The Depths

by Nick Thacker

  He paused, then looked at Reese. “Sorry. It was a computer program that was supposed to determine whether or not this place would hold up after being pressurized under five miles of ocean while rotating.”

  “Rotating? Like spinning?”

  “Right. Rotating, like a drill.”

  Chapter 42

  HOW COULD IT BE REAL?

  Mark remembered the prototype well. It was a computer model that depicted the exact variables he saw rendered in the diagrams. His team—himself and three others—had developed the computer program, performed the tests, and delivered the results. It had been innocent theoretical engineering on a hypothetical set of data.

  There was no talk of deep-sea drilling, plate tectonics, or underwater research stations.

  How could we have been so blind?

  These questions nagged at him as he and Reese hustled down the hallways of Level Ten. He counted up as the office and room numbers slid past, until finally he passed the room he’d been kept in.

  L10.03.

  Right near the exit. The room was just as he remembered it—white, empty, and devoid of life. A glass wall and nearly invisible door separated the room from the hallway they stood in.

  They didn’t wait around to explore more. Mark knew Austin had probably made his way back to his office to check into the closed-circuit camera system, and Sylvia was also somewhere in the vicinity. And who knew how many other “scientists” Austin had wandering around down here.

  He thought back to the map up on Level Four. Level Eleven was labeled Geothermal: Power and Energy, and he knew Jen was originally wanting to explore there. He had no better ideas, so that was it.

  “Let’s go downstairs, Reese.” He walked toward the exit, Reese following close behind.

  He stepped to the large metal doors and shoved. They wouldn’t budge.

  Reese stepped toward it and reached out with his hand. He placed his small palm open on the crack of the doors, and Mark heard something click inside the mechanism.

  “I saw the lady do it when she took me here. I don’t think it’s locked. You just have to know where the handle is.”

  Mark was impressed, and he pushed again. This time, the great metal doors swung open, revealing the corrugated metal staircase to the levels above and below them.

  And a flash of movement caught Mark’s eye.

  “Did you see that?” he said, his voice dropping to a whisper.

  “No. What?”

  “Come on, slowly. Try not to make any noise.”

  He walked to the ledge and started down the stairs. He had seen something move below them, but it was too small and quick for Mark to be able to discern what it was.

  He descended the staircase, carefully stepping with his toes first. They stopped in front of the open doors to the level below, labeled Level Eleven: Rue Marron.

  “Reese, wait here. I’m going to see who’s down here. Be ready to run if I yell, okay?” He didn’t wait for a response.

  Mark stepped onto the ground of Level Eleven, looking each direction. A huge conical machine hung from above his head, splitting the ground in front of him and descending into the lower levels. He could feel the hum of the huge machine gently shaking around him.

  He didn’t dare call out, but he walked a few more steps toward an outlying building. Smoke rose from a broken window, and spent magazine rounds littered the ground around him.

  Something happened here, he knew immediately. Recently.

  He could taste the burnt magnesium on his tongue.

  He struggled to stay quiet, wanting to yell Jen’s name. He had to know if she was still okay.

  Moving toward the center of the level, he looked back. Reese was waiting by the main entrance to the level, gazing back at him. He’d noticed the burning smell as well.

  Motioning to for him follow, Mark continued to examine the level’s buildings and grounds. He followed a line of small buildings, heading toward a smaller one near the central machine.

  We need to get out of sight, he thought.

  The building was situated as the last in a line of small maintenance sheds, next to a tall structure that had a sign on the side of it.

  Maintenance Elevator: To Level Four.

  He walked through the unlocked door of the first building next to the elevator. The place was absolutely destroyed, with papers and notebooks sprawled about and bullet holes riddling the walls. Reese entered and stood close by Mark’s side.

  “Move to that window and look toward the center of the level. There’s the big machine that I told you about upstairs, but I want you to keep your eyes open for movement, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  Mark walked back to the door and peered around the corner. I know I saw something.

