Two hours later, the water was a muddy gray green. The icebergs were gone, and the fish were crowding the window. On the sonar map, the Conch was well north of Piuli Point and moving slowly. “Anything yet, mates?” he called out. “We are running low on fuel, and we’ll need to dock somewhere.”
Max and Alex sat on the control room floor, surrounded by geographic maps, satellite images, and topographic maps of all sizes and magnifications. They had dragged in everything they’d found in the map room—including a cache of historical maps dating to the nineteen hundreds.
Max wiped his brow. The sub was getting warm. “Nothing,” he said. “I don’t see Tourbillon D’Eau on any of the maps.”
“Me neither,” Alex said. “I’ve looked at every single port on the east coast. Also the west, for good measure. I even checked out some old maps, figuring the port might have changed its name. But nada.”
A sudden grinding noise interrupted her sentence. The Conch shuddered, and the engine started to whine. Both Alex and Max ran to Basile. “What happened?”
Basile was leaning forward at an odd angle, blinking his eyes rapidly. “Ach, must be a sand bar! Sorry. Didn’t see it. Hang on.”
Max could feel the sub begin to rise. Alex was staring closely into Basile’s face. “Your eyes are moving, Basile. Like, one is going different places than the other.”
“Really?” Basile said. “Need sleep, I suppose. Surprise, surprise.”
As he leaned forward to look through the periscope, the Conch jolted hard. It began shaking. Juddering. Tilting to one side as if something were pulling it.
“What’s happening?” Alex asked.
Basile was furiously checking gauges and LED screens. “What the blazes—it’s the hatch! Something’s stuck on it. It’s dragging us.”
Max grabbed the periscope and maneuvered it to look back over the top of the sub. The water was thick and muddy, but there was definitely a big, thick mass on the hatch. “Can’t tell what it is. Big, though. Maybe a glob of seaweed.”
“Or a car, or a large farm animal, some sort of modern detritus that some idiot human being dumped into the sea,” Basile said. “But I’m afraid if we do not get it off, it will damage the ship. So that shall be your first task as my crew. I will attempt to rise to the surface, so we don’t flood our happy little home. You may want to get some sort of tool to poke the thing off.”
Alex and Max ran out of the control room. As Alex went for the hatch, Max ducked into the power room, grabbed a crowbar, and raced after her. “Can I go first?” he said.
“We can fit together,” Alex said.
They grabbed opposite sides of the ladder and climbed up. Holding the crowbar in his left hand, Max held on to the hatch lever with his right. “Basile, are we above water yet?” he shouted.
“Yes!” came the answer. “Go ahead!”
Max flipped the electronic Open lever. The hatch engine whined, then shut off with a click.
“It’s stuck,” Alex said.
“Push!” Basile shouted back from the control room. “Press the safety latch and push!”
On the underside of the hatch was a lever marked EMERGENCY. Alex put her shoulder on it and put all her weight behind it. “Get off, you big old piece of sea garbage!” she shouted.
When it didn’t budge, Max wedged himself next to her. Now they both pounded it with their shoulders. “It’s a heavy sucker,” Max said.
“On three,” Alex said. “One . . . two . . . three!”
They slammed upward as hard as they could. Max could feel the hatch jerk open. With his left hand, he quickly shoved the crowbar into the slit. He swung it left and right to dislodge whatever was there. “I don’t think it’s seaweed!” he shouted. “It’s rubbery. Dense. Like an old truck tire!”
“Charming,” Basile called out.
Max thrust one more time. This time, the crowbar stuck tight. He tried to pull it back, but it resisted.
“What the—?” Max gave it another pull.
Whatever was outside the hatch yanked the crowbar clear out of his hand and into the darkness above.
“Aaaaaaghhh!” Max nearly fell back off the ladder.
Alex grabbed his arm. “Max, what hap—?”
The word caught in her throat. The hatch’s lid was lifting, the opening growing wider. By itself. Something gray and gelatinous undulated on the other side. It swelled and moved, until a giant white mass filled the round hatch.
A mammoth, unblinking eye.
39
“BASILE!” Alex screamed.
