Road to Abaddon

by Vincent Heeringa

  McDough had the foul temper of an old sailor and a Scottish tongue to go with it. He’d built an enviable reputation for being a critic of stupidity, no matter what rank. But to this crew of old campaigners McDough was a first-class prankster and not even his rages could hide his sense of humour.

  “No detection as yet, sir. But I do have the number for the museum if you need it,” said the first mate.

  “Don’t get cocky,” McDough grizzled. “Let’s welcome our guests,” and strode off the bridge.

  By now Tria was eyeing the last of the distance to the submarine. It was only about five metres but the swell pushed the turret to and fro. Then a ladder with curled ends appeared from the sub and hooked itself to the last of the rungs. Soon all three were shimmying down into the turret while the hatch above them slammed with a reassuring clank. Bells and whistles echoed off the iron walls and the floor pitched forward as the sub began its descent into the Atlantic.

  ◆◆◆

  “He’s gone, sir,” reported Yang on the holovision, from Nuevo Madrid.

  “What do you mean, gone? People don’t vanish, Yang! What you mean is that you’ve lost him,” roared GK.

  “Yes sir, we have.”

  “Find him! Find him now or, by hell, you’ll be in data-entry for the rest of your miserable life!”

  GK smashed his wrinkled hand on the desk and Yang’s image vanished from view.

  “I told you to be careful,” said a voice, once Yang’s connection was closed.

  GK paused, not sure how to reply. “I am. I was. Jonah and I had an agreement.”

  “You were tricked!”

  GK stared ahead and sipped a thimble of whiskey, refusing to look at his critic.

  “You’re a sentimental old fool and you were tricked by a boy!” The voice gave a dry laugh. “But it doesn’t matter now anyway. In fact, it’s all quite fortuitous, this miscalculation of yours. He led us directly to the spy, Juan Baptiste, and the secret elevator to Zero Deck. Did you know they’ve got submarines now? The traitors are awfully cunning don’t you think? Or stupid! The sub will be tracked all the way back to their base. Fools! A ship of fools!”

  GK stayed at his desk for some time after the speaker had left the room. This was only going to end one way. It was the worst of all possible outcomes but he knew now what had to be done. He cursed the name of Petreus Salvatore and waved at the vision that connected him to his robo-sec.

  “Get me a pod immediately.”

  “Right away, sir. Can I ask your destination?”

  He paused. The word came out slowly. “Abaddon.”

  Chapter 17 - Up, up, up!

  Their quarters were intimate. A tiny box with a single cot, a sink and a wardrobe.

  “I’ll sleep on the floor,” volunteered Jonah.

  “Don’t be stupid. What are you scared of – that you’ll catch girl disease?” laughed Tria as she lay on the bunk. “Come lie down here.” She patted the blanket.

  The sub throbbed around them and footsteps passed their cabin door. Captain McDough had given them a welcome, putting on quite a spread of food and even a tote of rum. The sailors were especially relieved. They didn’t know Jonah but suspected the boy was someone special – so special that they’d been ordered to take the risk of floating beneath an enemy city on the off-chance he decided to run. They’d been sitting ducks for almost 12 hours when the coded message finally came from Baptiste.

  But Jonah was morose. He was exhausted. And traumatised. His betrayal of Metricia was beginning to sink in and he barely even said thank you. Now, he slumped on the cot and tried to think of something to say. Anything would do.

  “Juan said something weird just before we left.”

  “Oh yes?” Tria propped herself up on an elbow.

  “He said ‘your parents would be proud’. What did he mean? I knew that you didn’t have a mother. But I thought he was your father?”

  Tria’s eyes fell. “He is. Well, he’s my adopted father. I guess I might as well tell you now. I wanted to tell you before you left. But I couldn’t. It didn’t seem right.”

  Jonah recalled the conversation on the dance floor.

  My parents were Landers. They were killed in an air raid when I was three. We used to live in Portugal. I don’t remember it, obviously, but Juan does. His family was killed too. We were the only survivors in our whole town.”

  “Landers? But how did you...?”

  “End up in Nuevo Madrid? After the attack, Juan paid some traffickers to get us aboard a boat bound for the West Indies. It was the place where bandits didn’t roam free, or so they said. After weeks of floating we were found by a group calling themselves the NMA, the New Metricia Army. We never made it to the West Indies but we did end up being planted in Nuevo Madrid as agents.”

