“The human mind sucks at crisis,” the boss had said, a quiet, weather-beaten survivor from the dangerous early days of saturation diving. “It fixates. Fails to notice patterns or obvious solutions. Fails to consider alternative options or adequately calculate risk. Always fall back on your training, your muscle memory, your checklists, and procedures. But even those won’t always keep you alive. After all, you can only train for the foreseen. Did you just have a close call? Got rattled? About to take a big chance? Smoke a cigarette first.”
Jonah had said he didn’t smoke.
“You goddamn useless needle-dick turd-chaser,” the old-timer had sworn. “It’s a fucking pretend cigarette. Gives you time to sort your shit out, unfuck whatever’s fucked, and plot a course of action that might—I repeat, might—save your sorry ass. I get paid for this rotation whether you’re in a dive suit or a black bag in the goddamn freezer. We don’t end early for funerals, not at an eighty-kper-day charter rate.”
Jonah finished his imaginary cigarette with a sheepish smile before shining his flashlight down the length of the stern once more. He could see for the first time that the collapsed concrete ceiling had torn away a small section of the outer hull as it fell. One of the primary welds had failed as well, giving the spreading tree roots all the opportunity they’d needed to force the metal pressure hull apart and creating a hole just large enough for one person to fit through.
His way in. Barely. Jonah held his breath as he squeezed through the narrow gap. The hole was a mess of rusting, razor-sharp steel and spider webs. Grunting, Jonah lowered himself into the dark interior.
Once again, he freed the flashlight from his pocket and aimed it into the darkness, revealing the crumbling remains of the battery compartment. He closed his eyes, imagining bearded, filthy sailors shuffling their way through the submarine, shoulder-to-shoulder in the dim and stifling air.
Six years of war lie behind you, he thought, remembering Admiral Doenitz’s surrender order to his surviving warriors. You have fought like lions.
But the sixty-strong crew of the U-3531 never made it back to Germany. He’d followed Alexis to the gravestone and paid silent tribute to the long list of sailors. Their journey had ended either at sea, or in a mass grave on a desolate island, both far from home. Jonah knew he could all too easily share their fate. He slowly scanned the deck with his flashlight, catching a glimpse of a captain’s crumpled visor-cap abandoned in a corner, the faint glint of the silver Eagle-borne swastika faded to the decades.
The end of the submarine was clearer than that of her captain. Her interior was all but picked clean; an entire bank of batteries missing, gauges pulled from their housings, rectangular samples of the pressure hull carefully drilled out and removed for analysis. She’d been stripped bare of her secrets.
Yet evidence of her final moments remained. Slivers of shattered glass glinted from beneath the grated deck like scattered diamonds. Jonah’s sweeping flashlight fell across a scattering of crater-like bullet divots in the walls. Dozens of 9mm rounds had torn through nearly every thin wall, stopped only by the thick interior bulkheads. The clusters were tight, methodical, fired by an expert hand. The U-3531 had seen a fierce battle within her hull, a battle perhaps similar to when he, Hassan, and Alexis hijacked the Scorpion.
Jonah moved forward to the command compartment. It was all but stripped bare. Every dial and gauge had been removed, and the periscope disassembled, all radio and code machines, maps, and logbooks were gone.
Shit. So much for finding a record of what had happened. The captain’s cabin was stripped with similar precision, every drawer empty. But the next cabin over was strangely untouched. It took Jonah a few moments of investigation to realize he was looking at a convertible medical compartment with an examination table that doubled as a bed. A single photograph still clung to a gap in the wall, long since faded blank. It crumbled as he reached to touch it, disappearing to dust as if it had never existed.
He pulled open drawers, but found only fossilized pills, disintegrating clothing, and corroded medical instruments. The lowest drawer was wedged. Jonah forced it open. Paydirt—a journal lay at the bottom, filled with page after page of tight Germanic script. Jonah brushed the dust off the leather jacket and stuck it in the back waistband of his jeans for safekeeping.
