by JK Franks
Kissa had covered about half the distance when suddenly, Thera backed away from the object. She looked directly at him. What was that expression? he wondered. Fear, panic, shock? She held her right arm out to him palm facing up. A clear signal to stop. He slowed…but didn’t fully stop. What have you found, love?
A sudden and intense burst of blueish light flooded the area. Simultaneously, he was filled with an intense headache, quickly joined by a disquieting sense of dread. He wondered if her dive lights had exploded, but the glare was still there. He held a hand up to shield his eyes from the brightness. It was definitely coming from where his girlfriend was…or had been. He could no longer see Thera.
Kissa’s head was pounding; his mind was fuzzy. Was he running out of air? He couldn’t look directly at the object, which now seemed to be slowly moving. It seemed to be hovering atop the light. Several times in his peripheral vision, he thought he saw ropes or shit, maybe even snakes burst out from underneath the object. Something was coming out of the light, coming for him.
Panic rolled inside him as he scanned again for Thera, then, guessing what she might have done, he began swimming for the surface high above in long, deliberate strokes. Thera had to have gone back up to the boat..she had to be there.
3
Site 21
Oily dark blood dripped from every surface of the room. Like some macabre tableau of horror. There was a coppery smell, something that let him know what happened here was very recent. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” the man said in a voice with a pronounced Austrian accent. His legs wobbled, and he reached out to steady himself. His hands grabbed for a greasy, iron pipe affixed to the wall. Not grease, he realized, jerking his hand away. His fingers rubbed together feeling the gritty bits of residue he knew to be bone…saliva. He should not be in here. Turning in a full circle, he took in the space. This was a scene from a horror movie. His heart pounded in his chest as he tried to force his legs to move him back up the ladder to the hatch above. Fear kept him frozen in place.
The dark water rippled slightly against the far wall. The pool occupying most of the space was almost fifty meters across. A grinding sound rose up from beneath the deep water. It traveled through the walls, the floor, and into every dark space in the man’s soul. It was loose, it was feeding, and it was coming for him next.
In despair, his mind went to his precious Hannah. He always saw her as a precocious fourteen-year- old. Those days that his mind had captured as the perfect snapshot of his only child. He and Lea, his late wife, had held off too long on having children. Hannah would never have brothers or sisters. His work with the university, then later as a full-time research scientist, had given him little time with his child. She was grown now, expecting her own child. She lived in…
The sound came again cutting off the brief memory. A new sound, not the creature. This was from somewhere else, somewhere up above. His eyes remained intensely focused on the surface of the water. The face of a man shouted from outside the barred door. Flashing, yellow lights illuminated the man’s face in a stop motion staccato.
“Doctor, open the door! Do not terminate the experiment!”
The ‘experiment,’ had just terminated his two assistants. It was their blood, their viscera, their lives that now decorated the habitat. I should have known, he thought. Humans were never meant to unlock the ancients’ secrets. What avarice it had been to seek the treasure. His help in unlocking the human genome should have been enough. Sadly, he’d missed out on winning the Nobel Prize. That academic slight had been enough for him to pursue this. To chase this dream, to unlock the secrets of the angels. The human genome project, by comparison, was infantile.
A dark rope-like tongue flicked from the water five meters away. Then, an enormous spike-covered tentacle reached for the ledge. It did so delicately, almost gently. The long rapier-sharp, hooked claw dug into the hard floor leaving a gouge several inches deep as it pulled the rest of its iridescent body slowly up from below. The man saw remnants of hair and what might be a human eye drifting in lazy circles around the beast.
An enormous eye, nearly eight inches across, came into view atop a bulbous head nearly four feet wide. A radiating pattern of blue and green bands rippled from the head down the squat body and out each of the six tentacle legs. The doctor knew this was a warning visual, a predatory response. Despite his fear, a tiny whisper of pride tinged his thoughts. This was his, he’d unlocked the secrets, he’d given life to this creation. The banging on the door increased. Glancing away from the approaching leviathan for a moment, he saw the man above, his boss, his patron, watching horrified, no doubt knowing what came next.
