Steven Kent - 100 Fathoms Below

Tim watched in horror. If Abrams felt any pain, he didn’t show it. He didn’t scream. He didn’t thrash about. He just stood there, embracing the side of the reactor like a long-lost lover and burning, until finally the men brought the extinguishers and turned them on him. The flames died away, and Lieutenant Gordon Abrams’ body fell backward onto the deck, a charred husk like Matson’s.

Oran ran to the corpse and knelt down over it. “Oh, no, Lieutenant. Why?”

Jerry helped Oran back to his feet. “It’s what he wanted: to die while he was still himself, while he was still in control.”

“There should have been another way,” Oran said, buckling at the knees. Jerry supported him and led him away from the blackened corpse.

Captain Weber looked down at Gordon’s smoldering remains. Then he turned to Lieutenant Carr.

“Radiation,” he said softly, sadly. “You were right, Carr.”

Tim stared in horror at Abrams’ corpse. He wished it could have happened some other way, but at least they finally had the proof they needed.

“So how do we use radiation to kill the vampires without killing ourselves too?” Captain Weber asked.

“I’ve been thinking about that, sir,” Lieutenant Carr said. “As you yourself saw on your Geiger, sir, the radiation level here is within safety standards, and it’s very well contained by the reactor.”

“And yet Matson and Abrams went up in flames,” the captain said. “Why?”

“I don’t know, sir. We don’t know anything about what kind of changes were made to the crewmen’s biology when they became, erm, vampires. The best I could guess is that they have some kind of innate sensitivity to the radiation—something inside them that is affected in a way that we’re not. If I’m right, that’s why they haven’t entered the reactor room yet. Therefore, sir, I believe all we need is low-level radiation—enough to be dangerous to them but not to us. We can do that by taking it not from the reactor itself, but from the irradiated water that comes out of it.” He pointed to the massive pipe that led from the reactor to the steam generator. “We use seawater as a coolant, so the water in that outtake pipe still carries a dangerous level of radioactive neutrons until it’s recycled through a series of filters.” He pointed to the three massive holding tanks beside the reactor. “If we take some from the last tank, it’s still going to be radioactive, but it’s going to be low dosage, barely measurable. Here, watch.” He held a matchbook-size Geiger counter against the farthest tank. “See? It’s within safety limits, sir.”

“You’re sure it’ll be strong enough, Lieutenant?” Captain Weber asked.

“Aye, sir,” Carr said. “Judging from what happened to Matson and Abrams, even low levels of ambient radiation seem to affect the vampires much more strongly than us.”

Listening to their conversation, Tim Spicer could only shake his head in astonishment. Vampires. It sounded so silly, like something out of a children’s Halloween special on TV. It’s the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown, and Oh, Yeah, Vampires Are Real. Except that there was nothing funny or cute about the carnage he had seen in the control room, or the pitiful gasps for air he had heard from the doomed men in the torpedo tubes. He shook the terrible memories out of his head and glanced over his shoulder at Oran Guidry.

Oran hadn’t budged from his spot beside Lieutenant Abrams’ remains, which had been covered with the blanket Abrams had worn earlier. The two of them hadn’t served together very long, but they must have bonded during that short time. It was easy enough to imagine the camaraderie between Oran, LeMon, and Abrams flourishing in the small confines of the galley over the course of their shared watch sections. The thought of LeMon put a knot in Tim’s stomach. Oran hadn’t had any time to mourn his brother’s death before LeMon came back as one of those creatures. That had to be digging into him pretty deep. Perhaps that was why he had latched on to Abrams so tightly after rescuing him from the torpedo tube. Their bond had filled the hole left by LeMon.

“Lieutenant Carr, I need you to be sure this will fry the vampires,” the captain said.

“I can’t be sure, sir,” Carr replied. “Nothing like this was covered in the procedures manual, sir. But I think this is our best shot.”

Captain Weber blew out his breath, then nodded. “Very well, Lieutenant Carr. Let’s proceed.”

Carr nodded to one of his engineers, who placed a five-gallon plastic bucket under the tank’s valve and turned the handle. Tim half expected something green and luminous to come oozing out, but the irradiated water looked as if it could have come straight out of the tap. Carr waved his Geiger counter over the top of the bucket.

“One-point-eight roentgens, sir. That’s less radiation than your average X-ray at a dentist’s office. Harmless to you and me, sir.”

“But to the vampires?”

“Hopefully strong enough to burn them if it touches them, sir,” Carr said. “But there’s no way to test what effect it will have on a living vampire until we put your plan into action, sir.”

“Understood, Lieutenant,” Captain Weber said.

The plan was to send out someone who would use the coolant to clear a path from the reactor room to the control room—and maybe take out a few vampires along the way. Once the path was safe enough to proceed, the others, armed with wooden stakes, would escort the captain out of the reactor room and up to the control room. The only ones who would stay behind were the engineers, who made up about half the group and who would have to make sure the engines ran properly when Captain Weber regained control.

For the first time since this madness began, Tim was starting to feel truly optimistic. There was a chance this could work, and that was something to hold on to. In the back of his mind, he had to wonder what would happen if they did survive. Once they told their story, the navy brass would probably write them all off as delusional. But hell, even living in a mental hospital beat getting ripped apart by vampires.

When the time came for someone to volunteer to spread the coolant through the boat, Tim stepped up. Captain Weber turned him down flat.

“Request denied, Spicer,” the captain said. “I need you to hang back. There’s no telling how far we’ve sailed into Soviet territory by now. That we haven’t already been spotted and attacked is nothing short of a miracle, and getting out again without being seen is going to take finesse. When we retake the control room, I’m going to need men who know what they’re doing. That includes a sonar tech—and as far as I can tell you’re the only one left.” He turned to the rest of the men assembled in the reactor room. “Any other volunteers?”

The men shifted their weight, coughed, looked down at their shoes. They were scared to leave the safety of the reactor room. Tim understood why. He had seen firsthand what the vampires could do, but he couldn’t help feeling a sting of disappointment. These were trained, professional navy men. He expected better from them. And from the angry expression on Captain Weber’s face, he did too. But before the captain could say anything, Jerry White stepped forward.

“I’ll go, sir.”

“You should be resting, White,” Captain Weber said. “Those injuries need time to heal.”

“Sir, time is a luxury none of us have,” Jerry said. “Send me. I’ve been out there already, sir. I know what to expect. I can clear a path to the control room faster than anyone else. Besides, sir, I can’t just sit here while the bastards who did that to Lieutenant Abrams have control of the boat. If there’s anything I can do to help take them down, I want to do it, sir.”