The Ocean Dark

by Christopher Golden

  Then a terrible thought hit him. Tori watched it reach his eyes. “Or maybe they are. I don’t even want to think about that.”

  She understood. If the Vicodin were working and he was in this kind of pain, how much worse would it be when the drugs wore off?

  Tori put a hand on his shoulder. Making love to him in her quarters on board the Antoinette seemed to have happened in another life, so distant now, but still the contact felt electric. Down here in the dark, with the promise of death all around them, that seemed far more important to her than the fact that he’d hidden his true identity from her.

  “Come on. Up,” she said, slipping a hand under his right arm and helping him to his feet.

  Josh drew a sharp breath through his teeth.

  “You gonna make it, Agent Hart?” asked one of the sailors. Mays, she thought, but their faces were hard to make out in the darkness behind their Maglite beams.

  “So far, so good,” Josh replied. Exhaling, he started walking again, and they began to catch up to Sykes, Alena, and Ridge.

  “Poor baby,” Tori said, softly so only he would hear.

  Josh actually laughed, then grunted with pain. The laugh had hurt him, but she only felt a little sorry.

  “You must be loving this,” he replied.

  “Trying to find a way out of a tunnel before something kills me? Not really.”

  “I meant seeing me in pain.”

  Without thinking, Tori settled in closer to him, let him put some of his weight on her. His legs were fine, but pain, shock, and blood loss were taking some of the fight out of him.

  “It has its charms, I admit.” But she couldn’t keep up the façade, or the humor. “That’s a lie. I never wanted you to be hurt.”

  “Never?”

  Apparently, Josh hadn’t lost his sense of humor, even if hers had deserted her. Maybe it was all that was keeping him going.

  “Well, maybe for a while,” she admitted. “But right now I just want to be able to stand up straight. And daylight would be nice.”

  “Yeah,” Josh agreed. “It would.”

  They fell silent after that, moving together through the tunnel as it narrowed and then widened again, the beams from the sailors’ flashlights bouncing all around them. More and more often, she heard Josh hiss through his teeth, trying to bite back his pain, and when the lights passed him, she could see the struggle on his face.

  Tori realized that it might well be up to her to save his life, and the thought staggered her. Somehow the world had inverted. It felt like discovering an entirely new Tori…one that she had never known existed.

  A powerful new sense of purpose filled her as she studied the crevices in the walls and the tunnel that Sykes led them all through, up ahead. Survival had always seemed like a matter of luck or fate to her, but now she saw it differently. Survival, Tori realized at last, came from determination. It came not from hiding, but from acting.

  They passed a crevice that slashed down through the tunnel wall and into the floor. From below she heard the ebb and flow of the tide—like the ocean breathing, in and out—but she felt sure something splashed down there as well. Something waiting.

  “Mr. Sykes, we’ve got to pick up the pace,” she said, calling forward to him. “The tunnel’s not taking us any higher. If we don’t find somewhere we can go up instead of just across, the water will be on us before we know it.”

  “I’m going as fast as I can,” the Lieutenant Commander called back.

  But Dr. Boudreau glanced over her shoulder at Tori, and then turned forward again, picking up her pace despite the way she clutched at her cracked ribs.

  “No, you’re not,” Alena said. “She’s right. You’re matching my speed, taking it easy on me. And we can’t afford that.”

  Sykes said nothing, but the pace did pick up.

  “Thanks a lot,” Josh complained.

  But Tori knew he realized they had no choice, that someone had to say it.

  “You’re welcome.”

  ~81~

  Angie poured herself a mug of coffee and forced her shaking hands to be still. She wondered if Agent Plausky could see in her eyes or hear in her voice just how freaked out she was to be on board the Hillstrom, knowing one of them was out on the deck. It took an effort to keep her breathing even. At first, she hadn’t even been able to do that. What were they thinking, trying to keep one of the monsters alive? They’d even brought it onto the ship, where there were people.

