100 Fathoms Below

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

It was Jerry’s second foray out of the reactor room and into the pitch-black submarine, and he had to wonder whether he was pushing his luck. The first time, LeMon, Bodine, and Duncan—or rather, the vampires they had become—had let him pass without attacking. He couldn’t count on being so lucky this time, especially since he was carrying a bucket of radioactive holy water to kill them with. He knew now that it was the ambient radiation from the reactor room that had held them back before. It was as poisonous to them as sunlight. But he was leaving the protection of the reactor room behind, and despite what he’d said to Captain Weber, he wasn’t entirely sold on Lieutenant Carr’s theory about the irradiated water. He hoped to God Carr was correct, not just for his own sake but for the rest of the crew’s as well. They couldn’t stay in the reactor room forever with no food or water. This was their last, best hope of taking back the boat, and if Carr was wrong, Roanoke was doomed.

The reactor-room hatch led out directly into the mess. He stepped carefully down the short flight of stairs. The mess was the closest space to the reactor room, and the captain and those protecting him would have to pass through it to reach the main ladder up to the control room. Therefore, it was vital to the success of their plan that the mess be secured first, and any vampires hiding there eliminated.

In the light from the reactor room behind him, Jerry’s shadow stretched ten feet ahead. He glanced back at the men gathered in the open doorway, covering him with their Browning M1911 pistols. Bullets wouldn’t be enough to kill any vampire that attacked him, but they might slow it down until he got away.

Got away. That was wishful thinking. There wasn’t far to go on a submarine, and there were few places to hide.

At the bottom of the steps, he shined his lantern into the mess—and nearly jumped out of his skin. He had forgotten about the corpses of Ortega and Keene that were slumped at one of the tables. He hadn’t braced himself for the sight of them with their throats torn out, their glazed eyes staring back at him. He took a deep, shivering breath and walked into the mess. Up close, he could see the strips of muscle and skin hanging from the ragged wounds in their necks, the blood-slick meat glistening in the lantern light. Jerry kept moving.

At the service counter, he saw a spread of day-old sandwiches—the last meal Lieutenant Abrams had served. Beside the sandwiches were two bowls of yellowing mayonnaise. His stomach growled, reminding him he hadn’t eaten in at least six hours, but he was nowhere near desperate enough to eat anything here, now.

Setting his lantern on the counter, he grabbed an empty plastic soup bowl and dipped it into the bucket.

He whispered to himself, “This damn well better work.”

He splashed the coolant across the deck of the mess, hoping it would be enough to kill any vampire who stepped in the puddle. He took the rest of the small stack of soup bowls from the service counter and lowered them carefully into the bucket. Though Carr had assured him the water was safe, he still yanked his hand out quickly after releasing the bowls.

He decided he had better check the galley too. It was right next to the mess, and the perfect place for the vampires to hide before attacking. He picked up his lantern again, walked the few steps to the galley, and aimed the light inside. The bulkheads and deck were spattered with big plum-colored stains of dried blood. Men had been killed in here, but he didn’t see any bodies. The place looked as though it had been abandoned in the middle of meal prep. Various cooking utensils lay scattered across the deck, along with several overturned pots and pans. There was no sign of the crewmen whose blood was all over the galley. Either the vampires had already taken them down to the torpedo room for disposal, or…

Jerry swallowed, and backed nervously out of the galley.

Or the bodies had gotten up on their own.

He pulled a bowl from the bucket and splashed coolant water across the deck. At least it would keep the vampires away. He turned and nodded to the men in the reactor room doorway, who closed and secured the hatch, cutting off the light from inside. He was on his own. The plan gave him thirty minutes to create a path up to the control room and secure it. Normally, thirty minutes would seem excessive to go such a short distance, but he was glad for the extra time. So far, he had been lucky and hadn’t encountered any of the vampires, but he didn’t expect his luck to hold out indefinitely.

He heard the scuff of a shoe on the deck farther down the corridor. He froze and aimed the lantern in the direction of the sound, looking for movement. Just another dark corridor filled with countless hiding places. Shit. This was starting to look like a terrible idea. Running into a burning engine room had been a lot less scary.

As soon as he moved the lantern beam away, the sound came again. This time, two glowing eyes appeared in the open doorway to the officers’ wardroom. He swung the lantern around again, heart pounding. Ensign Penwarden stood in the doorway, his skin as sallow as old newspaper. The ensign hissed and shielded his eyes as the light hit his face.

“Fuck!” Jerry exclaimed. His hands were full. He couldn’t grab a bowl out of the bucket without putting down the lantern, but if he put down the lantern, Penwarden would attack. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

He had to act fast, while Penwarden was still at a disadvantage. He dropped the heavy-duty battle lantern onto the deck and, throwing caution to the wind, plunged his hand into the irradiated water to grab a bowl.

The instant the light was out of Penwarden’s face, he sprang. Jerry’s fingers closed around the curved underside of a bowl, but he didn’t have time to pull it out of the water before Penwarden crashed into him like a linebacker sacking a quarterback. The impact slammed him backward against the bulkhead, and the bowl and its contents went flying. The bowl clattered across the deck, the irradiated water it held splashing uselessly. The force of the impact knocked the air out of Jerry’s lungs, leaving him dazed and unable to breathe. Somehow, he had managed to hold on to the bucket without letting the water slosh out.

