Pressure (19 page)

They hesitated for a split second, and Carrie held her breath. Then, as one, they rushed off to defend the engine, following her orders without question.

“Carrie Anderson,” she muttered, blowing a lock of hair from her eyes. “World-class free diver, respected oceanographer, and now captain of a mercenary pirate crew. I bet Mom would be proud.”

“You think you're so smart,” her mother sneered.

Carrie closed her eyes. “She's not there. She's dead.”

When she opened her eyes again, the hallucination was gone.

She knelt back down, grabbed the hacksaw, and started cutting. She cringed as the sounds of the creature's attack on the engine rumbled across the ship again, but then that noise ceased, replaced by the sounds of sailors shouting, and a few gunshots.

The hacksaw blade chewed through the other side of the shell, and with a grunt, Carrie wrenched the poison gland free. Glistening strands of tissue hung from it. She sliced them away, but they stuck to the blade like spider webs. Grimacing, she dropped the tool on the deck. More gunshots rang out, followed by more screams. Carrie looked around for something to protect her prize, found an empty five-gallon bucket that had once held detergent, wrapped the gland in the sailor's bloodied shirt, and then carefully placed it in the bucket.

She saw distant lights glinting ahead of them, as Abhi piloted the boat toward shore. She couldn't be sure, but she suspected they were way off course. She saw nothing that looked familiar, and certainly not the harbor they'd departed from.

Grabbing the bucket by the handle, she began to run for the bridge. But another round of shouts from the aft end of the ship made her change course. She ran as fast as she could toward the sounds, careful not to slip as the boat rolled and rocked on the swells. She saw a cluster of mercenaries spread out along the tail, thrusting and stabbing at the ocean with their weapons. Another man stood to one side, reloading a rifle magazine. Carrie was almost upon them when a dark shape snaked up behind the man with the rifle, looming over him. The sailor didn't notice. Before she could shout a warning, the shape darted forward, and one of the creature's spear-like arms impaled him through the throat. With a tremendous flick, it tore his head from his body. His corpse plopped onto the deck. Then the arm flicked his head up into the air and out over the side of the ship.

Frenzied and enraged, the mercenaries renewed their defense, stabbing at the creature without mercy. Their desperate efforts were successful. After a moment, it sank beneath the waves, apparently giving up this mode of attack.

“Stay here,” she shouted, “in case it comes back. We need to protect this engine.”

“Where are you going?” one asked.

“The bridge!”

They nodded, seeming to accept her plan, and then returned their watchful attention to the churning waves.

Without pausing to consider her new, unexpected position, Carrie ran for the mid-section and charged up the ladder. The ship tilted again, nearly dislodging her. Carrie gripped the handrail tightly. The bucket smacked against her leg. When the ship righted itself again, she reached the top of the ladder. She yanked open the hatch door and stepped inside the bridge, where she found Abhi at the controls, assisted by two other crewman.

“Are we going to make it?” she asked.

He shrugged, not meeting her eyes. “We don't dare go any faster than this, but yes, I think we'll make it. Did you get what you needed?”

“Yes. Let's just hope we get it back to Paolo in time.”

“I'll do my best.”

Shouts echoed from below as a new commotion broke out, this time from the front of the ship. Carrie moved to the window and saw that the creature had moved to the bow. Like its mate, the thing was trying to climb aboard the ship, or at least capsize the vessel with its bulk—a task made more difficult by its lesser size. Several sailors charged forward into a fury of writhing tentacles and snapping claws, desperately trying to dislodge the beast. Carrie watched in horror as the creature slaughtered them one by one, severing arms and legs, bisecting others, or simply plucking them from the roiling deck and flinging them, shrieking, into the sea.

“How close are we to shore, Abhi?”

“About a half mile. But we're nowhere near a dock. The port is a good three miles away. All that's out there right now are rocks. I was just turning us.”

“Floor it,” she said, “and take us straight ahead to shore.”

“Carrie, maybe you didn't hear me correctly. It's a rocky shoreline.”

