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Tides of Las Cinco Muertes ch. 1
By Micropachy-rex
*July 2, 1994*
The thunderous roar of the two engines droned through the cramped hull of the seaplane. Inside amongst the big folded raft, and the diving and camera equipment sat six individuals, all of them peering through the small portholes at the disappearing California coastline. It was a big seaplane designed to haul large amounts of cargo or passengers, it was white with a red stripe on the side. The plane lifted off and turned south toward its' destination.
The silence was unnerving so Michael Henderson tried to strike up some conversation. Mike was twenty-two, he had blonde hair, a decent build, and he was tall, about 6,5. He leaned over to the guy next to him who was fiddling with an oxygen tank, "Hey, how's it going!"
The man glanced over at Mike, "Okay I guess," he said, and he went back to examining the tanks. They both were wearing saggy pants and t-shirts, Mike had on a black Hurley shirt and the guy next to him wore a red shirt with a shark outlined in white that said Monterey Bay.
"Well I'm Mike, who are you," Mike asked.
"The name's Steve, Steve Johnston," he held out his left hand, Mike looked down and noticed that Steve was missing most of his right hand. "So what do you do," asked Steve.
"I'm a photographer, I'm just here to snap pictures of the islands. Do you know anything about the islands? I've never heard about Las Cinco Muertes, I mean the five deaths, sounds pretty spooky don't it," asked Mike. He shifted position, the bare metel floor was hard, and he was starting to bruise.
"I've never heard of it, they probably just call it that to keep the tourists out. Anyway I scuba dive, Lara and I will be taking photographs under water," Steve also shifted position.
"So what happpened to your hand...shark," asked Mike
Steve looked down at his hand,"no it was a Moray Eel, that little bastard got my hand when I was swimming in the corral about two years ago at Monterey Bay."
"Well that sucks, rotten bad luck if you ask me, but your lucky it wasn't a shark, it probably would've took your whole arm! Wouldn't you freeze in Monterey, that water is pretty cold!"
"No, with seven millimeters of wet suit on you, you can actually sweat out there! About the sharks you'd be lucky to see those things out there, even if you did see them they wouldn't be a problem. If you leave them alone, they pretty much leave you alone, most of the people you hear about being attacked were screwing around with the sharks, and you don't want to do that. What's the name of the magazine that's doing this anyway," irritated with the hard bouncing of the plane, Steve threw his backpack under him and sat on that.
"Pacific Islander? They write all sorts of crap about island getaways in the pacific, it's a pretty big magazine."
"Hmm..." Steve said as he started drifting off with Lara cuddled up next to him. Steve was about six feet tall, in his late thirties, had light brown hair, and was in great shape. Lara Shaw was Stevens' sweetheart, and an attractive gal. She had flowing blonde hair, light green eyes, perfect complexion, and was twenty-five. She was wearing tight blue jeans, and an identical shirt to Steve's.
A women approached Mike; She had brown hair and looked like she belonged on the cover of Playboy Magazine. "Hey good looking," she sat down next to him. Mike already knew her; he had been sent on previous expeditions with her, she didn't serve any purpose except being eye candy for the cameras. Her full name was Betty Beverly Smith, but the guys around camp would call her Betty Big Boobs, or just Boobs due to her enormous breast size. The guys always got a kick out of her.
"Hey Booberly how you doin'" Mark grinned at her.
"Shut up you stud you," Beverly sat down beside him.
The door to the cockpit swung open and out popped the copilot, a short wormy little man with black hair and sunglasses. "Yo Dick, you're needed up front," yelled the copilot. A fat man in his forties stood up, he was the journalist and had on a business suit. He made his way up front, and the door closed behing him.
"Dick, I'm recieving radio transmissions that this is a restricted area and they're telling us to turn around, what the hell am I supposed to do," asked the pilot
"We have our instructions, just ignore the signals, if we get into trouble then it will just be the companies fault, so keep going," said Dick.
Dick Anderson sat back down next to William Biggs; Biggs was another photographer and he hadn't said a word throughout the whole flight, Dick figured that he was a bit of a loner. He was sleeping now, but Dick didn't even bother meeting him, he was too busy scribbling away into his note pad.
Ther door swung open and the copilot stepped back out. "We are approaching Isla Mataceros; We'll be there in just a few minutes," he scurried back into the cockpit.
The plane touched down seven minutes later the landing was considerably rougher than a normal landing considering they were landing on choppy seawater. The passengers got up and stiffly moved around, and peered through the portholes. It was only 6:47 am, and the morning light beamed in the the foggy little windows. The island was very green and had jagged volcanic walls that had many large caves embedde in them, the whole thing looked similar to Hawaii.
The large cargo door in the back of the plane opened up revealing the dark blue of the pacific. Dick came back out from the cockpit, "Load up everyone I want you out of here by eight!"
(To be Continued)
7/31/2003 2:52:39 AM
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