by Scott W Cook
Chapter 41
From the personal journal of Samuel R. Decker
I looked at Tony and he held my gaze for a long moment, “What do you think, XO?”
“They know a lot about us,” Tony said, “This is no coincidence.”
“Tara,” I said after another few seconds, “Blow the variable ballast. Put us on the surface, nice and easy.”
I’d been showing her the board during our passage and she knew which controls to activate. Seawater was pumped from the ballast tanks and the ship began to rise.
“Chakra,” I said after keying the mic, “We’re surfacing. Please identify yourself.”
“I’d prefer to do that in person,” The man said, “I propose that once we’re both on the surface that I and my command staff take a raft over to you. I’m sure you’d prefer that than to visit us here.”
“Agreed,” I said, “Stand by.”
“Now passing two hundred feet,” Andrea said.
“Who are they?” Julie asked.
I shrugged, “Your guess is as good as mine, Gunny. But there’s definitely something odd about this.”
“Now passing one hundred,” Andrea intoned.
“Gunny,” I said, “Take Andy and grab at least three of our rifles and everyone’s sidearm.”
“Aye, aye,” Julie said. She stood and hurried out of the con with Andy in tow.
Our weapons had all been deposited in the wardroom. We didn’t need them on board and they were close by just in case we needed them. As we did now.
The ship began to rock ever so slightly and Tara confirmed that we were now floating on the surface. I raised the periscope and looked around. Sure enough, perhaps five hundred yards away, was another submarine. I could already see a group of figures on deck readying an inflatable raft.
“I’m going to open the after loading hatch,” I said, “And rig a boarding ladder. Tony, you have the deck. Andrea you’ll be with me. Have Vicky get in here too.”
I went aft and met Andy and Julie. I secured my Python to my hip and made sure that the other three had a rifle as well. The Gunny wouldn’t be able to shoot her M4, but she could use her pistol left-handed. I also wanted to boost her confidence a bit by letting her know without saying it that I trusted her even with a busted wing.
We headed aft and opened the big heavy hatch. There was indeed a boarding ladder stowed nearby and we mounted the companion steps and I began to attach the ladder to the edge of the deck.
The raft with our guests was already halfway to us. They had an electric outboard attached and it was pushing the little yellow boat with five figures rapidly closer over a light two foot swell.
There were what looked to be five men and a woman on board. When they got closer, I had my three companions stand ready and I took the painter that was thrown and secured it to a cleat.
“Permission to come aboard,” The man at the bow said. I recognized his voice from our phone conversation.
“You’re welcome,” I said, “Please be advised we are armed.”
He chuckled as he leapt up the ladder and onto the deck with practiced ease. His companions did the same and stood a few feet away gazing at us.
They were an interesting group. The man who had spoken and who I assumed was the captain was of average height with broad shoulders and a handsome face. He looked to be around thirty or so. Young for a commander, I thought, but then again these weren’t exactly normal times.
Standing on his right was a petite woman with an athletic body ripe with damn near perfect curves. Her long black hair was pulled back into a pony tail and her face was beautiful and strikingly exotic. On the first man’s left was a tall man, about my height with broad shoulders and a rugged face topped with curly brown hair. Like the woman and the first man, he too looked to be around thirty or so.
To this man’s left was yet another broad shouldered man, not quite as tall but with a handsome face, broad chin and aquiline nose. Finally, next to the woman was a shorter man, not much taller than her. His skin was a deep coffee color and his head was shaven.
“Welcome aboard the U.S.S. Connecticut,” I said formally, “I’m Captain Sam Decker. This is major Andrea Milani, Lieutenant Andy Summers and Gunnery Sergeant Julie Rivers. Now will you please tell me who the hell you people are and how you know us… and how you were able to find this ultra-quiet boat out here so precisely?”
The captain sighed, “That’s going to take some explaining, Captain. An explanation best discussed over coffee or maybe even a meal.”
