by Laura Martin
He waited too long. One second the square of visible ocean outside was clear, and the next the megalodon was ramming itself snout-first into the hatch. It barely missed Weaver, who threw himself away from the entrance just before impact. As it was, one of the shark’s teeth caught his side, shredding his wet suit and sending a plume of blood into the water. Weaver put a hand to his ribs and pressed himself against the side of the hatch, and Max yanked him further back before any more damage could be done. The megalodon’s head was too big to fit all the way inside, but even so, its rows upon rows of teeth were so close that I could have reached out and touched them if I hadn’t valued keeping my hand attached to my body.
The lights flickered, and the sides of the hatch seemed to bend outward as the shark gained another few inches. My mind fogged with panic, and the electric zing of adrenaline hummed uselessly through my veins. I wouldn’t have thought it was possible for things to get any worse, but then the lights went out. I wasn’t sure if we’d lost power or if the crew on board had decided to turn the lights off to hide us and confuse the shark, but either way the inside of the hatch was suddenly pitch-black.
The metal under my feet vibrated as the Britannica shot something else into the water. A second later the megalodon jerked to the right and pulled its face out of the hatch. The shark thrashed angrily in the water, and I saw a small black object embedded in its side. Seconds later, the thing exploded. The water turned an impenetrable red, and I had no idea if I was seeing another blood bomb or if the shark had been injured, but I didn’t care.
“Somebody shut the hatch,” said Weaver’s voice in my ear. “Somebody,” he repeated, his voice not much more than a gasping sort of croak, “hit the button.” No one moved. It was as though we’d been frozen in place as we watched the red water churn in front of the hatch opening. Now that we couldn’t see the shark, it was almost worse than when it had been inches away from us, and we all stared at the water, waiting. I looked to my left and right, trying to see Max, Garth, or Kate through the dark water, but it was impossible.
I thought about those teeth inches from my face. It was just a matter of time before the shark remembered the hole we were all hiding in. The last thing in the entire world that I wanted to do at the moment was move from my spot on the wall, but despite the terror coursing through me, I recognized this moment for what it was: an opportunity. Just like the fear for my family had forced me into action when the hydra was attacking the Atlas, my determination to prove myself pushed its way past my terror now. Captain Reese needed to see that we had what it took, and I was going to have to prove that I did if I wanted to protect my family. It was time to move.
It took everything in me, but I inched my way to the right, sliding toward the far wall of the hatch and that little red button. I felt someone try to grab my arm, and I shook them off without looking back. Odds were it was Garth trying to stop me, but there wasn’t time for that. Either we shut the hatch or we waited for the megalodon to come back and pry us out of the Britannica like a clam from its shell.
My hand slipped over the edge of the hatch and out into open water, and I jerked backward. I’d gone too far. Turning back, I ran my hands over the wall, cursing the blood bomb and the loss of lights that had made the water impenetrable.
Suddenly I felt something beside me, and I whirled in the dark, my hands coming up defensively before I realized it was just another diver.
“It’s me,” Kate’s voice said in my ear. “Hit the button!”
“I can’t find it!” I said, my hands pawing over the seemingly empty wall. Kate joined me, and a second later so did one of the scouts, and together we searched. For a moment there was nothing but a bunch of fumbling hands, and then my hand found the button at the same time as Kate’s, and we pushed. Nothing happened. I hit it again. Still nothing.
“Maybe the shark busted something when it attacked,” I said. “Is there another way into the Britannica?”
“No,” Kate said, her voice half wail, half sob. “Not while we’re underwater. If any of the other entrances are opened, we’ll be flooded and sink.”
“Hit it again,” instructed the scout. I did just as I sensed movement to my right and whirled, expecting to see the open mouth of the shark bearing down on me. Instead I spotted the northern scout paddling into the hatch.
“It’s about time!” said the scout who’d been helping us find the button as he grabbed the northern scout by the arm and pushed her toward the back of the hatch.
