Ethan clung to the helm in a vice-like grip that made his fingers cramp. He took shallow breaths of the thin air, adrenalin making his lips numb.

The LR5 grumbled under his control. It desperately wanted to keel over and die, and it took nearly all his strength to keep it moving forward and upward.

Beside him, Becca was soaking wet and shivering. She hugged her arms to her side in a futile attempt to keep warm. If he didn’t get them to the surface soon, she’d die from hypothermia. If they didn’t run out of air first.

The LR5 was not designed for speed nor for dodging depth charges. He tapped the engine temperature dial in front of him, hoping the creeping temperature was an anomaly from the tilt of the mini sub, but the temperature gauge remained resolutely in the ‘too hot and I might explode’ zone.

Becca peered at the same dial. “We’re overheating.”

“Uh huh. We are kinda pushing this full force.” The scream of the engine pounded through his feet. The LR5 was tearing itself apart in an effort to get to the surface.

Another boom shook the tiny craft.

Becca screamed, “Ethan, are we rising?”

He nodded, frantically checking to reassure himself that that was indeed the case. He flicked the dial. Six thousand feet still to go. If they didn’t get out of the range of the depth charges soon, they’d be atomized long before they ever made it to the surface.

“We need to get out from under the ship that’s dropping the charges. It won’t be as quick or as nimble as us.”

“This?” Becca screamed as the LR5 plunged once more. “This is nimble?”

“She’s doing her best, baby,” Ethan shouted over the vibrating aftershocks pummeling through the hull. His hands ached from fighting to maintain control of the ancient vehicle. “Come on, girl, come on,” he muttered through his aching jaw. Another alarm squealed, and his gut tightened. Fucking hell.

Becca’s head whipped around. “We have another leak. Where?”

Ethan checked the diagnostics. “Rear propeller shaft. We can’t fix that.” He hit switches, instantly plunging them into darkness.

Becca screamed and clutched him, her fingers digging painfully into his good arm. “The lights. We can’t see anything. We don’t even have headlights anymore.”

“S’kay. Rerouting power for the engines so we can maneuver the hell out of here.” He thrust the throttle hard to port and was rewarded by the novel sensation of decent acceleration. “I think we’re actually moving now.”

Her grip was threatening to cut off the blood supply to his hands.

“Ethan, This is not okay.” She released him. Her harness snapped open audibly and she brushed past him in the pitch black.

“Becca, what are you doing?”

A flashlight clicked on, piercing the gloom with faded yellowy light. The beam wavered and wobbled then settled as she clutched it to her chest. She gave him a wan smile. “Better.”

She sat back down and swatted at his arm. “Warn me next time.”

“I thought you liked living on the edge.” He glanced with satisfaction at the scrolling figures on the depthometer. “We’re finally moving out of range and upward.”

“Thank God.” Becca hugged the flashlight and gave him a wobbly nod, her teeth chattering as she stared at the ceiling, willing the LR5 on.

Come on. Come on. Cold sweat chilled his back. Still rising.

The engine stuttered and coughed. Then died.

Fuck.

“Losing ballast.” Ethan hit switches. An orgy of air bubbles exploded around them, furiously rocketing to the surface. The LR5 rocked from the discharge but she was still climbing.

“Discharged ballast.” He touched the fuel dump lever above his head, weighing up his options. Realistically he knew they didn’t have any. Ethan lifted his chin. “Engines are blown, Becca. I’m dumping the fuel.”

He yanked the lever hard, and tremors shook the submersible as fuel vented in a turbulent rush.

“Ethan, look.” Becca pointed. The depthometer wavered as their ascent speeded up.

Finally.

The shell of the hull groaned and protested at the shifting pressure, the figures finally clicking down. Five thousand, four thousand. The ascent was painstakingly slow but gradually light began to penetrate the interior of the LR5, and Becca clicked her torch off.

She reached forward and slipped her hand into his. “Light,” she murmured, her voice hushed with awe. Ethan squeezed her slender fingers and said a silent prayer of thanks. Murky light had never looked so damn good.

At last, the LR5 rocked and tilted, leaden daylight washing the interior. Churning waves buffeted the front viewport glass below sooty clouds. Everything was grey and misty but to Ethan, it may as well have been painted in rainbows. A hiccup tore his attention away from the precious view of the sky.

Becca’s shoulders were shaking, her hand covering her mouth. Her eyes were scrunched closed, but tears still escaped and streaked her grimy cheeks.

Ethan pulled her into his arms. “We made it, baby.”

A clanging from above made them both jump.

Becca jerked in his embrace, her face fearful. “They’re still trying to kill us.”

Pain lanced through Ethan’s jaw as he reached up and pulled down an emergency kit. It tumbled free of its mooring, showering him with a motley collection of dressings, tubes of antiseptic, and scissors. It was all he could do to get the words out. “I am finishing this. Now.” He removed the flare gun and flicked off the safety. “Don’t move.”

The access hatch in the roof resisted his initial tugs but then it rotated freely. Footsteps from above resonated through the top of the metal hull.

Ethan gripped the flare gun in a two-handed grip ignoring the throbbing torment from his injured arm.

“Get behind me,” he instructed Becca, listening intently for any clues as to who might be on the outside. His breath quickened, and his fingers locked on the trigger, flexed and waiting.

The hatch lifted with a metallic screech, and freezing, salty air blasted through the gap. Ethan blinked against the sucking draft and dazzling glare.

Voices. Male voices.

His trigger finger tightened. If anyone tried to touch Becca, they were going to have to come through him first.

A head appeared over the edge of the hatch. Dark hair.

Nik cracked a toothy grin and stuck out his hand. “Took your fucking time.”