  “So, all this time you’ve been spying on us?”

  “So, all this time I’ve been an orphan!” growled Tria.

  “Oh sorry, that was stupid of me”.

  “It’s okay. I shouldn’t be so sensitive. You can imagine how hard it’s been to bite my tongue!”

  Jonah considered this girl whom he’d known for years. She’d kept her identity secret – and all the while he and his friends mocked Landers as mutant scum. Being wrong about people was becoming a habit, he thought.

  He gave in to his exhaustion and lay down, his mind mulling over the extreme events of the last few days. When the door was flung open some hours later they were snuggled together, lying spoons, with his arm draped over her waist.

  “Alrighty, my love birds!” barked Alfonso. “Wakey, wakey! We’ve got ourselves a cap’n to see.”

  Jonah leapt from the bed and looked red-faced. Tria giggled.

  They followed Alfonso to the bridge where McDough waved them to sit at the table. Charts lay before him and a telex machine chattered in the corner. “I have some good news and some bad news. It appears that we’re being tracked by some kind of Metricia homing device stuck on our hull. They’ve been on our tail since Nuevo Madrid. Our thanks must go to Alfonso for spotting the interference in our radar.”

  Alfonso smiled self-consciously as Tria gave him a wink.

  “Clearly, they could have blown us out of the water already, so it’s not us they’re after, it’s our destination. We can’t risk exposing our base to the Metricians. So, I’m afraid there’s a change in our plan. My orders are to deliver to you to home base. If I can’t go there then you’ll have to find other means. You’ll be leaving us in,” he glanced at his watch, “ninety-two minutes. By the way, that’s the good news.”

  Jonah groaned with disbelief. They must be in the middle of the Atlantic and at who knows what depth. There is only one way out of a submarine, he thought, and it involved a torpedo tube.

  “Look captain, I don’t mean to question your decision but have you considered removing the device from the hull?” Jonah asked.

  The captain pulled his glasses down his nose and gave Jonah a long stare then burst into laughter. “Better show him, Doyle.”

  The first mate handed Jonah a grainy photograph with white speckles on a dark background. Jonah turned it this way and that trying to fathom its meaning. Gradually the shapes formed a picture and he handed the photo to Tria. The speckles were air bubbles running alongside the submarine hull. In the middle of the frame a black shape stuck out – a bomb.

  “Most likely atomic, probably remote-controlled and certainly programmed to ignite when we surface,” said the captain. “This is one nasty little surprise that I won’t be taking home to mummy.”

  Doyle sniggered. McDough’s black humour was clearly appreciated.

  “And how...” started Jonah, but the captain held up his hand.

  “Young man, I don’t know who you are, and I don’t need to know. I only need to know my orders. I have to get you off this ticking time bomb and into the hands of the next host. Now if you will follow Helmsman Alfonso, he will take you to your next destination. It’s not a tropical paradise but it does involve
water. Lots and lots of it.”

  “I didn’t bring my swim suit,” said Tria and Doyle laughed out loud.

  But Jonah was annoyed. “With respect captain, I’d like a little more information. Where are we being taken and what will happen to this ship – and all your men?”

  McDough frowned. “Thank you for your concern, laddie, but who may I ask is enquiring about my ship?”

  “I’m Jonah Salvatore, son of Petreus and grandson of General Kenrick. I’m a traitor and a deserter from Metricia and I’m now a soldier of the New Metricia Army.”

  Captain McDough exchanged a glance with Doyle and then stroked his moustache. “Ahhh, Jonah Salvatore, eh? Well that explains a lot. If I’d known it was you I would have brought out my best cheese.”

  Then he put his hand on Jonah’s shoulder. “Son, what happens to the Nautilus is none of your business. In time you may hear of her adventures but for now all you need to know is that the men aboard her serve with pride. Your job, all of our jobs, are to follow orders. Now follow Helmsman Alfonso – and that’s an order!”

  McDough saluted them and then waved his hand, as if to say away with you. They were almost at the end of the corridor when McDough called out. “Jonah, your father was a hero. This is for him.”

