Nick Cutter - The Deep

“Clay, what if he purposefully brought it into contact with himself? Not an accident or a goof-up,” said Luke. “What if he smeared it on himself or swallowed it or some other goddamn thing? What if he let himself be assimilated , as you put it.”

Luke suddenly and dearly wanted to tell his brother about the dream he’d had. He wanted to spill his guts about the giant millipede that, for a span of pulseless seconds, he’d been absolutely sure was stalking him down that darkened storage tunnel. He wanted to let Clayton know that these depths exerted a breed of pressure that lay entirely apart from the eight hundred fluid tons of water that pressed down on every square inch of the Trieste right this moment…

…but he had a terrible feeling Clayton knew all that already—he’d know it deep under his skin by now.

“Why don’t we leave?” Luke asked again. “A little sunlight on your face. You remember the sun, don’t you? Hey. Just a few days. Then you come right back down.”

And maybe—if we’re lucky—this whole place will cave in on itself in your absence. Would that be so bad?

Clayton shook his head, lips pursed in a playful tsk .

“It must be hard on you. It must really sting , Lucas. Acting as their errand boy.”

Luke frowned. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Think about why you’re even here , brother dear. They flew you halfway around the world and jettisoned you to the bottom of the sea. Could you be any more a pawn? Did they tell you how to frame it—did they coach you? You never were a good liar. You’re too earnest. Dr. Felz and the others—and I’m sure there were others—what did they promise you in return for retrieving me?”

Luke’s jaw hung open in disbelief.

“Holy fuck, what could they possibly offer? A new car? An all-expenses-paid trip to Cabo? I came because I wanted to. No, Jesus—I came because I had to. There was no choice. Everything’s gone to hell. I came for Abby and for—for—”

“Oh please!” Clayton said. “You don’t think I know ? Felz, that incompetent nitwit, would like nothing more than to take over. Why do you think I stopped attending those shrink’s sessions? He was orchestrating it! Trying to get them to declare me insane so that he could have me deposed. Do I look crazy to you, Lucas? A mad scientist from a late-night creature feature? Do I really ?”

Luke noted the itchy squint to his brother’s eyes, and the fatigued bags under them. His skin seemed too tight—it was as if a big metal key, same as on a wind-up toy soldier, was screwed into the back of his neck, twisting and twisting, pulling the flesh of his face to a sickening tautness.

Insane? Luke thought. Maybe not yet, but I’d say you’re within spitting distance.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Clayton said. “You go on and toddle up to the surface and tell Felz that. But don’t think that I blame you, Luke. Understand this: I pity you. This is far too immense for you to comprehend. Go now. Go. Let Alice take you, and don’t argue with me. We’re done here.”

“I don’t give a shit about Felz,” Luke said, a flash point of anger exploding in his chest. “I came here… Christ, Clay, you want the truth? I didn’t come here for you. You? You’re just a shitty, careless person whose last name I happen to share.”

Did Clayton’s expression change just a bit? A wounded wince?

“I’m here for what you might accomplish . For the people it could benefit. But now that I see all this… I’m not so sure. Hell, maybe you’ll figure out how to harness this stuff. But right now I’m getting a seriously fucked-up vibe here, okay? That’s all I was suggesting. We head topside and recalibrate. Then, if you want to come back down, I say fuck it. Fill your boots, asshole.”

Clayton smiled thinly. “You’re a better liar than you used to be. I’ll give you that.”

The men considered each other, neither talking. The guinea pig scratched at the cooler.

Luke thought: Westlake’s computer.

“Westlake said there was a hole in the station. In his lab.”

Clayton’s voice was laced with disdain. “Westlake said this? What a shock. Now, he did go crazy—nutty as squirrel turds, as our darling mother would have said.”

After listening to Westlake’s files, Luke wasn’t about to argue that the man hadn’t gone insane. But, having spent only a little time aboard the Trieste , Luke wasn’t about to blame him either. Luke told his brother about the sound files. The tests. Westlake and the hole.

“About these files, Lucas,” said Clayton, his scorn undisguised. “Tell me, did you hear anything besides Westlake’s voice?”

“There were… knocks.”

“Knocks. Uh- huh .”

Luke bit back a jeering rejoinder. Hadn’t he dismissed Westlake’s claims himself, just hours ago? Mocked them as Clayton was mocking them now?

“Why don’t we give them a listen? You tell me what you hear.”

Luke was convinced Clayton would dismiss the offer out of hand; instead, he surprised Luke by nodding curtly and saying: “Fine, show me.”

THE MAIN LABwas unoccupied.

“Al?” Luke called out. “Hey, Al !”

Silence from the tunnels leading into the lab. How long had he been in Clay’s lab? Less than a half hour? Luke now felt treacherous for leaving Alice out here all alone, but he wouldn’t have gained entry into Clayton’s lab any other way.

His ears caught the buzz emanating from behind Westlake’s door. The sound crested and ebbed, the sonic equivalent of waves crashing on a beach.

“You’re sure that hatch isn’t going to open?” Luke asked.

Clayton shook his head. “Password protected. Our labs are meant to be bastions of privacy. If we wanted to share research, we did so out here.”

Luke turned from Westlake’s lab; it continued to exert an uncomfortable pull on his thoughts—insistent fingers tickling his forehead, seeking entrance.

He faced the viewing window. The sea was endless and hungering. It stirred a childlike fear in Luke: the dread of getting lost in the dark only to find yourself prey to whatever creatures made a home of that inhospitable element.

“Turn the lights on, will you?” Luke said.

Clayton switched on the spots. Twenty yards of sea floor was washed in a skeletal pall.

Something moved at the edge of the light… or had it flinched? Skittishly fled? No, it hadn’t really done that, had it? When you prod a snail with a stick, it will retreat inside its shell. Things react that way when they’re scared.

But the things occupying the mammoth sea beyond the window weren’t startled; Luke was sure of that much. If they were there at all, if they weren’t just fabrications of his overheated brain, then they had merely withdrawn—the shadowy fluttering of black scarves wavering through the water—because for the moment, they preferred to remain hidden.

“It’s not dangerous,” he heard Clayton say. “Not if you respect it.”

Luke turned to find Clay’s cold mineral eyes trapping his own.

LUKE LED CLAYTONto Westlake’s chambers. He opened the laptop on the cot. The screen was black. He pushed a few letter keys. It remained stolidly black.

Did the battery die? It still had plenty of juice when he’d shut it down last.

Stupid goddamn thing. He pressed the start button with increasing irritation. The computer screen remained obstinately black.

“I’m telling you, Clay. This was working a few hours ago.”