Andrew Stewart - We Shall Sing a Song into the Deep

This will be the bottommost aft compartment.

Where I’ll find Lazlo.

I waste no time.

Wheeling and swinging open the heavy hatch, a wave of reek assaults me.

Human effluence. Rancid fish oil and sick.

My eyes must adjust to the darkness. A few points of light here. Small grease wicks that seem to only accentuate the gloom.

I step in, and my eyes begin to adjust. Shapes move in that dimness. Figures begin stirring from the canvas hammocks that hang between the tall main seawater tanks. My feet are damp as I step deeper into the reeking, narrow, low, place.

The Forgotten.

Not boys but lean, starved young men who must have toiled back here, in these recesses, perhaps since even before I was fished out of the sea.

Shirtless. Ragged. Racks of ribs protruding like washboards. Gruesome and noisome, and hollow beings.

Faces I have forgotten completely until now. Names that were almost lost to me.

Edwin, with his brown eyes, his fringe of gunny-sack colored hair. Yes, of course I remember Edwin. A Demi sent aft years ago. Grown up now. But still alive. Perhaps too tall to work in the reactor chamber.

Chamberlain, with the missing pinky finger on his left hand. He had such a rich, warm voice. Before it broke.

And here is Francis, who could not remember his vocal assignments, no matter how many times we practiced them.

Jarod, with his fringe of red hair that always seemed to grow back within days of shearing.

Their names, their faces swimming back into memory.

Some I do not recognize at all. Some that have been brought aboard only to serve in engineering. Not even Forgotten. Not known.

They look at me as though I’m the ghost. As though I’m the one only half-living. Dark, lifeless eyes peering out at me from sunken sockets. I move deeper into the compartment.

“L-Lazlo,” I call out.

Some shrink back, as though they’ve never before heard a human voice.

And, finally, one small, skinny figure approaches. The others part, making a path for him. No, it can’t be Lazlo. This boy is too frail. Too short.

But, yes, it is. By the light, I see the gleam in his eye… the familiar face, though starved and warped almost beyond comprehension.

And he smiles.

Lazlo .

Such brightness. Such light doesn’t belong here, in this place. But it tells me that this ghost of a boy is, indeed, him.

My Lazlo.

I rush forward. Clutch him. Squeeze his body so tight, his bones press into me.

And he embraces me. Eventually. Carefully. Cautiously. And then fully, a grip so tight about my middle that my breath is almost taken from me.

I fight back the tears.

No time for that now.

“You received my message?” I ask, pulling away to look at him.

He nods, still bewildered. Still unbelieving. But he nods.

“Is it time?” Edwin asks, stepping forward. Yes, I remember his voice.

“It is! We’re going to get out…” I whisper. “All of us. We have to act fast.”

“I’ve prepared them,” Lazlo says, nodding behind him. “We’re ready to help.”

What at first seemed a weak rabble of figures now has transformed. Those who can, stand beside Lazlo in resolution. Stand tall.

There’s also a flurry of activity. Several of them have stepped into action, one moving a large canister, pulling out a concealed bundle. Another, moving aside bedding, searching.

“We’ve gathered a bit of food,” Lazlo says.

“And a few tools—they might do for weapons,” Francis says, taking out a hammer, a piece of lead pipe, and a thin, rusted strip of steel.

I almost want to cry. “You’ve all done… so well… okay—”

“Shhh!” someone says. “He’s coming.”

I look back to the hatchway, still hanging open.

“What’s this…” Brother Dormer begins as he barges in, but halts. He sees the tools—the weapons—hanging in hands.

Sees me.

Before I can speak, before I can even move, one of the Forgotten has sprung on top of him, clawing. Another, striking out with his fists. Brother Dormer, caught off his guard, is knocked to the deck in a stupor, fending off the attack best he can with his arms out in front of him.

Others join.

Chamberlain and Jarod. And then Edwin, with what must be a sack of bolts in hand. He raises the bludgeon, ready to swing, but I clutch his arm before he can bring it down.

“ No! ” I say.

They are all looking at me. Fury and hatred. Pain, all pouring from their eyes.

“He isn’t… he isn’t bad,” I say.

“They’ve starved us,” Edwin says, voice raw. Cheeks wet. “They’ve beaten us…”

“We might need help from them in the end. Anyway, they’re trapped too.”

Brother Dormer stares up at me, a dumb, shocked expression.

“Trapped in a different sort of way,” I continue. “That’s why we’re going to save as many of the brothers as we can. Is that clear?”

No one answers for a time. I worry that I’ve lost them—that they’ll push me out.

“What’s next?” Edwin finally asks, easing the tension.

“We have to shut down the engine and force the boat to surface,” I say. “Shut down the hydraulics. The power. Can we do that?”

It’s Lazlo who answers. “Yes.”

Others in the circle nod in agreement.

“We need to seal off engineering completely.”

“And then what? What are we waiting for?” Lazlo asks.

“A rescue.”

“A rescue? From who?” Edwin asks.

“Topsiders…” I say.

Perhaps a few concerned or shocked expressions, but I receive no resistance. They all nod. They’re ready.

It doesn’t matter who it is rescuing them. Anything must be better than this.

“You’ll need to take the maneuvering shack,” I say. “Brother Leighton should be on duty.”

“We can handle him,” Edwin says.

“Before he can alert the bridge,” I say. “Don’t kill him.”

They all nod in response. Lazlo.

“Okay. I’ll be back.”

“Wait—” Lazlo says, latching on to my arm like a vise. “Don’t go. Not without me.”

“There’s a prisoner. Someone who has been helping me… helping us. She’s important. I have to free her… .”

“Then you’ll need at least two. I’ll go with you,” Edwin says.

“And me,” Chamberlain agrees.

“No,” I say. “It’ll have to be me alone. Anyone else walking through will be too conspicuous.”

A deep thong resounds throughout the boat. Hammer against hull.

Now is the hour for private prayer and reflection.

Now is the time to act.

“I have to go now,” I say to all of them. “The chapel will be clear. Keep the hatch sealed until I return. I’ll knock three times.”

I ready myself, turn away, but Lazlo is still gripping my hand. Tears in his eyes.

I embrace him again. Deeply. He is weak. So weak, in fact, that it is me who is helping to brace him. “They have treatments Topside,” I say. “They’ll be able to help you.”

His frail body quakes.

“I’ll return,” I say. “Soon.”

I glance down at Brother Dormer as I go, now lying bound on the deck. Not struggling. Not fighting. He tracks me with his eyes as I pass. As though I am some alien creature.

I pause at the hatchway to the chapel, peer inside.

Empty—just as I had hoped. The evening meal is soon to be served.

There, on the port side of the long chamber, on the other side of the missile tubes, a line of what were once former offices but are now used as cells. The third one is where Adolphine is being kept.

“It’s me,” I whisper through the vents at the top of the metal door, then unlatch it slowly.

With a grease wick in hand, I swing the door open, find a figure dressed in rags, huddled in the corner of the small compartment.