by Amy Cross
“It should be stable for now,” Mark says as he follows me inside, letting the beam from his flashlight cross mine. “We need all the paperwork or documentation that's still around. I refuse to believe that any vessel can sail without some kind of record.”
Making my way to the main control panel, I realize that the instruments are so old, I honestly wouldn't have a clue about how to control the ferry. Earlier, Louis said the boat had sunk in the 1940s, and it's clear that whoever raised it and put it back into service, they weren't remotely interested in bringing it up-to-date, not even to conform with modern international maritime laws. This hunk of junk would never have passed inspection in any port. In other words, the Aspheron must have been operating illegally, which I guess explains why it was keen to avoid attracting attention.
“There's nothing here,” Mark says, sounding frustrated as he examines the chair next to the navigation wheel. “I can't find a chart anywhere, or even any basic navigation equipment.”
“Could someone have bailed?” I ask, looking out through the window and seeing the deck stretching away into the darkness, toward the front of the vessel. “The crew must have gone somewhere.”
“We'd know if a lifeboat had been deployed.”
“Only if it got away. Maybe they tried to take things with them, and they capsized too?”
“It's possible,” he replies, making his way toward the rear of the bridge, “but we can't make any assumptions, not yet. There are clearly no survivors, though, so... This is just about clearing up the mystery of where the ferry came from.”
Hearing a faint bumping sound, I turn and see that he's managed to get a door open, revealing a set of steps leading down into the depths of the vessel.
“We can't go any further,” I tell him. “We don't have the right kind of safety equipment.”
“Seriously?” He turns to me, and I can just about make out his face behind the mask, smiling. “Are you, of all people, suddenly going to start lecturing me about proper safety precautions?”
“I appreciate that kind of thing a little more these days.”
“Life in the city has changed you.”
I can't help smiling. I know he's trying to goad me into following him, and annoyingly I can feel it already working.
“What exactly do you expect to find down there?” I ask, making my way over to join him. Shining the flashlight down the steps, I see a dark, submerged corridor stretching away into darkness, with small pieces of detritus floating along calmly through the blue-green water.
“Maybe the captain had an office,” he replies. “Maybe one of the crew left something behind. We didn't come all the way here just to leave empty-handed. Remember, this is probably our only chance to investigate this thing. Some salvage company'll buy the rights soon and then it'll be gone.” With that, he slips past me and starts to make his way down, swimming deeper into the ferry.
“We can't go too far,” I remind him, as I start to follow. “Don't make me be the one who keeps nagging this time. That was always your job before.” Looking over my shoulder, I can't help feeling a little claustrophobic now that we're heading below, but I'm determined not to show any weakness, not in front of Mark. The back of my oxygen tank bumps against the wall as I turn in the cramped space. Even as I hear a faint creaking sound from the depths of the ferry, I force myself to remember that we're just taking a quick look, and that we can be out of here in less than thirty seconds if anything goes wrong.
Well, maybe sixty seconds.
“Must be the way to the engine room,” Mark says suddenly, stopping as we reach a door at the far end of the corridor. The door is hanging partway open, so he's able to lean through and shine his flashlight into the darkness ahead. “I want to check it out. Even if the bridge crew took their charts and bailed, there might be something down here.” He turns to me. “You should check around up here. See what you can find.”
“I'm okay going into the engine room,” I tell him, keen not to seem scared.
“I know you are, but we can cover more ground if we split up. Besides, I called dibs on the engine room first, so you're stuck with the boring old cabins. Better luck next time.”
Sighing, I turn and look along the next corridor. There's nothing particularly menacing to see, so I start making my way forward.
“We'll meet back up at the bridge in fifteen minutes,” Mark tells me over the radio. “Don't be late. I don't want to have to come and find your ass, okay?”
“As if,” I mutter, looking back just in time to see him swimming down toward the engine room. Turning to look forward again, I listen for a moment to the sound of my own breath, before continuing. Even with the flashlight, I can't see too far ahead, and when I reach the end of the corridor I find that there are two possible ways to go, and no indication as to what I might find in either direction. This place is like a maze, so I definitely don't want to venture too far.
A moment later, I hear a garbled message from Mark over the radio, but I can't quite make out any of the words.
“Say that again?” I reply.
“There's nothing down here so far,” he continues, his voice sounding more distorted than before, probably because there's now a bulkhead between us. “I'm going to keep -”
His voice breaks into a kind of static burst, leaving me to roll my eyes as I continue to make my way forward.
“Great,” I mutter as I take the next left turn, which leads onto a wider gantry area with a set of metal steps running to the upper and lower levels. “Looks like I have to -”
Before I can finish, I spot something moving out of the corner of my eye. Turning, I shine the light toward the far wall and see to my horror that there's a dead body floating slowly along. It's one of the figures I saw last night in the cargo hold and, like the survivor we pulled from the sea, he's bald and pale, wearing tattered rags, while part of his neck and chest seems to have been eaten away, exposing his ribs. I stay completely still for a moment, watching as the corpse bumps gently against the wall before finally it starts to drift slowly toward me.
