Joshua hung for a moment staring at his father suspended in the water fifteen feet behind him. It was clear that his dad wouldn't have made it through the closing door. He turned and looked at the door once more before swimming back to his father slowly and clasping arms. He knew in his heart that he had made the right decision.
Teddy wasn't so sure, as he watched his son begin to evaluate their situation. He willed himself to be calm. Panic would only use up air faster, leaving them less time to try and find a way out of their predicament.
The first thing he did was to close his eyes and pray to the God of the Universe to rescue him and his son from the danger they had gotten themselves into. Teddy didn't understand everything about God, but he understood that the Creator of the world had sent his only son Jesus to die for an unworthy man—that was enough for him.
He didn't need to know everything about God, because he knew everything about himself. Given how base and sinful he knew himself to be, if God Almighty chose to give a man like him a single cup of cold water it was unassailable evidence that God was full of mercy.
God the Father had given him so much more than that—a loving wife and four strong sons, and much, much more. Teddy felt Joshua clasp both his arms and opened his eyes to look into his boy's eyes—they were filled with the love and courage of a man.
Shining his flashlight directly on his own hand, Teddy made the motion for Joshua to tell him how much air he had left. Joshua highlighted his own hand: 1700psi. Teddy looked at the boy's fingers, so pale and thin, he almost lost it and tears flowed to his eyes. Sixteen he may be, but this was his baby and his baby was at risk. Shaking himself out of it, Teddy went through the numbers: Five hundred was the safety reserve, so the remaining 1200psi gave them some time.
Teddy made the signs for slow breathing and to conserve air, watching the gold particles embedded in his glove scintillate and sparkle in the light beam. Shining his light on Joshua, he observed that the boy crossed his legs and suspended himself in the rest position.
Teddy immediately turned and began examining the room inch by inch in the beam of his flashlight. He started with the door that had just closed as the earthquake shook the building. He still couldn't wrap his mind around the fact that the stone door had risen from the floor, swiftly, smoothly and apparently permanently.
Every megalithic structure he knew of contained doorways but no doors—archeologists assumed that massive swinging wooden doors had long since rotted away. Nobody suspected the thresholds might be the doors.
Careful scrutiny of the joints between the door and doorframe showed no points of entry or places of leverage. Teddy used his dive knife to tap and pry at anything suspicious. He moved quickly but methodically, trying to cover ground, conserve air and maintain hope.
He prayed without ceasing.
Nothing. No levers, no loose stones, literally nothing to press on, push or pull—the stones were smooth, fit together perfectly, ingenious construction that was literally out of this world. Only now, the technologically astounding stonework was trapping his son in what was fast becoming a cold, dark underwater tomb. Panic began to flitter at the edges of his consciousness.
Teddy shined his light on Joshua. The boy was resting as he'd been told. He was a good boy. They were all good boys. What had he led them into? Teddy traced the line around the ceiling, careful to look for vents through the ceiling, scraping away sea-growth, muck and slime anywhere it looked like there might be an anomaly.
Nothing but smoothly flowing stone. Natural undulations, lips and indentations less than an eighth of an inch in every case—just exactly what made this stonework so amazing. Teddy was grasping at straws, scraping muck where he knew he would find nothing. Jesus, have mercy on me! Father, have mercy on my son!
Teddy checked his own dwindling air supply: 1400psi. He dropped to the floor and traced the joint between the wall and foundation. Nothing. Swimming to the back of the room, he began tracing the rear doorway that was exactly the same as the one they had come through in the front.
The existence of the door explained why the exterior had a sloping roof going out the back to the east, but the interior was a perfect square with a flat ceiling. There had to be a sloping tunnel behind the rear door. Teddy examined the door by shining his light carefully across the expanse of stone—a single massive flat stone probably weighing sixty tons or more.
Teddy's hope was a flickering candle in a dark room—just as it had been when Claire died. How ironic that it was his fascination with pre-history, megalithic structures and antediluvian societies that had brought him resurrected life. What would happen now?
Teddy took his thoughts captive and forced himself to examine the stone doorframe stone by stacked stone. In a sense, he was stalling. He knew it would be his last act before quietly sitting next to his son and waiting to die.
Teddy couldn't bear to look over at Joshua, but the boy's presence in his heart was looming. He moved his hands carefully over the first stone on the left doorpost at the floor. Nothing. Teddy began to imagine embracing Joshua on the other side. He moved up tracing over the next few stones swimming slowly toward the ceiling. Teddy would see his wife and the boy would see his mother again soon.
