Z-Boat

by Suzanne Robb

  Ally had been close with her grandfather, and the military propaganda about what values and methods she should adopt didn't fit with how he raised her. Though she had little choice in the matter, there was no escape once you were in. Watching one of her friends gunned downed as they tried to make a run for it cemented no escape into her head at the age of fourteen.

  When Ally was twenty-five, they felt she was ready to be brought into the inner circle. They told her how they were a sect of the military that had survived all these years through secrecy and extreme methods when threats presented themselves.

  They trained people in an effort to one day balance out the power so America could once again be a great nation. They explained that in order for that to occur, people needed to make sacrifices and believe in what they were doing.

  Are you a believer, Lisa? The men intently staring at her, she knew what she had to say if she wanted to live. No escape.

  Yes sir, I am.

  From then on, she became one of their most trusted soldiers, until they asked her to do something she didn't believe in, something she couldn't even pretend to believe in.

  Up until that point, she did small things- gather intelligence, fire-bomb places she made sure were empty, things she felt weren't harming people. Then one day they asked her to assassinate someone.

  She agreed to do the mission and prepared for it like a good girl. When the day arrived, she took her personal possessions, which amounted to a photograph of her grandfather and a necklace that had belonged to her mother. Ally left to complete the mission, but went on the run instead.

  She changed her name and her looks. Since then, not a day went by where she didn't look over her shoulder or get nervous when someone stared at her a bit too long for comfort.

  Ally ran into Iain about ten years ago, in a bar where he picked the losing side in a fight. She stepped in and ended up saving his life when the other guy pulled a knife.

  Iain, impressed with her skill, thanked her with a job offer. She raised an eyebrow and told him she wasn't that kind of girl.

  Just as she turned to walk away, he told her she'd misunderstood what he meant. He gave her the rundown on the Betty Loo and how he took jobs for underwater search and rescue.

  What do you need, a maid? 'Cuz I don't pick up after anyone.

  No, I need a pilot. My old one is leaving. He can show you the ropes.

  I don't know anything about piloting a submarine.

  I have a feeling you're a quick learner. Plus the pay is crap, so anyone I hire isn't going to know what they're doing.

  She hesitated for a moment, then realized being under water a good portion of the time was the perfect way to stay hidden and off the grid.

  Fine, I'm in. Let's go.

  Over time, Iain seemed to understand her quirks, as he never once asked about her past. She could tell he had a shady past of his own from the shadows in his eyes, and he probably recognized the shadows in hers. By silent agreement, neither one ever asked about the other's history; they both knew it wasn't something to talk about. Ally had been there for him ever since.

  She stopped pounding the punching bag and took a swig of water, a murky brown, not the best, but not the worst going around these days. She glanced around the room, noticing some of the stares on her. She chalked it up to the sweaty woman thing guys liked and unlaced her gloves. She threw them on the floor next to her bag.

  Ally walked over to the chin-up bar and took a deep breath. Grabbing the worn bar, she lifted herself up and began the cycle of up and down. She did it until her arms burned, until no thought existed in her head but the pain. When she wasn't in the safety of the ocean, she had to distract herself. Going to the gym and exhausting herself worked best thus far.

  Marcus flashed in her mind for a moment, and she smiled to herself. If forced at gunpoint, she would admit to feeling better when she was around him. He was a bit of a bumbler, but meant well. The best part: he loved her for her, never asked about her past, and respected her need for privacy.

  She thought about all the men she had known in her life, which wasn't many, and she knew she could do a lot worse than Marcus.

  A noise from her gym bag caught her attention. Her phone. She let go of the bar and quickly walked over to her bag and activated her phone.

  "Lane here."

  "Ally, it's Iain. We got a new search and rescue; get on board a.s.a.p."

  Ally watched the screen go dark as Iain deactivated the connection. Like a kid on Christmas, she smiled as she packed her bags and made her way out of the gym. Thank God they had a mission; she was about to go insane being on land for so long.

