The Zombie Adventures of Sarah Bellum (32 page)

We head down some further
stairs, and find ourselves at the foredeck of the u-boat. In a vast
leisure-room, where some off-duty officers – as quirky and
exotic-looking as our Captain – are partaking of a quiet drink,
and a game of dominoes. A panoramic glass window reveals what on
first glance look like stars… but they move, changing shape
and colour, or ripple and fluoresce, and I realise they are alive,
the deep-sea denizens of wherever-we-are…

I go to stare out at the
inky depths, while Ace and Carvery head for the Air-Hockey table, and
Homer homes in on the spotlit karaoke stage.

"What do you think,
Sarah
Bellummm
?" Crispin Dry asks me, appearing at my
side.

"Breathtaking,"
I admit, wondering how thick the glass is – now that Ace seems
intent on sending the hockey puck off the table, with a bet on how
many drinking-glasses he can smash within a minute. "And you
have all of this on your doorstep – virtually…"

"Oh, there is
nothing virtual about it, Miss
Bellummm
," Crispin
replies. "It is all part of the family's hereditary munitions
trading routes. The highest bidders can afford to tear holes in the
seat of the pants of time and space – if it means getting their
hands on the best technology before the competition does."

"So now you're no
longer in the weapons industry, you just use these access routes and
locations as your… your…" I forage for a word. One
that means
'showing off your substitute manhood to impress women.'

"My
droit de
seigneur
, Miss
Bellummm
?" he suggests.

"I don't know what
you mean by
Dry to Say Nyah
, but it certainly looks like a big
show-off
Nyah-Nyah-Nyanah-Nyah
to me, when you put it that
way," I remark.

"How kind of you to
notice," he says, with that devastating half-smile of his.

But before I can think of
a smart reply (to be truthful, that could have taken me the best part
of a week) Homer's karaoke rendition of
Gooood Vibrations
is
suddenly interrupted by a low pulsing siren, and the disco lights are
switched off, to be replaced by an all-encompassing red-blue phasing
alert.

"All hands to the
bridge," Captain Rima's voice announces over the tannoy. "That
is all."

The off-duty officers
jump to their feet, and hurry over to what I had previously thought
was a dance-pole, to the left of the stage. One at a time, they grasp
it and slide downwards, disappearing below the floor.

"Let's go!"
says Carvery, and he and Ace follow suit.

"We should attend
too," says Crispin, as Homer waddles quickly after Ace and
Carvery. Can't say I blame him… "Just do as I do."

I watch him grip the
pole, hand over hand, and slide below deck. Once the coast seems
clear, I reach out and try to cling on likewise, sloth-like.

"Too tight, Sarah
Bellummm
," Crispin's voice rises to my ears. "Loosen
your grip."

I do as bidden –
and the floor of the deck below smacks into my coccyx like a
demolition ball.

"Well done,"
Crispin greets me, and hauls me upright, as I wonder if I'll ever
walk again. I've lost all sensation below the ribcage, but as he sets
me on my feet, issues of
Instant Pain
are filed from multiple
complainants around my anatomy. "This is the bridge."

Officers are attending to
various consoles and 3-D displays, showing not only the earlier
underwater 'maps' but also the layout of the u-boat. Sections of the
diagnostics flash alarmingly, or are lit up red, in ways that remind
me of Crispin's home security bunker back at the mansion – when
he was looking for the security breach.

"We have intercepted
a partial distress call," Captain Rima Glottidis announces,
directing Crispin to look at a readout on a console. "We have a
location and the first five codewords. However, these codewords in
another sequence also form a scrambled declaration of war. So without
the rest of the message, we cannot act in a fully-informed response."

"And the sabotage?"
asks Crispin.

"We have hull
breaches in a number of our flotation tanks," Captain Rima
continues. "But no arms signatures. I believe the breaches may
be parasitic."

"It is spawning
season," Crispin agrees, in a pondering tone. "We are not
within Atum's consecrated waters, I hope?"

"Our charts say no,"
the Captain assures him. "But – Atum himself could easily
mislead us, if he so wanted…"

"Of course,"
Crispin nods. I sense the tension in the air, taut like the elastic
in a pair of control-top pantyhose on a Hull school dinner-lady,
never mind the hull of the u-boat.

"So what's the
plan?" Ace asks. "Go and check out this place where the
partial distress call came from?"

"That is our first
priority, indeed," says Captain Rima. "Because our response
would be to launch recovery vehicles, in that instance. But in the
alternative declaration of war, by whichever Lounge initiated it –
our obligation is to launch a pre-emptive strike. Have you upset
anyone, on your journey so far this morning?"

We all exchange dubious
glances.

"I think Madam
Dingdong might be missing a few knick-knacks," says Carvery
quietly, jerking a thumb meaningfully at Homer N. Dry, who is
currently preoccupied with alternative entertainment uses for the
pole we have just entered the bridge by.

The rest of us mumble
agreement, keen to delegate any responsibility for an 'upset' thus
far.

"I suggest that the
engineers focus on the hull breach," says Crispin. "Mr.
Slaughter and Mr. Bumgang – your expertise there would be
appreciated."

"Dude, I can fill a
six-foot-by-six hole faster than you can blink," Carvery
remarks.