I scowled, “Sir… you show up out of nowhere and head right for this boat. You know who we are and even who I am. For one thing, it’s more or less impossible. This vessel is the most advanced and quietest nuclear attack boat in the world. You could not have detected us without an active ping. I’m not all that sure I’m ready to invite you below until I get some answers.”
“We didn’t detect you in the normal way,” The brown skinned man said. He spoke perfect English but there was a subtle hint of some accent beneath, “I could… sense you. And we did have some knowledge that you’d be out here. We’ve been monitoring Admiral Banks’ communications for some time.”
“You’re the ones that he’s been tracking off the Keys I take it,” I said.
The captain nodded, “Captain… I’m afraid that what we have to tell you is so fantastic… you’re not going to believe it right away and standing out here on deck just doesn’t offer us a good environment for providing proof.”
I sighed. There was something odd about these people, for certain. And the brown one… I didn’t think of him as black, exactly. He struck me more like a blending of black and Middle Eastern… his claim that he could sense us was outrageous. And yet, here they were.
“You sensed us?” I asked him pointedly.
The captain nodded, “Our friend is quite sensitive in certain matters.”
“Before we go anywhere,” I stated in no uncertain terms, “I want to know who you people are.”
“Fair enough,” the captain said and cleared his throat, “Our sensitive friend is named Sneferu—“
“Like the Egyptian pharaoh who built the red pyramid?” Andy asked.
The captain smiled, “Good for you, young man. That’s precisely it. He is the Sneferu who built the red pyramid. Next to him is Cleopatra VII. The man standing next to me is former president Abraham Lincoln and the man next to him is Prince Vlad Dracula of Walachia.”
Andrea scoffed. I would’ve laughed in their faces as well but when I looked at “Lincoln” I got a shiver up my spine. He didn’t have the beard and the crags of his portraits. All taken in his latter years… but that was a distinct face. And despite its youth and smoothness, it certainly bore a resemblance to my favorite president.
All of them seemed to fit their names somehow. Dracula too, although he didn’t sport the long mustache he was famous for both in his lifetime and in Stoker’s novel.
I gazed at the captain whose bemusement was clearly visible, “and let me guess. You’re Julius Caesar.”
Andrea, Julie and Andy laughed. The captain didn’t. He simply met my gaze with steady brown eyes and I think my stomach did a partial somersault. I swear I felt the blood drain from my face.
“That’s right, Captain,” He said, “Long ago, I was known as Gaius Julius Caesar.”
“What the Christ…?” Andy muttered.
“Bunch of whackos,” Andrea added.
I don’t know how but somehow I knew they weren’t crazy. Something in their bearing, maybe. Something about them made me want to believe.
“Uhm… Captain… General…” I began lamely.
“Just call me Julius,” The man claiming to be Caesar said, “our days of glory are long past and formalities are a bit silly at this point.”
“Okay…” I said. I was having a hard time wrapping my head around this, “You can imagine why we’d be skeptical, right? You’re all long dead, each of your death’s pretty well documented I might add.
”
“Are they?” Cleopatra said with a dazzling smile, “Consider each of us. Sneferu’s death was more than four millennia ago, so anything could have happened there. Julius and I died under interesting circumstances to say the least. And Vlad here also died in a way that leaves the door open to speculation.”
“You died from the bite of an asp,” I said, “Easy enough to fake. Caesar was stabbed to death… twenty-three times I might add… in Pompeii’s theatre in front of hundreds. Abe here was shot in the head at Ford’s theater and carried across the street where he died in a bed too small for him. Dracula was killed in battle and his head brought to the Sultan. Kind of hard to finagle that one.”
“I was stabbed twenty-three times,” Caesar said, “yet only one wound was fatal, or would’ve been. The bullet that supposedly killed Abe skirted his brain although that wasn’t known at the time. Vlad was attacked by his so called allies but I was in the area and able to chase them off. We found a substitute that passed for him… he was fairly mutilated by Basarab. Before all of these events, we were exposed to a disease. A disease that kills the infected and reanimates them as a mindless flesh eating monster.”
