Arkham Horror- The Deep Gate

by Chris A. Jackson

  “We do know! We must be able to stop this or they wouldn’t be trying so hard to stop us! If we don’t destroy that evil place, we both die! All of mankind dies! Don’t you see?”

  Silas gritted his teeth. The end of the world of man… He whirled away from her and leaned on the boat’s wheel, gazing out into the howling darkness, trying to think through his terror.

  Light swept over them from the Innsmouth lighthouse, drawing his eye out of habit. Innsmouth… Could they get something there, barrels of gasoline, maybe, and some way to get them down to the wreck and set them off? No, gasoline would float. Barrels of it would be too hard to weigh down. We’d need a bomb, a case of TNT, or… Memories of Innsmouth and the ships they’d seen in the harbor popped into his head, the derelict relics of the war waiting to be scrapped, and the gaping hole in the wreck beneath them.

  “Sonofa—!”

  “What?”

  Silas turned to face Abigail. “I know where we can get something that should do the job.”

  “Where? What do you mean?”

  “Innsmouth!” He pointed to the gleaming lighthouse. “We’ve got to go back to Innsmouth.”

  Abigail looked out the window at the lighthouse and swallowed hard. “All right. Tell me what to do.”

  “I can’t navigate the channel until dawn, but I’d just as soon haul anchor now before more of those things climb aboard.” He pointed to the Remington in her hands. “Put that away, but don’t unload it. My relatives are not going to be happy to see us.”

  Chapter Seven

  Innsmouth Harbor

  Silas guided Sea Change deftly through the treacherous channel into Innsmouth Harbor with the first torpid light of dawn. The nor’easter still howled, but the wind had backed to the north in the last few hours. The storm was passing.

  Innsmouth had not miraculously transformed since yesterday. The dismal, dilapidated buildings glared at them as if murderous intent lurked in their windows. It might, for all Silas knew.

  “You’re sure about this?” Abigail asked, biting her lip.

  “No, but we should be in and out of here before anyone even knows we’ve arrived.” Silas throttled back and turned Sea Change toward a derelict minelayer left over from the war. Eighty feet of rust-streaked iron, she lay with her keel buried in silt, her hull slowly rotting away. “That’s the one we want. I remember hearing that she had her last load aboard when she grounded here. The war was nearly over, and the Navy was too busy to care about one old converted fishing trawler. The Marsh family claimed her as salvage, of course.”

  “And you think the mines are still aboard?”

  “Probably. Thousands of mines were deployed in New England waters during the war. The government defused and buried the ones they never deployed. They’re not worth much, dangerous to scrap, since they’re packed with TNT, and the Marsh family didn’t need the money. They salvaged what they wanted from the ship, and left it to rust.”

  “But will they still work after so long?” Abigail sounded dubious.

  “As long as water didn’t get inside them, they should.”

  “But if they see us out here fiddling with it…” Abigail cast a nervous look toward shore.

  “They’ll try to stop us.” Silas pulled alongside and brought them to a stop. “That’s what the shotgun’s for.”

  He stepped out of the cabin and tied them to the derelict so he could cast off quickly if they had visitors.

  “We’ll need the lift.” Silas opened the engine room and worked the power transfer lever, but left the hatch open. “As soon as we get the mine aboard, I’ll shift her back, and we’ll get out of here.”

  “Good.” Abigail propped the Remington just inside the cabin door. “I’d rather we didn’t have to kill anyone.”

  “Me too, but if they pick a fight, I’ll not back down.” After facing the horrors of Devil Reef, a confrontation with his monstrous relatives seemed less daunting. This was something he could fight, unlike what he’d seen in that sunken ship. Silas cranked the winch until the boom hung over the deck of the rusty ship. “Give a yell if you see anyone coming and be ready on the winch.”

  Silas grabbed a crowbar and the weighted clip on the end of the lift rope, and clambered aboard the derelict ship. She’d been a steam-powered fishing trawler before the war, taken by the military to lay mines around New England. The hatch to the main hold looked intact, which was both good and bad. The ship’s cargo had been kept out of the weather, but he’d have to break in.

