Blackout

by Edward W. Robertson

  "Screw that." He leaned back in the chair, nerves fluttering crazily. "It's Miller time."

  Tristan grabbed his hand and squeezed. "That was awesome. I can't even parallel park."

  With the situation under control, however temporarily, Ness got out the Swimmer med kit Sebastian had once shown him how to use, turned on the pad inside it, and pressed it to Sebastian's neck. The readouts were in the aliens' incomprehensible writing, but the graphs all fell within what Ness thought was the indicated range of good health.

  "Sam, you mind telling Sprite and our passengers what's up?" Ness wiped sweat from his forehead. It was always humid in the sub, and he sweated like crazy at the barest hint of activity or stress. "Then come on back here. I got a feeling I'll need your advice again."

  She nodded once and jogged from the room. Tristan wandered in front of the screens. "Can we run any sensors at all? Or are we totally blind?"

  Ness moved beside her. "This thing doesn't have any microphones per se. So sound's out. Most of the cameras are blocked by the ledge, too." He tapped one of the screens. "But we got an autonomous drone camera we can send out. I'd rather not—I don't know if they could sense its signals—but if we run into more problems, it's an option."

  With no other actions to take, Ness had nothing left to do but worry, his savant skill. He checked Sebastian again, but the results were the same. Sam came back, her expression as unflappable as ever.

  "They're scared," she said. "But they're tough. They'll be fine."

  Ness grunted. "Wish I could say the same for me."

  As the minutes ticked by, he got more and more worried about Sebastian. He knew there was nothing he could do, but that only made it worse. Sebastian's tentacles started to twitch. Not all violent and scary-like, but like a cat having a dream.

  A deep yet soft boom echoed through the sub. Ness jerked. "What the heck?"

  "You tell us," Tristan said.

  "Our readouts look fine. That didn't come from the sub. It came from outside."

  A second boom sounded, slightly louder.

  "They don't think we're dead." Tristan looked up at the ceiling. "They're bombing the canyon."

  Ness rubbed his palms against his face. "Of course they are. God forbid they give us a break."

  "If they find us, we're a sitting duck. Time to send out the camera."

  Ness deployed the autonomous camera, leaving all of its lights off. It was only a couple feet across. Might be small enough to escape detection. It was ridiculously dark out. Ness was still getting his bearings when distant light flashed on the canyon wall. The lens dimmed; the sea boiled, shards of rock sloughing from the wall while clouds of steam bubbled to the surface.

  He shifted the camera's focus higher. Tristan jabbed at the screen. "There."

  A black cylinder moved through the water hundreds of yards to their southwest. It advanced at a crawl, hanging out just above the canyon. Small cones of light moved around it. Drones, like the one Ness was currently operating.

  "Coming our way," Sam said. "I'm guessing those lights are recon?"

  Ness glanced at Sebastian, who was still out for the count. "Safe bet."

  "Then we have a decision to make."

  Another bomb went off, whiting out the camera for a second. Ness could only stare in dumb outrage at all the sea life they were haphazardly blowing up.

  Tristan put her hand on the back of his neck. "If they knew exactly where we were, we'd already be dead. We make a break for it. Try to get out of here before they know what's happening."

  Ness shook his head. "They're as fast as we are. We try to make like a rabbit, and they'll stick a torpedo right up our cottontail."

  "If we can't run, that leaves us with one option."

  "You want to fight back? I'd love to, but we don't have any weapons left."

  "We have weapons," Sam said. "A whole closet full of plastique. What we lack is a delivery system."

  Tristan got a funny look on her face. "Or do we?"

  "I don't think I like where this is going," Ness said.

  "Do you remember when we took out the underwater virus lab in Mexico?"

  "I know I don't like where this is going."

  "Let's get suited up. Sam, prep the explosives. Ness, tell Sprite to watch the helm—and Sebastian. I'll meet you in the wet room."

  Trying not to think about what he was about to do, Ness ran up to the galley, which smelled exactly like the forty people packed into it, found Sprite, and brought him back to the command room, summarizing the situation as they went. Once Sprite had taken the helm, Ness ran to the wet room. Tristan was already suiting up in her scuba gear.

