How much more air does he have? Jay runs a hand down his side until he finds the hose leading to the instrument console. It’s pinched under his pelvis, and yanking it out is like tugging his own intestines. The console snags on stomachs: the wetsuit’s, the whale’s. The hard plastic plows a bruising trail up his chest and neck. It pops free, a bright surprise. The two dial faces are glow-in-the-dark limes. The compass says he’s headed north. Does a compass work inside a whale? The depth gauge says 100 feet, but same question. The pressure gauge, though, there’s no reason it shouldn’t be
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