CHAPTER 3Greg sniffed the aroma of salt spray as he swung the hatch open and yanked his hat down when a puff of wind caught it. He had no idea why he bothered to stick it on, habit he guessed for it wasn't hot outside nor was there any direct sunlight. It actually looked dull and felt cooler than inside the submarine. He stepped up onto the deck that still had water running off it. The Canadian girl, dressed in jeans and knitted pullover stood on a rocky outcrop. She had long blonde hair and her face was tanned. The expression of relief on her face and tears running down her cheeks made him gulp back his own emotions.
"Yeah, well gid'day there," he shouted across the gap of ten or so metres "Greg Freymore's my name. You must be Shontel Kemp, the lass who's been nagging us for a ride over