  The lock on the hatch was as big as his palm and caked with rust, but no match for a crowbar and the expertly applied force of a desperate sailor. The pieces clanked to the deck, and Silas hooked the lift rope to the hatch cover.

  “Up on the lift, Abigail. I’ve got to get the hatch cover off.”

  “Right.” She engaged the winch, and the heavy rope came taut.

  Rusty iron hinges screeched, but the hatch cover lifted free. When it was almost vertical, he yelled “Stop”, then pushed it past the tipping point and waved for her to lower it. He unclipped the line and took it to the hatch.

  The muted predawn light barely illuminated the depths of the hold, but as his vision adjusted, he discerned six black, bulbous shapes resting in a wooden frame. Like eggs in a basket.

  “Slack the lift!” Silas called, and lowered the hook into the hold until it neared the bottom. “Stop!” Silas climbed up onto the hatch coaming, wrapped a leg around the lift line, and stepped off into the open hatch. The heavy rope bit into his calloused palms as he lowered himself into the hold’s dark confines.

  Eerily quiet after the howling winds above, the hold felt close and smelled of mold. Not good… Mold meant moisture, which meant corrosion. In fact, rust streaked the edge of the hatch, and water had dripped right down onto two of the mines. A quick inspection told him they were ruined, the threaded holes that had held the fuses were full of water and rust. The next two were dry, but when Silas swiped a finger down into one of the fuse holes, it came back with flakes of grime and rust.

  “Damn!”

  The last two he could barely see in the dim light. His finger probed the fuse holes and came back dry and reasonably clean. The trouble now was that the other mines were in the way. If he hooked the lift to the one he wanted, it would bowl the others out of their cradles when he lifted it. The mines shouldn’t explode without fuses, but hundreds of pounds of iron-bound explosives rolling around the inside of a ship’s hold wasn’t healthy. The only option was to lift the other mines out of the way first.

  “Nothing for it.” Silas hooked the lift cable to the first mine and climbed up hand over hand, swinging easily over the hatch coaming. “Abigail! I’ve got to move some cargo out of the way. Listen for my instructions!” Best not to tell her what kind of cargo…

  “Hurry! I see some people on one of the docks looking at us!”

  Silas squinted to the north. Several figures clustered on the Marsh Fish Products pier. Not good… “Okay, up on the lift!”

  Abigail threw the lever and the rope came taut. The motor lugged with the effort, but the first mine lifted out of the cradle and swung free. Silas pushed the rope to keep it from slamming into the bulkhead, but it was like trying to hold back a falling tree. Iron boomed with the impact, and he cringed. Well, if it explodes, I won’t have to go back down to that cursed wreck anyway.

  “Down!”

  Abigail complied, and iron boomed again as the mine dropped against the hull.

  “Hold there!” Silas climbed down, switched the cable to the next mine in the way, and climbed back up. “Okay, up!”

  The lift line came tight against the hatch coaming, the stout rope riding over the sharp lower edge and peeling away flakes of rust. The mine came free of the cradle and swung, hitting the forward bulkhead hard enough to dent it.

  “What are you doing?” Abigail called.

  “Moving cargo, just like I said!” He glanced back at the fishing pier. Six figures were climbing down onto a boat
. Silas yelled, “No time to be gentle! Down!”

  The mine boomed to the deck below, and Silas slid down the line. He unclipped the hook and pulled it aft. “Slack!” Clicking the hook onto the lift ring, he looked up to where the rope would ride over the edge of the hatch coaming. Rusty iron offered a dangerously sharp edge. If it broke the lift line, they were sunk.

  Need something… Silas cast about the hold, looking for an old jacket or piece of canvas, anything he could put between the line and the coaming to keep it from chafing.

  “Silas! They’re coming!”

  No time for this! Silas tore off his shirt and wedged it between the lift line and the sharp corner of the hatch coaming. “Up!”

  The line snapped taut, straining to pull the mine out of the wooden cradle. Four hundred pounds of iron and TNT cracked free and swung forward. Silas scrambled out of the way and cringed as the thing crashed against the forward bulkhead. At the noise, Abigail stopped lifting.