“I heard you. Head straight toward it. We don't have time to make the port.”

Abhi blanched. “I think you must be hallucinating. You've got the creature's blood all over you, and—”

“I know exactly what I'm saying, Abhi.”

As she watched, the last of the mercenaries in the ship's forward section was snatched from the deck by a large tentacle and squeezed until his midsection exploded. The man's intestines slithered through the rupture like steaming snakes.

“Carrie, even at this speed, we'll crash into the shore.”

“If you don't do it, Abhi, we're never going to make it to shore.”

“It's suicide,” he insisted. “The chances of us surviving are slim. Some of those rocks are bigger than we are.”

“Good. Aim for them.”

Abhi shook his head in resignation. Then he grinned.

“It's always an adventure with you,” he said. “You never do things the easy way.”

“That's why you love me.”

“Keep telling yourself that.”

He opened the throttle and grabbed the controls, focused on staring straight ahead. His eyes widened when he saw the beast clinging to the bow. The one remaining engine whined, and a tremor ran through the deck as the vessel shuddered.

“Faster,” Carrie shouted.

“It's weighing us down,” Abhi told her. “And you hear that sound? That's the sound of our other engine failing. This is as fast as we go.”

“How close are we?”

Abhi clenched the controls tightly. “About another three minutes. Maybe less.”

Carrie turned to one of the crewmen. “Does the intercom still work?”

“No, ma'am. Are you really going to crash us?”

“Yes. What about the collision alarm? Does that work, or did the creature short it out, too?”

“I don't know,” the mercenary said. “We can try it.”

“Good idea,” she said. “I think you might want to do that, and quick.”

She glanced back out the window as the collision alarm began to sound, and saw the creature still clinging to the bow. She still couldn't get a distinct look at its flowing, ever-shifting mass, but it was clearly trying to clamber onto the deck, and all of its bulk seemed to now be out of the water. She was stunned, amazed that it had fully left the protection of the sea.

An explosion jolted the ship. The bridge shuddered as if it were about to fall apart.

“There went the engine.” Abhi fought with the controls. “Got to keep it steady…”

One of the two mercenaries assisting Abhi glanced out the aft window. “The fire?”

“Forget about it,” Abhi snapped. “It doesn't matter at this point.”

“One minute,” the other mercenary shouted, pointing at the dark shoreline.

“All hands brace for impact,” Abhi shouted. “And Carrie?”

She turned to him, and saw that his cheeks were wet with tears.

“Just in case,” he said with a smile, “it's been fun, being your sidekick.”

“Abhi…”

“And don't forget,” he yelled, as the ship's hull groaned, “you still owe me a new Sudoku book!”

The creature continued to cling to the bow as the shore loomed up out of the darkness. Rocks towered over them, jutting from the shallow water. The ship shuddered and shook as it scraped along the bottom. Explosions rang out, wrenching them back and forth, and the bridge filled with smoke. Coughing, Carrie curled into a ball on the floor, pulling her knees against her chest and tucking her head low. Something crashed behind her, and a crewman yelped in pain.

Abhi shouted something, but it was unintelligible. Carrie could barely hear him above the noise. There were so many people screaming, it was hard to distinguish one from another. The cries seemed to merge into one long, unending shriek of panic and distress. The cacophony was overwhelming—so loud that Carrie trembled.

The ship hit the shore bow first, pulping and grinding the creature into the rocks. Then, with an ear-splitting squeal of rending, twisting steel, the hull followed, as the front end of the vessel was dashed to bits.

Carrie was thrown forward, and slammed into a bulkhead. Her teeth snapped together on her tongue, and she tasted blood. Another explosion rumbled all around her. Smoke blinded her eyes and seemed to fill her throat. Someone was screaming, but once again, she couldn't tell who it was. It sounded very small and indistinct amidst the other noise.

Then, Carrie realized it was her.

 

PART TWO

SO ABOVE

 

TWELVE

“How do you feel, Paolo?”

“I feel like I've been run over by a ship.”

