Fathomless

by Greig Beck

  The ripples bumped at the raft, and the small group all sat frozen, watching the water. Jack felt his heartbeat racing in his chest. No one moved a muscle.

  Jack trained the beam down into the water, but it was impossible to see anything, and the beam might have stopped at a few feet or dozens. He continued to stare for several more seconds.

  He had been in predator’s water before – tagging Great White Sharks down at Hell’s Teeth in South Africa where the monsters grew to twenty foot and as wide around as a hippo. He had also been near orca packs when they rounded up seal pods, herding them in towards an ice wall and then picking them off one by one, playing with the carcasses like vollyballers at the beach. He’d swum with giant saltwater crocodiles, and moray eels as thick as your waist. But those times he had known what was down there, had known what to expect, so when the animal finally appeared, it was thrilling and frightening, but expected.

  He remained gazing down into the darkness, knowing this was different; he had no real idea what was down there. Or even what could be down there. His gut told him the armored Placoderm was just one of the denizens of this strange place. There would be others, and he just hoped they stayed down deep, ignoring the twelve-foot long flat thing that glided near silently on the surface, thousands of feet above them.

  “Let’s go,” he whispered, unlocking their muscles once again.

  They paddled on, maintaining a speed of three miles per hour, or around walking pace. They could have gone faster, but that would mean making more noise. Jack estimated at the rate they moved they’d be paddling for around thirty-two more hours. Cate and Abby would take over soon, but even then, it wasn’t possible to continue around the clock, and they hadn’t slept since they left the surface.

  Jack watched Greg for a moment, checking for fatigue. The young scientist paddled smoothly. “All okay there?”

  Greg nodded.

  They’d push on for another few hours, Cate and Abby for a few more on top of that, but then would need to find somewhere dry to rest. Jack didn’t like the idea of sleeping in the raft. It was bad enough being in a near pitch-dark environment, but closing your eyes meant not being able to avoid even the most obvious danger.

  Cate sniffed, and then leaned towards the water and inhaled. “Sulphur.” She narrowed her eyes and looked around, flicking on her light and playing it across the water’s surface. “The mist lifting off the water has a sulphurous tinge. I’m guessing this is the result of geological activity.”

  Abby quickly dipped a hand over the side, cupped some water, and then bought it to her lips. “No real taste, other than salt, but I’m betting there might be some smoker vents down deep.”

  Greg also cupped some water, sipped from his hand, and then spat a long stream back over the side.

  “Keep paddling,” Jack said.

  “Yes, master.” Greg grinned at Abby, and then turned to Cate. “Hey, shouldn’t one of you be beating a drum so us slaves can keep in rhythm?”

  Cate half smiled. “I don’t know about a drum, but I know what does need a beating.”

  Greg put on a shocked expression. “Easy now…” he laughed.

  The sound of a heavy body moving through water shocked them to silence. It grew louder, and then stopped.

  “What. The fuck. Was that?” Greg whispered, cringing.

  “Keep paddling, easy and slow,” Jack said looking over his shoulder. “Uh Cate, while we’re doing this, can you please shine your light over the stern. Just for a little look-see?”

  She nodded, swung around, and then held the flashlight in both hands, as she tilted it downwards.

  “Oh god.”

  She lifted the light.

  “Stop paddling.”

  * * *

  Valery Mironov’s wrists were shredded and his hands now slick with blood. He drew in a deep breath, absorbing the pain, and kept his gaze fixed on the back of Dmitry’s head. He didn’t flinch as he slowly drew one hand from the binding, tearing away more of the skin.

  “We’re nearly there,” Dmitry said over his shoulder.

  Mironov’s hand came free, and he quickly reached across to untie the other. When complete he sat still, watching Dmitry pilot the submersible ever deeper.

  Dmitry had switched off all Mironov’s screens, perhaps not wanting him to know where they were. He continued to watch, and hoped when it came time to seize the craft, he could successfully subdue the man. If he had to kill him, then he would. He would rescue Cate and her friends or die trying.