  In dry dock for almost three weeks, but it felt like months to Ally. Betty Loo needed the maintenance, but there was only so much exercise and sex a person could have before they got stir crazy, especially someone on the run.

  Ally walked down the littered street and shook her head. Trash everywhere, the smell of urine and decay overwhelming. The city rotten, and nothing and no one seemed to care. People strewn about in the streets and alleyways, passed out, sleeping, or giving up on life with needles sticking out of their arms. She took out her phone and spoke.

  "Marcus." She waited for the phone to connect her as she walked.

  "Hey, beautiful."

  "Hey, it's me, better be careful your girlfriend doesn't catch you answering the phone like that."

  "I have a different line for her."

  "Good, you're learning. See, men can be taught. Get over to Betty Loo; we got a job."

  Ally deactivated the connection before Marcus could respond. She smiled to herself, happy with the fact that she could to talk to Marcus so easily. She was normally not the most chatty person, but with him, it was simple.

  At the dock, she passed through the security site without any trouble. She was a regular face there when inland, because she lived on Betty Loo. She didn't bother with an apartment like some people. The sub was safer, cheaper, and less crowded.

  Most people had at least five or six roommates, who might be married, with some kids. Give her the quiet ocean, bulkheads, and small cozy cots anytime. As an added bonus, Marcus also lived on the Betty Loo, so they got to spend more time together than most couples.

  She walked through the dockyard, looking at various subs in different states of repair- or disrepair, in some cases. She locked onto the Betty Loo and started to calm down. The familiar bulkhead and dark paint, which seemed to absorb all the light around it, soothed her nerves.

  The Betty Loo stood over seventy feet high and two hundred feet long. The closest thing she knew to be a home. Soon she would be out of port, safe, and doing something good. As soon as she set foot past the entrance hatch, she let out a sigh of contentment.

  "Hell, Ally, did you fly here? We just got off the phone." Iain stood at the entrance smoking a cigarette.

  "No, sir, just a fast walker."

  Ally made her way to the control room, where she spent most of her time. Also the one place you didn't want anything to go wrong. She sat in her chair and began to do a systems check.

  ***

  Iain smiled at the short answer, used to her to-the-point replies by now. As she walked past him, he tossed his cigarette butt out the doorway and walked down the pathway to his bunk room. He stood looking around with a disgusted expression. He had made this his home for the last fifteen years. By looking at it, you couldn't tell someone actually lived there.

  The bed dirty and unmade, bottles overflowed from the trash can, and cigarette butts filled several ashtrays located throughout the room. Digital chips and maps lay on the floor, the desk piled high with more bottles and dirty clothes.

  "Goddamn it, I need a maid." Instead, Iain did the usual.

  He snapped open a big black trash bag and began to fill it, ruthless in what he threw out. Bottles, ashtrays, wrappers, discoloured shirts, and things in the unidentifiable category went in first. After several minutes, the floor and bed appeared. One look at the sheets let him k
now they had to go.

  "Need to get some new ones anyway." He grabbed the sheets off the bed and tossed them in the bag. The digital chips and maps he picked up off the floor and tossed onto the desk. He opened the drawers and frowned at the lack of whiskey he found there.

  "Damn." He pulled some cash out of the drawer and walked out of his room.

  Dutch Mitchell came up the walkway.

  "Sir." Dutch bowed his head just a tad, either in respect or to hide his disapproval.

  Iain knew Dutch didn't like him but would never say anything. If there was one thing he would never risk, it was his place on board the Betty Loo.

  "Dutch, how's she looking? We got a job, heading out within a few hours."

  "She's fine, always is. Could use some..."

  Iain cut him off, "Doesn't matter, money's money, and we all need some. I gotta run out and get some supplies. You hold down the fort."

  ***

  Dutch Mitchell simply nodded and continued on his way. He made it to a corner and opened a bulkhead door leading to a set of stairs. He made his way down and entered the engine room.

