walls of the chasm. He had suddenly become an orphan and Stan wondered about that. There would be no more Christmas dinners, no more 4th of July holidays, no more family obligations. Gone were the days of living in Butch’s shadow, of trying so hard to please his parents. The competition was over. Stan had won; should he survive, he would become the wealthiest orphan on the block.
Deeper and deeper, Stan descended down the rabbit hole. The further he dropped, the less Stan believed he would survive. This was insanity, he knew that now. Whatever had happened to Lake Superior, it had been crazy to think he could somehow rescue it and get it back where it belonged. He and Jada were going to die. So was Smith, but soldiers died all the time and he would be ready to meet his death, at least Stan thought he would be. That was how they always made it sound in history books and on the television news.
Half an hour passed, which were easily the longest thirty minutes of his life. Stan watched the minutes slowly tick by on his wristwatch and felt his sanity slipping away. The next half hour was worse than the first. Stan, who knew he was on the verge of losing it, began to sob. The fall was bad enough, but seeing everything in shades of green was maddening. Part of Stan wanted to tear himself free of his emergency chute and end his life. The fear of the unknown was clawing at the back of his brain. From time to time, Stan would stare down at his feet and into the seemingly bottomless pit. It took all of his strength to keep himself from screaming. The last thing they needed was another screaming Goobash.
At first, Stan wasn’t sure what he was seeing. Deep down in the chasm, there was a tiny speck of white light. Stan watched it as it slowly grew to a spot the size of a shirt button. He reached up and pulled off his night-vision goggles. He then stared down and saw that his eyes hadn’t been playing tricks on him. There was a light at the end of the tunnel.
Stan screamed in triumph. Whatever was at the bottom, he was looking forward to it. This carnival-like jump had silenced his fears. All Stan wanted to do was get off the ride. It was time to meet the carnies. The white light now looked as big as a baseball. Soon, it was the size of a basketball and it continued to grow.
When the circle of light was the size of Kmart swimming pool, Stan slowly realized that he was staring into another world. He strained his eyes and gradually, he began to make out some familiar shapes. Unbelievably, the shapes were ships and despite falling for countless miles, the ships looked to be shipshape. Lake Superior was below him, Stan was sure of it. The water looked as angry as ever and the ships crashed against the pounding waves.
Stan thought of his dingy and shook his head. He knew if he were to survive that he would have to land on one of the ships. He could only hope that Smith and Jada realized the same thing. Stan counted more than thirty ships, but more appeared the closer he got to the bottom. By the time he burst through into the gray sky, he could see hundreds of ships. A blast of wind threatened to crumple his chute and Stan fought it as he aimed for a mud-brown and white freighter. How long had they been down here? Stan could only guess. He could see old schooners with tall masts, sails billowing in the wind. Another blast of wind threatened to steer him into the cold water, but Stan leaned against it and brought his chute under control. He landed on the steel hull with a thump.
Quickly, he tore himself free of the chute and he watched helplessly as it was swept off the deck. A spray of mist hit him in the face. He looked up to see the other chutes, but only one was heading his way. The other appeared to be headed for one of the old sailing ships. He watched in terror as that chute got hung up at the top of a mast.
A moment later, Captain Smith touched down next to him. “Jolly good!” he exclaimed, unclipping himself from his chute. “My grandkids are never going to believe this. Where’s your girlfriend?”
Stan pointed to the old ship and shook his head. “She landed up there,” he groaned.
The wooden schooner was roughly two hundred yards from them, but they could see men climbing up the mast to save Jada. “Bloody hell,” Smith said. “I hope she’s all right,” he added, ominously. “Where the Dickens are we?”
Stan shrugged his shoulders and tore his eyes off of Jada. He looked up at the pilot house and his eyes threatened to bug out of his head. “Oh my God,” he gasped, “look!”
Printed in big black letters on the back of the pilothouse was: Edmund Fitzgerald.
Smith nodded, seemingly unsurprised by the name of the phantom ship. “I’m guessing there are twenty-nine men on this ship. Let’s go find one.”
“I don’t think so,” said Stan. “I don’t like it here. I want to go back.”
