"It's not news to me," Parker answered, jerking open the door to the
compartment at the rear. Inside that compartment was a mass of synthetic
fabric. Tossed to the surface of the sea, inflated by the self-contained
flask of gas under pressure, it would make a rubber raft.
"You've left the controls!" Retch barked. "Do something to stop us.
We're going to fall." The man's face was wild with fear as he twisted
his head around to see what Parker was doing.
"You damned right I've left the controls!" Parker answered. "We've lost
the equivalent of a wing in an ordinary plane. If you know any way to
stop a plane from falling you tell me." Working with deft, sure hands,
he pulled the mass of synthetic fabric out of its compartment.
"But we've got to get to that island. We've found it. We've got to get
there while--"
"If we get there, we'll have to swim," Parker answered. "Personally,
I'll consider myself lucky to get there by swimming. Here we go."
The last was spoken as the helicopter began its final plunge to the
surface of the blue water below them.
Parker, with the mass of fabric clutched firmly in both hands, threw
himself flat on the floor.
The 'copter hit with a terrific thud. An instant later, Parker was on
his feet. The life raft was under one hand. With the other hand, he was
reaching for the handle that opened the cabin door.
"We've got to get out of here. This ship will go the bottom like a
rock."
Behind him, Mercedes and Retch were struggling to their feet. Parker
yanked on the handle that opened the cabin door.
The handle did not budge.
The heavy jolt the craft had taken when it struck the surface had
twisted the whole frame.
"Get that door open!" Retch moaned. "We'll be drowned like rats."
"Hell, I'm trying!" Parker answered. He yanked upward with all his
strength.
The door still did not budge.
Outside Parker could see the green water rising around the cabin.
He backed away, ducked his head, threw himself with all his strength
against the door.
Under the driving impact of his body, the door was knocked open. The
mass of synthetic fabric in his arms, Parker catapulted through the
opening and into the sea. He hit with a terrific splash. Mercedes
followed him. Parker, treading water and working with the valve that
would release the gas and inflate the raft, saw that Retch was still
standing in the door of the 'copter.
"What am I going to do?" Retch screamed.
"Jump."
"But I can't swim."
"Then wait until I get this goddamned raft inflated. Ugh!" Parker's
voice went into silence as arms came up out of the water and closed
around his neck with a grip of death.
Mercedes, in a panic that often comes to people catapulted suddenly and
unexpectedly into the water, was grabbing the nearest source of
potential safety.
"Let go!" Even as he spoke, Parker felt her arms close even tighter
around his neck. He knew then that she was not going to let go. She was
pulling him under with her.
Giving one final jerk at the valve of the gas container, Parker found
himself pulled under water.
The arms around his neck seemed to grip like iron. He caught them in
both hands, yanked at them. His hands slipped. He grabbed again. She was
behind him, on his back, so he could not slug her. Meanwhile each
passing second was sending both of them deeper into the sea. He yanked
at her arms again. This time his fingers held. Her grip was broken.
Twisting, he grabbed her hair. Then he began to fight his way to the
surface.
His head broke water. As he gulped air, he realized the blessed sight
before his eyes.
The rubber raft! His last jerk at the valve before Mercedes dragged him
under had opened it.
From the door of the sinking helicopter Retch was staring at the raft.
At the same instant in final desperation, he jumped. His clutching
fingers caught the edge of the rubber raft. Like a frightened river rat,
he pulled himself out of the water.
* * * * *
Treading water, Parker dragged Mercedes to the edge of the raft. Retch
leaned over and lifted her in. For an instant, Parker remained in the
water, his fingers firm on the raft, letting it support him while he
gasped air into his lungs. Behind him, with a gurgle and a rumble, the
helicopter sank. He swung himself into the raft. Mercedes, her masculine
garb clinging to her, was sitting up.
"I am sorry, Beel," she said. "I get the scare up and I grab at you. I
not know for sure what I am doing. You will forgive me, no?"
"Think nothing of it," Parker answered. "Anybody can get scared under
these circumstances."
"That I know," she answered. "But you saved my life. And that I will
remember."
