Chapter 54: The Great Escape: II
Even though Dantès was stunned and could barely breathe, his survival instincts kicked in hard. He held his breath and gripped the knife he’d kept ready in his right hand. Working frantically, he slashed through the heavy sack that was meant to be his burial shroud, freeing first his arm, then his whole body.
But the cannonball tied to his legs was still dragging him down toward the ocean floor. Fighting against the crushing weight of water above him, he bent his body and made one desperate cut, severing the rope around his ankles just as his lungs were about to give out.
With a powerful kick, he rocketed toward the surface while the cannonball and empty sack plummeted into the darkness below.
The moment his head broke the surface, Dantès gasped for air, then immediately dove back under to avoid being spotted. When he surfaced again fifty yards away, his heart was pounding as he took in his surroundings.
Above him, storm clouds raced across the night sky, occasionally revealing a glimmer of starlight. The ocean stretched endlessly in every direction, its waves already growing violent as a storm approached. Behind him loomed the massive stone fortress, a black silhouette against the dark sky, its rocky peaks looking like giant claws reaching out to reclaim their escaped prisoner. On the highest tower, a torch illuminated two figures who seemed to be scanning the waters.
’They must have heard my cry,’ Dantès thought grimly. ’Those gravediggers know something went wrong.’
He dove again and stayed underwater as long as his trained lungs would allow. Back in his hometown, he’d been famous for his swimming ability, crowds would gather at the harbor just to watch him dive and hold his breath longer than anyone thought possible. Those skills were paying off now.
When he came up for air again, the torch had vanished.
Now came the real challenge: navigation in complete darkness.
He knew the local islands by heart. The closest ones, Ratonneau and Pomègue, were inhabited and therefore too dangerous. Same with Daume island. But Tiboulen and Lemaire were uninhabited rocks that could provide shelter. The problem? They were over three miles away, and he’d have to find them in the pitch-black ocean.
Then he spotted salvation: the lighthouse beam from Planier island, cutting through the darkness like a beacon of hope. He knew that if he kept that light on his right side and swam slightly left, he’d eventually reach Tiboulen.
As he began the grueling swim, his old cellmate’s words echoed in his mind. The elderly man had often scolded him: "Dantès, you can’t just lie around feeling sorry for yourself! If you ever try to escape, you’ll drown if your body isn’t strong enough. You need to stay in shape!"
’Thank you, old friend,’ Dantès thought as he tested his strength against the waves. ’Prison didn’t break me after all.’
But fear was his worst enemy now. Every splash behind him sounded like pursuit boats. Every time he crested a wave, he scanned the horizon frantically, imagining soldiers with rifles taking aim. Paranoia made him swim faster, but it was also exhausting him at a dangerous rate.
An hour passed. The fortress had disappeared into the night, but he could still feel its presence like a weight on his soul.
"Okay," he muttered to himself, treading water, "I’ve been swimming for over an hour. The headwind has slowed me down, but I should be close to Tiboulen by now... right?"
A chill ran down his spine. ’What if I’m swimming in the wrong direction?’
He tried to float and rest, but the waves were too violent. The ocean wouldn’t let him pause.
"Fine then," he gasped. "I’ll swim until I collapse or cramp up and drown. At least I’ll die free."
With grim determination, he pressed on.
Suddenly the sky seemed to grow even darker, and heavy clouds pressed down toward the water. Sharp pain shot through his knee, for a wild moment he thought he’d been shot. But when he reached down, his hand touched something solid.
Rock.
’I made it!’
The Island of Tiboulen rose before him like a frozen explosion of jagged stone. Dantès hauled himself onto the rocky shore and collapsed, pressing his cheek against the granite that felt softer than the finest silk after his ordeal. Despite the howling wind and driving rain that had begun to fall, exhaustion pulled him into deep, dreamless sleep.
Thunder woke him an hour later. The storm had arrived in full force, turning the night into a war zone of lightning, wind, and crashing waves. Each lightning flash lit up the churning clouds like a glimpse into hell itself.
At least he’d reached his first destination. Tiboulen was barren and offered little shelter, but once the storm passed, he planned to swim to the larger island of Lemaire, where he’d have better places to hide.
He found an overhanging rock that provided some protection from the worst of the weather, but the storm was so violent that the entire island seemed to shake beneath him. Waves crashed against his shelter, soaking him with icy spray. The lightning was so bright it made him dizzy, and for a moment he imagined the island breaking free from the ocean floor and carrying him off into the storm.
That’s when he realized he hadn’t eaten or drunk anything in over twenty-four hours. Cupping his hands, he gratefully collected rainwater from a hollow in the rock.
As he stood up, a massive lightning bolt split the sky, illuminating everything for miles. In that brief moment of clarity, he saw something that made his blood freeze: a fishing boat being tossed like a toy between Lemaire island and the distant cape, completely at the mercy of the storm.
Another flash revealed the boat’s desperate situation, four men clinging to the broken mast while a fifth held onto what remained of the rudder. Their torn sail flapped uselessly in the wind before the ropes finally snapped and it vanished into the darkness like a giant bat.
Dantès shouted a warning at the top of his lungs, but the wind swallowed his voice. The sailors had seen him though, he could hear their cries carried on the gale.
Then came the sound of splintering wood and terrified screams. When the next lightning flash came, all he could see were fragments of the destroyed boat and bodies floating in the churning water.
Then darkness swallowed everything again.
Dantès scrambled down the treacherous rocks, risking his own life to reach the water’s edge. He searched frantically, listening for any sign of survivors, but found nothing. The screams had stopped. Only the storm remained.