  A row of lockers bolted on the back wall his destination. He opened one with DUTCH scrawled across it in big letters; it creaked in protest. He reached inside and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. He lit one and smiled as he inhaled.

  "Heading out again, girl, what do ya think it is this time?"

  Dutch patted the wall next to him affectionately.

  Chapter Three

  Marcus Hauser made his way to the Betty Loo, on edge the whole time. Ever since Ally called him with the new job, a pit had developed in his stomach. He knew most of the crew thought of him as some sort of simpleton. He didn't care; he wasn't trying to impress anyone.

  A nice and simple life was all Marcus wanted. Get a job, do the job, repeat when done. He never expected to fall in love, let alone with someone like Ally. Beautiful by any set of standards, and once relaxed, she was charming and sweet, though she would kill anyone who said that about her. What amazed him more, she loved him too, or at least she liked him enough to have sex with him.

  His eyes darted around the dockyard, the shadows becoming ominous warnings. Even though it was early afternoon and the sun was trying to shine through the industrial clouds of pollution built up over the years, he felt chilled. The usual calming effect of seeing the Betty Loo was absent today. He was walking up the gangway to enter the sub when someone called out to him.

  "Marcus, how much time we got before we leave?" Nina Rose wobbled where she stood, blood dribbling down a split lip.

  He took in her appearance: hair all over the place, clothes torn, and a cigarette hanging lazily from her mouth. Marcus figured she'd most likely won a lot of money gambling and got her ass kicked for cheating, or lost a whole lot of money gambling and kicked everyone else's ass for cheating.

  "No idea Nina, but it seemed pretty urgent. I wouldn't stray too far." Nina nodded in agreement and staggered off.

  Marcus noted the direction in which she went. She'd headed to where the "subbers," as they liked to call themselves, gathered to play cards.

  After he entered Betty Loo, Marcus made a detour and went straight to the control room. Usually he would go to the engine room, but he needed to see Ally. As he walked down the pathway, the need got stronger. As soon as he saw the door, he started to sweat. He lifted his hand to push the door open and noticed he was trembling. He forced himself to take a deep breath.

  "Come on. You can do this. What the hell is wrong with you?"

  Then Ally stood in front of him with a questioning look on her face.

  "You okay?"

  "Umm yeah. Saw Nina, think she got in a fight." Ally continued to look at him with questioning eyes.

  "Uh huh, and that's unusual how?'

  Instead of answering her, he wrapped her up in a hug and held her close. He smelled her hair, felt her body against his, and let out a deep sigh. Everything was okay; Ally was fine. He let go when he felt her start to squirm in his grasp.

  "Well, well, looks like someone's happy to see me. You're just in time. I was about to go and take a shower; care to join me?"

  Marcus fought with himself for a moment. This was one of those times he wished Ally were like other women and wanted to talk about feelings. Perhaps ask about what was going on a little more, poke, prod, do something more than ask once and accept the answer given at face value. Use her womanly intuition on him. Though, after looking at her smile- and realizing she was wearing her exercise tank top, leaving little to the imagination- his libido won out, and he was on his way to take a shower.

  ***

  "All right, Nina, are you in or out?" Nina eyed her cards.

  They were absolute crap, but she was in the hole and had to win this round.

  "In." She tossed her watch into the pile and raised an eyebrow at the man across the table from her.

  Nina thought his name was Mark or Mike, but she couldn't be sure. She also wasn't sure if she had slept with him or not. Either way, she needed him distracted. She attempted to smile seductively, but all she managed to do was show off a gap in her yellowed teeth.

  "Fine, I'll raise."

  Nina checked her pockets and tried to figure out what she had left to bargain with. She grabbed a piece of paper and a pen, quickly writing something down and tossing it onto the pile.

  "What the hell is this? An IOU? I don't think so." Mark/Mike grabbed the paper and tossed it on the floor.

  "Trust me, I got this," Nina glared.