“What?” Andrea asked, “Now you’re saying you’re zombies!?”
“No, young lady,” Caesar continued, “We were also given the cure by Sneferu. The net result is immortality. Which seems to be activated by a mortal blow. Which of course, we all suffered in one way or another.”
“There’s a cure?” Andy asked.
“In a matter of speaking,” Sneferu added.
“And the zombie virus is as old as Egypt?” Julie asked.
“At least, young lady,” Sneferu replied, “It has cropped up many times in history. Thankfully infrequently and in very small numbers, for the most part. Although larger outbreaks have been covered up under such names as ‘the Plague’, ‘Spanish Flu’ and ‘civil unrest.’”
“There’s a lot more going on with this plague than is known,” Dracula stated in a rich deep voice.
“Captain,” Lincoln said to me, meeting my eyes, “We’ve been trying to find those who can help us. We learned of you and have been searching for you for some time. We need someone with your skills and intelligence to help us. There is a great evil in the world, and now that mankind has been brought to the brink, this evil is now poised to subjugate all of humanity.”
I swear to God… when he talked, I believed… I really believed that Abraham Lincoln was speaking to me. There was just something about him that screamed sincerity. They all had a powerful presence. They were exactly what you’d expect them all to be.
I rubbed my face, “It’s just so… so…”
“Crazy,” Julie stated, “The craziest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Crazier than the dead coming to life?” Sneferu asked.
“Touché,” I admitted.
“Captain, we’re unarmed,” Caesar said, “Feel free to frisk us. But I think we should adjourn below and sit down. We have quite a tale to tell you. If you’re willing to listen.”
“I don’t suppose you can provide some kind of proof?” Andrea asked.
“Naturally,” Dracula said. He pulled a small clasp knife from the pocket of his submariner’s jumper and handed it to me.
“What do I do with this?” I asked, opening the three inch blade.
“You plunge it into my flesh,” Caesar said. He then rolled up the sleeve of his jumper to expose a well-muscled forearm.
“What?” I asked a little confused.
“Go ahead,” He urged, “It’s all right.”
I hesitated for a moment.
“Stick it all the way in,” Caesar said, “Don’t be gentle about it.”
I gritted my teeth, took hold of his arm in my left hand and shoved the blade into his muscles up to the hilt.
His only reaction was to flinch a little.
“Good, now pull it out and observe,” Caesar instructed.
I yanked the blade free and watched as the wound oozed only two tiny drops of blood before sealing itself and the blood became dust that blew away in the light breeze. It was virtually instantaneous.
“What… the fuck…” Andrea mumbled.
“Well…” I said lamely, “that’s certainly… handy.”
“Do you believe us now?” Dracula said.
I looked at him for a long moment, “You’re kidding, right? Five of the most famous people who ever lived… and died… standing on my deck like it’s no big deal and I’m supposed to believe it? Sneferu, a somewhat obscure Pharaoh. Cleopatra, the last Pharaoh of Egypt famous for her loss at Actium and her affairs with Caesar and Marc Antony. The greatest American president and let’s not forget a man who in my opinion was one of the most extraordinary men who ever lived, as famous as he is infamous and who’s name in one form or another lived on into modern times.”
“Flattered,” Caesar said with a grin.
“Oh, and let’s not forget Count Dracula,” Andrea said with a scoff.
“Well, not exactly,” I corrected, “although the living man inspired the fictional vampire who’s the most written and filmed literary figure in history with the exception of Sherlock Holmes… or at least his blood drinking doppelganger. You’ll all forgive us if we’re not totally convinced… or at the very least are having a hard time wrapping our minds around this.”
Caesar – I didn’t know what else to call these people so for the time being I was using their assumed names – smiled and shrugged, “I don’t blame you. But the fact of the matter is that we have a problem. All of us, and something must be done and you’re the most likely candidate thus far.”
I sighed, “Very well. Let’s go below and talk. Please let your submarine’s crew know and inform them that our finger is still on the trigger.”