  Something moved in the corner of his eye, and Mark reacted instinctively. He moved his forearm up toward the movement, protecting his face, as a massive force bowled over him.

  Falling to the side, he looked back to Reese and yelled just as he hit the ground. “Run! Get to that elevator!”

  He felt the wind leave his body as the creature crushed him. His eyes had closed in reaction to the unknown force, but he still used his other senses to analyze what it was that had attacked him.

  The thing rolled off him—it was shaped like a human, he realized—and lunged again. Mark rolled to a sitting position just in time, and the person landed hard on the ground. Reese was now running out the sole door of the building, right next to Mark and the attacker.

  Without hesitation, the man reached out and grabbed Reese with an outstretched arm, causing Mark’s son to gasp in surprise. Reese wriggled around to get free, but he was locked in a vice grip from the man’s dark, muscular arm.

  Mark backpedaled, now on his feet, and stood fully upright. He wasn’t as tall as the man, nor was he as large, but he wasn’t going to stand still and let his son get taken again.

  He took in his opponent, for the first time truly looking at him.

  When he saw who it was, his jaw dropped.

  “Carter? Carter, is that you?”

  The man’s face was similar to Daniel Carter’s, but lacked… something. His eyes were hollow, dark, and empty, and his expression was of sheer nonchalance, as if Reese was simply a bag of groceries to be carried inside.

  “Carter, can you let my son go?” Mark asked, his voice soft and delicate. He had no idea what was going on, but he wasn’t about to take any chances.

  Carter just looked at Mark, staring through him. His head cocked slightly to the side, Carter seemed completely unaware of what was going on.

  “Dad? What’s—”

  Carter ripped his arm sideways, swinging Reese completely around his body and causing the boy to let out a painful yelp. “No,” Carter said. His voice was scratchy, dry, and stressed. He had moved Reese to the opposite side of his large body, away from Mark.

  Mark’s eyes narrowed as his emotions took over. He didn’t care about his goal; his calculated logic.

  He didn’t care if he killed the man.

  Mark lunged, moving fast and ducking low. Reese’s eyes widened as he braced for the impact, but Mark dove to the side at the last minute. He slammed his left hand out, striking upward with a flattened and steady open palm.

  The blow took Reese and Carter by surprise. Carter stumbled backward and wrapped both hands around his bruised neck, letting Reese go. Catching his breath, he looked at Mark, startled.

  Mark was already bearing down for his next attack. He stretched his other hand out, enticing Carter to reach for it.

  Carter took the bait, grabbing for Mark’s wrist. Mark used the hold as leverage, flipping himself up and around the big man’s back, then slashed down with his elbow onto the center of his spine just below his neck.

  Carter howled in rage, falling to his knees. Mark continued his barrage, using his right hand to bend Carter’s left arm around him, feeling for pressure. Finally, he held Carter’s shoulder as he pulled upward on the arm, abruptly and
forcefully, and he heard an immediate snap.

  The soldier blinked back tears as his body screamed in agony. He dropped to the ground, going limp, as he passed out.

  Reese watched the entire incident—no longer than five seconds—play out as his father incapacitated the larger man. He started to respond, but was silenced by Mark first.

  “Go.”

  Reese didn’t argue. He turned and ran toward the elevator, followed closely by Mark.

  Entering, Mark wondered if the tired elevator would even work, but he was surprised to see lights dotting the interior. It was a true maintenance elevator, made of sheet metal and large enough to hold a crew of twenty men.

  He pressed “4” on the panel and the elevator immediately lurched upward.

  “Dad?” Reese asked. The boy was visibly shaking.

  Mark didn’t respond. He continued looking forward as the elevator continued its climb.

  “Dad? What—”

  “Enough.” Mark’s voice was low, but direct. “Not now, I mean. There’s not enough time.”

  He gritted his teeth, but Reese didn’t ask about it again.

  The elevator’s panel lit up as it passed the individual floor numbers.

