THE TOMB OF SECRETS
Rick and Mark, the two bravest divers on the team, volunteered to enter.
The air inside the fuselage smelled of salt, rot, and ancient, trapped oxygen.
Their flashlights cut through the gloom, revealing rows of decayed seats coated in silt.
“ML,” Mark whispered, picking up a gold pendant tangled in a headrest.
They reached the cockpit. The door was sealed tight, but they forced it open with a screech of twisting metal.
Inside, they didn’t find bodies. They found a plastic bag, perfectly preserved.
Inside the bag was a handheld recorder. The “Play” button was already depressed.
Rick hit the button. A burst of static filled the cabin, followed by a calm, steady voice.
“This is Captain Vance. It is May 2, 1971. We are not going to die today.”