  Silas scrambled up the rope, leapt to the deck, and waved to her. “Up!” Beyond Sea Change, a boat left the Marsh pier.

  Abigail flipped the lever, and the mine rose. Silas guided it out of the hatch and then leapt down to Sea Change’s deck. “Hold on there. We’ve got to move the boom over, but we can’t let it swing. I’ll work the boom crank. As soon as it’s clear of the rail, lower it to the deck.”

  “Okay.” Abigail glanced over her shoulder, her face white. “Are you sure it won’t explode?”

  “No, but it hasn’t yet, and we bashed it around pretty hard.”

  Silas worked the crank and watched the deadly weight swing out over Sea Change. If something broke, the mine would plunge right through the deck and maybe even the hull. Abigail slipped the clutch, and the mass of iron came down hard, but not catastrophically, to rest against the port side rail. Silas unclipped the lift line, secured it, and cast off.

  “Get on the wheel, Abigail.” Silas lunged for the engine room and slammed the power transfer over to power the propeller shaft.

  “The wheel? I can’t—”

  “Just steer out the way we came in!” Silas slammed the engine room hatch closed and flung the gear shift into forward. “I’ve got to deal with my blasted relatives!” He grabbed the Remington, pocketed a handful of shells, and stepped out onto the deck as Sea Change screeched alongside the old hulk into open water. Abigail turned before they’d cleared the wreck, and the port aft rail slewed around to splinter against the ship’s hull.

  “Sorry! I told you I couldn’t steer a boat!” came Abigail’s cry.

  “Don’t worry about it! Just drive it like a car! The red lever’s the gas pedal!”

  “Oh! Well, I can do that!” The engine revved up, and she roared for the channel under full power.

  Silas cringed at the engine’s high-pitched howl. “Don’t fail me now, girl!”

  As they came on course for the channel, the approaching boat charged after them. Six people crowded the aft deck, and at least one stood in the wheelhouse. Several had the unmistakable wide mouth and bulging eyes of the main Marsh family.

  As the pursuit narrowed, a broad-shouldered man stepped onto the foredeck of the boat, pointed to the minelayer, and shouted. “That’s private property, you thieving bastard!”

  “It belongs to the Marsh family, and I’m a Marsh!” Silas raised the shotgun to show them he meant business. “I’m not taking anything that’s worth anything to you, so bear off!”

  “You’re a thief! Now heave to or we’ll board you and take back what’s ours!” The boat closed at a steep angle.

  “You try, and you’ll have a talk with Mister Remington!” Silas aimed the shotgun just off their bow and fired one barrel.

  The man on the bow cursed and ducked into the pilothouse. Silas reloaded the spent round, but his warning shot proved no deterrent, for the boat full of his relatives bore on.

  Silas leveled the Remington at the pilothouse. “Bear off or I swear I’ll blow you to hell!”

  The boat continued on a collision course.

  Put up or shut up, Silas. “I warned you!” He aimed at the pilothouse windows and pulled both triggers.

  Buckshot ripped through wood and shattered glass, but the pilot had ducked behind the console and popped up unharmed. On they came.

  Silas fumbled to reload but knew he wouldn’t get another round off before they hit. “Hang on, Abigail! Steer to port!”

  “Port? What port?”

  “Left!” Silas grabbed a guy-wire as the two boats collided.

  The deck lurched with the impact, and Abigail screeched a word he’d never thought a librarian would utter. They veered hard to port, and Silas heard a deep rumble from behind. He whirled in time to see the mine rolling across the canted deck at him. His reflex was to leap out of the way, but a deeper dread gripped his heart at the thought of so much weight crashing into the bulwarks. If the mine broke through, it would plunge to the bottom of the harbor. Their entire plan would go straight to hell, and the world of man with it.

  Silas dropped the Remington and braced his feet against the bulwark, flinging out both hands to slow the massive sphere of iron. Idiot! he thought just before the mine slammed him backward, pinning him against the bulwark. Something cracked, and pain lanced up his leg, a hoarse scream escaping his clenched teeth. Then Sea Change leveled out, and the weight of the mine eased enough for him to roll it off his leg. That hurt even more than the initial impact, and he crumpled to the deck.