Max’s knees locked. A long, gray finger-like object, thick with slime, oozed its way downward through the opening. Its tip touched Max’s arm. It was cold and rough.
“Get down, Max—get down!” Alex was pulling on him, but something else was pulling harder.
The gray finger was plunging downward, stretching and twisting.
No. It was not a finger but a tube—a hose, a thick, endless tentacle, alive and moving fast. Its surface was festooned with rough-edged suction cups that scraped Max as the tentacle twined around his torso, pinning his right arm to his side. Max screamed as it continued down into the sub, sliding around his waist and his legs.
The tentacle’s thickness crowded the ladder, pulsing, pushing against Alex until she could hold on no longer. “Max!” she shrieked as she fell. “Basile!”
Max tried to free himself. He punched the tentacle with his free arm, but that did nothing. Above him, the top of the tentacle was attached to a gelatinous gray mass that undulated in the hatch. Its skin slid and crackled as if it were rolling, and Max no longer saw an eye but instead two sharp pincerlike objects that together resembled a giant bird’s beak.
As Max felt himself rising slowly upward, the beak opened. It bulged downward, its surrounding skin straining against the hatch.
“No-o-o-o!” Max screamed.
“Alex, give this to him!” Basile was shouting now. “Max, pay attention! It is a giant squid, and that is its mouth. You must do as I say. Look down! Take the weapon from Alex!”
Max struggled to breathe. His left hand now was jammed against the ceiling, and he pressed into it with all his strength to stop his upward movement. Inches above him, through the open beak, he could see into the fleshy mouth of a giant beast. Alex was climbing the ladder as fast as she could now. She was thrusting the hilt of a machete toward him.
“I can’t . . . I can’t let go . . .” Max said, not daring to reach downward.
Another tentacle squeezed through the hatch. It surged right past Max and headed down toward Alex. She screamed, dropping the machete before letting go of the ladder and falling to the floor. The tip of the tentacle dropped onto her face, bounced, and then began slithering under her back.
“Stop!” Alex yelled. She tried to get onto her feet, but the tentacle forced her back to the floor, wrapping itself around her in a slow spiral.
Basile had run back to the power room, and now he was returning. He struggled with the pain, his teeth gnashing and a crutch tucked under one arm. In his other hand he held an ax.
With a guttural roar, Basile swung the ax at the appendage that held Alex. Its long, slimy column reached from the hatch to the floor and provided a perfect target. The blade split it in two, the top part skirting upward in a violent spray of milky liquid. Alex rolled away, pushing the ripped flesh off her body and springing to her feet.
Max felt the beast’s grip around his body slacken.
“Let go of the ceiling while it’s in shock, lad!” Basile bellowed, scooping the machete off the ground and holding it up toward him. “And then shove this into its mouth!”
Max pulled his left hand away from the ceiling. He reached down and gripped tight to the machete’s hilt. The weapon was heavy, and he felt weak. But the beast was regaining its strength, squeezing him harder, yanking him closer. Its beak was open wide.
Max drew back his arms and thrust the machete upward. Its blade disappeared into the blackness of the creatur
e’s mouth, which shut with a tight snap.
The force yanked the weapon out of Max’s hand. The machete was stuck in the squid’s mouth like a toothpick, but the blade had sliced off the beak’s tip. A plume of white goop surged toward Max’s face, and he turned away.
As the tentacle loosened around him, Max slid downward. He thumped to the floor of the Conch. The monster must have opened its mouth again, because the machete clattered beside him.
He, Basile, and Alex all lunged for it.
But the tentacle got there first. It wrapped around the weapon and pulled it upward toward the hatch.
Max leaped. He grabbed on to the hilt and pulled as hard as he could. The blade twisted. Max could see it penetrate the beast’s skin. With all his strength, he maneuvered the blade so it sliced cleanly through the beast’s fleshy appendage. The severed part of the tentacle jerked upward, dangling on a fleshy flap.
As the beast withdrew, the skin holding the tentacle ripped, and the appendage hurtled downward. Max jumped out of the way, tensing for another attack.