I duck down and keep the flashlight shining on him as he floats directly over me. I watch as a few fragments of his trailing flesh as they break loose and start drifting through the dirty water.
“Mark?” I say after a moment. “Can you hear me?”
I wait, but there's no reply.
In the distance, the boat's hull creaks slightly as it continues to settle.
Forcing myself to stay calm, I watch as the dead body bumps into the far wall and stops. In an ideal world, I'd find a way to fasten him so he can't continue to drift around the wreck, but I really don't want to start touching any bodies I come across. Besides, given that there were so many people on the ferry when it sank, I wouldn't be surprised if I see more of them soon.
“Focus,” I whisper to myself, turning and swimming over to the stairwell. I shine the flashlight up, and then down, but there's no sign of anything. A moment later, while still shining my flashlight up, I spot another body bumping against the railing. I wince instinctively, before turning to make sure that the first body is still in the far corner. Feeling a faint shiver, I realize that going too deep into the vessel might be a bad idea, and that there's not much point going back toward the deck. I turn and spot an open door nearby, so I make my way over and swim through, then up into the room and -
Suddenly, with no warning, I break the surface of the water. Shocked for a moment, I shine the flashlight around what turns out to be a large, partially-flooded room, perhaps a galley or some other kind of communal space, and finally I remove my mouthpiece and take a deep breath. I'm in a pocket of air, with the room tilted at a slight angle. Holding the mouthpiece up to keep it out of the water, I take a few more deep breaths as I head over to the far wall, while shining the flashlight all around.
“Great,” I say out loud as I realize that there's nothing of any use. Sticking the mouthpiece back in, I duck back down into the water.
Before I have
time to react, a wide-eyed face fills my view. Panicking, I drop the flashlight and pull back, staring straight ahead as the falling beam of light briefly picks out another floating body that somehow managed to sneak up behind me. As my heart pounds in my chest, I dive down to the bottom of the room and grab the flashlight, before turning and aiming the light straight up so that I can see the body. It's still up there, still floating, but there's a part of me that just wants to get the hell out of here.
As if on cue, Mark's voice comes over the earpiece, although there's too much static for me to hear what he's saying.
“I don't think we're going to find anything,” I tell him, hoping against hope that he can hear me. My heart is pounding, and these bodies are a little too creepy for my liking. “I think we should go back up.”
Keeping my eyes fixed firmly on the dead body floating above me, I wait for Mark to reply, but all I hear after a few seconds is another burst of static.
“I didn't make out a word of that!” I continue, trying to hide the hint of panic in my voice. I watch as the dead body bumps against the door, and then it floats out into the corridor, drifting out of my light beam and through to the darkness of the rest of the ferry. God knows how many of those things are loose in the wreck. “Okay,” I add, hoping Mark can hear me, “I admit it, something about this place is really freaking me out. We're taking an unnecessary risk by staying down here, so let's just go back up, okay?”
I wait.
Nothing.
Not even static.
“Mark? Did you hear me?”
Silence.
And then, in the distance, another brief, ominous creaking sound from the hull.
“Great,” I mutter, turning and swimming to the door. After making sure that there's no-one floating nearby, I swim along the corridor, heading back toward the stairwell. When I get there, I see that the first corpse has drifted back out from the corner and is now over by the railing.
Hearing a brief burst of static in my earpiece, I reach up and press against the side of my mask, in case something has become dislodged.
“Mark? If you can hear me, I'm going back to the bridge. Come and -”
Before I can finish, I glance at the dead body again and see to my shock that its head seems to have turned slightly, and now its wide open eyes are looking straight at me. I swear its face was looking down a moment ago, but I guess either I was wrong, or somehow a current managed to twist its neck.
“Mark?” Trying to stay calm, I remind myself that he'll laugh at me if he realizes that I'm letting myself get spooked.
I watch the body for a moment, maintaining eye contact, before slowly making my way past the stairwell. When I get to the other side, I stop and keep my eyes fixed firmly on the corpse.
Nothing.
Its gaze didn't follow me. It's still looking at where I was a moment ago.
“Mark,” I continue with a flash of relief, “I really think we might be out of our depth here. There's only so -”
Suddenly the corpse's head starts to move, and I watch in horror as it turns to look at me again.
Moving back, I bump against the wall, while keeping the flashlight aimed straight at the corpse's face.
“Mark,” I say after a moment, unable to stay calm any longer as my heart starts pounding, “we really have to -”
Before I can finish, there's a loud creaking sound in the water all around me, and a moment later the entire boat seems to shudder slightly. I freeze, keeping my eyes fixed firmly on the corpse, waiting to see if it'll move again. Telling myself that this is all in my mind, I start to make my way toward the next corridor, keen to get out of here, only for the boat to shudder again, this time pitching several degrees to one side. A loud creaking sound seems to rise from the depths, as if the ferry is starting to roll onto its side.