  9.

  8.

  7.

  The elevator was slow; Mark didn’t like that. It was all happening too fast, and this elevator wasn’t going fast enough.

  6.

  The elevator stopped.

  Mark pushed the “4” button again; again. It didn’t move. They were stuck, between level six and level five.

  He punched a fist onto the panel, denting the thin metal control unit.

  Slowly, the elevator began to rise.

  The light for 5 blinked once, then stayed lit. The elevator had stopped, but this time the doors slid open.

  Mark stepped in front of Reese as the doors revealed the man standing outside the elevator.

  Jeremiah Austin.

  “Mr. Adams,” he said. “Good to see you again. I thought I’d lost you down there.” Austin’s ear was bandaged and he had a strip of gauze wrapping around his head.

  Mark felt his knees involuntarily bend. His senses instinctively heightened. He began to slow his breathing, crouching ever so slightly as he prepared to dart out of the elevator and into Austin’s chest.

  “I wouldn’t do anything rash, Mr. Adams,” Austin said. He nodded once, and was immediately joined by six black-clad Russian soldiers, appearing from each side of the level outside the elevator. They each carried an assault rifle, and each was pointed directly at Mark’s chest.

  Except for one.

  One of the soldiers—an impossibly-thick, cruel-looking slavic woman—was pointing her rifle at Reese.

  Finally, a blond woman stepped out from the right side of the elevator, smiling at Mark.

  Sylvia.

  Chapter 43

  THE TUNNEL SYSTEM SEEMED DARKER now, and even more constricting. The horrors they had all experienced here were not lost on Jen and the others. Saunders ran in front, taking the lead since Carter had disappeared, and Erik followed closely behind. Jen and Nelson kept pace as they ascended through the tunnel to the main level, Level Four.

  The tunnels were a circuitous route, to be sure, but they all felt safer there having now explored the complete distance between the Level Four and Level Nine entrances. They so far hadn’t intercepted any of the scientists, nor had they experienced any major setbacks.

  All was well, and that was what worried Jen.

  Where is everyone?

  Mark and Carter were now missing, and she had no leads as to what the giant drill at the center of the lower levels was intended to be used for. The Russian soldiers had killed one of their team members, and two had been murdered by the other hostile force lurking around the station.

  Nothing made sense, but Jen pressed on.

  Fueled by her fear, adrenaline, and rage toward whoever was behind all of this, she committed to finding the answer they were looking for, at any cost. She had to get Reese, and if it took helping the enemy, she’d comply.

  They found the large, foul-smelling chamber and ran through, without so much as slowing down. Jen’s feet fell in a rhythmic, steady pace, and she found her mind syncing with the collective music of their shoes on the rocky earth.

  “We’re getting to the main level,” Saunders said from up ahead. “Let’s slow down and make sure we’re not walking into a trap.”

  “Wouldn’t be the first time,” Nelson said.

  Saunders paused at the door, then walked into the clearing between the cave opening and the houses lining the street. Nelson peered around the scope of his rifle, providing cover.

  She waved them forward, and Jen and Erik stepped out onto the street. Nelson followed, and they met again at the first house and continued through, weaving between empty, abandoned houses and utility sheds.

  Suddenly Saunders stopped. She squinted, then brought her rifle up. Looking through it, she whispered under her breath. “Bollocks. What in the—Nelson, give me a hand!”

  She took off at a sprint, clearing the distance to the next house in an impressive three strides. Jen watched as she ran farther away from them. Nelson sprang into action as well, leaving Erik and her to wonder aloud what she’d seen.

  As they struggled to catch up, Jen watched as Saunders’ body disappeared behind one of the houses. She stepped to the side, aligning her vision with the new angle. Saunders reappeared at the back of the house, and Jen gasped when she saw the soldier stop next to Carter. She sped up, catching them in another ten seconds.

  “Carter?” Rachel asked. “What’s wrong?”

