Skeletons (46 page)

Bertie snapped off the radio.

My father said, "They going to find us, Bertie?" She took her beer back to the couch, sat down. She was silent.

"I know the answer to that one," Sully said.

"Sully and I were talking, just before you came in," my father went on. "We both had an interesting dream last night."

Bertie looked from one to the other. "I had a dream, too . . ." she said slowly. “There were some new parts in it."

My father said, "Yes . . ."

"When do you figure?" Bertie asked.

My father looked ahead sightlessly. "One day, maybe two."

Sully said, "Sounds about right."

Bertie got up, collected the empty beer bottles, and replaced them with fresh ones. "Drink up, mates. We've got planning to do."

My father said to me, "Claire, would you mind leaving us alone?"

Bertie put her hand on my shoulder. "Go on over and see Chub,
darlin
'," she said.

I got up and left.

Neither my father, nor Bertie, nor Sully told me what had been discussed in their meeting. But that same afternoon Bertie took me to Chub's food hold and turned on the light within. It was a small closet, four or five feet deep, with shelves stocked with packages of potato chips, canned hams, institutional-size cans of tuna, and other foods. Outside in the stateroom Chub sat watching
Return of the Jedi
, looking up to regard us now and again.

"Here's what you need to know," Bertie said. She reached under the fourth shelf down from the top. "Look under here."

I stooped to look at a tiny switch.

"Hit this," Bertie said, "and watch what happens."

I hit the switch. The right-hand wall of the closet moved back and pulled aside. Musty cold air wafted out.

Bertie squeezed into the opening, fumbled around, hit another switch.

The interior of a small room was lit. There were wooden pallets on the floor, a couple of folded blankets, a crate to sit on. The far wall was the metallic inside hull of the
Arc
.

"It ain't much, but it's home if it's gotta be," Bertie said. "I hid Chub in here a couple times when the Coast Guard decided I shouldn't have a gorilla on board. Endangered species and all that. Most of the Coast Guard boys were all right about it, but one
tightbutt
from the port of Los Angeles decided he was going to run for office. He never did find Chub in here. Lost the election, too."

We had a partial view of Chub outside. He looked up at us, grinned widely.

Bertie said, "Had to ride in here with Chub myself in eighty-six, when I was boarded by pirates."

She watched my expression. "Oh, yes, there's still such a thing. Now they got high-tech speedboats, sonar, lots of big guns. Would have killed me if they found me. Instead, they just took every carton and beast on board. Even stole Chub's videocassette collection."

Outside, Chub made a grunting sound.

"So you listen to me good. When and if things start hopping around here, this room is where you run to." She showed me the switch on the wall, how to make the door close and open. "And don't you worry about your father, Sully, and me. We'll be in here with you, if we can."

We left the secret room. Chub was moving excitedly in his chair. Once again Princess Leia had appeared on the screen.

Bertie shook her head, patted Chub as we walked by. The ape smiled up at her, at me, looked back at the television, screeched with delight.

"Darn monkey," Bertie said.

The next day there was a little rain, but we still had clear sailing.

"We're just about . . . here," Bertie said, pointing to a chart in her stateroom. "Due west of Queen Charlotte Island. Good old Canada. Must have a lot of skeleton moose running around up here now. I had a moose on board, once. Dumber than a cow. You never saw so much dung in your life! Anyway," she continued, tracing her finger due west from that point, till she reached a thin line of islands strung out like tiny beads from the bottom of Alaska, "these here are the Aleutians, and these," she said, isolating a section of the beads, "are the Fox Islands. That's where we make our turn north. Once we get there this ship could steer itself, right up the Bering Strait to Seward Peninsula. Just north of Nome, just west of this little protrusion here," she said, fingering the most western part of the Alaska mainland, "that's where we're going." She moved her finger over into the water between the two continents of Asia and North America. There was a little dot of land there. 'There it is. Little Diomede Island. Right in the middle of the Bering Strait. Right smack in the middle of the West and East."

Sully, my father, and Bertie were looking at me. It was Bertie again who spoke. 'This is what the dreams say, Claire. This is where you're supposed to go. Do you have any idea why?"

I shook my head.

Bertie said, "Whatever it is, we'll get you there."

An alarm sounded in the room. All over the ship bells were going off, animals screeching.

"Uh-oh," Bertie said. "Looks like we've got company coming. That's the five-mile alarm. Let's see what we've got to deal with."

It was another beautiful day on deck, winds calm, the smoke from the
Arc's
stacks rising straight up and drifting behind us as we chugged north. The sky was a deep, clear blue, the air cold, smelling of clean, deep water.

Bertie scanned the sky with binoculars, then the four horizons of the sea. The bells continued to sound.

"Better get up to the bridge. I don't like this at all. I don't see a damn thing."

We climbed up after her. It was a tight fit in the little wheelhouse.

Bertie studied her instruments. At night the green screens filled the wheelhouse with eerie light, but here at midday, with bright sunlight filling the tall windows, Bertie had to bend close, shielding her eyes to study the screens.

"Hell," she said, squinting. "Nothing in the air or on the surface. It's below us, but it's fairly small." She hit a switch. The alarm bells immediately went silent, leaving the
screechings
of the animals the only alarm. "If I had to guess, I'd say maybe we've got us a baby blue whale for a companion—hell!" she said. "It's no whale. I know what that is!"

As she finished speaking a sleek yellow metallic form rose in front of our bow. In its tiny conning tower a water-streaked window showed a skeletal face. The machine tilted back in the water, showing two long mechanical arms with grip claws on the ends.

