Depth Perception Page 4

  “Tom,” Noah said. “Answer your dad before he thinks we’re stuck at the bottom of the lake, or something.”

  “Oh yeah,” I said as I grabbed the radio. “We’re good,” I told my dad. “Just sightseeing. Sorry.”

  “Copy that,” my father responded. “You two have fun.”

  I hung up the radio and gripped the wheel with both hands, pushing it forward to make us dive deeper. I glanced over at the onboard depth gauge; we were about two meters below the surface.

  “Is this awesome or what?” Noah asked.

  “Oh yeah,” I replied as I angled us closer to the shore.

  As we neared the steep rock face, I turned the wheel, bringing us about so that we were slowly cruising past the wall of rock. If it weren’t for the occasional fish swimming by, it would feel as though we were gliding past the side of a mountain.

  “Basker, dead ahead,” Noah announced.

  I glanced up and saw Tony and Maggie’s invention just above us. It was hard to miss the two pontoons floating parallel to the shore. I turned the wheel, guiding our sub away from the rock face and the Basker.

  “Where are you going?” Noah asked.

  “I’m coming around so our snorkel doesn’t snag on their machine.”

  “Good idea,” Noah said as he shifted behind me. “I’ll get ready to shoot some video.”

  I guided the sub a little deeper before coming at the Basker from the front. Since the Advance has positive buoyancy, hovering in one place would be an issue—our sub would just float to the surface. My plan was to slowly pull forward and then back up, always angling the propeller to push us down each time.

  “This is good,” Noah said as I brought us closer to the front of the Basker.

  As I shifted the throttle forward and then in reverse, I glanced up in time to see an old motor oil container float toward the invention’s partially submerged conveyor belt. As intended, the green plastic container was caught by the belt and pulled out of the water. Thanks to the holes in the perforated belt, it rode along before dropping into the collection bag in the rear.

  “Did you get that?” I asked Noah.

  “Oh yeah,” he replied. “That was perfect.”

  Although the machine was sucking up smaller bits of litter, the large bright-green container really illustrated how well the system worked.

  “I’m going to get some more footage,” Noah said. “Are you good keeping her steady?”

  “You bet.”

  I was surprised how easy it was to keep the Advance in one place. Of course, we had gone over several different ways we would theoretically pilot the sub, but neither Noah nor I knew for sure how she would operate until we put our theory into practice. And as long as neither of us got seasick from the slow rocking, hovering in place was a breeze.

  After another thirty seconds or so, I heard Noah shuffling behind me. “Tony’s going to love this video.”

  “Let’s take this thing a little deeper,” I said as I backed the sub away from the Basker.

  “Ooh, let’s check out the scuba divers,” Noah suggested. “I bet they won’t expect to see something like this.”

  “You got it.” With the aid of our dim red dome light, I checked the compass, then steered us toward the island.

  Once we were away from shore, it was as though we were floating inside a green Ping-Pong ball. Even though visibility in Lake Carlopa was better than most places, it wasn’t like underwater shots in the movies. We could only see clearly a few meters in every direction, and the deeper we went, the darker things became.

  “I’m hitting the lights,” Noah announced. With a flick of the switch, our Ping-Pong ball expanded another two meters. A couple of fish darted away as we continued our journey.

  I checked the depth gauge. “Four meters down,” I announced. “Any leaks?”

  There was a pause before Noah replied. “All dry back here.”

  I glanced around the cramped compartment. I didn’t see any leaks either. The deeper we went, the more pressure would build up on the exterior of our sub. We’d calculated for depths well below twenty meters, but it never hurt to check the seams, just to be sure.

  “Six meters,” I called as the lake bed came into view. Our lights illuminated a blanket of pale silt with the occasional boulder poking through. More fish darted around strands of waving vegetation.

  “This is way cooler than I expected,” Noah said. I heard the giddiness in his voice. He had to be grinning from ear to ear.

