100 Fathoms Below

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

“I couldn’t save him,” Oran said. “I pulled him out of the torpedo tube, but I still couldn’t save him.”

Sitting on the deck beside him, Tim nodded in sympathy. Oran was still in a wounded daze after Lieutenant Abrams’ death. He didn’t say much, but he didn’t have to. Bonds formed quickly on a submarine. It made Tim think of Jerry again, for the hundredth time since he left the reactor room. He was out there all alone, making a path to the control room. Tim only hoped that a bucket of irradiated seawater was enough to keep his friend safe.

The atmosphere in the reactor room had been tense and silent since Jerry left. A few of the men sat on the deck and, on the captain’s orders, were whittling the tapered ends of the wooden rods to points. No one spoke for long stretches of time, and when they did, it was to ask how long it had been since Jerry left the reactor room.

“LeMon, then the lieutenant. Who’s next?” Oran asked, as if Tim somehow knew the answer. “Why would God take them like that? Does he really hate me so bad? Does he hate all of us?”

“I don’t know,” Tim said. He wasn’t even sure there was a God, but if there were, he wouldn’t have anything to do with the vampires.

“I shoulda gone to confession more,” Oran said. “I always knew that, but there were things I didn’t want the priest to know. Things I did with girls, or smokin’ Mary Jane sometimes. Stupid stuff. But I skipped confession too often, and look where it got me.”

“I don’t think God would kill LeMon and the lieutenant and everyone else on Roanoke just to punish you for missing confession,” Tim said.

He had meant it to be comforting, but Oran only glared at him, as if he’d said the wrong thing.

“Sorry,” Tim said. “Your brother seemed like a good guy. I think if I’d gotten to know him, I would have liked him.”

Oran nodded. “He was a couillon for sho’, but he was my brother. I lost count of how many scrapes I pulled him out of over the years. But it turns out I couldn’t save him, either.”

“You tried,” Tim said. “You tried your best to save them both.”

“Except my best weren’t good enough,” Oran said. He lifted his chin. “If I’d been thinkin’ straight, I woulda been the one to take the coolant out there, not White. I owe it to LeMon and Lieutenant Abrams to make the rougarou pay. I hope I still get my chance. I’ll make them wish they never came to Roanoke, if it’s the last thing I do. I owe ’em that.”

“It’s been half an hour,” Captain Weber announced. “It’s time.”

Tim and Oran got to their feet.

“Sir, are you sure Jerry has had enough time?” Tim asked.

“Either Lieutenant Carr’s idea worked, Spicer, or White is dead,” the captain replied. “Either way, we’ll find out soon enough, because we can’t wait any longer. Gather up your stakes, gentlemen. We’re heading for the control room. Let’s show these bastards who Roanoke really belongs to.”

Oran was the first to reach the pile of sharpened wooden stakes, pulling one out for himself. The other men were slower to grab theirs. They were still scared and unsure about getting close enough to the vampires to stake them. Tim took a stake and hefted it, getting a feel for its weight and balance. It was roughly a foot and a half long and an inch and a half thick. He touched the point with his fingertip. It had been whittled sharp enough to pierce flesh if he put enough weight behind it. If it came down to it, though, would he be able to thrust it through the chest of someone he had worked with, bunked with? What about someone who had been an officer? He told himself yes, he could do it, but the thought frightened and sickened him. There was a world of difference between knowing you had to kill someone to save yourself and actually doing it. If the time came, he prayed he wouldn’t hesitate, because that could mean his death.

There were only ten stakes, which meant only ten men could accompany the captain outside, while the other seventeen stayed behind in the reactor room. Ten men didn’t sound like much against vampires who had already wiped out most of the crew, but it would have to be enough to get them up the main ladder to the top level, via the path Jerry had theoretically cleared for them with the radioactive water. Tim didn’t relish the idea of returning to the control room. He had seen the terrible carnage up there and didn’t want to see it again. But there was no other way to take back Roanoke.