“Trust me,” Carrie replied, giving Paolo's hand a gentle squeeze, “I know what being run over by a ship feels like. You got off easy.”

It had been nearly a week since the final confrontation with the creatures and the shipwreck that had followed. In the aftermath, both Carrie and Abhi had been brought back to the clinic—which they learned was privately owned and operated by Alpinus Biofutures—and treated for their injuries. Luckily, despite the violent and tumultuous crash, neither of them had been hurt too badly. The same could not be said for many of the other members of Takenaka's crew, all of whom had also been transported to the remote facility, rather than the other hospitals on the island. Apparently, officials at Alpinus Biofutures were taking full responsibility for the care and recovery of anyone involved in the expedition. Carrie had to give them credit for that. She was also in awe of how the company had managed to control the media coverage of the crash, relegating it to nothing more than two days' worth of mentions in the local press, despite the loss of life, the environmental impact from spilled oil and diesel fuel, and the wildfire on the shoreline. Granted, Takenaka's vessel hadn't been a giant cruise ship or an oil tanker, but it hadn't been a tiny schooner, either. Despite the fact that they'd run ashore in a rural, remote part of the island, people had still noticed.

“I don't feel like I got off easy,” Paolo rasped. “My stitches itch, I can barely move, and my head hurts all the time.”

“Well, the doctor says you seem to be recovering since he began administering the makeshift antivenom. We'll just have to give it more time.”

“Thank you, Gatito.” His voice was warm with gratitude. “What you did for me … it means a lot.”

Carrie wanted to respond. She wanted to tell him how much he still meant to her, and how scared she had been when it looked like they might lose him. She wanted to tell him about her feelings for him and how good and simultaneously terrifying they felt. She wanted to voice her desire that they give it another try, even though she was certain any such effort would be doomed. But she couldn't bring herself to tell him any of these things.

“What are you thinking?” Paolo asked, sounding sleepy. “I can tell you are thinking something. Your eyes—those beautiful eyes—they always give you away.”

“I'm thinking that I'm glad you're okay.”

“And what are you
really
thinking?”

Instead of replying, she smiled, and gave his hand another squeeze. They sat in silence for a few minutes.

“It's cold in here,” Paolo said, finally.

“Still? The heat is turned up all the way. Want me to get you another blanket?”

If Paolo heard her, he didn't respond. A second later, his eyes closed and his breathing slowed. Then he was asleep again. He'd been sleeping a lot, something Dr. Barbet had said was normal, but it concerned Carrie nevertheless.

A lot of things about Paolo's condition had her concerned.

Carrie listened to him wheeze, and watched his chest slowly rise and fall as he struggled to breathe, and wondered if the doctor was right. Despite Barbet's assurances, Paolo did not look like he was recovering. Stabilizing, maybe, but certainly not recovering. He was still bedridden, still too weak to move on his own. He could barely lift a glass of water by himself, let alone get up and walk around. His eyes had a sunken, hollow look, and there were dark circles beneath them. His skin had a sallow, yellow tone, as did his teeth and fingernails. He slept all the time, and when he wasn't asleep, he lay there battling to stay awake. He shivered constantly, which seemed to exhaust him even more, and insisted that the room was too cold, even with the thermostat cranked up to the point where anyone visiting him was uncomfortably hot.

Perhaps worst of all was the mental and emotional distress his condition seemed to be causing. Paolo complained of a constant, all-consuming headache, and sometimes he saw things that weren't there. These incidents were just like the hallucinations all three of them had experienced on the water, but while Carrie and Abhi no longer suffered from them, Paolo's visions seemed to be getting worse. His hallucinatory spells also seemed to come with olfactory and tactile components now. He didn't just see and hear things that weren't really there. He claimed to be able to smell and touch them now, as well.

If this was Dr. Barbet's idea of recovering, Carrie hated to think what his definition of a cure might entail.

She got up quietly, so as not to disturb Paolo, and got another blanket out of the dresser next to his bed. She covered him carefully, and then, after a moment's hesitation, she leaned over and kissed his forehead. His skin was warm.