Steven Kent - 100 Fathoms Below

“ Vampires? ” the captain said. “You seriously expect me to believe that?”

“No, sir,” Jerry said. “That’s why we dragged Senior Chief Matson’s body all the way up from the torpedo room. I knew you wouldn’t believe it unless you saw for yourself, sir. I know I wouldn’t have.”

They knelt over the body. Matson’s ruined eye socket looked even worse in the bright light of the reactor room.

“What happened to his face?” Captain Weber asked.

“I shot him with the M1911, sir,” Jerry explained. “Right in the eye at point-blank range, sir, and it didn’t even slow him down. He came right back at me. Would have bitten me too, if—”

“ Bitten you?” the captain interrupted.

“Aye, sir. He would have bitten me if Seaman Apprentice Guidry hadn’t stabbed him, sir. With that.” He nodded at the broken mop handle skewering Matson’s chest.

“A wooden stake,” Captain Weber said. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“I wish I were, sir,” Jerry said.

The captain turned Matson’s head to the side and winced at the bite marks on the neck. “Are those…?”

“Aye, sir, but that’s not all,” Jerry said. “Look at this, sir.”

Steeling himself with a deep breath, Jerry pushed Matson’s rubbery lips apart to reveal the elongated, strangely sharp canine teeth.

Captain Weber’s eyes went wide. “Holy Mother of God!”

In the bright light of the reactor room, Jerry could see the teeth more clearly. They were curved like a viper’s fangs, smooth across the front but sharp as carving knives. The enamel had an iridescent sheen that looked very different from human teeth. Captain Weber stared in silence. Jerry could see him trying to think it through, trying to come up with a reasonable scientific explanation for it all, and almost felt sorry for him. It was one thing to face a mutiny. They were rare, but they were recorded in the historical archives. No one doubted that they had occurred. But vampires ? They were the stuff of horror movies and novels and campfire tales. Until now, even Jerry would have scoffed at the idea that vampires were real. Whatever mental gymnastics were happening inside Captain Weber’s head at that moment were no doubt much the same as those Jerry had gone through not so long ago—a path that had led from denial to anger and, finally, to acceptance.

The captain shook his head, obviously still in the first stage. “I don’t believe this. I do not fucking believe this.” The astonishment in his eyes gave way to fury. “On my submarine. On my goddamn submarine!”

The room tilted and spun suddenly. Jerry couldn’t stay upright and fell forward onto the deck. He heard Tim cry out, “Jerry!” Someone else said, “Jesus Christ, look at his back!” And then he passed out.

When he opened his eyes again, nothing had changed. He felt as if he had been out for hours, but it may have been only a few seconds.

“Don’t try to get up,” someone said.

Jerry hadn’t realized he was trying. He looked up and saw Tim crouched over him.

“You’re… The whole back of your uniform—it’s covered in blood, Jerry.”

“I’m okay,” he said. “Help me get up.”

“Slowly,” the captain cautioned. “I need to see how bad it is, White.”

When Tim had him sitting upright again, Jerry unzipped his coveralls to the waist. He pulled his arms out of the sleeves, wincing in pain as he peeled the sticky, wet fabric from his skin. Then he turned around to let Captain Weber and Tim see the damage.

“Dear God,” Tim murmured. “Those bruises look awful. And those cuts… Jesus…”

“Senior Chief Matson did this to you?” the captain asked.

“Yes, sir, when he grabbed me by the arms,” Jerry said. “He was unnaturally strong. He wasn’t human anymore.”

A shocked murmur ran through the crowd of sailors. If any of them hadn’t believed Jerry’s story about vampires before, they were starting to come around now.

“Someone get me some disinfectant!” Captain Weber ordered.

An engineer scurried off, and a minute later, he was dabbing Betadine-soaked cotton balls on Jerry’s wounds. At first, Jerry winced with each touch, but soon the pain passed. The engineer put bandages on his wounds, and Tim brought him a fresh uniform.

“You should rest now,” Captain Weber told him after Jerry had changed coveralls. “You’ve lost a lot of blood.”

“There’s no time, sir,” Jerry said. “We have to take back the boat.”

The captain shook his head. “You won’t be any help if you’re in danger of passing out again. Now go rest, White. That’s an order.”

Jerry didn’t argue. “Aye-aye, sir.”

He found Lieutenant Abrams and Oran sitting against the bulkhead. Abrams had a blanket around his shoulders, and a white, square adhesive bandage stuck to the side of his neck. He had been treated, but it didn’t seem to be helping. He looked even worse. His skin was pale, and he was soaked with sweat. He blinked rapidly and turned his head to the side, away from the bright lights above.

“How are you holding up?” Jerry asked.

“I feel like I’m on fire,” Abrams said, squinting at him. “The light hurts my eyes. I know what’s happening to me, White. Please, remember what I asked you to do.”

“It won’t come to that, suh,” Oran said. “I promise you.”

But Jerry knew better. Oran was trying to comfort Abrams, but down in the torpedo room, he had made his true feelings known. No one would survive this.

Tim approached and squatted down in front of Abrams. “What happened?”

“We found him locked inside one of the torpedo tubes,” Jerry said. “We were lucky Matson hadn’t drowned him yet.”

“He should have drowned me,” Abrams said. “That would have been better.”

Tim turned to Jerry. “What’s he talking about?”

“This!” Abrams exclaimed. He tore off the adhesive bandage on his neck to show Tim the bite marks.

“Suh, don’t do that,” Oran said, but Abrams ignored him.

“Matson bit you, sir?” Tim asked, taken aback.

“One of them did,” Abrams said. “I didn’t see who. Matson, Bodine, LeMon, Jefferson, Duncan, Penwarden—what does it matter? I’m going to be like them soon, I know it. I’ve got the fever; the light feels like it’s stabbing into my eyes. I can… I can hear them in my head, calling my name. How much longer will I be me?”

“Now, Lieutenant, you got to stop talking like that,” Oran said.

“Sir, you should listen to Guidry,” Tim said, putting a supportive hand on Abrams’ shoulder. “You’re lucky to be alive. We’re going to do everything we can to keep you that way.”

Abrams looked up at him with dark, sunken eyes. “And when I lose control and tear into your neck with my teeth, Spicer, will you still think so?”

Tim looked at Jerry. “Can I talk to you for a second?”

“Sure,” Jerry said. He got up, and they stepped a few paces away from the others. “I don’t know what we can do for Lieutenant Abrams. If there’s a cure, Matson never had the chance to find it.”

“That’s not what I wanted to talk about,” Tim said. “I wanted to apologize. Again. I was stupid. I should have been straight with you from the start about the captain asking me to keep an eye on you.”

“Forget it,” Jerry said. “Water under the bridge. If I’d been in your shoes, I probably would’ve done the same thing. There are more important things to worry about.”

“So we’re good?” Tim asked.

“Depends,” Jerry said.

“On what?”

“On whether we get out of here alive.”

“Something tells me the odds aren’t in our favor.” Tim looked past Jerry’s shoulder into the main part of the reactor room. “What the hell are they doing?”