Escape Africa (11)

 

11. The Bottom of the Vaal Dam:

There is something living at the bottom of the Vaal Dam,
I know what it might be. Something alive in the black murky depths near the
base of the dam wall, I may have seen it. Something waiting down there in the
depths of the Vaal where no one dares dive or boat or fish, I know something is
there because of what happened. The Vaal Marina moored a short distance from
the wall; it was the popular leisure point on the Vaal river system. It was
remote, sparsely developed and popular with the weekend tourists from the
Northern suburbs. They’d drive their expensive SUVs the hour out of suburbia
towing equally ridiculous motor boats to launch. The locals ran the bait, dive
and boat repair shops on the moor. I’m Dave, one of the local river rats. I
operate the dive tours for this crowd of drive through adrenaline junkies. I’m
the only idiot certified to dive the base of the wall as well as the only idiot
to volunteer as river search and rescue. Mostly I did apple bobs, fishing out
stranded rookie who panicked and dump their air tanks before ascension or some
drunken turd filing overboard and forgetting how to swim. Is paid for the
crappy little rust shanty I nailed together on a few square metres on the
water’s edge of paradise. Occasionally I’d dive recovery; a discard vehicle
quietly rusting in peace with the fishes or retrieval of the poor unfortunate
soul still cabled to the driver’s seat. Usually those claimed by the river were
taken by it, especially here at the dam but the floaters that surfaced were
pockmarked with teeth marks and missing a limb. ‘Mind if I join you for a beer?’

The worst pick up line ever. Here I was wasting another
perfectly good afternoon sitting my busted lawn chair with a cold six pack and
a head full of I don’t give a shit right now when she interrupted my sundowner
haze. Company is company and Dr P was easy on the eyes. Amanda Peterson was a
marine biological preserve something or other, the local disturber of the peace
and one hell of a diver. Not to mention easy on the eyes from all sides. ‘Where’s
the fire today Doc?’

I tossed her a cold beer, not caring to offer her a chair
as I only had the one. She wore her dive suit, which meant business with a side
of peace disturbance. ‘I need a partner, I’m diving the drop tomorrow,’ the
drop was the deepest part of the river bed on the furthest reach of the wall
believed to be littered with tunnels, bolt holes and under water caves
unsuccessfully chartered to date. The local fishermen called the drop dead
water and believed it was cursed. According the old Wally who ran the bait shop
a sewer gator lived there. I was diving the drop anyway to recover a floater
and cash was always good. ‘Sure, I’m fetching a floater first.’ I’ll be damned
if the old Wally wasn’t right. Three hours in the water recovered a chewed off
arm. ‘So where the hell is body? This one didn’t come with the current,’ It was
early Saturday morning, the boat our on the water was the SAPS crew. I
presented them with the arm, feeling the gaze of old Wally staring at us from
across the moor, the crazy sonofabitch was packing his boat for a morning session.
‘Here’s your floater, there’s nothing else down there. I’ll check the drop but
your arm there is still a missing person.’ I developed that sullen gut feeling
the old timer might be on to something as I pushed off from the boat to swim
down to meet the good doctor. I saw the missing chunks of flesh that were
ripped clear from the appendage, it was a bitter thought swirling around my
head, where is the rest of my floater?

Where indeed was the thought knowing at me as I
approached the faint dive lights. The Doc and I touch checked, gauged and
clocked. We weren’t the only ones.