  "We're gonna be operating way deeper than recommended." He wormed into his wetsuit. "Two pieces of good news. The first is that this sub runs a mixture of gases meant to diminish the effects of pressure changes. The second is that the main problem of a deep dive is ascending. We're not going all the way to the surface, so we might be all right so long as we don't stay out there too long. But if you start to feel drunk or disoriented, let me know right away, okay?"

  Tristan glanced up. "Why would I feel drunk?"

  "Something to do with the increased pressure of the gas. Sebastian explained it to me once. Point is, this isn't like splashing around in the bottom of a swimming pool. Deep dives can go wrong in a hurry."

  They got on their booties, helping each other with their helmets and tanks. Sam arrived with a case of reddish-orange bricks.

  She picked one of them up. "This is your explosive."

  Ness pressed his lips together. "I've handled this stuff before."

  "Humor me. We're dealing with heavy explosives. We can spare the time for a quick refresher." Sam picked up a plastic rod that looked like the handle of a joystick, complete with a red button on the tip. "This is your detonator. Which you probably don't want to use while you're anywhere nearby. I don't want to learn about the effect of a Semtex shock wave on a diver at a hundred meters' depth."

  "Trust me, Sam, if I weren't wearing this wetsuit, I'd be shitting my pants the entire time we're out there. I'm not gonna do anything dumb. I mean, besides the mission itself."

  She smiled thinly, patted him on the shoulder, and exited. Another bomb went off outside the ship, the loudest one yet. Ness clipped the explosives to his belt and sealed his helmet. Tristan gave him a thumbs up. He moved to the pad beside the entry, closing the door. The pressure increased at once. He popped his ears repeatedly, acclimating. Water gurgled into the room and swirled around their ankles, rising rapidly. Ness could feel its chill through his wetsuit.

  He breathed evenly through his regulator. He'd done dozens of dives, especially in the early days with Sebastian, but the regulator still made him anxious. He stared at Tristan.

  "What?" she said, voice muffled by the mask.

  "Just reminding myself what I'm doing this for."

  "That is tremendously cheesy," she said. "But also very sweet. Although I have the feeling you're only looking at me because Sebastian isn't here."

  He laughed shakily. Water climbed to the ceiling. The status light beside the exit hatch switched. Ness opened the hatch and pulled himself out into the shaded ink of the water. He cleared the exit and waited for Tristan to join him. He tethered her to him at the waist and closed the door.

  As soon as he did so, they dropped into total darkness. Ahead, the lights of the enemy submarine's camera drones slashed through the black. Ness gave a tug on the tether and kicked toward the lights, ascending gradually.

  An explosion burst from the base of the cliffs not a thousand feet away. Ness jerked his head to the side, the afterimage shimmering in his vision. A heavy boom sounded through the water, much louder than any of the ones he'd heard from inside the sub. His breathing sounded almost as loud.

  He kicked hard, mirrored by Tristan. The other sub drifted onward. Its drones were spread out along the walls, investigating any hollows or side canyons. As long as he and Tristan came straight at the other ship, Nes
s thought they'd escape notice from the free-swimming cameras. Light blinked from the belly of the sub. Ness lifted his eyes. Seconds later, another burst flashed from the ocean floor.

  As they neared the ship, the hum of its engines murmured through Ness' helmet, fighting to be heard over his breathing and the bubbles that came with it. He ascended slowly. The closer they got, the huger the sub looked. Its size made it look like it was just idling along, but he soon realized it was approaching quicker than he could swim. And if it was the same design as the one his team crewed, it wouldn't have any handholds on the bottom. There would only be one place to grab on: the tower.

  The scuba helmets had a little radio built into them, but he had no intention of putting his to use at that moment. He tugged up on the tether twice. Tristan adjusted course, rising with him. A camera drone angled past the ship's nose, light sweeping through the blackness of the sea, illuminating ghostly squid fleeing the oncoming monster.

  Ness came level with the nose of the dark leviathan, then swam another fifteen feet up. Though he could feel the Semtex clipped to his suit, he kept touching it, reassuring himself it was there. The enemy sub was now less than a hundred yards away. Feeling like a baitfish, he stopped swimming, kicking just enough to hold position.

