by Suzanne Robb
Z-Boat
by Suzanne Robb
A Twisted Library/Library of Horror book
Published by arrangement with the author
ISBN: 1467945749
ISBN-13: 978-1467945745
This book is a work of fiction. People, places, events, and situations are the product of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or historical events, is purely coincidental.
Copyright 2011 Suzanne Robb and Twisted Library Press. All Rights Reserved.
Formatted by Owen CLB
No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author and publisher.
Acknowledgement
I would like to thank my mom for her unconditional love and support. Ian for being the best friend/brother a person could have. Adrian for starting me on this ride called writing, and Stephen for motivating me to finish this book.
Prologue
Decades ago, during the recession of the early twenty-first century, the world tumbled into chaos. The once-mighty superpowers meant to make us feel safe fell apart overnight. Social structure, governing agencies, and military command crumbled under indecisive leadership and haemorrhaging economies.
The result: other countries lying in wait for their chance rose up to fill the gap. Russia, Israel, and North Korea usurped control of the world. For years, these countries hoarded money and amassed weapons, waiting for the mighty giants to fall. In the end, their foresight paid off.
These new rulers didn't believe in democracy, diplomacy, or much of anything except operating with dictatorial tactics. The three were at odds with one another to see who would be the one to dominate all others.
In the crossfire were all other nations, big and small; none was spared. Civil liberties, freedom, and hope were words that had fallen from regular use decades ago. The Golden Age had come to an end. In its place, conspiracy, plotting, and deceit grew.
To aid the rapidly declining world situation, the population had grown to catastrophic numbers due to advances in health science, and an explosion in birth rates.
Diseases that once plagued mankind were now eradicated. People lived longer than ever. Food grew at an accelerated rate, all thanks to scientific intervention. Tomatoes were now the size of melons, melons the size of small children.
Science altered the DNA of fruits and vegetables so much that they no longer had nutritional value, but since they grew all year round without the need for sun or vitamins and minerals from the soil, nutrition was seen as a small price to pay. People called this new world a virtual utopia.
This dream turned out to be short lived, and soon became a nightmare. Land became barren from irradiated seeds. Over-irrigation caused the salinization levels of the soil to rise until fields once full of vegetables and orchards became oceans of salt.
What were once vast farmlands were now wastelands inhabited by nomads. Animals of any kind in short supply, anything that moved was considered food by the starving masses. Man's best friend no longer existed.
The water supply was polluted by acid rain, toxic runoff, and thousands of oil drilling mishaps. Clear water and white beaches were a thing of the past. People drank water from the moon, full of unidentified organisms. Scientists tried to stop it, but failed because it was safer to drink than what they had on Earth.
The only hope left: the unexplored areas of the ocean. Science adapted their model to focus on one thing: deep-sea research into alternative fuel, food, and clean water sources. If this research does not yield some sort of result, mankind will die.
Chapter One
Igor Vanovich made his way to the control room, the disorientation from the loss of blood making the normally easy trek more difficult. He kept getting turned around and confused.
The screams, fires, and leaking water didn't help. A submarine taking on water was never good. He considered fire a bad thing too, and laughed at the irony of dying in a fire while several thousand feet below the ocean's surface.
Finally, he saw the door he had been searching for. Igor pulled out his gun and slowly pushed it open. He trusted no one and would shoot anything moving, friend or not. Red flashing emergency lights made it difficult to see, the strobe-like effect playing tricks on him.
He moved slowly and methodically toward the communications panel. He tripped over what looked like a leg, but he couldn't be sure. He had stopped being bothered at sights like this long ago.
Dimitri Kruger sat in the seat for guidance control, his face half eaten, a bloody socket with strands of rotten flesh where his arm used to be. Reflexes caused Igor to fire a shot directly into Dimitri's head. The body jerked forward, then fell to the floor. They had been best friends since elementary school.
Igor moved on without a second thought. He needed to reach the communications panel. The others needed to be warned. Nothing could be done to save his crewmates, but at least he could spare others from this fate. He could tell them to stop the research; the algae wasn't what they thought it was.
A scream pierced the eerie quiet of the control room. Igor halted. The pounding of his heart throbbed in his head, the rapid flow of blood making him lightheaded. The scream stopped, and the only sounds remaining were the moans of the things on board.
Shaking off the momentary lapse, he began to move on. He felt something watching him and looked around the room to find the source of his unease. Dimitri's eyes remained open, staring at him.
He knew it couldn't be possible, but for a moment, he thought Dimitri winked at him. Igor moved as fast as he could towards the panel; it was within his reach. He had to stop the S.O.S. they had sent out. He knew others would come, and they would die. All he had to do was send one message, one warning, one simple plea not to come. As he reached the panel, he sensed the presence again.
He glanced at Dimitri, who still lay there, unmoving. He turned to the panel and saw the face of death. The mouth dripped blood; the flesh of others could be seen caught within its teeth. The murky eyes glowed red with the lighting, though he knew their real color, a milky white.
