The Black: A Deep Sea Thriller

by Paul E. Cooley

  He pulled the finger away from the light. The doc looked up at him. “Hey, I need to—“

  “It’s fine,” JP said. “Just give me some antibiotics and I’ll go sleep.”

  The doc had shaken his head. “Mr. Harvey, that could be poison in there. We need to—“

  “Just. Do. It.”

  The lab-coated fat man had shrugged. He’d pulled out a Z-pac and handed it over. “Do you have some anti-inflammatories? Tylenol or something?”

  Harvey had nodded. “Yeah. I’m fine, doc.” He had taken the small cardboard box from the doctor’s hand, and headed back to his room. He’d swallowed the starter tabs for the antibiotics, several pills to handle inflammation, and taken a shower. And another shower. And another. Anything to warm himself up.

  And no matter how many times he brushed his teeth, that terrible castor-oil taste wouldn’t leave his mouth. He thought about just manning up, putting on a pair of shorts, and heading back to the doc. Fuck that. He hadn’t been sick a day in his goddamned life and he wasn’t about to let this get to him.

  JP continued shivering beneath the blankets until he fell asleep. In his dreams, the scoop opened and something crawled out. It was so black, light just seemed to fold into it. It had the barest shape detectable. The thing moved toward him. He was frozen in fear. Tentacles of black shot out and wrapped his body in their freezing embrace. His skin melted from his body and his bones dissolved. In his sleep, he pissed himself.

  While he dreamed, his index finger jerked to and fro. He didn’t feel the bone break or the joint collapse. Harvey was too far gone to feel much of anything.

  Part Two: The Black

  Chapter Six

  The inspection team had been underwater for over an hour. Harvey hadn’t shown up at 0300 for the briefing or for the dive. Belmont wasn’t surprised. The fucking American was probably holed up in his room nursing the itty bitty bite the thing in the scoop had given him.

  When he and his team had reached the deck to lower themselves into the water, Belmont had told the others to stay clear of AUV 2. He didn’t know what was in that scoop and he didn’t want to either. While he and his team finished inspecting their gear before dropping down in the Zodiac, he’d done his best not to look over at the robot, but his eyes had strayed to it anyway.

  Without the powerful lights focused on the AUV, whatever protruded from the scoop’s jaws looked like rotten meat. Also, it had been shedding a trickle of black liquid that fell through the grates and into the ocean beneath the rig. A shiver had raced up his spine. He’d been glad he was heading into the water. A nice dive and inspection would reset him.

  Powerful halogen floods lit the rig’s substructure. Every surface of the beams connecting the ballast tanks and supporting the main deck were in tip-top shape. Belmont and his team were tapping their underwater tablets. PPE had given them the toys to help facilitate the accuracy of inspection reports. Belmont hated the damned things, but he had to admit they made life easier.

  He lifted the tablet and looked at the screen. When he was happy with the view, he tapped a finger and the table took a photo. He let it drop in the water; the wrist tether caught its weight easily. He swam toward the drill string hole and looked up. His bright headlamp shined on the starter stand. The ballast tanks were nearly one-hundred feet below water and he knew the deck was high above him. Looking up always gave him a moment of vertigo before the perspective righted in his mind.

  A few fish swam between the ballasts. The rig had been in the water for less than three months, and barnacles and algae were already growing on every surface. The fish were chewing on the plant matter or chasing one another. Belmont wondered how long before a shark decided to join them.

  He took a few photos of the starter stand and then looked down at the other two divers. Grisam was at the lowest point of the starboard ballast tank. His tablet flashed as he took photos. Belmont looked at his dive watch. They had another thirty minutes until they needed to get out of the water.

  With a flick of the wrist, he brought the tablet back into his hands. He tapped the messaging icon and punched out four words before hitting send. Grisam’s tablet flashed. His head swiveled toward it, read the screen and then looked up at Belmont. Grisam gave the ok sign and swam back up into the substructure.

  Belmont tapped another icon and brought up the report. They were 90% done with the inspection. He was surprised it had gone so fast, but he thought Vraebel was worrying about nothing anyway. Belmont knew every inch of Leaguer’s undercarriage. It was his job. A single large wave wasn’t going to do her in.

  He turned and headed to the beams connecting the port ballast. The AUV/ROV/Dive deck was more than a hundred feet above him. With a pang of regret, he knew they’d soon be getting back to the Zodiac and the lift. Once they started drilling well 2, he hoped Vraebel would want eyes in the ocean. Otherwise, he might not get another chance to get in the water for days.