  Her hand shook again and a bit of coffee spilled over the edge of the mug. She set the pot down and took a steadying breath. A chill spider-walked up her spine but she refused to let Plausky see it. Images crowded her mind of the night before, the things crawling up the hull, slithering over the railing... Sense memories exploded in her mind—the smell of cordite from gunshots, the sound of screams, the sickening noise of the sirens’ teeth tearing at Rogan’s body...

  Angie hated them even more than she feared them. To bring one on board, to keep it alive…what would they do, study it? Breed more? Use it as a weapon?

  Hatred and fear were crowded out of her mind by panic. Her thoughts were out of control and she knew it, but she could not rein them in. Her mind would not settle down. Her pulse would not stop racing. She turned to Plausky and smiled, wondering if the grin looked crazy to him, if her eyes were too wide, if he could see that she was breaking into tiny, sharp pieces inside.

  “You want another cup?” she asked.

  Plausky sat at a small table, like in some tiny apartment kitchen. But this was no kitchen or galley. He had brought her to a small common room—maybe a kind of rec room—on the Navy ship, with chairs and a TV screen and a DVD player, and several game tables scattered around. A bookshelf against one wall was stacked with all kinds of board games and there were racks of DVDs.

  The FBI agent looked up, coffee mug in his hand. He raised it in a little salute, like some 1950s husband in a TV ad. “Sure. A top-up would be great, thanks.”

  Her chest felt tight, her heart racing so fast that she would have done anything to make it slow down. Far away, muffled by walls and corridors, she could make out the sound of helicopters—maybe the fool that had brought that rusty container over from the Antoinette was making another run.

  Angie tried to smile but only one corner of her mouth lifted, forming a weird, lopsided grimace. Plausky didn’t seem to notice. Why would he? He was just a guy doing his job, waiting until he could hand her over into somebody else’s custody so that she wouldn’t be his problem anymore. Getting assigned to watch out for her was just luck of the draw.

  Which made Plausky one unlucky son of a bitch.

  She threw her coffee in his face. He shouted and raised his hands to try to keep the hot liquid from scalding him, and she took the opportunity to smash him in the temple with the metal coffee pot, hard enough that she heard something crack. The sound scared her—God, she didn’t want to hurt him that badly—but even as he fell out of his chair, moaning in pain, she saw that his arms were still moving. His eyes were rolling back, but she saw no blood. He’d live. She hadn’t killed him.

  Before she slipped from the room into the corridor, Angie took his gun. She liked the weight in her hand. It gave her focus.

  ~82~

  Voss had spent months trying to put together a case against Gabe Rio. Now she followed him through a tangle of tropical vegetation with no path or trail except what he had in his memory, and somehow they had become allies. Massive palm fronds rustled in the breeze above them. Gabe paused to look around and then spotted a place where a pair of trees leaned together like some grand archway. He seemed to recognize this as a landmark and adjusted course to go under the arch.

  She didn’t ask if he knew where he was going. Just talking to him fed an anger in her that she needed to extinguish if they were going to make it through the day. For the second time, she had to fight the temptation to give Josh up for dead, and battling that pessimistic whisper took all her strength. She didn’t have the ene
rgy for spite. Besides, Gabe Rio had never been her real target. He was just a victim of Viscaya’s schemes.

  On the other hand, if he hadn’t committed those crimes, she wouldn’t ever have come here. And Josh wouldn’t be trapped down in the dark with those things.

  Voss picked up her pace. David Boudreau and Lieutenant Stone hurried along behind her with—how many sailors were there, four? Not enough, she felt sure. But how many would have been? They were either going to find Josh and David’s grandmother and the others, or they weren’t. In the end, how many people went down into the island’s womb didn’t matter as much as how many came back up.