But the creature was gone.
Max waited for a moment, then slumped against the ladder. Basile was doubled over, his teeth gritted in pain. “Are you all right?” Max asked.
“Max, look up!” Alex screamed.
A gaggle of quavering tentacles squeezed through the opening, like a nest of snakes. They slithered down, curling around the ladder, sliding along the ceiling, dropping straight to the floor. As Max backed away, he looked up, terrified. The monster hadn’t retreated. It had repositioned! “How many tentacles are there?” Max cried out.
“T-T-Ten!” Basile said. “Eight for swimming and two for holding prey and passing it to the mouth!”
Now the squid’s entire upper body was twisting through the narrow opening like some grotesque monster toothpaste. Once through, it instantly expanded to twice its girth. Finally its beak and eyes reemerged, and with a dull shhhlurp, the whole monstrous thing dropped to the floor in front of them. “Stand back!” Basile said.
Max didn’t even see him throw the ax. But he saw the flash of steel as it hurtled forward, embedding itself directly in the beast’s eyeball.
The squid let out no yell, no sound at all. Instead, its head dropped to the floor, and its tentacles rose into the air—looking to Max, miraculously, like it was surrendering.
Max quickly turned to check on Basile, but the old man’s eyes were wide. “Be careful, lad!”
As Max spun back around, an acrid liquid hit him in the eye. In an instant he realized the tentacles had risen not to surrender but to expose a kind of blowhole. The force of the spray knocked him back, and he slammed against the wall. Tears sprang into his eyes, and he tried to wipe them clean with his sleeve.
As he blinked, he could see that his shirt and arms were covered in black. Alex was doubled over next to him, screaming, her face and hair a matted mass of black gunk.
“It’s ink!” Basile shouted. “It won’t harm you!”
The old captain was heading down the hallway and into the control room, trying to distance himself from the squid. But a tentacle rose up and then plunged down and wrapped around Basile’s legs. He flailed his arms, dropping the crutch and grabbing on to the control room’s doorjamb. The squid lifted him and slapped him back down.
“Whatever you do, do not let it damage the controls!” Basile screamed.
Blinking the ink out of his eyes, Max staggered to the machete and raised it again.
From the hallway floor, two tentacles shot up directly toward him. One of them knocked the weapon from his hand. Together the tentacles thrust around both sides of Max, trapping him. “No!” he shouted.
“Let go of me!” Basile shouted from the control room.
No no no no no no no no no, Max’s brain screamed.
“Leave them alone!” Alex’s voice echoed.
She raced into the engine room, dripping with black liquid. Moments later she emerged with a lit blowtorch. She thrust it at one of the tentacles that held Max. It singed the skin, sending up a puff of greenish-gray smoke. The tentacle recoiled and went limp, hitting the floor. As the other one loosened, Max jumped away.
A sickening smell of fish—real, burned fish—permeated the air. Alex was moving slowly toward the control room now. She thrust the torch forward like a sword against the skin of the tentacle that held Basile. With each hit, the beast’s skin retreated like a wave, uncoiling from the old captain. The squid was pulling away from Alex’s attack, shrinking back toward the ladder.
As soon as the path was clear, Max ran behind Alex into the control room. Basile was still on the floor, writhing and moaning in agony.
The sight made Max angry. The squid was at the base of the ladder now, a huddled mass of quivering flesh, spotted with black where Alex had burned it. Severed tentacles littered the floor around it. Max could see the ax, still jutting from the eye. He couldn’t stop himself. He ran for the ax and yanked it out with a sickening thhhhurpp. The squid’s flesh flinched, and one of its intact tentacles reached toward Max.
“Max, what are you doing?” Alex shouted.
He leaped back, preparing to swing the ax again. But the tentacle changed direction in midair. Its tip pointed upward, then back to the ladder. It smacked against the rungs and began twining up toward the hatch. Another tentacle joined it, and a third. The squid’s upper body was tilting now, sliding toward the ladder as the tentacles pulled on it.
Alex lunged again, letting the flame singe the beast’s flesh, but Basile managed to call out a hoarse, “No!”