  As we glided over the eerie landscape, a vertical line came into view—a thin black rope had been tied to a weighted anchor and stretched to the surface.

  “Is that one of the diving buoys?” Noah asked.

  I craned my neck to see the rope end at a dark shape bobbing on the waves. “I think so.”

  “Aren’t we not supposed to go past them?”

  I shrugged. “I think they’re just to keep boats away so they don’t run over surfacing divers.” I turned the wheel, giving the line a wide berth. “I think we’re okay down here. They’ll definitely see us coming with our lights on.”

  Not long after we passed the rope, a wall of rock came into view.

  “Dude, what’s that?” Noah asked.

  “I think it’s the island.”

  “No, off to port,” Noah replied. “I mean starboard.” He grunted with frustration. “Whatever right is.”

  “That’s starboard,” I confirmed as I turned my head to see what he was talking about. I spotted what looked like a particularly large boulder resting on the lake bed. But that wasn’t quite right. The object was pale like the other rocks around it, but parts of it were dark. I aimed the sub toward the object to get a better look.

  As we cruised closer, more detail came into view. The object was rectangular and had writing across the top with two dark circles on the far side.

  “Cool,” I said. “That’s the armored truck.”

  The vehicle was on its side with its roof facing us. Even though the writing on its side was upside down, I could make out the faded lettering: BOLDERO SECURITY.

  “Can you get us closer?”

  I pushed the wheel forward. “Descending to seven meters.”

  The end of our snorkel was attached to a very thick float, and, according to our calculations, our sub’s motor wasn’t strong enough to drag the float underwater. That meant that no matter how deep we tried to dive, seven meters was as low as we could go.

  As we neared the truck, I felt our sub slow a bit. I checked the depth gauge, and, sure enough, we were almost seven meters deep. The float was working like a charm.

  The vehicle appeared to be a couple of meters below us, and, unfortunately, the closer we got, because of the angle, the harder it was to see the truck through my clear hatch on top. I ducked down to get a better look through the front dome.

  “I’m going to squeeze by you,” Noah said as he crawled by on my left. “I want to get some shots of this.”

  I moved to the right as he shimmied through. Thankfully, all the controls and gauges were on that side. Even though it was a snug fit, we’d planned this setup so that one of us could go forward and shoot video through the nose view port if need be.

  Once in position, Noah held up his phone and began recording. I worked the throttle and the wheel to slowly circle the truck while keeping the front of the sub aimed toward it. The maneuver was a little easier than when we were recording the Basker since the snorkel helped to keep us in position.

  Our lights washed over the front of the truck, shining through the cracked windshield and into the empty cab. The truck’s front end was crumpled as if it had been in a wreck. The undercarriage was covered in a thin layer of silt, and tiny fish darted around rusted components. One of the double doors at the back lay flat on the lake bed while the other remained shut over the opening.

  Even though I’d seen photos and videos of the sunken truck online, it was way creepier in person. The Advance’s lights only illuminated partway into the cargo area, and if this were a horror movie, this would be about the time a sea creature would burst from its dark hiding place.

  “You fellas still alive?” Noah and I jumped as my father’s voice squawked through the radio.

  “Man,” Noah said, shaking his head. “Not after that heart attack.”

  I caught my breath and fumbled for the radio. “We’re good,” I replied instead. “Just checking out the armored truck.”

  My dad laughed. “Bring me back a bag of cash.”

  Noah went back to filming. “I think any money down here would’ve disintegrated by now, don’t you?”

  “Oh yeah,” I agreed, remembering a video where divers opened a spare tank inside the truck to fill part of it with air, like a little underwater cave. “Plus, I’ve seen tons of pictures of divers exploring the truck. Someone would’ve found something by now.”

  Noah turned back to me with a devious grin. “Still, it’s the perfect place to launch the drone. Maybe get a better look at what’s inside there.”

  “You’re right.” As my hand instinctively went to the drone’s launch button, my eyes fell on the battery level display. “But maybe we should save that for next time. We’re down to fifty percent power.”