The doctor managed to get his feet moving and backed slowly away from the animal. ‘Animal’ would not have been precisely accurate, but the genus and taxonomy of the life-form were irrelevant now. His breathing accelerated, the panic not entirely his own doing. He could feel the waves of hostility emanating from the creature. Oh, meine engel, what secrets you could have told us, he thought as his left hand found the plastic cover. Flipping it up, a new alarm began to ring, this one inside the pool chamber.
Yes, the creature would die, as would his creator. In seconds, the water would drain away from the massive pipes, and fire would rain down from the ceiling. The intense heat would incinerate every bit of living tissue in the space. The shouts from the man above had quieted; no doubt, understanding what had to be done. The containment procedure was an emergency protocol, one that he, the chief scientist, had insisted be put in place.
The creature’s snake-like tongue whipped out like a bullwhip. Tiny barbs lined the muscled tentacle, which delivered a deep and horrifying cut to the doctor's outstretched arm. The cut burned from a toxic protein in the creature’s saliva. If left untreated, he knew the arm would be lost. That would not make any difference now. Quickly, he stabbed his other hand at the red button, depressing it fully into the recessed slot in the wall. He braced himself, and—nothing happened. The creature stepped closer, the two middle tentacles now also on the ledge. The failsafe had been a ruse, they never intended on letting him kill their pet. In his final thoughts, he knew he’d been the part of the experiment that was expendable.
The creature’s maw opened to reveal thousands of squeezing tentacles surrounding hard, grinding plates lined with razor-sharp teeth. Like an enormous version of cilia, they were designed to propel food into the mouth. The doctor knew the creature preferred its food alive. The claw-like tentacle arms swung in unison trapping him like prey. One hand fell disembodied to the floor as he was lifted from the floor. A scream tried to escape his mouth, but the tentacles already were dragging him in and down.
4
Caribbean
“Adriano!”
The young officer pulled the headset away from one ear just long enough to hear the man next to him. “What, Pitre?” he asked, glancing at the radioman to his left. The Tridente class submarine was the pride of the Portuguese Navy, and they were on patrol several hundred miles north of the coast of Venezuela. As the acoustic weapons officer, Adriano ‘Bugs’ Bilbao was responsible for identifying and classifying every object in the immediate area emitting an acoustical signature. From surface traffic like the small, but rowdy, dive boats coming from the various Caribbean islands, to the occasional pods of humpback whales or other ‘biologics.’
Shifting his eyes from his computer screen to the radioman sitting next to him, Adriano saw Pitre was making the face again. He had to admit his crewmate could do a good impersonation of the XO. He fought to suppress a smile. His ears picked up something, and his focus immediately returned to his screen. Even before the computer tried to classify the noise, he knew this was something new. On the ship’s display, the underwater sound was visualized by a series of fuzzy lines. The computer displayed ‘Desconhecido,’ unknown, over the acoustic signature. The sound faded almost as soon as it had occurred. The signal lines quietly fading back to nothingness.
Adriano replayed the sound many tim
es, adjusting the speed, volume, and other settings. Water distorted sound waves and not always in predictable ways. His job was to know what he was hearing; was it a threat, was it alive? Leaving it listed as ‘unknown’ was not something he often permitted himself. With only two submarines in the fleet, he was one of the very few men to hold this seat. His excellent performance reviews and career track had confirmed that he was also one of the best. For the rest of his shift, he continued to monitor his scope but also kept replaying the sound, manipulating, analyzing, and comparing it to known signals.
While the U2809 was primarily a defensive vessel, they carried a considerable amount of research equipment to monitor various oceanic conditions. Portugal still had strong ties to the sea, and its Navy, which had once been the strongest in the world, now had a more modest mission, but still important. With the recent troubles in the United States, that mission seemed more vital than ever. While the U.S. still maintained the largest military in the world, they seemed much more concerned with domestic matters now. That was good news for most of the other world governments. While Portugal had allied with many countries in the Caribbean and South America, it was nice to not worry about Uncle Sam quite so much.
