This is one of those moments where I know what I am going to do, realize how stupid it really is and also hate myself for being so damn excited about it, all at once. As per usual, Ray is skeptical with that trademark 'silent but pointed' cock of his eyebrow, but he doesn't stop me. Instead, he tightens his safety harness like I had just warned our passengers to do and leans back in his co-pilot's chair.

"Ready for your instructions, sir," he says.

Hitting one of these gelatinous invertebrates should be inconsequential. Even a dozen of them would hardly register against the metal hull of the ferry. But swimming straight into a middle of a massive swarm could be disastrous.

"Descend to fifteen feet, Stingray," I command.

"Fifteen?" he repeats with obvious confusion.

I'm not surprised. We're barely one hundred feet above the sea floor right now. It's not that Ray has never taken a craft so low, but Skippers are more agile. They're designed for easy maneuverability and for turning in tight spots. Unlike the single seat Skipper that's not much bigger than a large car, however, we're in a slow, wide, and cumbersome ferry. We're also transporting dozens of passengers whose lives depend on the choices we make. And that's why—in spite of giving an order that appears ludicrous—Ray is going to have to trust me.

"That's right. Fifteen feet. Is that a problem, Lieutenant?" I ask, glancing at him.

Ray purses his lips and shakes his head. "No, sir. Descending to fifteen feet now."

The jellies are everywhere. Above, below, port, and starboard. The only way to avoid them would have been by reversing the thrusters and retreating, but even that is now impossible without risking the turbines. We're surrounded, but that was my plan.

Embedding ourselves into the swarm will hopefully buy enough time to shake the trailing Skippers. Merman and his three colleagues won't risk following. It's against protocol. They'll find a way around, instead. And because a bloom like this can extend for miles, if I'm right then we'll reach our destination before them.

"Warning. Depth level dangerous at seventy-five feet," the on-board navigation announces in a robotic cadence just as we hit a dense patch of sea nettles. Thud. The ferry wobbles a bit, but we're good.

Unfazed, Ray continues to slowly descend. Bang. We tilt eight degrees to the right, triggering a brief alarm, but my co-pilot quickly pulls her back to a level position. Whack. The ground falls out as the craft suddenly drops and shrieks from the passenger area ring out.

"Warning. Depth level critical at fifty feet," the computer says as we stabilize.

My heart is pounding, and I concentrate on remaining calm. Too many people depend on us right now for me to lose it.

"I'm going to release some ballast," I say to Ray, already adjusting the controls to partially empty secondary storage of seawater. It'll make the ferry lighter, and in theory, easier to control. Hopefully it will also prevent another sudden drop from occurring. This close to the seabed, one more such move would definitely slam the ship against the ground.

"Good call." Ray nods without taking his eyes away from the window. It really wouldn't have made a difference, though. The jellyfish bloom is now so thick there's nothing to see, but the beautiful, floating blobs. We're literally operating blind.

Releasing excess water worked, and according to all the instruments, we're steady at thirty feet. "Continue controlled descent—"

A strained, grinding sound cuts me off. At the same time, the ferry begins to shake. No, not just shake. More like convulse, jerk or spasm like a drowning man struggling for that last breath of air he knows will never come.

"The port engine is stalled, sir," Ray says while madly pressing buttons and flipping switches to get it started again. It's a no-go. The ferry tilts once more and while still shaking, starts on a counterclockwise spin downward. Returning both hands to the yoke, Ray struggles to pull it toward him.

"Warning. Depth level hazardous at twenty feet," the computer answers as a red light blinks within the cockpit.

"Shut up! We know!" I yell at the machine while also grabbing hold of the steering module in front of me with one hand before flipping a switch with the other. "Dual-control activated," I say, panting for breath.

My arm muscles are straining, but with two pilots now pulling on the yoke, we manage to stop the rapid descent in just a few seconds. But having only one working engine while still in a slow, flat spin will make it impossible to completely steady the craft.

"Cut the engine, Stingray," I command.

"Sir?" he asks, knowing full well that without propulsion, we're going to crash land right on the seabed that's still fifteen feet below us.

"Just do it and get ready to reboot on my mark," I say.

He sighs. "Cutting the engine in three seconds. Three . . . two . . . engine down," he says.

For a moment, everything goes still. The hull stops shaking. There is no sound. Not a hum or a small vibration. Even the jellies have thinned out as we've moved under the critical mass of the swarm. The multi-ton submarine now just floats from the prior momentum.

But it's only for a split second.

When gravity and the other natural laws of physics finally take over, the ferry's nose tips ever so slightly down. The weight behind the craft then pushes the whole thing straight toward the bottom of the ocean.

The navigation system doesn't even have a chance to count down the decreasing depth levels for the remaining few feet, but the red lights keep on blinking and it's effing annoying. Sweat drips into my eyes, blurring the view as I press a button to release the rest of our ballast. As the seawater is expelled through vents in the bottom of the craft, the pressure cushions our descent. Even so, the metal hull would hit the seabed hard.