  Carter was looking off into the distance, toward the great lighting fixture on the ceiling of the dome above their heads. He didn’t move, didn’t speak, and Nelson and Saunders appeared as confounded with their leader as Jen and Erik were.

  “Carter? What’s up?”

  Carter’s head swiveled around, and as his upper body rotated they could see that his right arm was bent and pulled out of its socket. He struggled to remain standing, then toppled forward. Nelson reacted, reaching his arms out to slow the man’s fall. He fell directly onto Nelson, who stumbled but finally caught his balance and held Carter.

  “Come on, boss, let’s get you somewhere you can lie down,” he said.

  Saunders reached for his other side, and together the three began walking slowly back to one of the houses.

  “There is a medical facility down on one of the levels below us,” Erik said.

  “We can’t risk moving him that much,” Saunders said. “I need to see if anything’s broken and set his shoulder.

  They reached the small porch on the back of the house and set Carter against the rail, leaning his bulk onto it. Saunders began examining him as Nelson started in with more questions.

  “Who did this, boss? Carter?”

  Carter mumbled something under his breath.

  “Say that again, boss. Who did this to you?”

  More incoherent ramblings.

  Nelson looked at Jen and shook his head. “What do you think?”

  Jen was as shocked as they were. “He must not have gone down without a fight, right?”

  “And he’s still walking—or standing—around, so he must have done some serious damage to them first,” Nelson said.

  “Lev…” Carter whispered. “Level…” his eyes rolled slightly, and his mouth drooped open.

  “Level what? Which level, Carter?” Saunders asked. “Damn it!” her voice cracked, and Jen looked up at her. Saunders’ nostrils flared, angry at herself for showing that emotion, then immediately her expression changed back to a firm gaze.

  Jen watched the transformation take place in less than a second, but didn’t ask questions.

  “Saunders, we need to get him down to the infirmary,” Nelson said. “There’s not enough we can do for him up here. And plus, we’re sitting ducks while he’s with us out here.”

  She sighed. “We can’t a
fford to move him, though. The tunnels and the stairs are bad ideas.”

  “You know we need to. Let’s go slow; see if we can’t carry him most of the way.”

  She paused, then nodded. “Okay, fine. Stairs though. We need the light.”

  They lifted Carter off the railing and spread his weight between them, careful to hold his right side without pressing against his arm.

  They walked a few steps, and Jen could see they would struggle the entire way. He was too large a man to be carried.

  Apparently, Carter agreed. He pushed Nelson off his left side, and Saunders let go. He stumbled forward a few steps, shakily but straight. Another few steps, and Jen understood.

  “There’s something wrong with him, guys. He’s able to walk, but this is the best we’re going to get. We have to get him downstairs, and then somewhere he can be checked out.

  “Look at his eyes,” she continued. “There’s something… something different about them. He’s not all there.” His eyes were empty, but somehow still indicative of something deeper.

  Fear? Or was it something else?

  Carter was still walking, though, so they caught up and stood to either side of him, placing their hands out for support.

  Then Carter snapped. He whipped his head around, narrowly missing Saunders’ own. He thrashed, clipping her face with his hand and sending her falling backwards.

  “Hey! What the bloody hell—” Nelson’s voice was cut off by Carter’s fist. The punch landed squarely on the man’s jaw, and Nelson reacted without hesitation. He punched back at Carter, who did nothing to duck or dodge the blow.

  Nelson hit him twice in the stomach, but Carter seemed unfazed. Carter lunged toward Nelson, throwing his weight onto him and toppling both over onto the ground. He swung open-palmed hands at Nelson, scratching his face and neck.

  Nelson howled in agony, then rolled Carter off of him. He kicked sideways while on the ground, landing his foot in Carter’s groin, then again behind his knee.

  Carter fell, but still it seemed as though the soldier could feel no pain. He stood, crookedly bent to the side, over Nelson, and fell directly on Nelson’s head.