  “Aw man.” Noah put his phone away and rolled onto his back. “Since I’m already up here, how about I drive back?”

  “Sure,” I replied. “Just let me set the controls so we don’t bob up while no one’s at the helm.” I pushed the wheel forward and increased the throttle. The sub angled downward, pulling against the float.

  It was awkward, shifting positions, and I tried not to kick my best friend in the face, but I finally shimmied to the rear seat. Once I was in position, Noah made his way to the pilot’s seat, where he eased back on the
throttle and pulled back the wheel. He circled the wreck as he got a feel for the controls.

  “This is the best!” he said with a chuckle.

  Although I enjoyed piloting our sub, I had to admit it was fun being a passenger, too. It was nice to just sit back and enjoy the view. I dug out my phone and grabbed some shots of fish as they swam through one of our light beams. Even though my phone was encased in my own clear dry bag, the shots still looked pretty good.

  “Okay, I’m taking us back.” The sub pitched to one side as Noah turned the wheel.

  We cruised just above the lake bed for a while before Noah slowly angled us upward. We glided past the line holding one of the warning buoys.

  “Hey, we didn’t see any scuba divers,” I noted.

  Noah shrugged. “Maybe they’re diving on the other side of the island.”

  You would think they’d want to explore the sunken truck. I couldn’t remember if there were wrecks on the far side. Still, the anchored boat was big enough to support a large class of fledgling scuba divers. It was a little odd we hadn’t come across at least a couple.

  I quickly forgot about the boat and its divers when I noticed a large fish swimming beside us and held up my camera to capture some footage as it checked us out with one of its large eyes. I let out a long breath as I recorded the fish slowly moving on, swimming out of our sphere of light. My previous uneasiness and anxiety seemed to drift away with it. Our final sub test couldn’t have gone smoother, our calculations had been spot-on, and everything had worked out just as planned.

  Turns out, I had been all worked up over nothing.

  7 The Speculation Recitation

  “AND LAST, BUT NOT LEAST, I’d like to congratulate…” Mr. Jefferson read from the scrap of paper in his hand, angling it so light from the campfire could illuminate the writing. “Alicia Wilkes and her Sea Sponge. I’m told it did wonders soaking up gasoline over by the boat ramp. I hope to swipe your final calculations before this is all over. We might be on our way to creating a new way to clean up oil tanker spills.”

  I joined the other students and teachers in a hearty round of applause. That evening, everyone had gathered at the girls’ campsite (since it was the best organized, thanks to Amy) for dinner and a rundown of the day’s events. J. J. Jefferson had personally congratulated everyone on their inventions. I sat with Noah, Amy, and Sam atop one of the large logs that had been placed near the fire.

  Mr. Jefferson rubbed his stomach. “Oh, and thanks to Amy’s delicious cobbler, I may never be able to eat again.”

  Amy had turned out to be a camping genius. Not only had she helped everyone set up camp (in between working on her invention with Sam), but she’d made dessert in the two large Dutch ovens Sam had brought along. Amy had methodically turned the two coal-covered cast-iron pots until her blueberry cobblers were perfectly done. It was like she had been baking this way her entire life.

  As everyone clapped and looked over at us, Amy lowered her head, obviously embarrassed by all the attention.

  Sam gave her a nudge as she cheered along with everyone else. “You deserve it, Amy. You’re a natural camper.”

  She shrugged. “It’s no different than following a formula in chemistry class.”

  “Okay, I call Ames as my lab partner from now on,” Noah chimed in.

  “And now I’d like to turn things over to the cosponsor of this outing, Tom Swift Sr.” Mr. Jefferson stepped to the side as my father took his place amid a smattering of applause.

  “I agree with Jay that so far our first ecology outing has been a roaring success. And to everyone’s delight, not a single student was trapped at the bottom of the lake with their air supply running out.” Dad nodded toward Noah and me.