Being this close to the bucketful of radioactive coolant slowed Penwarden down, turning him noticeably sluggish and groggy, but it wasn’t enough to hurt him. If Jerry wanted Penwarden to burn, he was going to have to get the irradiated water on him. He reached blindly into the bucket, pulled out another bowl, and splashed Penwarden in the face.

The vampire released an ear-splitting howl of agony that echoed off the bulkheads. He clawed at his face as it began to blacken and burn. His skin pulled tight and melted away like wax. Little flames erupted all over his body. Then the screaming stopped with a horrible suddenness, and he collapsed onto the deck.

It worked! Jerry couldn’t help it; he laughed out loud as Penwarden burned in front of him. The goddamn coolant worked!

Something heavy landed on his back, knocking him to the deck, the bucket falling out of his hand. He was pinned under the weight of another man. Rough hands yanked at the collar of his uniform, tearing it away from the skin of his neck. He heard a sharp hissing in his ear, and the brief touch of the tip of a fang.

Bracing his hands against the deck, Jerry pushed with all the strength he could muster, rolling over so his attacker’s back was on the deck. He managed to turn his head enough to see Steve Bodine’s face. Bodine’s mouth opened wide as he shrieked in pain, fangs glistening in the lantern light. As he squirmed, his grip on Jerry loosened, and Jerry scrambled away from him. Smoke began to billow from Bodine’s arm, and then blue and yellow flames. Jerry understood then what had happened. He had rolled Bodine partially into the spilled coolant water.

Still howling, Bodine jumped to his feet and ran, quick as a flash. He was so fast, Jerry didn’t even see him move—only saw the hatch to the head slam open. He heard the heavy thud of a body falling to the deck inside, and the screaming stopped before the hatch swung closed again.

Jerry clambered back to his feet. He considered following Bodine into the head to make sure he was dead, then thought better of it. There wasn’t enough time. If the vampire wasn’t already dead, the flames on his body would likely spread and consume him soon enough. Jerry needed to clear a path to the control room ASAP.

He lifted the bucket, which, by some miracle, had landed upright. It was light, though. Much of the water had sloshed out onto the deck. He would have to be sparing with what was left.

Picking up the lantern, he returned to the main ladder. Above, the top level was in darkness. Below, the bottom level was too. He scooped out a small amount of coolant and poured it down the rungs to the bottom level. If any of the bloodsucking fiends down there tried to climb up, they would have a hot time of it.

Then, peering up into the empty blackness of the top level, where the control room waited, he gripped the lantern’s handle between his teeth and began to climb. His arms were sore from the injuries Matson had given him, and his shoulder ached from carrying the bucket of water. Hauling it one-handed up the ladder only made both worse. As he brought one knee up for the next rung, he banged it against the bucket. He heard the coolant slosh inside and felt a wet splash on one hand. He paused, cursing himself for his clumsiness, and held the bucket steady to avoid losing any more of the precious, lethal seawater.

At the top of the ladder, he put the bucket down on the deck and started to pull himself up. In the darkness outside the control room, two blazing amber eyes came rushing toward him. Jerry scrambled for the bucket on his other side, but the vampire was faster. He couldn’t see who it was in the dark—the lantern beam was pointing in the opposite direction. Hands grabbed his arm and tried to haul him up out of the hole.

If Jerry let the vampire pull him up, he was as good as dead. He locked his legs around the ladder and pulled back, trying to break the creature’s iron grip. He strained so hard, he bit into the lantern’s handle. His assailant was impossibly strong, and it felt as if his arm would be pulled out of the shoulder socket. He squirmed and twisted, and the material of his uniform tore in the vampire’s fingers. Jerry started to slip. The vampire grabbed him by the hand to try again, but this time the creature howled in pain as his hands began to spark and smoke, and he let go. The coolant Jerry had spilled on his hand—the vampire must have touched it. But before Jerry could grab a rung, gravity took over, and he fell back down through the hole. He landed on his side on the middle level, much too far away from the precious bucket of irradiated water still on the level above. His only other meager defense, the lantern, slipped out of his teeth and kept tumbling down to the bottom level, where it crashed to the deck and went out.

His arm flared with pain. The wounds from the fight with Matson had torn open again, and his elbow hurt like hell. Above him, he heard the vampire shrieking in pain as the irradiated seawater burned his hand. Jerry took some satisfaction in having hurt the son of a bitch, but it didn’t last long. Farther down the corridor, somewhere between the mess and Officer Country, he saw another pair of glowing eyes open in the darkness.

Shit. Without the coolant, he had nothing to defend himself with. Then he remembered: he had wet the rungs down to the bottom level with the stuff. He would be safer one more level down. He only hoped the irradiated water on the ladder rungs would be enough to kill the vampire or, at the very least, keep him back.

In a blink, the eyes crossed the corridor and stared down at him. He couldn’t see the vampire’s face, but he knew he had only a moment, if that, to get away.

With no time to waste, Jerry rolled and threw himself into the hole, letting himself drop straight down to the bottom level. He tried to control his landing, but the pitch darkness made it impossible. He hit the bottom-level deck with his face and left knee, both of which erupted in pain.

Through his agony, he heard footsteps coming toward him, slowly, leisurely, as if whoever was approaching had all the time in the world. It couldn’t be either of the creatures from the other levels—the footsteps were coming from the wrong direction, from the torpedo room.

Two glowing eyes looked at him out of the darkness.

“Well, well, well, look who finally fell through that mighty thin ice,” Lieutenant Duncan said.