It would hit it hard, if I didn't issue my next command.

"Starboard engine on NOW!" I yell at Ray as the readout on the screen in front of me shows us just two feet from the ground.

The engine roars back to life, and I simultaneously pull up on the yoke. There's a dip in my stomach from the sudden change in elevation as we stop going down and instead suddenly ascend. The feeling is fleeting as I level our depth just as swiftly.

"Warning. Depth level catastrophic at five feet," the navigation system says, but I just laugh.

"Naw. We're good," I say before turning to Ray and holding my hand out my clenched fish.

With a smile, he gives it a bump. "You are an absolute maniac, man," he says with a deep exhale, shaking his head.

"And that's why you love me," I reply with a wink.

"What the hell was all that?" Nelly asks from the jump seat behind us. I had almost forgotten she was even here.

"Good piloting, that's what," I say as I look over my shoulder. "You're welcome, by the way."

"You're welcome?" she asks sarcastically, scrunching her face together in disdain. She's still cute as hell, though. "You nearly killed us. And for what?"

"To get an advantage over the guys who were following us, that's what," I snap, turning back around. Good grief. I just saved her ass. How ungrateful can she be?

"You think we can now outrun them to shore?" she asks with a bit more restraint.

"I mean we're not running—"

"You know what I mean!" she interrupts.

Still staring straight ahead, I smile both at how easy it is to get under her skin and at the clear path we now have. The jellyfish are completely above us and we're gliding unobstructed just feet above the seabed.

"Yes, I do think we've gained enough time by going under the obstacle instead of around it to reach land before the Skippers," I say with complete sincerity this time.

"And where exactly are you planning to dock? It's not like you can park this thing anywhere," she says.

The on-board intercom goes off before I can answer. "Dunstan to the bridge. We've got a lot of puking back here, Will," my mechanic says in a clearly exasperated tone through the transmitter.

I push a button to reply. "Roger that. Relay my apologies to our passengers. It should be clear sailing from here on out. Over," I say before turning back to Nelly. "Docking. Right. Well, I was hoping you could help in that regard. Any suggestions?"

She smirks. "What would you do without me?"

I'm not quick enough to think of a smart-ass reply before she continues.

"But actually, I do have an idea. Pull up a chart or a map, will ya'?" she asks, leaving her seat and coming closer.

I open a digital projection of the coastline in a screen on the dashboard. A red dot flashes indicating our current position.

"Where's O-town on this?" she asks, peering over my shoulder.

I tap a few strokes into the keyboard and another locator icon appears along the coast. It's about five nautical miles northwest of us. "There," I say, nodding.

"Cool," she says, pointing at another spot on the map. "Then we need to get right about here. It's eighteen miles south of our base."

I'm a good navigator, but I need coordinates, landmarks, or some other detail other than vague distance to find a new place. "Can you be a bit more specific?" I ask, trying not to roll my eyes too hard.

"You can't miss it, Will. It used to be a huge harbor. Just look for Port Canaveral in your database or whatever runs this thing," she says.

I enter the name and the system quickly returns the exact latitude and longitude. At our current speed, we should reach it within a half hour.

"All set," I say once our new course is set into the auto-navigator. "These nettles should provide us enough cover to get there before—"

"Hey, Will," Ray butts in. "You may want to check the radar."

I look at the instrument and blink in confusion. The display shows a craft identical to ours about a mile and a half back. And it's quickly approaching.

"No way," I whisper.

"What is it?" Nelly asks, still hovering directly behind me.

I wave her off. "Sit down and buckle in."

She retreats in confusion. "Will, what's—"

"It's the other ferry!" I yell at her, immediately regretting my outburst while both Ray and I automatically adjust settings and flip switches. We need to put distance between us and our new pursuer, but so close to the sea floor, we can't be rash in our actions.

"Wilhelm, stand down and that's an order," Lamer's voice crackles through the comms system.

Ray and I look at each other. Of course it's the commander behind us. No one else would dare take the last remaining way off Vanguard to chase us.

"He's gone mad," Ray says out loud what I was just thinking.

I take a few deep breaths. "It's okay," I say, as much to calm myself as to reassure the others. "We'll continue to punch our speed, dock at the port, and get everyone off safely before Lamer catches up. What can he do once we're there?"

Ray nods. "Roger that," he says and he almost sounds like he believes it.

"Uhm, guys," Nelly pipes up again. "There's just one more thing I need to tell you."

My brief burst of confidence shatters at her uncertain tone. Squeezing my eyes shut, I wait for it. "Yeah?" I ask.

"You're going to have to be extra careful going into port," she says cryptically.

I look up. The view outside the cockpit window is as serene as any I could imagine. The floodlights illuminate the path ahead a good twenty-five feet as a fine mist of sand swirls within the water, clouding the immediate area.

"Why's that?" I hesitantly ask.

She clears her throat. "Uhm, are you familiar with naval mines?"