  Sunlight came through the trees at enough of an angle to remind her that the afternoon wore on as the sun slid inexorably toward the western horizon. In several places they passed depressions in the ground where the vegetation grew even thicker and greener, and volcanic steam lay upon the ground like mist. Sweat beaded on her forehead and arms and the back of her neck, and trickled between her breasts and down the small of her back. Voss used the hem of her tank top to wipe her forehead and kept up her pace, slogging after Gabe.

  The massive hill at the center of the island—it wasn’t really big enough for her to think of it as a mountain—rose up in front of them, but there were smaller ridges and formations all around it. In between two of those, Gabe Rio stopped short, looking around to get his bearings.

  “You better know where the fuck you’re going,” Voss said as she halted at his side. They had landed on the shore precisely where he had indicated, flying over the still burning wreckage of the graveyard of derelict ships just offshore.

  “We’re fine,” he replied. “But I’m going in the way we came out yesterday, so I’m trying to reverse course in my head. It’s this way.”

  He started off again, cutting to the right at an angle that would take them around one of the lower hills. Over the eons since the volcano had erupted, local flora had grown wild all across those hills, but in places the black rock thrust up from the ground in jagged edges.

  Voss could only follow, and because of that, she couldn’t help hating Gabe a little. The thought brought her back to the argument she had had with Turcotte right before boarding the helicopter that had taken her out to the island. Despite the way he had abdicated all responsibility in the Viscaya case—abandoned any interest, regardless of how hard he had once fought to take the case away from her—he had been very unhappy with the idea of taking Gabe Rio away from the Kodiak, and out of his custody.

  “You’re treating him like a human being. Like he’s part of the team, instead of the bastard who put us here!” Turcotte had shouted at her, his words hacked apart by the roar of the helicopter’s rotors, out there on the deck of the Coast Guard ship.

  The irony had sickened Voss. “What the fuck do you care? You gave up on this case! And if he’s our shot at getting my partner and the others out of there alive, I’m taking it.”

  “And if I order you to stay here?” Turcotte had sneered.

  The memory made Voss sniff in disgust. At that moment, though, she had laughed at him, told him if he wanted to pull rank as the agent in charge, he would have been the first one on the chopper, headed out to save his man in the field. Turcotte hadn’t even had the sense to be ashamed of himself, but it didn’t matter. With Alena missing, David Boudreau held rank over them all, and he had approved bringing Gabe Rio along.

  “Fine,” Turcotte had said. “Go and die. I tried to stop you.”

  The words, like a slap in the face, would stay with her the rest of her life. However long that might be.

  She rounded the bottom of the hill, ducked underneath low hanging branches, and looked up to see that Gabe had come to a sudden halt. And then she saw why. Beyond him, the tangled brush thinned and opened into a natural clearing in front of a cave set into the steep hillside. A large, rectangular plastic box sat just outside the cave, tilted on its side to reveal that it was empty. They had arrived.

  “Looks like your people haven’t found this one yet,” Gabe said, glancing back at her.

  Then David passed her, and she knew Gabe had not been speaking to her. David strode right up to the cave opening, ignoring the box. He paused to examine the entrance to the cave, then turned to Stone.

  “Lieutenant, get on the radio and get someone over here immediately to set charges. I don’t want to think about how many other caves they’ve missed.”

  Stone narrowed his eyes. “Don’t jump to conclusions, Dr. Boudreau. The teams are being methodical, sweeping every square foot of the island. They didn’t miss this cave. They just haven’t gotten to it yet.”

  “They’re going to run out of time.”

  “They’ll do the job, doctor,” Stone insisted. “Drawing them away from their sweep patterns just to focus on this one cave—“

  “No, no,” David said, waving a hand. “I understand. Forget I said it.”

  He looked at Gabe, and Voss wondered if the young scientist would ask the guy to confirm that this was the cave where he had heard the water. How there could be any doubt, she had no idea. The plastic crate had obviously contained guns that had been consolidated into other containers or carried away. Now that she looked, she saw signs of footfalls and disturbance everywhere in the clearing, not to mention empty ammunition boxes just inside the mouth of the cave and splashes of blood on the rocks in one place.