  Everyone laughed as they glanced in our direction. I chuckled along with them, while Noah stood and took a small bow.

  “Now, before we turn in for the night—” My dad paused, holding up his hand as a wave of grumbling rippled through the crowd. “Those of you who have been camping before will know that morning sunlight and cheerful birdsong make it almost impossible to sleep in, so we’d better hit the sack early.” A wide grin stretched across his face. “But what would a campout be without a creepy campfire ghost story first?”

  I sat up straighter on our log. I hadn’t expected this.

  My father reached into his pocket and dramatically pulled out… a flashlight. He switched it on and angled it so his face was illuminated from below. Everyone laughed as he scanned the crowd with a grim expression. He waited for everyone to fall silent. “I’m sure you’ve all seen Tom and Noah’s footage of the armored truck,” he began.

  Not only had Tony and Maggie been thrilled with the video we shot of their invention, but everyone else had also been intrigued by Noah’s shots of the sunken truck. He’d passed his phone around, replaying the footage so often, we’d had to borrow Sam’s solar panel charger to get more juice.

  My father raised an eyebrow. “Well, now I want to tell you about the true story of… the Boldero Bandit.”

  Noah and I glanced at each other. I had heard this story before, of course, but Dad’s title was a catchy new addition.

  “Many, many years ago there was a daring armored truck heist,” my dad explained. “The crooks led the police on a harrowing chase through the streets of Shopton. They evaded every roadblock as the police chased them out of town toward an old, abandoned rock quarry—a quarry that was soon scheduled to be flooded.”

  My dad paused, gazing around at his captivated audience. “No one knows why they did it, but it was near this very spot that the bandits drove the stolen truck off a cliff, soaring through the air, before crashing into the bottom of the quarry. Boom!”

  Everyone jumped, and a few people chuckled nervously.

  My father squinted. “By the time police and rescue crews made it down to the wreck, there was no one left alive. There was also… no money. When the first responders threw open the doors, the back of the truck was completely empty.”

  Murmurs rippled through the group.

  My father shrugged. “Some say there was never any money in the first place—that the bandits had somehow made a mistake and had stolen an empty truck. Others insist the last surviving Boldero bandit hid the loot somewhere in the quarry. Either way, the search for the stolen money was eventually called off, and the city flooded the quarry—armored truck and all—turning the pit into the beautiful lake we know today.”

  Dad pushed the flashlight closer to his face. Even with the light from the campfire, the flashlight cast creepy shadows around his eyes.

  “There are those who think the ghost of the last bandit haunts these shores to this very day.” He glanced around. “Some people say if you listen very closely in the dead of night, you can hear his ghostly cries.” He cocked his head, as if listening. The rest of us sat transfixed. The campsite was silent, except for the crackling of the campfire.

  “WHERE’S MY MONEY?!”

  Everyone jumped. A few students, including Amy, squeaked with surprise.

  The scared chatter turned to nervous laughter as Mr. Jefferson stepped out from the woods. I’d been so caught up in my dad’s story that I hadn’t seen the tech genius slip behind us, and, glancing at the faces gathered around the fire, I knew I wasn’t the only one.

  “I’m sorry,” Mr. Jefferson said with a laugh. “I couldn’t help it.”

  Mr. Edge joined my dad. “You got me with that one too,” he said as he patted his chest. “All right, everyone. Let’s break it up for the night. We made a big dent in the cleanup today, but there’s still plenty of litter waiting for us tomorrow.”

  Everyone got to their feet. Some kids folded their camp chairs and carried them off with them as the crowd slowly dispersed.

  “And don’t forget,” Sam said, pointing at Noah. “You promised to give me a ride in the sub tomorrow.”

  “You and everyone else,” I added. Thanks to Noah’s generosity, it looked as if we’d be spending the next day doing underwater taxi duty.

  “I told you everyone would want the Advance experience once they saw how cool it was,” Noah said. “Besides, whoever’s giving sub tours isn’t on trash detail.”