  Though Mironov wasn’t a pilot, he had watched enough to get an understanding of the basics. He looked along the banks of controls, dials, and screens – he needed little of the analytical technology, and only the maneuvering capabilities. It could be done.

  “I know you are free.”

  Dmitry’s words brought his head around. Mironov waited, but the pilot’s hands stayed at the controls and didn’t reach for the gun.

  “Where are we going?” Mironov had no option now but to play for time.

  Dmitry half turned, his grin now gone, and his eyes dead level. He was no longer the jovial clown, but now the killer he probably always was.

  “Valhalla maybe?” He gave Mironov a sneering grin. “You are a rich and powerful man, Valery Konstantin Mironov. But I am afraid you also have rich and powerful enemies. Enemies who are patient, and far more ruthless than you.”

  “You mean to kill me?” Mironov waited.

  “That all depends on you.” Dmitry continued to smile.

  “But then how will you escape?” Mironov tilted his head a fraction, studying the man.

  Dmitry studied him for a moment. “Why not?” He shrugged. “We have a rendezvous out under the Bering Sea, and then we will be going for a little trip in the pod.” Dmitry’s eyes lost their focus, and he turned away. Mironov saw something behind the expression – doubt, regret perhaps; he wasn’t sure what it was exactly, but there was something there – a sliver of hope, perhaps.

  “I don’t believe you’re doing this for money.”

  Dmitry shook his head. “What good is money without health, security, or a future?”

  “But not yours.” Mironov sat forward.

  Dmitry just sat and stared out through the toughened glass window.

  Mironov angled himself so he could see the side of the Russian pilot’s face. “I know Yusoff is blackmailing you, or he’s promised you something.” He continued to study the man, a picture forming. “No, perhaps not you, but he’s promised to do something for a friend, or maybe for your family.”

  Mironov sat back. “Dmitry, I know this man, a thousand, thousand times better than you do. You have served your purpose, played your role, and I can tell you, that he has already forgotten about you. And he will certainly have forgotten about your family, or whoever it is you think you are saving.”

  Dmitry shrugged. “It is a chance I have to take.”

  “No, it isn’t.” Mironov sat forward again. “I can guarantee your family’s safety. I have many contacts around the world. I can get your family out, and get them somewhere safe within an hour. And there’s something far more important you should heed – I always keep my word.”

  Dmitry stared for a moment or two before his mouth began to curve into a smile again. “They said you would be clever, and they were right.” He lifted the gun.

  Mironov sighed and sat back, his gaze unwavering. “I think you are not a bad man. If you were, I’d be dead already, and you would never have let the others go. You are torn.” He knew Dmitry was listening now. “If we make it to the surface again, your reward will be a bullet in the head. Not safety.”

  Mironov sat forward. “Listen to me. I give you my word that I will see to it personally you are never found by Yusoff. You would be safe; they would be safe, and happy, forever. Dmitry, you owe it to your family to at least think about it.”

  The scream of the proximity alarm made both men cringe, and Dmitry cursed. “The roof of the cavern is dropping down again
. We’ll need to dive, deep.” He growled under his breath. “Sonar should have picked this up.”

  “You need more hands, and eyes,” Mironov responded.

  Dmitry eased the submersible down to just a few knots, and then swiveled in his seat to stare for a moment. “Yes, I do.” He turned back to his own panel, and returned Mironov’s access to his screens. He pointed. “That screen opening for you is the peripheral sonar. I need you to keep watch. Look out for hanging crags.”

  “Understood.” Mironov switched on his other bank of screens. Leaving the thermal gradient, ppi pressure, battery life, fuel, and oxygen level stats to the side, he enlarged the single sonar matrix. He saw the problem immediately.

  “A new lip of the ceiling; drops down another thousand feet – you will need to take us to twenty-two hundred.”

  “Okay, then down we go – hard dive.” Dmitry pushed the u-shaped wheel forward and the Prusalka angled downwards into the inky depths.