  But it turned out David had a different question.

  “Are you coming in with us, Captain Rio, or are you staying topside?”

  Gabe didn’t hesitate. “I’m with you, doctor. I owe Tori that.”

  Voss stared. She had seen the way Gabe had reacted to the news of Tori Austin’s situation, so it had not surprised her when he had agreed to lead them to the cave. But she had not expected him to descend with them, to risk himself.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she said.

  Gabe, David, and Stone all looked at her, so that Voss felt like she had to defend herself; her, the FBI agent, defending herself when Gabe Rio had smuggled drugs and guns.

  “If things get ugly down there, I want to know I’m surrounded by people I can rely on,” she said, staring at Gabe. He surprised her again by not turning away, instead keeping his gaze fixed firmly on hers.

  “What do you think, Agent Voss, that I’m going to try to murder you all and escape?” he asked. “You’ve obviously got a file you put together on me. Do you see murder anywhere in there? And even if you really believed I was capable of something like that, where would I run to? And what would I gain? Dr. Boudreau’s already given me my free pass. I’m not going to prison, lady. I’m out here for Tori. I’m no hero, but I’m not stupid, either. I know I’ve done things in my life I need to make up for.”

  David could have stepped in, then, and overruled her the way he had Turcotte. Even Lieutenant Stone could have offered an opinion. But both men waited to see what she would say, leaving it to her.

  In reply, she unclipped the Maglite from her belt, shifted it to her left hand, and drew her gun. She glanced at David. “Fine, but he doesn’t get a gun.”

  “Agreed,” David replied.

  Gabe’s face went slack, but she did not think it was the lack of a weapon that had troubled him. With her objections removed, he had to face the prospect of descending into that cave without any protection but what Voss and the sailors could provide, and apparently that did not instill him with confidence.

  Voss nodded her consent—though David did not need it—and started into the mouth of the cave, clicking her Maglite on. The flash beam wavered, but her gun hand did not.

  “Hang on, Agent Voss,” Stone said. He turned to one of the sailors. “Mr. Crowley, lead the way.”

  Wordlessly, the freckled Crowley hurried up to the cave, pulling out his own Maglite. He waited for Voss to step aside, and when she did so, he rushed through as though eager to explore the dark innards of the island. But she knew eagerness did not drive him. Duty did.

  She did
n’t wait for the rest of them, following Crowley in, and this time Stone didn’t try to call her back. She heard his voice, and those of David and the other sailors, as they entered behind her. They all carried small packs with water, some food rations, radios, and backup lights. Stone, Crowley, and the other three sailors had assault weapons in addition to their sidearms, while Voss and David carried only pistols. Manetti, a medic, had a med-kit so that he could provide emergency treatment, if needed, to the survivors of the grotto’s collapse.

  The cave went back thirty feet or more, diminishing in size until it jogged left and descended sharply. Flashlight beams played across the stone walls, black rock alternately reflecting the light and seeming to swallow it. Voss could hear trickling water and a kind of shushing noise of it moving far below, the ebb and flow of a current somewhere down there.

  “Watch your step, Agent Voss,” Crowley whispered.

  She almost asked him why he wanted to keep his voice down, then felt stupid. Of course they should whisper. The sirens were probably in the lower tunnels, in the water, but they did not know enough about the creatures to truly predict their behavior. A chill went up her spine and she shone her flashlight beam at the ceiling above her, imagining one of the maggoty-white things stuck like a leech to the black rock, reaching for her, jaws wide.

  But they were alone in here, at least for now.

  With Crowley in the lead, they navigated through a narrow, low-ceilinged tunnel into an even more narrow space that seemed more like a crevice or fissure. The slash in the volcanic rock went up vertically at least twenty feet until it became little more than a crack. Water dribbled down the walls, keeping them slick.

  Voss aimed her Maglite down and saw that the crack went deeper as well.

  “Have a look at this,” she said, crouching, and the others followed suit.