One, one thousand. Two, one thousand. Three, one thousand.
Charles’s flippers are growing smaller and smaller as he descends deeper and deeper into the Pacific Ocean—and I’m floating on the surface of the water. “Wait here,” he had said with a wink, before taking a deep breath and free-diving into the sparkling blue. So I wait, counting the seconds he’s under. Bobbing like a buoy, peering down through my goggles, I watch him—now some 30 feet below, gripping his long spear gun at his side—disappear beneath an overhang of ashy coral reef. Suddenly I’m all alone out here in the open water. The nearest landmass is miles away.
Without warning, a snap ricochets through the water, and a cloud of tiny bubbles scuttles up from the reef. Then, through the…