“Already done,” Lincoln said.
“Alright,” I said, “Please follow me and watch your step.”
There weren’t many places on an attack boat where a dozen people could congregate comfortably. Thankfully, the wardroom table could seat a dozen, so we were saved the vast indignity of hanging out in the crew’s mess.
It just so happened that it was around lunch time, and Tara and Andy had been slaving away in the galley preparing a meal for us. Although we didn’t know we were having company, the fair was spaghetti and meatballs with freshly baked bread and there was even a terrine of minestrone soup they’d put together from several frozen packages.
Vicky and the Gunny volunteered to stand watch, or at least go between the sonar room and the con. We promised to save them some food.
So Andrea, Tara, Andy, Tony and I sat at the table. Caesar was on my right with Cleopatra next to him and Sneferu sat next to her. Mr. Lincoln sat at the foot of the table with Dracula on his left.
I stared around for a long moment at this group of history’s most famous. It was hard to believe their story… yet it was hard to ignore that demonstration up on deck, too. I was a big admirer of several of these figures, Caesar and of course, Abraham Lincoln in particular.
Lincoln smiled at me. Although it was the face I knew, this one was smoothly shaven, absent of the lines of premature age that the Civil War had etched into it and the weariness that seemed to mark his presidency.
“Something wrong, Captain?” he asked.
“You’re kidding, right?” I responded, “I’m sitting across from the greatest president who ever lived… perhaps one of the greatest men… I’m a bit overwhelmed.”
Lincoln only shrugged modestly, “That was a long time ago. I’m just Abe now.”
Caesar grinned at me, “Oh, so it’s like that? What am I chopped liver? Don’t believe everything Suetonius said.”
I scoffed and everyone chuckled, “yeah right. Suetonius was a jealous asshole, I think.”
Caesar cast an affectionate eye down the table, “Don’t let him fool you, Captain. Once Abe Lincoln, always Abe Lincoln.”
“Everybody dig in,” Tara insisted. She seemed less affected b
y our guests, probably because she didn’t believe them. That or she just wasn’t as big a history buff as some of us.
Andy seemed a bit overawed as I was, but tried not to show it. He cleared his throat, “Uhm… I’d like to ask a question.”
Sneferu smiled at him, “Go ahead, young man.”
Andy took a breath, “So you say you’re immortals… are you… are you… vampires?”
He cast his glance at the former Prince of Walachia when he said this. That got a chuckle from Cleopatra.
“We get that a lot, thanks to him,” She said and indicated Dracula with a nod. She smiled at Andy which produced a bright red blush. I could understand. Her beauty and intensity were powerful forces, “Figures we hook up with some obscure central European soldier and he turns out to be the most famous character in all literature.”
“That’s not my fault!” Dracula said in mock peevishness, “If Stoker had kept the original ‘Count Wampir’ title, nobody would even know who I was. I never drank anybody’s blood… well…”
A chuckle rose among his compatriots.
”Don’t worry, young Andrew,” Dracula said and then effected an overly-exaggerated Bella Lugosi impersonation, “I vill not drink your blood.”
“Jesus…” Tara breathed.
“But no,” Dracula went on in his normal voice, one that could’ve been as American as any of ours, “We’re not vampires.”
“Although,” Sneferu added, “There are times when living blood is required. In small amounts of course. I suppose in the broadest sense of the word, we could be. It’s simply that there is a component in living blood that accelerates our healing processes when major injury is sustained. For the most part, though, we eat and drink the same as you. Delicious, by the way, Ms. Tara.”
“All right,” Andrea said, “Let’s dispense with the bullshit, if you all don’t mind. Why are you here and what do you want of us?”
Lincoln considered her for a long moment. Andrea’s tough marine exterior began to visibly soften. The pure wattage of the man’s charm was overpowering, “Direct. Once again, Andrea, and all of you, our nation… our world, faces a critical crisis. We stand poised at the brink of a great disaster from which we may not recover should we fail to act and act decisively.”