  The hum of the ship became a blare. Tristan hung beside him, no more than an outline in the ambient light cast by the drones. The nose of the submarine swept beneath him. He turned in the same direction as the ship and kicked with everything he had, decreasing its speed relative to his. As the tower neared, he scrabbled for the rungs on its side. His gloved hand caught fast.

  With his heart going at it like an over-strained bilge pump, he turned on his helmet's flashlight. Particles sifted through the water. A bomb went off on the sea bed; his crotch warmed before he could cut off the flow. Would have to wash his wetsuit later. Next to him on the side of the tower, Tristan opened his pack and handed him a brick-colored bar of Semtex. He squashed it against the base of the tower and wedged a radio-controlled detonator into it.

  The camera drones were all below the sub, hunting the fissure. Ness circled the tower, planting more charges, then tethered himself to a rung and slid down the hull toward the aft, gluing on three more.

  He hauled himself back up the line to the tower. He gave Tristan a thumbs up, then pointed upward. She nodded. He unclipped himself from the rung and counted down on his fingers. As he dropped his index finger, they both jumped.

  The ship whooshed beneath them. Ness kicked his fins and shut off his light. He leveled out and gave the tether a tug, inducing Tristan to quit climbing. As a great wash of bubbles rose from the sub's tail, he veered to the side, kicking downward.

  He swam onward, jostled by the disturbed currents. His heart was still beating way too fast. He fought to control his breath—at depths, breathing too fast could actually poison you. The vague shape of the enemy sub shrank behind them. It was closing on their ship by the second, its camera drones ranging ahead. Ness descended hard, popping his ears.

  He tugged the line between him and Tristan, stopping. He turned on the flashlight, opened his pouch, and got out the remote detonator. He thumbed the button.

  His back was to the sub, but the light of the blast lit up the walls like the sun, casting shadows from the kelp cemented to the rock. The thunder was even louder than the enemy bombs. Instinctively, he tucked himself into a ball. The shock wave clocked him in the back, rocking him. He turned. The camera drones converged on the alien submarine, lights passing over a massive eruption of bubbles. The broken hull tumbled downward, metal screeching as it tore apart. The drones went still. The sub plunged into darkness. Moments later, the wallop of its impact resounded through the canyon.

  "I can't believe that worked!" Ness blurted into his radio.

  Tristan laughed. "I don't think there's any problem a few pounds of high explosives can't solve."

  He laughed giddy. Like drunkenly so. "Let's get back ASAP. I'm starting to feel funny in the head."

  "It's okay, Ness. We're tied together. We've got helmets. We'll get each other back."

  They swam through the bubbles streaming from the wreckage. At every swish of the water, Ness imagined a Swimmer had survived the blast and was reaching up to grab his ankle. Lost in his anxiousness regarding these unseen threats, as well as his concern for his increasingly loopy head, it was with great surprise that he found himself swimming under a rocky ledge concealing another submarine.

  They found their way to the hatch on the side of the hull. Ness tapped the code into its access pad. The door swung open. The wet room was full of sea water, but after the darkness and terror of the dive, the room's steady light was comforting. They entered and cycled out the water.

  The door stayed shut; vents slowly equalized the pressure between the sub's interior and what they'd experienced outside. They helped each other get their helmets off.

  Sprite's tinny voice piped up from the waterproof storage bin Ness had left his walkie talkie in. "Guys! You all set to go?"

  Ness opened the bin and picked up the walkie. "Let's get out of here before their backup arrives. How's Sebastian?"

  "Awake! But super groggy. I'm going to fire up the ship, okay? Talk more soon!"

  Ness replaced the walkie in the bin. The two of them peeled off their gear, stripped naked, and rinsed off the salt. The fresh water felt amazing. So did sitting down on the bench and drying off.

  "What?" Tristan said, toweling her hair. "We should still be high-fiving. You look like we just found out that ship was full of puppies."

  "This sub used to keep us safe. Any trouble, and we'd pop under the water and power out of there. Now, though? We'd be safer parking it and heading for the hills."

