPARING TO SPAWN HUNDREDS, PERHAPS THOUSANDS OF NEW >FISH WAS REVERED ABOVE ALL OTHERS. SIMON AND BILLY >ADHERED TO ALL THESE LAWS. THEY FELT CONNECTED TO THE >SEA. IT WAS THEIR MOTHER. SHE >PROVIDED FOR THEM AND THEY OBEYED HER LAWS. > >"MAYBE IT'S STILL DOWN THERE!" BILLY SAID WITH >ENTHUSIASM. "NAW...HE'S GONE." SIMON DRONED IN A >DEADPAN VOICE. >"BUT IF YOU GOT IT IN SUCH A PERFECT PLACE, IT >COULDN'T LIVE LONG. MAYBE IT SUNK RIGHT AFTER IT >SLIPPED THE SHAFT!" BILLY WOULDN'T GIVE UP. >IT'S GONE OKAY?!" SIMON SNAPPED. BILLY DIDN'T SAY >ANOTHER WORD ABOUT IT. THEY BOTH SAT IN THE BOUNCING >BOAT IN SILENCE, BOTH PAINFULLY AWARE OF THE SPEARGUN >RETRIEVAL PROBLEM FACING THEM. STARING INTO THE BLUE >PURPLE >WATER, THEY PONDERED THEIR OPTIONS. LEAVING IT BEHIND >WAS NOT ONE OF THEM. AFTER SEVERAL MINUTES, SIMON >LOOKED UP AND SPOKE THE ONLY WORDS EITHER OF THEM >WOULD VOICE. THE DECISION WAS MADE. THERE WOULD BE NO >DISCUSSION. >"PULL UP THE ANCHOR. IT'S ALMOST DUSK" SIMON'S FACE >WAS DETERMINED. BILLY UNDERSTOOD AND BEGAN PULLING THE >ROPE IN. HE KNEW BETTER THAN TO QUESTION SIMON'S >DECISION. HE WOULD HAVE MADE THE SAME ONE, IF HE HAD >LOST HIS GUN IN DEEP WATER. SIMON BEGAN >HYPERVENTILATING. INHALING AND EXHALING QUICKLY TO >ABSORB AS MUCH OXYGEN INTO HIS BLOODSTREAM AS HE >COULD. >"G'LUCK," BILLY SAID. >WITH THAT, SIMON GRABBED THE ANCHOR AND DOVE >OVERBOARD. HE DESCENDED FAST AND KEPT ONE HAND ON HIS >NOSE, CLEARING HIS EARS AS HE PENETRATED THE COOLING >DEPTHS. HIS EYES WERE MERE SLITS, TRYING TO PIERCE THE >DARKENING GLOOM IN SEARCH OF HIS GUN. HE KNEW IT WOULD >BE NEARBY, HE FELT THE NYLON ANCHOR LINE RUB ACROSS >HIS THIGH, >THE BUBBLES FROM HIS MOUTH TRAILING ACROSS HIS BODY, >WITHIN SECONDS HE WAS ABLE TO SEE THE BOTTOM. SIMON >RELEASED THE ANCHOR AND BEGAN KICKING ACROSS THE SAND >BOTTOM. A SMALL HALIBUT SHOT OUT, LEAVING A TRAIL OF >SAND BEHIND IT LIKE A COMET. THE OCEAN SEEMED STILL, >AS IF IT TOO WERE HOLDING ITS >BREATH. SIMON'S NARROW EYES NEARLY EXPLODED AT THE >SIGHT OF HIS SPEAR SHAFT STUCK IN THE SAND. >ELECTRICITY SNOT THROUGH HIS BODY AS HE FRANTICALLY >KICKED TOWARDS HIS GUN. "GOTCHA!", SIMON'S HAND >GRIPPED THE GUN TIGHT. THE HUNTER BEGAN HIS ASCENT IN >THE GLIMMERING TWILIGHT. > > >Continued on next page...

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