I glanced back and saw Mr. Weaver grab the late scout in a tight hug despite the fact that one of the other scouts was attempting to stop his side from bleeding, and I realized the water was clearing. Turning, I looked back out the hatch entrance, searching for the shark. A moment later I spotted it: it was circling around and heading back toward the sub, because of course if we could see it, it could see us. The lights in the hatch suddenly sprang to life, and black spots erupted in my vision from the brightness.
“Hit the button!” Weaver rasped in my ear, and I turned to discover that the button was now glowing a hopeful shade of green. I hit it and the hatch door shuddered and began to move. Through it I could still see the speeding form of the massive shark, and the scout who’d helped us find the button grabbed our wet suits and jerked us toward the back of the hatch. Garth and Max reached out their hands to pull us in the last few feet, and I turned in time to see the hatch door slide shut.
I grinned triumphantly at Garth, but a second later the entire sub lurched as the megalodon hit the side of the Britannica with such force that the door bent inward. I screamed, but the sound of everyone else’s terrified shouts in my ears drowned me out. The hatch’s lights flashed, showing us that the depressurization process had already begun, and I quickly cleared my ears. The water had just started to drain out of the hatch when the second impact came, throwing half of us off our feet so our heads slipped back under the quickly retreating water.
“Keep your masks on,” Weaver said, and I looked over to see him being supported by two of the scouts, his face a sickly gray behind his own mask. The third impact came when the water was at our waists, and everyone held on to one another or the wall to steady themselves. The metal of the hatch door bowed in a bit more, and I wondered how much more it could take. If it burst open, we’d be worse off than when we started, not only because there would be no way to escape the shark, but because the sudden pressure change could kill us.
The water was down to our knees when the entrance to the sub behind us opened, allowing the foot of remaining seawater to rush into the Britannica, soaking the dive room and the feet of the waiting medics and crew, who immediately began shouting at us to get inside. We stumbled over our flippers and one another in our rush to make it into the safety of the submarine. The last one to make it inside was Weaver, who was apparently unconscious, as he was being dragged by the scouts. Before they’d even cleared the door, one of the crew hit the close button.
The door to the hatch was beginning to shut just as yet another impact rocked the sub, knocking those who weren’t already sprawled on the floor to their knees. The inner door was almost closed when the outer door ruptured, and water came flooding into the dive room. Two crew members threw themselves against either side of the door, and by some miracle they managed to force it shut, but not before gallons of seawater had made it into the now completely drenched dive room. Another crew member hit the intercom button on the wall and yelled, “Hatch is secure. Go!”
The Britannica rumbled beneath my feet as its engines came to life, shooting us into the ocean and away from the megalodon.
“Did that really just happen?” Garth said, yanking his mask off and dropping it unceremoniously into the six inches of water surrounding our feet. I expected everyone around us to be in various states of hysterics or shock similar to the fallout after the Atlas was attacked, but to my surprise the scouts were actually laughing, clapping one another on the back as they took off their gear.
“G
et used to it, rookie,” Max said as he spit into the water at our feet and wiped his face off on his sleeve.
“That’s one impressive rookie,” said a voice behind us, and I turned to see the scout who’d helped Kate and me find the hatch button. He pulled off his mask, and I saw it was one of the teenagers from our bunk room. He was maybe sixteen or so, with shaggy black hair and a wide grin that showed off dimples. He tucked his own mask under his arm and held out a hand to me.
“I haven’t had a chance to introduce myself yet; you were already in your bunk by the time the gang and I turned in last night. I’m Ryan.”
“Berkley,” I said, shaking his hand.
“It’s not every day we get attacked by a meg. I’m impressed you had the guts to go for the hatch button.”
“Some of us had the guts, but we were too busy trying not to get swallowed whole,” said a teenage girl as she dropped her own mask onto a nearby bench and shoved her wet hair off her face.