Igor lifted his gun to fire. Before he had it halfway, the creature tore into the side of his neck. He could hear the sick squishing sound of skin breaking. He could feel his blood being forced into the mouth of the creature. Flesh being torn, and his bones snapping were the last things he felt.
Igor did not have time to scream. His last thoughts were not of pain or fear. His mind filled only with his failure to warn the rescue team. How many others were going to die because of him? One final crack of bone, then Igor thought no more.
Thrown aside like a piece of trash, Igor's body fell to the floor as the creature moved back into the shadows. A smile dripping blood adorned its face. The creature watched as others came into the room to feast on Igor.
He watched with giddy excitement. The smell of blood and the building frenzy of bloodlust among the creatures around him aroused his hunger once more. He kept the smile on his face. He knew more would come. He sent the S.O.S. himself. It might take a few weeks, perhaps a few months, but they would come. In the meantime, they had plenty of meat left onboard. Patience is a virtue, his mother had always told him.
Six Months Later
Captain Iain Kingston slammed the small phone down on his desk. He had been dealing with bureaucrats all day and was sick to death of it. They had no idea how things really worked. They sat in their offices and collected regular paychecks for telling other people what to do.
Finally his luck turned; he had landed a contract for a search and rescue. The timing was perfect, as he didn't have the cash to pay for the repairs the sub had undergone recently.
Of course, there had to be a problem. Two of the countries in con
flict wanted members on board, which caused Iain a major headache. He was no diplomat and told them he would take the crewmember with the most experience.
Russia won. The other country, which refused to identify itself, told Iain there would be consequences for his decision. He told the guy to shove it, and closed the communications channel.
He received confirmation from a bank he'd never heard of that half of the funds had been transferred into his account and he would receive the rest of the payment when he returned with the item.
Rescue any survivors and the item. Those orders were the extent of his knowledge. They would be sending someone for the item and a doctor to deal with the survivors. The other members he had to take were to help with the operation.
"God, I hate this crap."
Iain looked away from the old picture frame on his desk and called up his file screen. A three-dimensional menu appeared in front of him.
"Personnel files." A pile of files appeared within the image in front of him.
He poured himself a glass of whiskey as he read the names. Once again he had to take on people he didn't know to lead a rescue mission to some creepy part of the ocean to save a bunch of morons who didn't know what they were doing. He glanced at the picture on his desk once more to remind himself why he put up with all this.
His kids, Daniel, Mark, and Theresa, that was why. They were also all he had to show for his life. Well, he had the Betty Loo, but a rundown late-twentieth-century sub didn't really count for much in his book. Though it acted as home for him and a few other regular crew.
Divorced twice, with a sickly pallor due to the fact he spent most of his time under water. His eyes so sensitive to light, he had to wear sunglasses whenever he went outside during the day. Not that it really mattered, with the sun unable to penetrate the polluted skies for decades. The excessive consumption of alcohol probably didn't help.
He sighed. At least this time he got to keep his usual crew. Iain didn't like taking on strangers; he didn't trust them. Then again, he really didn't trust most of his usual crew either.
A dark laugh burbled up from his chest. "What a wonderful world..." he sang out loud as he began to look over the personnel files of the people he would be forced to welcome aboard for this mission.
"Open file, Ivan Sutter." The file opened. "Well, he's one scary-looking bastard." The small image of a pale man with a muscular build stood in front of him.
A little over six feet tall with several scars on his face and blond hair cut short the way the military used to like it. Ivan listed himself as single with no kids and no immediate family. How this guy made it up the ranks to be a diplomatic liaison by the age of twenty-eight, suspicious at best.
Ivan, a trained deep-sea diver, search-and-rescue licensed, knew how to operate every type of submersible in existence and had been educated in America. Only people who had no other options got an education in North America. Not off to a great start with the stats of the new crew.
"Close file Ivan Sutter, open file Maxine Williams." Iain saw the image come up of a young-looking Asian woman with a roundish face and brown eyes.
Her status: also single with no kids. She worked as a triage doctor with a degree from somewhere in Russia he couldn't pronounce.
Thank God we got an educated doc this time around, Iain thought with relief.
Doctor Williams's file was full of recommendations, citations for good works, and several papers she had written on various cures she developed as further progress was made into deep-sea research.
"Obviously, the good doctor has no life whatsoever, which means she's on someone's payroll, never a good thing." Iain sighed again as he poured himself another glass of whiskey.
"Close file Maxine Williams, open file Tom Simon." The aged image of Tom Simon appeared.
He looked to be in his forties, with sandy brown hair and blue eyes, listed as married with two kids. Deep-ocean navigation as well as limited piloting of some submersibles on his resume. The only education he received was from the GSR institute.
"Looks like you're a lifer with Global Search and Rescue, Tommy boy. Bet you never get to see your family. On the plus side, I know you're not on anyone's payroll."