"You won't even
see
the welding-marks on any cut-and-shut of mine," Ace chips in.

"Excellent,"
Captain Rima booms. "Officer Lyra will show you down."

A small dark gentleman
appears next to Captain Rima and bows smartly, and the two guys
follow him out of the bridge. My stomach lurches in panic.

Whatever happens down
there – I hope at least their DNA makes it back intact…

"Who is analysing
the distress call?" Crispin continues.

"I am handling it
myself." Captain Rima moves aside, so that we can see the
console more clearly. But I don't recognise anything about the
hieroglyphs on the screen – except…

"I've seen these
drawings before!" I cry out.

"But my dear, that
is impossible," says the Captain, patiently. "This is
top-secret code."

"In the diary –
your father's diary, Crispin!" I insist. "I'm sure of it!
The one that was in the room with the clockwork hand…"

"Where is this
'diary'?" Captain Rima frowns, looking from me to Crispin, and
back again.

I rack my brains.

"I think Carvery had
it last," I say. "In his pocket. Yes!"

Captain Rima beckons to
another officer.

"Go after Lyra, and
see if either of the men in his team have Mr. Dry Senior's diary on
them," he orders. "And check their quarters also, for the
same. There may be other codeword sequences listed in it, relevant to
this transmission."

"Sir – yes,
Sir!" The officer hurries away.

"Sir!" Another
officer, by one of the 3-D spherical maps, calls for his attention.
"Unidentified bogey dead ahead, Sir!"

The Captain and Crispin
move swiftly to look, and I dart after them.

A massive blob shape
appears glowing in the projection field, and as we watch, begins to
uncoil, into an even larger, seemingly endless helix.

"It is the parasitic
saboteur I feared," Captain Rima says. "The
Great Abyss
Tapeworm
."

"Are you sure?"
I ask. "It looks like Atum… from what I recall, I mean…
God help us."

"I think I have the
experience required to recognise monsters of the deep, Miss Bellum,"
says Captain Rima, curtly.

"And if it is Atum,
then we are indeed at war," Crispin points out. "Not even
God will help us, in that case."

"Bogey closing,
Sir!" a voice hails the Captain again. "Standing by for
orders to attack, Sir!"

The helix of the beast in
the virtual map continues to unwind and extend, gradually filling the
field of the 3-D projection, like an unravelling ball of yarn in a
basket.

"We will shortly be
surrounded," Crispin notes aloud. "You had better be sure,
Captain Rima."

"Stand by!"
shouts the Captain, but I notice a single bead of sweat emerging onto
his forehead from his turban, as he studies the map. My heart
contracts in terror.

He's waiting for
something… which means he's not sure…

CHAPTER
FORTY-TWO
:

20,000 LEGS UNDER
THE SEA

"
T
arget
acquired, Sir!" comes the shout again from the crew, on the
bridge of the Colossal U-Boat,
The Great
Nematode
. "Orders, Sir!"

Captain Rima Glottidis
puts his eyes to the dual magnifying scope beside the 3-D underwater
map. The unravelling beast of a sea-parasite, whose territory we have
crossed into, now spans the spherical projection.

The Captain twists dials
and turns knobs. I worry that there will be nothing left of
The
Great Nematode
before he makes a decision, as further vibrations
jar the giant hull.

"We must ensure that
your subterranean route to the Eight a.m. Lounge is not blocked,"
he murmurs, tapping commands into the touch screen controls.

I reach for Crispin Dry's
hand, for reassurance, and feel his cold zombie fingers curl through
my own.

"Ready the Chthonic
Sonar!" Captain Rima suddenly barks, and crew-members spurt into
action. He raises his head and looks towards us with a steely gaze,
no sign of uncertainty in his features at all. "It will not
destroy – but it will disperse. And in the event of Atum's
presence, it will not register to him as an act of aggression."

"I respect your
decision, Captain Rima," Crispin concurs with a nod.

"You may find
yourselves having to confront any remaining hostiles face-to-face,"
the Captain warns, and Crispin merely concedes again with another
subtle nod of understanding.

What?
Face-to-face?
What does he mean?

"Sonar ready,
Captain!" hails the crewman manning the weapons console, turning
a key beside a large green button. The u-boat rocks and lurches, like
an overweight pigeon landing on a rotating washing-line.

"Maximum power!"
orders the Captain. "One pulse!"

"Aye, Sir!"

The crewman strikes the
green button.

I suddenly know how a
dog-whistle feels. It's as though a high-speed tornado has just shot
through all of my bones.

The unravelling Abyss
Tapeworm on the projection reacts, contracting once, and then
cracking like a whip.
The Great Nematode
tilts dangerously,
foredeck-down. We, and the crew, have to brace ourselves at the
consoles.

"Again!" shouts
Rima. "Second pulse!"

"Aye, Sir!"

Again, the terrible sense
of disruptive distortion rips through me. The parasite contracts
again, like a coiled spring of intent…

"Fire again!"
the Captain roars.

A third pulse of the
Chthonic Sonar is discharged, and it feels as though all sorts of
bodily fluids are following suit. For one terrible second, the Abyss
Tapeworm remains coiled to respond…

…
And
then spontaneously breaks apart.
The
Great Nematode
slowly
rights itself, as the segments of the parasite drift gently outwards
across the 3-D map, on the current.