“Were you the northern scout?” I said.
She grimaced. “Unfortunately,” she said. “I’m Megan, and if I had been paying better attention, you guys would have had more of a heads-up.”
“Is Weaver okay?” I asked, peering over Megan’s shoulder to where Weaver lay sprawled on one of the benches, surrounded by medics.
“He’ll be fine,” Kate said. “The guy’s a legend, and legends aren’t killed by a shark sideswipe.”
“I don’t feel like it’s fair to call that thing a shark,” Garth said. “I mean, it must munch on great whites for breakfast.”
“Better than having us for breakfast,” I said, noticing for the first time that my legs felt like all my bones had dissolved and left me with nothing but mush and muscle. I sat down hard on one of the benches, trying to process everything that had just happened. Over the hum of the engines I could hear a faint slurping noise as the water around our feet slowly drained away.
Across from me four crew members were rapidly welding large strips of metal over the hatch door with an impressive degree of precision that made me wonder just how many times something like this had happened. I was so distracted watching this choreographed performance that I didn’t notice that Captain Reese had walked in until she was standing a foot away from me.
“Berkley, Kate, Ryan,” she said, “nice work.” I probably should have responded, but I just nodded numbly instead. “Are any of you going into shock?” she asked, turning so she could study each of our faces.
“I don’t think so,” I said. “What does shock feel like?” My head felt too full, as though being underwater with that massive shark had scrambled what used to be a perfectly good brain.
Captain Reese bent low to peer in both of my eyes. I’m not sure what she saw there, but she gave a decisive no and stood up. “I don’t think you’re in shock, which under the circumstances, is rather impressive. Well done.” She turned to Megan, eyebrow raised. “Please report to my office,” she said. “I would like to talk to you about the duties and responsibilities of a scout.” Megan seemed to visibly shrink, but she nodded and walked out of the diving room.
“Now,” Captain Reese said, “if you four recruits are all fine, I need you to report to the command hub up front. We are shorthanded up there, thanks to these repairs.” She jerked her head at the busted hatch, her face grim. “Tell Officer Wilson that I’ll be back as soon as I finish talking to Megan.” We nodded and stumbled awkwardly to our feet so we could slosh our way out of the soggy dive room.
We made our way down the halls in silence, each of us lost in our own thoughts. Finally we arrived at the front of the sub, where the wide, expansive windows showed us speeding along at a breakneck pace. With the exception of Tank, who lay on one of the windowsills snoring peacefully, every crew member had the same intense look of concentration as they ran the Britannica at full throttle.
“Is the meg still following us?” Max asked Officer Wilson.
Wilson never even looked up as he nodded. “We’re putting some much-needed distance between us. It should lose interest soon; if not, we have a couple more blood bombs we can shoot off. How are the repairs in the dive room?”
“Good,” Max said. “The hatch is almost completely welded shut. Captain Reese said she’ll be back as soon as she’s done talking to Megan.”
Wilson grimaced. “That girl’s going to get an earful,” he said, shooting a glance over at Max. “Maybe even worse than the one you and Luke got.”
Max winced but didn’t say anything, his eyes staring straight ahead as the Britannica rushed past schools of fish so quickly they were nothing but a silver blur.
“How long do you think it will take for a full repair of the door?” Kate asked quickly, in an obvious effort to take Wilson’s attention off Max.
“Depends how soon we can surface,” said Wilson. “It’s a bad rupture this time. It’s a miracle it shut, let alone held a seal to depressurize us. We’re going to have to dock to fix it right.” He turned and yelled to an officer on the other side of the sub, “Hey, Pete, how far away are we from a liner big enough to accommodate the Britannica?”
“Probably at least a day or two,” Pete shouted back. “I’ll check as soon as this thing stops tailing us. There goes the cetus mission. Weaver’s going to be heartbroken.”
“Weaver got hurt,” I blurted out, and almost every crew member in the hub turned to look at me.