“Mark!” I shout over the radio. “We have to get out of here right -”
The third time is the worst: the entire vessel creaks and groans as it turns, sending me thudding up to the floor, which is now above me. Turning to look over my shoulder, I'm so focused on checking to see where the dead body is, I lose my grip on the torch and fail to grab it again before there's another shudder that rocks the boat. Disorientated, I turn and look around, but there's no sign of any of the floating corpses now, so I start swimming down to grab the torch, only for the boat to shake again, this time turning several more degrees. Losing my sense of direction for a moment, I spin around, and for a few seconds everything seems completely chaotic.
Finally I bump against the wall. When I hear the thud, tear and hiss over my shoulder, I immediately know what has happened.
I turn and see a vast wall of bubbles rising up from the torn connection on my tri-mix tank, with enough force to push me into the wall. Pulling away, I realize that one of the tank's main tubes caught on part of the stairwell, and now my air supply is being blasted out into the water. I try not to panic, but as I reach around and feel the end of the ragged tube I realize that there's no way I can stop it. My first instinct is to race to the bridge and try to swim to the surface, but I already know I won't make it in time.
“Mark!” I shout. “Talk to me!”
All those years ago, during training, we were taught not to panic in this kind of situation. Swimming down, I grab the flashlight, before realizing that my best bet is to get to the room with the air bubble and then hope I can manage to patch up the damaged tube so I can make it through the guts of the boat and back to the surface. Turning, I start to swim past the stairwell and then into the next corridor, and when I reach the large room I was in earlier, I find to my relief that the air pocket is still intact, even though the boat has shifted. Pulling myself up, I remove my mouthpiece and let out a series of gasps as I place the flashlight between my teeth and then start hauling the tri-mix tanks off my back.
I have to work fast, but I've been in tight spots before.
Once the tanks are above the water line, I find the damaged tube and squeeze it shut. The meter on the main tank shows that I'm down to less than 10% of usable air, but that should be enough to get back to the surface if I don't have any more accidents. I've got the tube clamped shut between my fingers, and I just need to find a way to keep it sealed for a five or six minute journey. Forcing myself not to panic, I carefully take the flashlight from my mouth and wedge it in the nook between my neck and my left shoulder, while staring at the clamped tube and trying to work out how I can hold it shut more permanently.
Cold drips are falling onto my face as I work frantically to patch up the damage.
“Mark,” I say after a moment, trying not to sound scared, “I don't know if you can hear me right now, but I've got a problem. I snagged my equipment and lost a lot of air, and now I'm holed up in an air pocket in one of the ferry's rooms. I'm going to -”
Before I can finish, I feel something brush briefly against my feet.
Instinctively pulling away, I drop the flashlight, although I manage to grab it again before it sinks. Tilting the light-beam down into the depths below, I can barely see anything. I wait, half expecting to see another of those corpses floating toward me, but there's nothing and after a few seconds I turn back to look at the damaged tube that I somehow need to fix.
“Can you give me a sign?” I ask over the radio, hoping against hope that Mark will somehow, magically get in touch again. My heart is pounding in my chest, and just hearing his voice would help a lot. “Anything, even a burst of static will do,” I tell him, “just let me know you're okay!”
I wait.
Nothing.
Muttering a few expletives under my breath, I try to adjust my grip on the damaged tube, only for a little more air to leak out. Still treading water, I reach down to my waist, trying to find something that might clamp the tube, but although my mind is racing with possibilities, nothing's apparent so far. Forcing myself to stay calm, I take a moment to trace a route back to the bridge in my mind's eye, but the problem is that with the ferry having shifted
on the seabed, it's hard to work out which door is which anymore. Walls have become ceilings and ceiling have become doors, but finally I'm able to get it straight in my head.
If I stay calm, I can do this.
“Okay,” I continue, “I really don't know if you can hear a word of this, Mark, but I'm going to find a way out of here. When I get to the dinghy, I can grab the back-up tank and come back down, but it's my only shot. I just...”
Pausing for a moment, I try to focus on getting my heart-rate down. In this kind of situation, panic can be deadly, and I need to breathe a little more calmly.
“I just hope you can hear me,” I add, before turning the tanks around and squeezing the broken tube tight. Once that's done, I maneuver the mouthpiece and try to get it into position. The next part is going to be awkward and ungainly, but I figure I have to manually hold the tube shut while I make my way through the boat, and I'm going to have to hold the flashlight somehow so that I can see which way I'm going. It takes a moment, but I'm able to get into position, and although I know I'll be moving slowly, there's -
Suddenly I see the face staring back at me.
I freeze, feeling my blood run cold as I realize that one of the dead bodies is not only in this room with me, but its head is partially above the waterline, staring straight at me with the same kind of dark, ringed eyes that I've seen on the others.
“Oh God,” I whisper, pulling back while keeping my eyes fixed on the man's face.
No reply.
He's just staring at me, as his head bumps gently against the wall.
I wait.
In the distance, there's another loud creaking sound. The ferry hasn't finished shifting yet.
“Are you alive?” I ask. Dumb question, I know, but it's all I can manage right now.
Again, no reply.
“Can you hear me?” I continue.