  ◆◆◆

  It turns out there is another way to exit a submarine. Tria couldn’t stop giggling as she and Jonah donned bright orange pressure suits that made them look like road cones. After thirty minutes of zipping and fastening and testing and breathing, they stepped like astronauts through an air-lock into a tall, tubular room with a steel grated floor and a rounded roof. At the apex was circular hatch.

  “Alright my friends, this is where I leave you,” said Alfonso, saluting.

  Tria gave him a hug. “Till next time,” she said.

  “Ha, ha, till next time indeed,” he laughed, though without enthusiasm. He stepped back through the hatch and wound the door shut. His face appeared at the door’s porthole window. He was trying to smile.

  A warning light flashed above the door-frame and there was a low thunk somewhere beneath them. A vent must have opened because water began to slosh around their feet. It rose up to their ankles and then passed their knees. Jonah could feel the cold pressing against his legs. Very soon the water was lifting the pair to the level of the porthole and, with a final wave, Alfonso slid out view.

  For five minutes they floated upwards, their orange heads and clear masks bobbing above the rising tide. Soon they could touch the ceiling and then they were submerged.

  Jonah’s chest pumped and through his face-mask he could see that Tria’s eyes were wide. They floated, suspended for a moment in the cold. Then a bell rang, followed by a grinding sound, and the top hatch cracked ajar. Remembering Alfonso’s instructions, Jonah reached up and shoved the hatch open revealing a vast blackness, as if they were looking into a dark, cloudless sky. They shuddered and held each other for a moment longer before summoning the courage to pull themselves through the hole and drift into the night.

  Then, with a nod, they detonated their buoyancy vests. Gas burst into the suits and they exploded away from the submarine like torpedoes, spiralling upwards, the water pressing hard against their masks. Their panicked breaths lathered them in silvery air and formed a jet-stream as they rocketed through the darkness, up and up, twisting out of control until they burst onto the surface in an explosion of air.

  Jonah sucked hard on the mouthpiece, gulping in oxygen. His heart pumped. Tria held him.

  It was almost night. Dark clouds swirled over-head and a strong wind swept the tops of the waves into white tufts. The sea was monstrous, with waves rising above them like hilltops. Huddled together, they rode the swell to its peaks and then plunged into deep valleys.

  Way below, the Nautilus dipped its bow and disappeared into the gloom.

  Cold seeped through Jonah’s suit and the wind bit against his naked hands. Seconds turned to minutes and they both had to kick their legs to keep the numbness away. Tria’s breath misted her mask. He looked for signs of panic in her face but she smiled and pulled him closer.

  The minutes drew longer and their legs cramped with exhaustion. The waves were relentless, shoving them backwards and forwards like driftwood. It was madness, sending two children into the ocean like this, he thought. He remembered standing at the edge of Madrid watching the waves thrash against the city’s legs. He’d lean out as far as possible to get a good look. Eva hated him doing it and would hold his jacket. “Jonah, come back!” But he was drawn to the violence of it all. It seemed so raw. So natural. Once, he spotted a Metrician boat battling the sea. It rolled and one of the crew was thrown overboard. The image of the man’s feeble arms flapping against the immense ocean stayed with him for years. It was like a watery grave. Like Petreus. Like him. He laughed at the irony.

  They drifted for what seemed like hours when a mighty crash sent foam and spray high into the air. A huge silhouette rose from the water and landed with a terrific crash. A bow-wave washed towards them, cartwheeling them across the surface. When they bobbed up again they could see the outline of a strange creature, shaped like a shark or perhaps a whale. Rollers crashed against its narrow snout and its jagged tail rose high above the surf. A ridge of spikes ran along its back, then split at its neck and expanded into wing-like fins that curved down to touch the ocean surface. Bulbous eyes glared at them and vapour spouted from a hole in its head.

  Tria hung onto Jonah. Seconds past, and the waves continued to bash the sides of the beast. But it stayed dead still. The seconds stretched and still nothing moved except the white specks of foam that splashed off its edges.

  “It’s a not a shark. It’s a sub!” shouted Jonah over the din of the ocean. Tria spun around and, sure enough, someone was climbing out of the creature’s head and flashed a search-light across the waves. Tria waved madly and soon the light shone over their faces and blinked a message of welcome.