"Forget it," Parker said. "I did what had to be done, nothing more."
"But I will remember it," she calmly repeated.
Parker was silent. Under her hardness for the first time he glimpsed
something deeper, finer. She was the type who meant what she said. She
was a woman who paid her debts. Under other circumstances.... Parker put
the thought out of his mind.
Now he set about doing what had to be done--paddling to the island. He
turned his eyes toward it.
The island was gone. Calm, serene, the level face of the sea stretched
away to the horizon.
Fear, dark, sudden, and overwhelming, arose in Bill Parker. The fear did
not come up just because the face of the sea was level and calm, the
island not visible, but because of something else, something that he had
forgotten, something that he had put out of his mind and out of his
life. Could it be possible that--
He caught himself. In that direction lay madness. Words exploded out of
him. "Hey, what the hell? Am I nuts? What became of that island? I saw
it!"
"I told you we had to hurry to get there when we saw it." Retch was
hesitant. "It's--it's not always there."
"But it's got to be there! I saw it!"
"There is a trick about that island," Retch said. "I--it--I--you don't
always see it. Something funny."
Parker was across the shaking, unsteady raft. His impulse was to take
Retch by the throat, to shake words out of him. "What do you mean?" He
was restraining himself with difficulty.
Retch spread his hands. "I'm sorry, I can't explain. That's all I know.
Believe me."
Retch was telling the truth Parker decided. The big pilot swung his gaze
in every direction, searching for land. Somewhere in the far distance
was the peninsula of Lower California. But it was beyond range of his
eyes. As far as he could see, was barren water.
Setting his course by the small compass that was included as part of the
standard equipment on the life raft, Parker paddled toward the south.
The clumsy raft made little progress. Parker hardly noticed, hardly
cared. Deep in his mind was a lurking thought he was trying to keep
below his consciousness.
In the front of the raft, Retch sat with his back to Parker. From
Retch's motions, Parker knew the man was cleaning his gun. Parker made
no comment. When Retch had finished and had turned back to him, Parker
spoke. "I want to know a little more about that island. How does it
happen we can't see it?"
"I'm not certain," Retch answered. "I think it's a lot like the mirages
you see on the desert. This island is something like that, only in
reverse. In a mirage, you see something that doesn't exist. In the case
of this island, you _don't_ see something that _does_ exist."
"Um," Parker said, then was silent. The explanation sounded reasonable
enough, as far as it went. The trouble was it didn't go far enough, not
nearly far enough to quiet the thought lurking deep in the big pilot's
mind. He worked with the paddle. "When you hired me to fly you down
here, you told me that you knew where this island was located but you
didn't tell me it had a bad habit of vanishing."
"I didn't believe it myself," Retch answered. "So far as I was
concerned, it was just a wild rumor."
"Um," Parker said again. As he spoke, part of the thought that he had
been keeping buried in his mind came blasting to the surface. "She said
it was a mirage too!" he blurted out the words. "And that goddamned Dr.
Yammer--" He caught himself. Into his mind had come a vision of a woman
he had once known, and a psychiatrist called Dr. Yammer. Pain crossed
his face.
"What?" Retch asked. "Who are you talking about?"
"Nobody," Parker answered. "Just a woman I once knew."
Her name had been Effra. Effra of the Green Eyes, he had called her.
Rigidly he forced the thought of her from his mind, forced himself to
think of what Retch had said. But it was no good. His mind kept going
back to Effra and Yammer.
"She is caught, trapped in a net of delusion and hallucination that is
as solid as a block of steel," Dr. Yammer had once said, his voice
precise with authoritarian certainty. "I cannot get her out of this
steel block unless I hospitalize her, perhaps operate. There is no other
choice, no other decision that can be made. Putting it bluntly--she is
insane. A delicate thing, insanity. We still work in the dark with
things of the mind."
* * * * *
At the memory of Yammer's words, Parker twisted uncomfortably. He used
the paddle much more vigorously than was necessary. It was as if
Yammer's face showed in the water into which he thrust the paddle.