Anthony DeCosmo - Fusion

“…the eyes-they’re in my head-I want to go home- please let me go…”

The voice on the other end of the line changed from human words into gurgles and gasps-and sobs. Then silence.

Captain Farway stared at the intercom for a long moment, his mouth agape and his hands shivering.

It was JB who broke his trance. Tears ran along the young boys cheek as he warned, “Captain. It will be coming up here soon.”

Farway blinked fast and then commanded, “XO, seal aft compartment.”

The Executive Officer ordered over the intercom, “All hands, intruder alert, crackerjack,” came the code word for boarders in engineering. “Seal aft compartment, all decks.”

Farway turned to the Chief of the Boat and told him, “Chief, open up the weapons lockers and allocate side arms. Form up a security detail.”

The sturdy Marine-like jaw of the Chief hesitated in the slightest; a very human hesitation.

He gulped, “Aye.”

It occurred to Trevor that the crew of the Newport News had seen very little of the horrors of the post-Armageddon war. Certainly they fought their share of sea battles but their duties on the world’s oceans never brought them face to face with Crawling Tube Worms or Jaw-Wolves.

Whatever penetrated the hull in engineering came from one of the darker nightmares of the post Armageddon world. Yet whatever had come aboard, Trevor felt powerless. He was merely a passenger and knew nothing of submarines or how to combat a threat onboard. The feeling of being trapped threatened to overwhelm him. He longed for the tactical options and maneuverability of open land, or high mountains, or even a desolate city.

The XO spoke over the intercom, “Seal all water tight doors. Prepare to repel boarders.”

Trevor watched the Chief of the Boat open a locker on the far side of the control room. From it he pulled several automatic pistols with holsters as well as a pair of Benelli Super 90 shotguns.

Sailors shut the water tight bulkheads to the control room, sealing the bridge crew inside.

“Captain,” the Executive Officer communicated, “All aft compartment hatches closed. Crewmen report hearing activity in the engine room of an unknown source or type.”

“Keep those doors closed,” Farway ordered. “Maybe we can contain whatever it is in the engine room.”

The XO said, “We’ve still got full power and helm control, sir. Whatever is going on, it doesn’t seem interested in our systems.”

Captain Farway let his crew work and stepped close to Trevor.

“Whatever this is, I’m guessing it’s not just random that it found us.”

“No,” Trevor agreed. “I’d say our friend Voggoth knows we’re onboard.”

“Sir…,” Farway backed off whatever thought had occurred to him.

“Go ahead, Captain.”

“It’s just that, Trevor, if whatever is down there is one of The Order’s pets-and after what I heard your son did to them on that island last year-I mean, is it possible that he could…”

Trevor, sweat oozing along his cheeks, finished Farway’s idea, “Is it possible my son could do that again? Not a bad thought. One problem though. If I’m right, then Voggoth sent something to kill me and my son. He would not send something that JB could influence. He either found it or grew it specifically for this mission.”

Farway asked, “If they were able to find us, why not just blow up the sub? Not that I’m not grateful, you understand.”

“That’s not The Order’s style, Captain. They don’t like it neat and clean. They like messes,” Trevor’s thoughts drifted off to Leviathans and Bore-Bugs and Torture Spiders. “To Voggoth-to him the whole point is suffering. Captain, I’m guessing that we might all be wishing that it had been a big explosion that did us in. I’ve got the feeling that would be a lot more pleasant than whatever it is that broke in to your engine room.”

“Sir!” the Executive Officer interrupted. “Mess reports something breaking out from the aft compartment. The water tight hatch on deck four is failing!”

“Sir,” the Chief competed for Farway’s attention. He held one of the shotguns. “I’ve put together a security detail.”

Trevor asked, “Is that the heaviest weapons you’ve got onboard?”

The Chief handed a pistol in a holster to Captain Farway as he answered, “Aye.”

Farway buckled the side arm to his hip and added, “Fire fights aren’t our specialty, unless we’re using torpedoes. Chief, seal all compartments behind you. And Chief, good luck.”

The Chief of the Boat swallowed hard, nodded, and replied, “Thanks, sir.”

He then opened one of the bulkheads outside of which waited a group of a half dozen sailors with pistols and shot guns. The men moved off after shutting the water-tight door.

Farway closed his eyes and ran a shaky hand across his forehead, no doubt facing the real possibility that this would be his last command. If the water tight hatches could not keep the invader sealed, then that left their fate in the hands of small arms and Trevor did not like those odds.

Captain Farway said, “Whatever it is you’re up to, it’s got Voggoth pretty scared.”

“What’s that? Oh. I think he’d love to see the end of me and JB here no matter what.”

“Probably true, Trevor. But his focus has been fighting us in Colorado and the west so far and from what we can tell your boy here and Jon Brewer took out his only outpost in the Atlantic last year.”

“You were a big part of that, Captain.”

“The point is, he’s gone through a lot of trouble to track you down way out here when he should be happy that you’ve skedaddled just as things were coming to a head on land, right?”

“And?”

“So you’ve got him frightened, that’s what. Whatever it is you’re thinking about doing, he’s made it a priority to stop you. What I’m saying is you’re on to something. Maybe something more important than you realize.”

“A shot in the dark, Captain. If this were football, I’d call it a Hail Mary pass.”

“As a former Navy wide receiver, I appreciate the analogy,” Captain Farway answered. “But I think we got to make sure you get to where you want to go. Especially now. With this thing on my boat I’m starting to see how important your little side trip must be.”

A series of sounds-muffled pop-pop-pops and a pair of louder blasts-seeped through the metal between decks.

On the other side of the control room, the Executive Officer tried to get someone to report: “Mess Hall-anyone on Deck Four-report in. Security detail, what is your status?”

More pops. Another blast. They felt more like vibrations than outright sounds.

The Captain ordered, “XO, take us up. Surface. I repeat, surface.”

The planesman answered from his station at the dive controls, “Surface, aye.”

JB shook his head and in a frustrated voice warned, “It will follow us. Even if we swim away it will come.”

Trevor felt a flutter in his stomach as the submarine rose in the water.

Farway knelt and told the nine year old, “Not if it thinks you’re still onboard. Not if it thinks it succeeded in killing you.”

“Captain, what are you doing?”

“I’m getting you off my boat, Trevor,” Farway explained and then turned to his Executive Officer: “Paul, as soon as we get on the surface break out the RIBs.”

“Captain?”

“You’re taking Trevor and his son here the rest of the way. But haul ass. There are a lot of bulkheads for this thing to get through before it reaches us, but that doesn’t mean we’ve got all day.”

A loud splash marked their arrival on the surface of the Atlantic Ocean. The entire boat bobbed and wobbled. The sound of breakers cutting across the bow created a soft whoosh.