  “Silas! They’re coming back!”

  “Steer for the red buoy!” he bellowed, sitting up to peer over the splintered gunnel.

  His relatives were charging at them on a collision course again, but not at such a steep angle as before. They held billy clubs and net hooks. They were going to board Sea Change, and from their expressions, they weren’t interested in negotiating.

  Scrabbling for the shotgun, he slammed two shells into the breech and cracked it closed. At the rate they were closing, he would only get one shot. Silas leveled the Remington over the gunnel and took aim. At such a short range he could easily kill two of them, but that would only ensure his fate. The others would swarm aboard, and with a broken leg, Silas couldn’t stop them.

  Or can I?

  Silas lowered his aim and fired both barrels at the waterline of the approaching boat, blasting a hole in the hull bigger than his two clenched fists. Seawater rushed into the small boat, and she lurched, but momentum brought her crashing into Sea Change.

  Silas staggered up onto his one good leg and flipped the Remington around, gripping the twin barrels like a club. The Marsh boat heeled with the inrushing water and the men on her deck staggered, uncertainty clear in their eyes. The big man who had shouted from the bow brandished a net hook and lunged across the gap, but Silas swung the Remington like Babe Ruth aiming for the center field wall and connected with his assailant’s thick jaw. The man spun like a top, blood and teeth spraying, and started to fall between the boats. Three of his companions grabbed for him, one even sinking a net hook into his arm to keep him from falling. The others fell back, less enthused now about leaping aboard Sea Change.

  Suddenly a horrendous screech tore from the belly of the Marshes’ boat, and steam billowed briefly from the exhaust stack. The engine died, and the boat fell immediately behind, listing badly. The incoming water had evidently reached the engine’s air intake.

  Silas took a step before remembering his injury. His leg felt like someone was twisting a knife in it, but it supported his weight. Maybe it’s not so bad…

  Using the Remington as a crutch, he hobbled into the cabin and yelled, “Throttle back a bit. We’re clear.”

  “Thank the Lord!” Abigail glanced back at him, her knuckles white on the wheel. “I don’t know where I’m going!”

  Silas limped up beside her and peered out the pilothouse window through the rain. They were close to the channel, but not close enough. “Steer right about ten degrees. See the compass there. We put that red buoy on our left b
ut pass it close. There’s a shoal to the right that’s not marked. Then…” He hissed in a breath as a wave rocked the boat and his leg twisted. He grabbed the edge of the console to keep from falling.

  “What happened?” Abigail altered course as he’d directed, glancing down at his leg.

  “That damn heavy mine rolled and pinned my leg to the bulwark. I think something’s broken.” He pointed to the next mark. “That green can. Put it to our right, then turn northeast by the compass. We’ll get the anchor down and I’ll have a look at my leg.”

  “But…” Abigail bit her lip and nodded. “Right. First things first…”

  “Exactly.” Silas pointed to the northeast as they rounded the green can. “We’ll anchor well away from the reef until we’re ready. I don’t want to be close to those things until we have to be.”

  “I can’t argue with that!”

  “Then we have to talk,” Silas continued. “I can’t walk. We’ll have to figure out some way for you to manage the dive suit.”

  “What?” She gaped at him. “You can’t be serious! I know nothing about it! The suit’s too heavy! It won’t fit me!”

  “Then we’re in trouble.” Silas’s head spun and his leg throbbed in time with his heart. “Just about a quarter mile more, and we’ll…put the…anchor down.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “No! That’s what I’ve been telling you!” Silas peered down at his leg and cringed. His pants were tight from the knee down. “If I don’t get my leg up soon, I’m afraid…I’m going to…pass out.”

  Chapter Eight

  Devil Reef

  They anchored in shallow water behind a shoal east of Devil Reef with little difficulty. This put them far enough from Innsmouth that the sheets of slashing rain hid them from view, but near enough to the reef that they could still see the line of breakers. Unless someone climbed the lighthouse or drove out to the beach, the Marshes should think they were long gone. Silas sat down with his leg on the chart table, and Abigail split his pant leg with a pair of shears. She hissed an indrawn breath. From knee to ankle his leg was hugely swollen.