  Chapter 18 - The Schork

  It’s a weird experience to climb into the breathing-hole of a giant fish and it’s even weirder when the fish clanks and rattles like an old steam engine. The surface of the sub was made of studded iron, with plates riveted together to form a patchwork of grey and black steel. On closer inspection, Jonah saw that rust was crumbling the edges of the fins and large cracks rippled out from underneath the rivets.

  They clambered down some steep, metal steps, wobbling in their suits until they reached a platform where a squat man, wearing a leather flying helmet and delicate round spectacles, stuck out a podgy hand covered in silver rings. “My name is Captain Weitz,” he said in a high-pitched voice, with a touch of a German accent. “Welcome aboard Schork!”

  Tria exchanged an anxious look with Jonah but the hatch above them was now creaking closed and the familiar ringing of a diving bell bounced off the metal walls.

  “Let’s get you all tickety-boo, as they say in England,” he continued and then spoke into a metal funnel connected to a thin pipe that ran alongside the walkway. “Midas, our guests are here.” He smiled and began to hum while they all stood for a moment. Jonah and Tria dripped onto the steel plated floor.

  “Awkward silence,” said Weitz and then he leaned over to the funnel again and spoke this time with a loud whisper “Midas! Get your legs up here, will you?” He laughed a bit too hard. “He’ll be along in just a minute.”

  He was about to yell a third time when a voice behind him said: “Ja, ja, here I am, captain,” and a giant man stooped his way around the corner. He was perhaps two metres tall with an elongated neck and unfeasibly bony arms. His narrow, lined face was framed with big ears and topped with a wild tuft of blonde hair. Unlike the sailors they’d met so far, Midas had corduroy pants and a soft cotton shirt in a checked pattern. An apron was tied around his waist and he’d thrown two towels over his shoulder.

  “Midas, at your service,” he said and bowed, offering them the towels.

  Weitz sighed, then began a high-speed, high-pi
tched explanation of how he received the emergency message from the Nautilus and that it was an amazing stroke of fortune, if you believed in such things, that the Schork was in the area and that he’d never before rescued passengers from the open sea and that it was a privilege to be part of the war effort, though he had no idea why two children would be fired like torpedoes into the Atlantic and that in any other time this would be a crime but now it was just high seas adventure and, come to think of it, just what were they supposed to do with these guests, because he had no idea.

  “We give them dinner,” said Midas, with a small hint of exasperation, and he beckoned that they follow him into the bowels of the sub. While Weitz had been prattling on, Jonah and Trio had eased themselves out of the soaking-wet pressure suits and wrapped themselves in Midas’ soft warm towels. Now they followed the giant along the metal gangplank until he stooped low and showed them into a lounge-like chamber with old-fashion leather furniture and brown, swirling carpet that was tattered at the edges. A fake fire burned in a pretend hearth, and above the mantle-piece hung a large, framed painting of a colossal squid swallowing a sailing ship with gigantic tentacles.

  “Your quarters are here. I apologise for the size.” Midas touched part of the wall and it gave way to reveal a small room with two hammocks and a small table holding a pitcher and two ceramic mugs.

  ◆◆◆

  “This place is a like a museum,” said Tria as she struggled into a dress that she’d found in a cupboard.

  “This place is like a circus, more like it,” said Jonah, who’d found some sturdy trousers with braces and a button shirt made with heavy fabric. Together they looked like they’d stepped straight out of a nineteenth century display case.

  Dinner that afternoon was at a table decorated with silver cutlery and china plates, with flowery patterns along their edge. A five-fingered candelabra stood in the centre and on each chair lay an embroidered napkin. Midas poured red wine into pewter goblets and explained the menu. His excitement suggested that the Schork had not entertained guests for some time. They started with fish soup and croutons, followed by an entree of crab cakes with a tartare sauce. For the main they were given an option between tuna sushi with a nose-blowing wasabi or a baked snapper with some kind of deep-fried vegetable that Jonah suspected was meant to be potato, but tasted like sea weed. By the time Midas emerged sweating and dusted with icing sugar from the mess with four bowls of a sticky yellow pudding, Jonah’s stomach was bursting and he looked longingly at the comfortable couches.