“Entering the Cayman Trench,” the executive officer said.
Adriano glanced quickly at Pitre knowing the man would be mimicking the XO’s face again. “Scope is clear,” he said, offering his station report. As the boat left the relatively shallow waters to the 7000-plus meter depths, and as they neared Cuba, he could relax. More depth meant more space to maneuver. Few vessels traversed these depths, and even the sea life here was widely scattered. The trench, also known as Bartlett Deep, was an almost straight scar at the bottom of the sea. Water temps at the bottom were near freezing. Volcanic vents dotted the floor of the rift miles below. The entire landscape was an anomaly, out of place here in the shallow sea surrounded by an archipelago of thousands of islands and reefs.
For several hours, he watched and tagged various craft, including what was an oil company ROV, exploring well into Cuban waters. His commander would pass the indent and location on to his Cuban counterparts. Like most days, Adriano stared at his screen, wishing it somehow was a window into the world outside. What mysteries of the sea passed just inches away from where he sat?
“Entering Bathyal Zone,” the navigator called out. Also known as the ‘Midnight Zone,’ this was the region of the ocean that sunlight never reached. From 3000 meters down to around 13,000, it once was thought to be devoid of sea life. Not enough oxygen, no sunlight for plankton to survive. All that changed when more capable research vessels began to explore the depths. First, unmanned ROVs and later, manned exploratory craft found an abundance of strange creatures and a diversity of life beyond anything they expected.
“Bugs is in his happy place,” Pitre called out for anyone to hear.
Adriano couldn’t argue that he never tired of listening to the ocean here. It was a virtual cacophony of unique sounds. From active lava vents spewing molten rocks into the icy dark water, to a vast orchestra of cataloged, but still unknown, biological origins. Most manmade sounds faded into the distance nearer the surface as the U2809 passed three miles below.
Reflexively, he yelled out, “Contact,” even before his mind registered the sound. Instantly the XO was at his shoulder, also watching the scope.
“Sonar,” the senior officer called out.
“Sonar clear, sir,” came the near immediate response.
“Tell me what it is, Bugs,” the man said calmly.
Adriano adjusted his sensor array so the external microphones could pinpoint the location. “Bearing 185,” he said with a note of uncertainty. “Moving, sir, moving fast.” He did several quick calculations on his notepad. Too damn fast.
“Sub? Drone, biologic?”
Adriano shrugged, fixated on the sound. It was back. He knew this was the same as he’d heard earlier. That one had been a faint echo compared to now.
“Is it on our path, Bugs? Do we need to adjust course?”
“XO, I have something, possibly cavitation. It is changing course. I believe it is manmade, not a whale.”
The XO stood back up, looking toward the bow. “Sonar, what do you have?”
“Scope still clear, XO,” the voice called out.
Adriano knew it was there. He flipped the switch to allow the sound to play through the speakers. All submariners were used to the various sounds of the ocean. Some of which, like the mournful calls of blue whales, you could occasionally hear right through the hull of the ship. This sounded like nothing any of them had ever heard. The rhythmic pulsing offered none of the typical sounds of a propeller craft, nor did the sound resemble the newer induction drives that pulled water in and jetted it out the back. “I don’t know what it is, sir, but it is approaching us fast. Recommend evasive maneuvers.”
“Collision alarm, wake the captain,” the XO bellowed before giving the pilot a new heading and depth. Leaning down, he spoke again, voice just above a whisper, “Bugs, you need to be sure what it is and where it is going.”
Adriano had no idea; they were too deep, nothing should be here. Yet this object had been close almost a hundred miles earlier and thousands of feet closer to the surface. Had it ever really gone? Was it some sort of echo of their own audible signature? Various layers of water could essentially mirror signals like sound, but no, this was not an echo. This was something else, something malevolent. He was certain. He plotted a new position on the sound, clicked off the timer and calculated the speed of the target. Looking at the number, he gasped; it must be a mistake. Nothing could travel that fast underwater.
“Russian Shkval?” the XO asked, eyeing the speed of 355 kilometers per hour.