  "After we drop off Raina's soldiers, we need to have a group meeting. I think we might be done here."

  He jerked up his chin. "Done?"

  She wrapped her towel around her chest. "We can't afford another encounter like that. It's time to find somewhere else we can be more helpful—and put Los Angeles behind us."

  14

  He couldn't sleep.

  Nothing new. Even before the changes, Lowell had always been an insomniac. Gazing blearily at the TV. Blue-tinged light. Nick at Nite or the replay of the Dodgers game. A puddle of liquor in the bottom of a glass. Didn't matter what, so long as it was amber or brown; he knew guys who were fussy about their liquor, but he liked to roam. Straight rum was overlooked, for one. Sometimes it would hit him four, five nights a week. Any more than three nights running, and it was the daylight that started to look unreal.

  On the night of the attack, he recognized the feeling within ten minutes of climbing into bed. He sighed and got out of the bed in the bungalow a few blocks from the Home Depot. This time, at least he had a reason for his sleeplessness. He checked his pockets for gum, knowing he wouldn't find any, then tried his jacket and his spare set of clothes. Nothing. He got on his holster, then his shoes and jacket. Randy snored in the other room. Quiet as he could, Lowell opened the front door and stepped into the night.

  It was relatively cold and it smelled like it. Raina had shut down the Dunemarket days ago, but not even an alien invasion could stop the local entrepreneurs, and a few swappers had moved into the DMV, operating under the cover of the pebbled roof. The neighborhood around the house was one of winding roads, hostile to outside traffic. Lowell cut through the yards and arrived at the back of the governmental building where the driving test obstacles were busy collecting dust.

  The entire area was under blackout orders, but when he circled to the front, lights flickered behind the heavy sheets hung over the windows. Inside, four men and two women sat around a table, cheap plastic chairs, poker chips on a green Christmas tablecloth of candy canes and Santa hats. Each player had a jelly jar of a clear fluid that was certainly moonshine. Each turned their face his way.

  "Don't mean to interrupt," Lowell said. "I'm looking for gum."

  One of the men folded his playing cards tog
ether, holding them against his waist. "You want a gun? Check that holster of yours."

  "Gum. Chewing."

  The man glanced at his friend. "A gun I could understand. What do you want gum for?"

  "To practice my walking," Lowell said. The man blinked. "Forget it."

  He walked off into the neighborhoods, searching the old houses, rifling through drawers and turning out pockets. Addict behavior, but what did it matter? It was gum. He liked it. Better to spend his time trying to find it than to lie in bed watching the shadows move across the ceiling.

  Room to room, house to house. An hour later, he opened a drawer, pawing through the keys and coins and receipts, then closed it. He stopped and opened it again. Light glinted from metal foil. Pink packaging. Bubble Yum. Not his favorite—he liked sticks—but he'd stooped far lower over the years.

  He went to the porch, sat on the damp chair, and unwrapped one of the small pink blocks. Chewing, he felt the particular thrill of accomplishing a task that only held meaning to yourself. The gum was hard but incredibly sweet. Clouds moved across the sky. Good cover for Lawson. Raina, too.

  A pang hit him. That, there: unease about the battle. Nothing concrete. Just a bad feeling. That was what kept him up. Obvious in hindsight. He chewed, letting his mind work at its own pace. Was it a flaw in the plans that got him? Lawson's was fine: low-resource, no real loss if it failed. Raina's was much more of an investment—most of her army—but there was reason to think it would work. And if it did, and Lawson's too, the Swimmers would be knocked out of the ring in one fell swoop.

  Just worries, then. The type of crap your brain spun to keep itself occupied. Treat everything as a threat, and you can never be caught off guard.

  After a while, his gum ran out of flavor. Still had plenty of bounce, though, so he didn't replace it.

  Hoofbeats. Far away. Multiple sets running hard. Lowell loosened his pistol in its holster and made for the Home Depot.

  In the absence of its leader-generals, San Pedro had been left in Wendy's hands. At the hardware store, Lowell found a sentry and ordered the man to go find her. The sentry jogged into the night. Two minutes later, the man came back, Wendy at his side.