  The minutes ticked over, seeming ever slower as they maintained their downward descent. Mironov’s computer analyzed the terrain, advising him to maintain their current trajectory to undershoot the huge stone lip, and move ever deeper in amongst the canyons of the abyss.

  Dmitry started to hum, and then whistle as if out on a Sunday drive. Mironov lifted his gaze from the sonar, watching the man for a few moments.

  “Dmitry, have you given anymore thought to my proposal?”

  Dmitry breathed deeply for a few seconds. “It is impossible. Yusoff would still find me, and then kill all of us.”

  “No he won’t. Do not overestimate him; he is not as well connected as you think. Yusoff has crossed the line now. One word in the ear of President Volkov about one of his ministers attempting an unauthorized assassination, and what do you think would happen to him? I’ll tell you, he’d be fed feet-first into a wood-chipper.”

  Dmitry turned, his eyebrows raised. “My family.” His lips compressed for a moment or two as his mind worked.

  “How would I get them out?” Mironov smiled. “I own a global transportation business. I could have them in a car, and taken to an airport within an hour. They could meet you here, in America, where I can guarantee you all permanent residency, and completely new identities.”

  “A lot to think about.” Dmitry turned back to the curved window then eased back on the engines, and just let the Prusalka drift. “It’s true that I do not trust Yusoff.” He sighed. “I want to trust you, but...”

  Outside, lights twinkled in the distance – bioluminescent fish, squid, or some other sort of deep-sea creature trying to attract prey, a mate, or mark out its territory. There were so many, it reminded Mironov of diamonds scattered on a dark blanket.

  “You can trust me,” Mironov said softly. He closed his eyes, feeling like he might have finally broken Yusoff’s hold on the man. When he opened them, he looked back out of the curved window, and frowned. He leant forward – the lights were suddenly going out as quickly and completely as if someone had just thrown a switch. He knew what that meant and quickly turned to his sonar.

  “I have contact.”

  Dmitry’s head snapped around momentarily, his brows drawn together. He then looked down at his depth gauge.

  “We’re deep. I thought you said we’d be below the hard-head fish.”

  “We are,” Mironov responded. “We’re well below the usual zone for anything other than the deepest-diving cetaceans and giant squid.” He knew that was true in the world’s oceans, but this sea was different, this one was populated by creatures not of the normal oceans, and who lived by primordial rules he had no hope of understanding.

  “What does it look like?” Dmitry threw the words over his shoulder.

  Mironov quickly read the scrolling data under the image. “It’s no Placoderm.” He read some more of the incoming data. “Computer approximates its length at sixty to seventy feet – torpedo shape, and moving at thirty knots. Coming up from directly below us. It’s still at forty-three hundred feet, but coming up fast.”

  “Thirty knots?” Dmitry shook his head and licked dry lips.

  The proximity alarm began to sound again inside the Prusalka, and Dmitry quickly reached down to switch it off.

  “Eight hundred feet; still coming up at speed.” Mironov sat transfixed. He felt fear, but also eager anticipation. He would see it soon. This was what he lived for.

  Dmitry turned the u-shaped wheel and angled the submersible away, but even he must have known he had no hope of outrunning whatever was coming up. “Maybe another squid.” He nodded, as if trying to convince himself. “They are jet-propelled, and move fast if they want to… and can be that big, easy.”

  Mironov read more figures from the sonar, and looked at the computer representation of the mass of the thing – it was no squid. “Now at four hundred feet out, three hundred, two-fifty, two hundred… wait, wait… it seems to be changing course.” Mironov couldn’t suppress a smile. “Moving away.”

  “Good, good.” Dmitry’s smile split his face. “Maybe I will take your offer. Who else is ever going to believe I lived through this if you’re not around to tell them.”

  Both men felt the Prusalka tilt in the water, and then yaw first to port and then to starboard.

  “Dammit, it’s going around us – circling.” Mironov felt his heart sink. So close, he thought. He knew what was happening. Of course the thing hadn’t really changed course. Instead it was just taking a look at them. Most predators circle their prey before making a killing run.