The Russian-made Shkval, or Squall, supercavitating torpedo could reputedly travel that fast, but they had an existing sound profile on those. They were a noisy beast, and whatever this was, it was whisper quiet but just as fast. Adriano rechecked his numbers again; this whisper of sound was closing fast. “Less than two thousand meters, sir. It has matched our course change.”
“Captain on the bridge!” the COB called out. Seeing his XO engaged, the chief of the boat quickly brought the commander up to speed.
“Options, XO?” Captain Willmonte demanded.
“Sonar ping, evasive maneuvers, sir.”
Resorting to sonar was the captain's worst option. While going active on the sonar would give them a better picture of what was out there, it also would pinpoint them to everything else for miles. Subs operated by being invisible, stealth was the greatest weapon, and announcing where they were went against every bit of training. “Make it so, helm come about 245, make depth 9000 meters. Flood tubes one and two.”
The routine patrol mission was quickly escalating to full combat protocols. “All hands, all hands to your battle stations!” the XO called into the ship-wide comms. The sonar ping was so loud it reverberated through the speakers and bulkheads.
“What’s out there?” the XO asked sounding nervous.
The sonar operator's voice sounded tiny in the claustrophobic space, “Nothing, sir. Scope is clear.”
“Three hundred meters,” Adriano said, seemingly in defiance of what the sonar man had said. The pulsing sound was now so loud they could hear it without the speakers. “Closing fast, one hundred, fifty…the sound was so deafening he didn’t hear the captain’s orders to fire. In the end, it didn’t matter. The sound from outside suddenly went silent. Fear etched the faces of all the sailors as a rending metallic sound was heard coming from just inches away. It was from the outside hull plating. Their fate was sealed, and death would come to each of them swiftly here in the Midnight Zone.
5
Kissa reached, fumbled, missed, then finally grabbed the handgrip to climb onboard the small boat. His heart pounded, bile was churning up from his stomach, and as quickly as possible, he removed his mask only to see the boat was empty. Quickly, he checked around the gunnel. Perhaps she was ha
nging there, resting, waiting to board…but no. She hadn’t surfaced; she was still down there, down there with that thing. He’d never let fear control him, that would have been suicidal growing up, but somehow, now when he needed courage the most, he felt fear’s icy grip. Almost reluctantly, he stuck the respirator back in his mouth. His primary was empty, he needed to swap tanks to go back down.
Uncertain what to do next, he placed both hands against the side of his aching head as he frantically searched the deep blue waters for his girlfriend, praying, begging…hoping for a miracle. So far offshore, out of the shipping lanes, and without a decent radio, no help would be coming. An inquiry, questions, and then, very likely retribution from his girlfriend’s family. She was one of the primary breadwinners. That made her loss intolerable in a nation with so few opportunities. “Oh, God, Thera!” he moaned.
Something on the surface caught his eye; an irregularity on the otherwise smooth surface, as something silently rose from the calm seas. It was small, dark, and mostly round, almost like a human head, but not really. Kissa guessed the distance to be sixty meters away. On some deeper level, perhaps his more ancient reptile brain sensed more than anything that most of the ‘thing’ lay hidden beneath the waters. ‘Object,’ he quickly decided was the correct word as nothing about it seemed to be natural or even living. The bulge didn’t move, twitch, or vibrate, and he had the distinct opinion it was somehow watching him.
The pain in his temples finally beginning to fade, his clarity, closely followed by anger and then resolve, once again stepped forward. Slowly, he reached a hand for the speargun and then his dive mask. If he could slip into the water, he might get a glimpse of what this was. Could it be what had taken Thera down below? Stories had long persisted locally of monsters: Encantado, El Hombre Caimán, and the Blue Hole Creature from just up the coast near Belize. That one, he was sure, had simply been a rare but misidentified oarfish. What he was seeing resembled none of those creatures though. Slipping the dive mask on, his eyes never left the object which maintained its distance and position relative to the boat. Sliding over the gunnels and back into the water, he firmly grasped the speargun and went hunting.