  "Trust you? You still owe me from the last game we had. Put up or get the hell out."

  Nina's temper triggered. Fists flew, a few teeth went whizzing by, then it was over. Nina stood over the fallen gamblers, picking up the money.

  "Told you I got this." She spit on Mark/Mike and sauntered out of the room.

  As soon as she was out of sight, she grabbed her hand.

  "Damn, damn, damn, I always forget how much that hurts." She bitched and moaned all the way back to the Betty Loo.

  As she entered, she bumped into Iain, who held two full bags of clinking bottles. Filling up his whiskey stash. Good, she could pilfer from his.

  "Hey, Cap, reporting for duty and all that crap. Gonna go and take a shower."

  "Why don't any of you respect me? I'm the captain of this sub, you know. I'm your boss."

  "Um, aye aye, Captain. Permission to take a shower now?" Nina walked off, shaking her head as she cradled her hand.

  "Put some clean clothes on too. We got new crew coming on board, and I don't want them to think we're hacks."

  "Yeah yeah, whatever... um sorry, Captain." Nina let the sarcasm slip into her voice.

  ***

  "I am the captain. I give the orders." No one was around to hear what he said, so Iain decided to stop talking.

  He walked to his room and unloaded his purchases: several bottles of whiskey and two cartons of cigarettes. He hoped it got him through this job. The description, quick in and out, usually translated to expect some problems.

  After his items were secured, he made his way up to the control room to see if Ally had done the systems check. At least he could count on her to do her job and look professional. The room was empty, but several screens had things flashing across them. He knew not to touch anything; she was a bit obsessive about her control area. Instead, he decided to go to the rec room to see if any of the other crew was around.

  ***

  Ivan examined the small but clean rec room. Two tables, a counter in the back with a food warmer, an image screen mounted to the wall, and a worn couch in the corner. The floor was stained, the walls full of rusty patches, and the chairs had seen better days. Overall, exactly what he expected.

  He felt at home for the first time since he had left America after his graduation years ago. Many people thought he came to school here because he had no other options. In truth, he'd dreamed of America since he was a boy, the land of the free, home of the brave.

  Such
a nice story, until the ending of it all when global recession destroyed everything and great nations fell as dictators rose. Still, he hoped one day things would go back to how they had been. Then again, it didn't really matter; their chances of survival on this mission were minimal at best.

  Ivan turned when he heard someone enter. His training took over, and he sized up his opponent within seconds. He was tall, pale, older, drank, had a big build, but didn't do much with it. Not a threat. From the images in his file, this was Captain Iain Kingston.

  "Oh, wasn't expecting to see any of the new crew on board yet." A shocked look passed across the man's face, then a guarded mask slid into place.

  "I like to get to know my surroundings without anyone hovering. I find I learn more." Ivan kept his face neutral as he stared at the captain.

  "She ain't much, but she's home, and she's reliable. Personally, I wouldn't trust any other sub out there." Ivan merely stared at Iain, waiting for more information.

  People offered so much up when an uncomfortable silence hung in the air.

  "In fact, we had several renovations done to help with this job."

  Ivan remained silent, staring at the captain.

  "Right, I'll let you look around more with no hovering. I should make sure the rest of the crew are on board and set up a meeting or something."

  "Yes, a meeting or something." Ivan turned his sight from Iain to the door.

  He walked out, thinking to himself that if the captain was as inept as he seemed, the crew didn't hold much promise. Ivan sighed as he realized that if incompetence didn't kill him, what they were after sure as hell would.

  Ivan wandered down the hallway to the medical facilities. They were adequate for their purposes, the room rather large, maybe fifteen feet wide by thirty feet long. Two cots at the ready, with two fold-out ones off to the side. The floors were clean, as were the walls.

  The counters were sterile, the cabinets above full of secured items. Ivan walked over to a storage closet and opened it. Fresh sheets, gowns, gauze, and other paraphernalia filled the shelves.