  “Where is it?” Dmitry’s words hissed from his mouth like steam.

  “Still circling. Increasing speed now.” Mironov couldn’t help a feeling of excitement building in his gut. “Its circle is getting tighter.”

  Dmitry reached forward to switch on all the external lights. He paused for a moment, and then included the powerful spot light.

  “Good idea,” Mironov breathed. “Hopefully the corona of light will make us seem bigger – at least too big to eat or attack.”

  The Russian billionaire sat back sharply. Out at the far reaches of the spot light, he saw something huge sail past – a gray-black torpedo shape – fast and impossibly powerful.

  “Big fish,” Dmitry muttered. “Maybe a killer whale,” he said hopefully.

  “No. This creature has a side-to-side tail motion, and whales are up and down. And we’re far too deep for those type of cetaceans.” Mironov’s gaze was riveted on the curved window. “I believe we are about to meet the true ruler of this world.”

  Dmitry leaned forward, staring out front as the thing made another circuit. This time, any hope it was a whale was immediately dispelled. In the glare of the lights, the full shape of the thing was imprinted into their minds.

  The mouth, hanging open, reminded Mironov of bear-trap lined with hand-length triangular teeth, each serrated and designed for tearing and cutting flesh. The long powerful body was gray-black with a pale belly. And then there was the fist-sized eye, cold and darker than the surrounding water. The creature seemed to slow momentarily, and Mironov knew it saw them then. It looked in through the glass, saw them, and wanted them.

  A single flick of a two-story tall, scythe-like tail, and it vanished again in the stygian darkness.

  “Shark.” Was all Dmitry said.

  “It’s much worse than that,” Mironov said softly. “It is the father of all sharks – the Carcharodon Megalodon.”

  Time seemed to freeze, and Mironov knew he was holding his breath. Through the window there was nothing now but an impenetrable darkness. He strained every sense he had, waiting, and then the Prusalka rang like a bell and half rolled in the water. Both men were jolted in their seats.

  “We’re hit.” Dmitry looked everywhere at once.

  Mironov quickly checked his screens. His thinking was scrambled and his head ached as it seemed every proximity and warning alarm they had was screaming at them in unison.

  Dmitry moved from screen to screen. “No sign. Maybe we are not
to its taste.” He shut down the alarms and checked the sonar again, putting it on speaker. There was no sound, no telltale pings that heralded the return of their attacker.

  Dmitry nodded. “Time to go.” He powered the vessel away and upwards, heading back the way they had come.

  “Where are we going?” Mironov kept his eyes on his screens.

  “Anywhere but here,” the Russian declared.

  Mironov wiped his brow. “When I was much younger, we sailed through the seal colonies in South Australia. They congregate on rocky outcrops, but when they entered the water to fish, they had to first pass over some deep underwater trenches. They usually learned to stay at its edges, and not venture out over the dark water.” He looked across to Dmitry. “Because that mistake was only ever made once – the deep water was where the big sharks waited. Circling down in the dark, they would come up from the depths so fast the seals never had a chance.”

  Dmitry nodded, his face white. “Just keep watch on the sonar – I’m putting it on speaker.”

  There was silence for several seconds.

  Ping…

  The two men froze.

  Ping…

  Mironov’s hands gripped his armrests.

  Ping… ping… ping…

  “Chyort voz'mi!” Dmitry’s teeth showed in a frightened rictus. “Coming from below – like for seals.” His arms strained on the wheel, and his lips remained pulled back. He seemed to be willing the submersible to go faster, adding every ounce of his own strength into the engines.

  The second impact threw them from their seats again, even though they had braced themselves. Their world turned upside down. Alarms screamed again, and this time something hissed. Metal groaned beneath them.

  The Prusalka still listed at an angle as Dmitry scrambled to his feet and pulled himself back into his seat. He wiped his face, and took the wheel again. “Check for fires.”

  Mironov felt his temple and his hand came away wet and red. He looked towards the front and saw something that scared him more than the leviathan outside – there was now a thin line running down the center of the curved glass window.