CHAPTER 16
Hassan grunted, pulling himself up hand over hand as he ascended the last stretch of the rocky coastal bluff. Alexis was in front of him, her long legs and cutoff shorts waggling tantalizingly in front of him. The doctor blinked, averting his gaze—the volcanic rocks were slippery, and it was a long bumpy fall to the black sand beach far below. Best to keep any distractions to a minimum, no matter how welcome they might be.
Alexis reached the top and opened up her arms wide, spinning herself around as she soaked in the light of the high, warm sun. “What did I tell you? Best view on the island! Could you imagine some famous actress or billionaire having a wedding up here? It’d be perfect!”
Hassan had to agree. He could see across the entire breadth of the beach, the half-buried township, even the Scorpion as she gently rocked against the length of the partially collapsed concrete dock. The steep bluff was topped with a smooth flat section, free of prickly vegetation and overgrown jungle, almost as though it had been created just for them to enjoy.
The doctor slung a backpack off his shoulder and unzipped it, retrieving a thick blanket from within. He spread the blanket out, smoothing it with his hands before fishing a few sharp rocks and brambles from underneath. Alexis recklessly flopped down onto it, pulled her boots off, and rolled on her back. She looked at him and patted the section of blanket beside her. He lowered himself next to her, slipping an arm underneath the back of her neck. She snuggled against him, using his upper bicep like a pillow.
“That climb was unexpectedly strenuous,” he grunted. “I don’t get nearly enough exercise aboard the Scorpion.”
“None of us do. Well, maybe Jonah. Every time I knock on his cabin door, he’s always doing some crazy pushups and sit-ups. Dalmar, too.”
“A prison habit,” surmised Hassan. “At least for Jonah.”
“I guess. All I know is that I get worn out just watching him go at it.” A long pause fell between them, lingering until Hassan began to feel uncomfortable.
“I can always tell when something is on your mind,” he finally said. “You keep looking at me like you want to say something.”
“You don’t want to hear it. You’ll get upset.”
“Then you must tell me. I’ll only worry if you don’t.”
Alexis sat up. She wouldn’t look at him. “Why are we together? I don’t think we have a single thing in common.”
Hassan blanched, a dull ache flooding through him as if he’d had the air knocked out of him. He thought he’d been prepared for any question—but not this. His mind raced for potential answers. How could he not have seen this coming? Was the depth of their relationship simply a projection of his own greedy imagination? Was she really breaking things off so suddenly?
Alexis spared him from having to answer. “I mean, look at Dalmar and Vitaly,” she finally said. “They’re together— but not really, you know? I feel like either one of them could suddenly— ” She paused for a moment, searching for a word other than die. “Leave, or whatever. And then the other one would just move on. They really seem to like each other, but they also seems so . . . I don’t know.”
“Removed? Distant?” suggested Hassan. “Noncommittal?”
“I’m probably just reading too much into it.”
“I suppose we don’t have much to do on the Scorpion besides study each other. It’s natural you would have questions. I find them both quite baffling myself.”
Alexis flipped over to her elbows, frowning as she drew a finger up and down the thin lapel of Hassan’s white linen shirt, her bare feet kicking absentmindedly in the air. “Are we like that, too?” she said. “Thrown together by circumstance? Are you with me beca
use it’s pragmatic, because you don’t have any other options?”
“Pragmatic?” Hassan tried to laugh, but it didn’t come out the way he’d intended. The slight prickle of tears stung his eyes as he fought to keep his emotions in check, struggled to find the words. “We’re outlaws, living on the fringes of the world. We’ve seen so much loss, so much violence. And yet my first thought when I wake up, and my last before I sleep, is that I could easily lose the most incredible woman I’ve ever met. Out of everything we’ve done, following Jonah into one disaster after another and yet, somehow surviving . . . out of all that, loving you has been the most reckless thing I’ve ever done.”
Alexis ran her fingers through his hair, behind his neck. She pressed her lips against his forehead and each eye in turn, blinding him with kisses. Then she wrapped herself around him like they’d never kissed before and never would again.
“We could stay here, just like Robinson Crusoe,” she whispered. “There’s fresh water, endless fish, eggs, coconuts, edible plants. We could build a thatch hut on the beach; watch the sunrise every morning, and the sunset every night. Let Jonah sail off and fight his ghosts without us— this place can be ours.”