He passed the left uppermost corner and glided along the lintel—a single piece of hewn stone. Teddy knew they would all look down from heaven at Caleb, Jonah and Amos and wish their sadness away. He began to descend along the right side of the doorway, his hope in heaven increasing with each stone he passed.
Teddy almost missed it. In fact, he went right past it. His left hand was trailing along the face of the stones while his right hand held the flashlight. His mind and heart were already in heaven embracing his wife, his child and his Lord.
Rather than seeing it when it was under his hand, he remembered it when he was two or three stones below it: his left hand had fallen into a depression for just a moment as he descended. Teddy recalled the moment strangely, as if in a dream. He found himself afraid to swim back up to where he believed the impression to be—afraid it had only been his hopeful imagination.
Shaking himself alert, Teddy kicked and rose to the stone he'd passed. It was at least sixteen feet above the floor. He remembered Joshua's comment about the giant horses and a grim smile came unbidden. Shining his light at the spot, there it was: a worn indentation in the shape of an open fan about three times the size of Teddy's gloved hand.
It reminded him of the worn stone steps in European cathedrals—countless feet going to church every Sunday and stepping on the stone threshold. Eventually, the stone began to show the wear. Hoping beyond hope, Teddy pressed his right hand hard into the impression.
Nothing happened.
He pressed harder and harder, mashing his gloved hand into the stone, smearing it around, shoving his fingers against the ridges on every side. He manipulated his hand into a fist, backward, forward, he tried everything—he pushed so hard that the light reflected off the flecks of gold dust that were being transferred from his glove to the stone. Still nothing.
Teddy did it all again. With nothing left to try, he glanced at his air supply: 700psi. He'd used up a lot of air with the effort. Air that could keep his son alive for just a bit longer in the hopes that rescue was coming from the surface. Never mind that modern technology couldn't explain, much less penetrate or move these megalithic stones. The heart would continue to hope no matter the odds.
Teddy's shoulders sank in defeat. Swimming slowly back to where Joshua waited and prayed, he thought of all the things he wouldn't be able to say to his son. He grabbed the boy by both forearms and squeezed hard as their face masks collided gently—he stared into his oldest son's face and squeezed his eyes shut tight, hoping the boy knew he was trying to hug him.
Joshua squeezed his own eyes shut and reopened them. He understood.
Staring his son intently in the eyes, Teddy shrugged out of his dive tanks and let them slowly fall to the floor next to his son. He saw the panic register in Joshua's eyes as he gripped his forearms tightly one last time, took a deep breath and pulled his face mask off.
Teddy let go and pushed back toward the impression that had given him so much hope. He would fight for his son's life with his last remaining breath on this earth. He couldn't see clearly without his mask, he could feel his breath pressing against his chest.
He struggled not to exhale as he felt his way toward the stone. He knew his next inhale would be his last. Chest burning, he found the impression and mashed his gloved hand in it again and again, willing the door to open. My God, my God, have mercy upon me!
His gloved hand merely smeared more of the bright gold dust into the impression. The grains appeared as blurry starbursts in the beam of his flashlight without his mask. His vision began to dim at the edges as he forced his mouth to stay closed. His brain knew he needed air and it was going to take over control any minute.
Teddy thought of Claire—he thought of how he wished he had treated her all those years. He smiled because he knew he would treat her better in heaven. He had been taught all his life that in heaven there was no sin. He hadn't understood how precious that truth was until he'd lived a life of sin.
Teddy felt his son come up behind him, at least he thought he did, as he floated to the floor, weightless and delirious. He saw the boy shine his light on the impression that had given Teddy a sliver of hope until the end. Good, Teddy thought. Good! Joshua would figure it out and be saved!
Darkness closed in on Teddy.
Joshua looked carefully at the spot where his father had given his life to save his son. It was a fan shaped depression, large and at just the right height for a giant. A thin shimmer of gold dust covered the interior of the impression where his father had mashed his glove over and over in desperation.
Joshua reached out a pale hand, the thin fingers of a boy glowing white and frail in the torchlight as he felt more than saw his father's body bump to the floor below him. His palm anticipated the feel of cold stone. His hand fit like a toddler's in the depression. Joshua pushed. The stone seemed to glow blue-white under his hand for just a moment.
He couldn't be sure.
The door began to fall.