“He’ll be fine,” Max said loudly, digging an elbow hard into my ribs. “The meg nicked him and he lost some blood, that’s all. He’s definitely been through worse.” The crew members’ faces relaxed, and they returned to the job at hand.
“Sorry,” I muttered as Max shot me a look. “Why was that wrong?”
“Because talking about injuries is the captain’s job,” he said. “Not yours.”
I walked over to give Tank a quick scratch behind the ear, but he just let out a waffling snore and rolled over without even bothering to wake up.
“Now, are you four here to work or to drip on the floor?” Wilson said as he read some new bit of information on his screen.
“Work,” we all said, and boy did we work.
Together we washed wet suits, mopped up the dive room, helped the sub’s cook prepare supper, and scrubbed down the dining room tables. I fell into bed that night still smelling like the ocean and so tired I didn’t even remember my eyes shutting.
10
It was another week before we were allowed back in the water on a diving mission. After what had to be the most exciting first day in the history of first days, I was thankful for the normalcy of our new routine. Mr. Weaver returned to the classroom the next day, well-bandaged and a bit pale but none the worse for his near-death experience. Two days after the meg attack, we found a grower ship that was large enough to pull the Britannica out of the water to repair the hatch, and it was a relief to walk around in the air and the sunshine again, even if only for a few hours.
Grower ships were some of the most prized on the ocean, as they were the only source of non-ocean-supplied food. Thanks to their previous life as aircraft carriers for the military, they had large, flat decks perfect for cultivating most of the things that had made up the diet of the human race before the tide rose. Even though we weren’t allowed to touch the tomatoes, peppers, kale, and potatoes that covered every available surface of the ship, being around all that green was comforting somehow, and I found myself wishing the hatch would take longer to be repaired. As it was, we were back in the water within hours, and I was once again saying goodbye to the sun. This time was easier, though, especially since the ship had sent us a basket of fresh produce that our cook, Brenda, promised to make last for the entire week.
The Britannica certainly didn’t feel like home yet, but it was getting there. I discovered that I actually liked my morning chores with Hector. The old man was a bit of a jack-of-all-trades, and we made our way over most of the sub, fixing this, cleaning that, organizing, and generally keeping the submarine up and running.
He had a gruff, no-nonsense personality, but he also told some really fantastic stories about the monsters he’d encountered during his time aboard the Britannica.
Sometimes I felt like I learned more from Hector than I did during Weaver’s classes, although those were eye-opening as well. However, I quickly discovered that the two men had very different views about how monsters should be handled. Hector was of the opinion that every monster should be exterminated—he called it “nipping the problem in the bud”—a viewpoint that Weaver condemned in a thirty-minute monologue when I made the mistake of bringing it up in class. He called Hector’s views “old school” and “closed-minded” and went on to explain that while that had been the original intent of submarines like the Britannica, the Coalition had quickly realized that they’d make much more progress toward protecting ships if they focused on researching monsters instead of killing them on sight. “We only attack a monster once it has attacked a ship,” Weaver had said, mopping at a forehead that had broken out in sweat, something that happened often when he got overexcited about something. I’d never brought it up again.
Besides my mornings with Hector and classes with Weaver, Kate was turning into a great friend. She’d relaxed a bit of her “instruction-manual personality,” as Max called it, and she had such an easygoing nature that sometimes I forgot that I hadn’t known her for my entire life. Even Max was warming up to us a bit, although sometimes he made it hard to remember my resolution to give him grace when he didn’t deserve it. The only part of the new routine that felt wrong was Garth. I wasn’t sure if it was because the megalodon attack had freaked him out, or if he was just missing home, but he’d lost the happy-go-lucky part of himself that had made life on board the Atlas so much fun. It didn’t happen all at once, and honestly it took me a while to notice, but every day he seemed to smile just a little bit less and laugh less easily. It was almost as though he was fading away like the tan on my skin.