Alex and Max turned. The captain was struggling to his feet, one hand pressed against the wall. “It’s trying to get away!” he said. “Let it go and shut the hatch. There are more coming!”
“More?” Alex said.
Basile gestured to a distant black mass out the control room window. As it came closer, Max could see the flash of eyes, the jetlike thrust of tentacles, the trailing clouds of black. “They travel in packs!” Basile said. “We have to get out of here before they overwhelm us. Shut the hatch!”
The squid oozed up the ladder, tentacles first and then body. Its thick flesh contracted as it squeezed itself through the hatch. Alex prodded it with the torch, and Max followed carefully behind, tightly gripping the slimy ladder.
When the domed top of its head disappeared, Max pulled the hatch shut and locked it. Alex fell back against the hallway wall, shutting her eyes. “Thank God it’s over.”
“We’re good to go, Basile!” Max shouted.
He dropped to the floor. He kicked aside a section of tentacle that was already starting to shrivel and curl into a ball.
In the control room, Basile threw the steering wheel to the right. The Conch was shuddering now. Alex and Max ran in and stood beside him.
Through the window, the water was a dark, menacing gray. In it, Max saw dozens of oval eyes and snapping orange beaks. A giant tentacle smacked itself directly on the window, its suction cups spreading wide and holding fast.
“They’re attacking!” Max said.
Basile broke into a coughing jag that nearly toppled him from the seat. “Fire . . . the depths . . .” he croaked.
“What?” Alex said.
“The depth charges!” Basile said, gesturing to the wall near where Max was standing, just to the left of the window. “Fire the depths!”
Max turned. He was eye to eye with the red button labeled EMERGENCY DC under a larger square of protective glass. A chain hung from the glass with a key.
DC. Depth charges.
“Now, lad! Now!” Basile yelled.
Max inserted the key into a hole at the side of the glass square. When it popped open, he jammed his hand down on the red button.
An ear-splitting siren sounded. The Conch jolted violently, and Max lost his footing.
But he held on long enough to see what looked like a torpedo slice through their cloud of attackers before exploding with a distant boom.
40
&n
bsp; THE squid were gone.
The water was a slate gray. Basile sat at the controls, blinking and looking like he was about to keel over.
And Max and Alex were back to searching for the location Jules Verne had given them.
“She rides quicker now . . .” Basile said absently. “The Conch, that is. We’re a little lighter without the depths. That’s a good thing . . . mostly . . .”
Max looked up from the maps and gave Alex a concerned look.
“Are you sure you’re okay, Basile?” Alex said.
“Fresh as the bay I was dorn,” Basile declared. “Well, not really. After today’s shenanigans, you can bet I won’t be eating calamari anytime soon.”
“You said ‘bay I was dorn,’” Max said.
“Did I?” Basile replied.
“Maybe we should stop somewhere,” Alex said. “Get you to a real hospital.”
Basile laughed. “This isn’t New York City, lass. Puffins outnumber humans here. And they don’t take my health insurance. But . . . erm, we do need to hit land soon. For fueling reasons.”
“How low are we?” Max asked.
“A couple more hours at the most,” Basile replied. “I’d planned to buy some diesel from those nice chaps at Piuli Point. But you know how that went. So keep your eyes out for civilization. Have you really not found the place?”
“No Tourbillon D’Eau anywhere,” Alex said. “There’s got to be some kind of mistake.”
“Or maybe it’s a code,” Max said. “Should we rearrange the letters?”
“Why would a town in Greenland have a bloody French name to begin with?” Basile let out a big yawn and began rubbing his eyes. “The Danes and the Inuit are the only ones interested in the place.”
Alex nodded. “The French hate the cold. The ones who liked it went to Canada.”
“What the—” Basile said, moving the steering wheel to the right. “Why in heaven’s name is she pulling to starboard?”
Max went to the periscope and peered through. “I don’t see any squids.”
“Has this ever happened before?” Alex asked.
“It could be a strange riptide,” Basile said. “Or we’re caught on some infernal cable. What else do you see, lad?”
Max Tilt: Fire the Depths Page 17