“Robinson Crusoe?” said Hassan, enchanted despite his confusion. “Is that the one where they ride ostriches and fight pirates in tiger pits?”
“You’re thinking of the Swiss Family Robinson,” said Alexis, bopping him on the nose. “Everybody gets them confused.”
It was late in the afternoon before Jonah climbed his way out of the abandoned submarine. Standing atop the concrete hanger gave him another chance to survey the overgrown airstrip, burn pile, and unmarked shipping containers. The rest of the crew had dispersed, likely making their way back to the beach, or onto the moored Scorpion. As his stomach rumbled, he realized he’d barely eaten anything since emerging from the lockout chamber nearly twenty-four hours ago.
Jonah grabbed a long, thick root and rappelled down the side of the crumbling bunker, his boots landing with a soft thud on the ground below. Turning the corner, he found Sun-Hi sitting cross-legged on the grass before the rusting metal hanger doors, waiting for him. She was carefully re-assembling the rifle he’d left leaning against the wall, an oil-soaked rag tucked into her breast pocket as she clicked the stock into position, closed the action, and re-inserted the magazine. Satisfied with her work, she stood at attention and with outstretched arms and tucked chin, formally presented the weapon.
Jonah forced himself to chew down a smile. Mimicking her formality, he flipped the rifle and examined the sights as though conducting a military inspection. Jonah gave the charging handle a quick tug to check the action. It had slid easily before, but now it was like silk. He nodded his approval.
“I found interesting thing,” she said, pointing down the overgrown airfield towards the buildings at the far end. “You go this way with me?”
“Sure,” said Jonah, pausing to sling the rifle behind his back. They walked together, Sun-Hi half-skipping to keep up until Jonah slowed his lanky pace. Before long she slipped her hand into his, leaving them to make their way in silence with hands clasped.
“It is here,” she said, pointing to a stone monument hidden amidst the overgrown vegetation. She pulled away the worst of it, revealing faded Japanese characters inlaid in bronze.
“What does it say?” said Jonah.
“It says . . . Japanese Research Center for . . . earth shake?”
“Seismology?”
“Yes—and volcano also.” “That’s it?”
“No. It says it is a gift to the people of the Philippines.”
Jonah laughed ruefully. “Not a bad cover story. There was some seriously clandestine stuff going down out here.”
Sun-Hi nodded as she looked around. “Many secrets,” she agreed.
They walked together through the jungle towards the beach. She didn’t try to hold his hand again, content to simply walk at Jonah’s side. Some of the crew had retreated to the shoreline. Marissa sat barefoot beside a small but growing pile of coconuts and oysters, holding in her shirt more than a dozen seabird eggs plucked from the rocky bluffs. Dalmar and Vitaly fished in the warm shallows with nets and spears. But, the Russian focused more on distracting the pirate with splashes until the entire effort devolved into playful wrestling. Vitaly laughed uncontrollably as the bigger man flipped him onto his shoulder and threw him splayed into the surf.
Sun-Hi and Jonah began to gather driftwood, piling it in a small depression in the black sand. They stacked up the sticks, filling in the lower gaps with dry coconut strands. He lit the kindling at the base as the last of the sunset faded, and soon the starlit beach was illuminated by a warm, crackling fire.
“This place—it is so beautiful,” breathed Sun-Hi. “I wish my family could see also.”
“There’s a lot to see in the world,” said Jonah, dreading any conversation that led toward the subject of Sun-Hi’s family and the other refugees.
“All trees here have bark!”
Jonah pondered the statement for a moment before saying, “I’m not sure I understand what you’re getting at.”
“In my home, the trees do not have bark. You know, for tea.”
“People take all the tree bark? And they make tea?”
“Yes.”
He remembered how the refugees had been dressed, how desperate they were to reach the submarine, how skinny and malnourished they were, and how they stripped the Scorpion of anything edible within minutes. He’d always heard of the terrible conditions in North Korea, but using tree bark for tea? He pursed his lips in silence, thankful for the warmth of the fire. “Life in North Korea . . . it was difficult for you?”