The entire machine dropped below the surface.

"Get on deck! Sully, you know where the big guns are! Get me that surface-to-surface thing and a couple of depth charges! If we don't sink that thing, it'll put a hole in us!"

As she spoke the
Arc
rocked dully. There was a deep thump on the right side.

"Move, Sully!"

Sully was already out of the bridge, taking the steps down two at a time. He scampered across the deck. Another thump sounded.

"That thing's from San Diego," Bertie said frantically. "It's a research sub called the Crab. Navy demonstrated it once when I was there. It hasn't got torpedoes. It doesn't need them to hurt you. It tore a hole in the side of a scuttled ship as big as your face. Sunk the thing in five minutes."

Again there was a bump at our side. The
Arc
listed slightly to the left before steadying.

We followed Bertie out of the wheelhouse and down to the deck. Over the right rail we could just make out the bubble top of the sub, below the waterline.

Sully came back bearing a long, awkward tube and a canvas sack. He laid them on deck. Bertie began to work with the tube, loading and checking it.

"We've got to get the damn thing away from the ship before we can use this on it," she said.

Sully rummaged in the canvas sack, brought out two hand grenades.

"Poor man's depth charges," Bertie said. She grabbed one, leaned over the rail, pulled the ring, and counted to three, then dropped it out away from the ship.

The grenade hit the water and went off, far above the submarine.

Immediately the yellow sub sank down out of sight, undamaged.

"Damn!"

A few moments later there was a rocking, thumping sound from the other side of the
Arc
.

Chub appeared on deck, looking curiously out of the top of the hatch and then climbing out. He went to the nearby cages, tried to calm the frantic animals within.

"If only I could see," my father said.

We moved to the other side of the ship, looked over the rail. There was the yellow sub, a little lower than the water, working at the hull.

Sully grinned. "If he puts a hole there, it'll ruin the beer in the hold below." He climbed onto the top of the rail. "Can't let that happen."

"Sully, get down!" Bertie shouted. "If anybody goes, I will. That thing's got a rudder in the back, between its propeller and tail. Foul the rudder up, and it goes nowhere. But how..."

Sully was already over the rail, two pineapple grenades clutched in one hand. "Got to save that beer!" he said.

"Sully!"

Bertie reached out for him, but the salesman dropped down into the water.

"Oh,
Lordy
," Bertie said.

Sully's form disappeared below the waves. We saw him hit the area by the
minisub's
conning tower, then begin to slide back. With one hand he grasped at the yellow sub's
minitail
, then he was lost to view beneath the machine.

The sub rocked at the
Arc
's side again. A shiver went through the ship.

"It's breached us in the forward hold," Bertie said. She moved down the rail, returned with a life preserver tied to a long coil of rope. "If Sully comes up, throw him this." With reluctance she moved away from the rail and ran to the forward hatch. "Got to see how bad the damage is, close it off if I can."

She climbed down into the hold.

A moment later there was a rocking explosion. A gusher of water rose up from the rear of the
minisub
. When the water cleared, the sub had moved off and back. A violent whirring came from its engine.

A human form rose to the surface, popped through. "Think I got her!" Sully shouted.

With my father's help I lifted the life preserver over the rail, let it splash down to the water in front of Sully. He took hold of it.

Below him, the Crab rose up.

As Sully grabbed the life preserver one of the
minisub's
front hands twisted, opened, took him by the middle.

Sully screamed.

The sub's conning tower bobbed out of the water momentarily. Behind the glass the skeletal head stared straight at Scully, grinning.

Scully grasped at the life preserver, tried to pull himself free of the claw. We pulled the rope tightly.

Bertie returned carrying an armful of rifles. She dropped them on deck. She looked over the side and shouted, "Sully!"

The claw tightened around Sully's middle. He arched back, crying out, and let go of the life preserver. Blood washed from his middle into the water.

The claw closed tighter. Sully looked up at us, held his arms out, his mouth open.

His arms dropped lifelessly.

The claw held him up, half out of the water.

He turned to skeleton, flesh dropping away, and as he stirred to life again the claw closed hard on him. Arching a final time, giving a ghostly yell, Sully turned to dust and dropped away into the waves.

"Sully . . ." Bertie said.

The
minisub's
empty claw moved down into the water. A clanking grind still rose from the machine's rear. It bumped against the side of the
Arc
, bounced away, bumped into the ship again.

Angrily, Bertie reached into the canvas sack of hand grenades, brought one out, and pulled the pin. "Down you go, bastard," she said, dropping the explosive on top of the
minisub
.

It went off. The glass in the conning tower shattered. Water lapped into the opening. The machine rolled partway over, drifting away from the
Arc
. After a few moments it nosed up and began to sink back into the waves, grinding noisily.

"Poor Sully," Bertie said. She turned away. "The hole below was in a compartment I was able to seal off," she said. She smiled sadly. "It's where the
Carta
Blanca was. The patch won't hold forever. We'll be taking water on slowly. But it'll get us to where we've got to go."

The
minisub
slipped out of sight. Its clanking was silenced by the waves.

I saw in the water, well away from it and heading to the bow of the
Arc
, the kick of a swimming skeletal form. I pointed.

"They got out, dammit," Bertie said.

At the rear of the ship the animal chattering increased. There was a gunshot.

"Quick, move forward," Bertie said. She put a rifle in my father's hand, took one herself. "We've got to draw them away from the aft so we can get to that closet in Chub's stateroom."