They left the reactor room, moving at a snail’s pace into the mess. At the front of the group, Tim held his stake ready and kept an eye out for Jerry. The lantern beams swept over the two mauled bodies of Keene and Ortega slumped at one of the tables. He heard the captain whisper the dead sailors’ names sadly, apologetically. Tim knew how seriously Captain Weber took his responsibility for what happened on his boat. The massacre of his crew had to be taking a heavy toll on him.

Then the lantern beams fell on something else: a shape sprawled on the deck a little farther down the corridor. A few men gasped in surprise. It was a corpse, as charred as Matson’s and Abrams’ in the reactor room. Its features were burnt beyond recognition, but its elongated upper canine teeth glistened in the light. Its hair had burned away, leaving a black and blistered scalp.

The captain paused. “Someone needs to make sure it’s dead.”

“I got it, suh.” Oran went to the body, holding his stake ready just in case. When it didn’t move, he turned down the back of the corpse’s collar to reveal the name tag.

“It’s Ensign Penwarden, suh,” Oran said.

Captain Weber nodded. “It looks like the coolant worked after all.”

Tim felt the smile grow on his face. Son of a bitch, it actually worked! That meant Jerry, wherever he was, just might be safe. With that bucket of irradiated water at his side, he had to be, didn’t he?

A howl came from the head, high-pitched and blood-curdling. All eyes cut toward the hatch. The howl came again, long and loud and anguished. It didn’t sound human.

“What the hell is that?” the captain asked. “Guidry, check it out.”

Oran approached the hatch to the head, holding his stake like a dagger. Tim didn’t like it. There was something in there, and sending Oran in alone seemed a bad idea.

“Sir, permission to assist Guidry?” Tim asked the captain.

“Okay, Spicer, but be careful. Remember, I need you in that sonar shack,” Captain Weber said. “The rest of you, come up with me to the control room.”

While the captain and the others began to climb the main ladder to the top level, Tim moved to Oran’s side.

“You ready?” he asked, lifting his stake.

Oran nodded and gritted his teeth. “More than ready, ami.”

They opened the hatch and stepped cautiously into the head. In the light of their lanterns, they saw Steve Bodine—or what was left of him—lying on the deck. Half his body was burned to charcoal just like Penwarden, but the other half was still intact.

He was alive but unable to do anything more than swipe at them with his one good arm. Bodine spat and hissed like a cornered cat, baring his fangs. Tim surprised himself by not hesitating. He put down his lantern, knelt over Bodine, and lifted his stake with both hands over the vampire’s chest.

Oran put down his lantern and grabbed Tim’s wrist with his free hand. “No.”

“It has to be done, Oran.”

“I know. Let me. Penwarden bit LeMon and turned him into one of these things, but I didn’t get to kill the connard for it. I can’t properly avenge my brother until I kill one. You understand?”

Tim nodded. “Okay. Just make it quick.” He stood up, and Oran knelt down in his place, stake in hand.

For a moment, Tim saw Steve Bodine not as he was now, but as he used to be, the likable kid from Oklahoma City who had an accent that could charm most any city girl, and who kept his hair stubble-short to hide the fact that he was going prematurely bald. The skilled helmsman; the driven, determined sailor that Lieutenant Commander Jefferson had taken under his wing to guide and mentor. But that wasn’t who was lying on the deck in front of him. This creature had Steve Bodine’s face, but in his inhumanly glowing eyes were only unrecognizable hatred and hunger.

Oran brought the stake down hard, plunging it into Bodine’s chest. Blood spattered out of the wound, and the vampire let loose an ear-piercing shriek.

“Couillon!” Oran spat. “That’s for my brother, LeMon Guidry. Remember his name when you wake up in hell!”

Bodine shrieked and flailed, and blood ran from his mouth. It lasted only a few seconds, but Tim knew the image would stick in his mind’s eye, maybe forever. Finally, Bodine fell still. His eyes closed, and he looked as if he was finally at peace.

“Feel better, Guidry?” Tim asked.

Oran stood again, then turned around and vomited into the sink.