“Yes. But my family lucky. My parents work at factory.”
“What did they make?”
“Nothing. They just go to factory and wait. It was very cold.”
“They worked at a factory . . . but they didn’t make anything?” he said, confused again.
Sun-Hi cocked her head at him as though she were explaining a basic concept to a particularly daft student. “No electricity. They sit for ten hour and then go home. Sometimes sing patriotic songs, but only for inspector.”
“How long was the factory out of power?”
“I don’t know,” she answered. “Maybe seven years? It was very cold, because no heat.”
Jonah shook his head, baffled. “And they were the lucky ones? Who were the unlucky ones?”
“The ones without family go to city park outside station and wait for train. Boy, girl without parent, old man, old woman. They all go.”
“They got on the train? Went to another city?”
“No!” laughed Sun-Hi, poking him in amusement. He’d clearly said something incredibly stupid, unheard of even. “They do not get on train! Need special pass for train, nobody has special pass except for very important.”
“Then why did they go to the station?”
“Because that is where unlucky go,” she said with a tiny shrug. “Maybe because if good news come, it come by train. If family come, they come by train. Maybe they just go to see other people. Every morning the police come to get body, pick up dead from cold, dead from hunger. Sometime they try to chase everybody away, but unlucky always come back to train station.”
“But not you. Why?”
“Yes! Because we have family in Japan. They send money sometimes. And when money no longer help, they help pay for us to leave. My family is in Japan now I think. I miss them, but I think maybe they have big TV now, so it is okay.”
A hard knot grew in the back of Jonah’s throat. He swallowed, but it didn’t go away. “When you were on the ice . . . you had your family with you?”
“My mother, my father, and younger sister,” she said. “My brothers are in army. They did not know we leave. Do you think they angry I hide, go with you?”
“No,” said Jonah. He put an arm around Sun-Hi, holding her close. “I don’t think they’re angry with you. I think they
are very proud of you.”
She smiled at him, a smile of pure happiness. Angry tears welled in Jonah’s eyes, knowing that if he didn’t tell her now, he never would. He didn’t think he’d be able to bring himself to broach the subject on his own.
“Sun-Hi, the refugees . . . everyone you came on board with—” his voice broke, but he forced himself to continue—“they were still on the Japanese carrier when she went down. They were stuck below decks. They never had a chance.”
She pulled back and stared up at him, disbelieving, waiting for him to flinch, break out into a grin, anything to make it not true. Jonah held her gaze, heartbroken and motionless. She slapped him, almost experimentally at first, her small hand barely glancing off the side of his chin. And then she slapped him again, harder, her reddening palm connecting squarely with his cheek. Her fists closed, she began to pound against his chest with increasing fury as she screamed out in Korean. Marissa, Dalmar, and Vitaly halted at the waterline, visible only by their dark, moonlit silhouettes, their eyes glinting in the firelight.
Sun-Hi fell into his arms, straining as she kicked against the black sand, still ineffectually swinging her arms at him. Her choking, stilted cries lapsed into deep, soaking sobs as she finally collapsed against his chest. He held her, rocking back and forth, the pain of her blows absorbed into the same deep well where he kept so many of his own memories. He couldn’t say how long she cried, but the ghostlike silhouettes of his crew had long since disappeared into the darkness. She slept in his arms as the last red embers of the fire faded to charcoal, her warm body pressed into his own as she roiled in a deep, haunted sleep under the starlight.
She looked the same as the moment he’d met her. A soft, round face topped by a ragged haircut, too-thin limbs clad in oversize work coveralls. But some deep, secret part of himself knew that the Sun-Hi who’d slipped her hand into his and ran her fingers through his beard with irrepressible curiosity was gone forever.
He wanted to cry as well, rage against the unfairness, the terrible absurdity, the tragedy of it all. His life was pain—joints aching as he woke, muscles stiff with tension as he slept, heart clenched in his chest, emotions made hard, the last of his happiness buried alongside the faces of the men he’d killed, of friends he’d lost. And if he let himself cry, even for a moment, he didn’t know if he could ever stop again.
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