Smith shook his head and pointed up at the gray sky. The hole, if that was what it had really been, seemed to be the sun in this strange new world. “Good luck with that,” he chuckled. “I wouldn’t hold my breath if I were you.”
Stan stole another look at Jada and he was somewhat comforted to see her being helped down from her precarious position. He stared out at the odd flotilla out on the rolling waves. There seemed to be thousands of ships of all shapes and sizes. Stan pointed to the ship nearest the Fitzgerald, a stodgy freighter named the Thomas Wilson.
Captain Smith smiled and put his hands on his hips. “That’s a whaleback,” he said. “The Wilson was built in eighteen ninety-two and sank ten years later after being t-boned by the Hadley. Nine men died on that ship.”
“What’s it doing down here?”
“That’s what we’re going to find out.”
Stan shook his head. “I don’t think I want to know,” he said. “How do you know so much about this stuff?”
“I read books, Stan. You ought to try it sometime. You might learn something.”
“You’re funny. Thanks.”
The Captain slapped Stan on the back and smiled. “Sorry, I didn’t mean anything by it. Come on; let’s go find someone to talk to. I wonder if these blokes even know they’re dead.”
“Maybe we shouldn’t bring that up.”
Captain Smith nodded his head. He then walked to the edge of ship and stared down into the water. Stan followed and Smith turned to face him. “I didn’t think I’d see them,” he said.
“Who are you talking about?”
“Those poor bastards who fell in after we jumped, you’re damn lucky to be alive. Didn’t you hear them?”
Stan narrowed his eyes. “Those were my parents,” he hissed.
Captain Smith stared at Stan for a long moment. “No kidding?” he asked in his well-to-do British accent. “I’m terribly sorry, old chap. I had no idea…”
Stan was about to reply when fifty feet away, the steel door to the pilothouse swung open and two men emerged. They wore blue jeans, black knit caps and navy pea coats. Stan gasped. The faces of both men were as blue as the summer sky. With their hands stuffed into their pockets they shuffled towards them, their feet scraping across the steel deck. One man was tall and thin and the shorter man looked to be powerfully built. They casually joined them at the rail, the taller man taking hold of the railing and staring out at the other ships and the shorter man turning and putting his back to the railing.
“Nobody rides for free,” said the taller man.
“Sorry,” said the shorter man, “Captain’s orders. Just like the rest of us, you’ll have to work to earn your keep.”
“Of course,” said Smith, agreeably. “I just have one question: where are we headed?”
The two blue-faced sailors looked at each other and both began to laugh. The shorter man shook his head. “Whitefish Bay, where did you think we were headed?”
“That’s what I thought,” said Smith. “I was just checking.”
“Not to worry,” said the taller man. “Captain McSorley says we’re only about seventeen miles out.” He then looked as his counterpart and both men began to howl with laughter.
Stan and Smith exchanged worried glances. Stan was desperately regretting his foolish decision to jump into the chasm. Both of the sailors looked to be roughly the same age as he was. Beside
s their blue skin, both men looked perfectly healthy, robust even, and Stan wondered about that.
The tall man stuck out his hand to him. “My name’s Bob,” he said, taking Stan’s hand and shaking it. His skin was as cold as ice. Bob’s eyes grew large and he stared at Stan in amazement. “You’re warm,” he stammered, turning to his friend. “John, shake this guy’s hand. You’re not going to believe it.”
The short man gave Stan a wary look and he stuck his hand out. He jerked it away a scant second after Stan grasped it. “Holy smokes,” he said. “You’re not dead, are you?” he asked.
Both Stan and Smith shook their heads. The taller man scratched his chin. “But how did you get here?” he asked. “We’re all dead down here.”
“Not us,” said Smith. “Lake Superior is gone. It drained earlier this afternoon,” Smith said, pointing up to the barely visible orange orb in the gray sky. “We found a giant hole in the lakebed and Stan and I parachuted into it.”
“Jada too,” Stan said, nodding his head. “She landed on that sailing ship,” he said, pointing over to the ship that Jada had been hung up on.”
“Wait… wait,” said John as he studied Stan’s face. “The biggest lake on the planet just disappears and the two of you decide to jump into the hole, after it? You don’t expect me to believe that, do you?”
“We did, you don’t have to believe it,” said Smith,