"Close file Tom Simon, open file Philip Kramer." The image of Tom dissolved, replaced by one of Philip Kramer.
He appeared to be in his thirties, listed as single with no kids. He had a rugged build, but the pallor of his skin was a dead giveaway to the amount of time he spent working underwater or in labs.
Credited as dive-certified, a specialist in seaborne illnesses, as well as an oceanic botanist. "Now why the hell do I need one of you on this little trip, Mister Simon?" Alarm bells rang faintly in the back of Iain's head.
Something definitely didn't make sense with the crew they were sending him. This job wasn't shaping up to be an ordinary search and rescue, more of a collection of minds. Iain felt like they were putting together a crew to deal with any possible scenario that might arise. With a sigh and shake of his head, he refilled his glass once more.
"Close file Philip Kramer, open file Johnny Ventura." The image of a cocky, smiling, and tan young man materialized.
Iain disliked him immediately. Perhaps because he listed himself as single with a question mark next to kids, or because he flexed while he posed for the picture, or it might simply be the fact that he looked like a jerk.
Apparently Johnny, adept at diving in extreme conditions, had nothing else to offer them. From the shiny veneers, tan, and overconfident look, Iain knew this guy made a lot of money going to scary places. He made a mental note to steer clear of him.
Thankfully, the people who hired him allowed him to keep his pilot, Ally Lane. They had been working together for almost ten years, and if there was one person he trusted, it would be her, although he'd never admit it.
In her thirties, athletic with blond hair and blue eyes, Ally was every guy's wet dream. However, people were thrown off when they realized she had been trained in just about every type of combat and was as girly as he was.
Since he got to keep Ally, he made sure Marcus Hauser, the apprentice mechanic on the submarine for the past two years, stayed too. A powerfully built guy who came across as a bit naíve at times, but was reliable and damn good at his job. The fact that he and Ally were seeing one another also made Iain push to keep him. No Marcus would mean no Ally, and he needed her.
Nina Rose, his main diver, was a given, since she designed the rescue submersible attached to the sub. In her thirties and some sort of engineering prodigy, though you would never know it upon meeting her.
Nina was as unattractive as any woman could get, and about as manly as she could be without actually having a set of balls, though he wasn't sure she didn't. She swore like a sailor, gambled, and drank. God love her, she was his type of woman.
Lastly, Dutch Mitchell. No one knew his age, only that he was one of the original members of the team first assigned to Betty Loo. Might seem like a stupid name for a sub, but Iain didn't get to choose it.
Dutch was the go-to guy for any electrical, mechanical, and other problems they ran into. Iain had to admit they relied on him more often than he liked. Dutch knew every nook and cranny on the sub, and Iain trusted his judgement when it came to what Betty Loo could do. Dutch had a skewed view, though, and tended to think she could do anything.
That view had gotten them into quite a few tricky situations over the years. If not for Ally's piloting skills and Marcus's ability to think fast on his feet, they would most likely have been at the bottom of the ocean right now.
Iain looked one last time at the image of Johnny Ventura. A sinking feeling developed in his stomach. "Close file Johnny Ventura."
He went to fill up his whiskey glass, but the bottle mocked him with its emptiness.
I hate it when that happens, Iain thought dismally.
Standing up, he threw the bottle into the trash and opened his desk drawer. He pulled a new one from his reserve, unscrewed the top,
and refilled his glass. Walking over to his bed, he tried to figure out what he had gotten himself into.
Chapter Two
Ally Lane sparred in her usual spot, the far corner of Mike's Gym, beating the hell out of a punching bag. Covered in sweat and focused on what she did, not caring about the eyes in the room following her every move.
She was not oblivious; she just chose to ignore those around her. She found it made life much easier. Having lots of friends tended to make things too complicated, and she liked simple. Most people thought she was stuck up, or assumed she thought she was too good to associate with them. Ally really didn't care as long as it kept them away from her.
Wouldn't they all be surprised if they knew the truth? She had the social skills of a bar of soap. Raised by her grandfather until the age of thirteen, when he died, she never knew who her parents were or what happened to them. Her grandfather never offered up the information, and he took the secret to his grave.
After his death, she was taken away by a man she didn't know. He told her she would be going to a special home where she would be educated and trained. He didn't mention that the training would be combat or that the education would entail military tactics and war game strategies.
At the time, too young to question what was going on, she simply felt lucky not to end up on the streets doing God knows what to make money. As she got older, she realized she had been raised and groomed at some sort of military compound with other orphaned kids. Those with no family were perfect for their needs, though she didn't know it at the time.
They spouted ideals about regaining power and status by killing those who had taken it away. A few years later, the realization sank in that she was part of a militia, though not through any volunteering on her part. She learned they took the law into their own hands, doing whatever they wanted to make their point. Collateral damage was not something they cared about. Ally didn't agree with their methods, but she knew enough to keep her mouth shut.