  Belmont shined his lamp across the metal beams. Although he was bored, he knew it didn’t help to be complacent. If a crack or fissure appeared in the substructure, it could really fuck them later. A red fish swam right across his vision. He smiled around his rebreather. Fuckers were getting a little too comfortable down here.

  He took more photos. The tablet’s flash attracted more fish. He waved them away and finished the photos. He checked the report progress. Grisam and Shelby had finished their sides. The report blinked at 95% completion. He brought up the section for the port ballast and began tapping the icons.

  The tablet’s screen turned green. They were done for the day. He dropped the tablet and started to swim away. And then stopped. Something caught his eye. He turned back to a beam that was a little more than ten meters away. Something black was on the metal.

  Curious, he swam toward it. Nestled in a gap between the work lamps, it was mostly in shadow. As he approached it, he realized it was an amorphous blob hanging onto the beam. Errant ambient light seemed to, well, just kind of disappear into it. The metal on either side of it shined in the dim light. He turned on his headlamp and pointed it at the shape.

  The black blob pulsed and shuddered. Belmont lifted his tablet to snap a pic, and it moved. The thing seemed to flow onto the other side of the beam. Belmont shook his head. The spot where the black blob had been was clean. Not just clean, but brand new. The metal looked as though it had been shined to perfection.

  He took a photo of the gleaming steel knowing full well it would be impossible to explain what he’d seen. If there had been more time, he would have swam to the other side and hunted for the creature, but time was a luxury he didn’t have. Vraebel wanted reports. Vraebel wanted to make sure he could drill his well. And Belmont would tell him he could.

  #

  The drill string was dropping. The crew on the deck was making record time. Calhoun hadn’t heard any talk of it, but he had a feeling the men wanted to get the well spudded and sampled as quickly as possible. After the previous day’s “incident,” he wasn’t surprised.

  He was sure Vraebel hadn’t told the men about the changes in the ocean floor or what Shawna had said about the oil, but he didn’t need to. These men risked their lives every day to make someone else a lot of money, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t tell when something was “off.” And everything felt wrong.

  After a few hours of sleep, he and Catfish headed back to the drilling office. They brought plates of freshly cooked beignets and fruit to their workstations, along with two thermoses of coffee. Calhoun knew Catfish wouldn’t want to touch the stuff, but there were only so many energy drinks he could pound.

  He let Shawna sleep. She was shaken and exhausted. As for JP? Calhoun heard the man didn’t show up for the rig inspection. How had he heard? Vraebel, of course.

  As the stands were connected and the drill string started to drop, Vraebel joined them in the drilling office. He told them the inspection was clear and that Belmont and crew were ready to drop the AUVs and the ROV.

  “
I assume JP will be joining them?” Calhoun asked as he popped another piece of sugary beignet into his mouth.

  Vraebel’s grin widened. God, but Calhoun hated the man. “Mr. Harvey had an accident last night. He didn’t show up for the inspection.”

  “Accident?” Catfish asked. His normal frown deepened.

  The rig chief nodded. “Apparently cut one of his fingers. Doc tells me it was two puncture wounds. Nothing serious, mind you, unless it gets infected.”

  “So?” Calhoun said. “So his finger got fucked up. Doesn’t explain why he didn’t make the inspection.”

  Vraebel shrugged. “Maybe he’s sick. I’ve a couple of other men down as well. Or maybe he lost his nerve and he’s cowering in his room.”

  Catfish stood up so quickly, his knees knocked against the workstation’s edge. “Fuck you, Vraebel,” he said with clenched fists. “Say that again and I’ll beat that fucking smug grin off your ugly fucking face.”

  “Not my fault the man’s a pussy,” Vraebel said and took two steps toward Catfish.

  The younger man growled in his throat. Calhoun stepped between them and put his arms out. He glared and Catfish backed off. A little.

  When he looked at Vraebel, he wanted to smash the man’s grin into paste. “I think you should leave now, Martin. Unless there’s something important?”

  Vraebel sneered. “We’ll be below 18k in three hours. I expect your ROV to be down there ready to inspect it. And whatever your AUVs actually do, they should start doing it.” He smiled wide. “See you later.” The man turned and left the office.

  “If JP heard that shit, he’d kill that asshole,” Catfish said.

  Calhoun turned and stared at his partner. “Do your fucking job, Craig. Let me worry about JP and Shawna. We need to figure out what’s going on down there and we need to make sure we don’t cause another quake.”

  Catfish’s fists continued to clench and unclench, but he finally took his seat. Calhoun finished his breakfast, fired up his terminal, and started going through his email.

  “Holy shit,” he said. “The sample is already in Houston.”

  Catfish harrumphed. “PPE must really want their oil. They must have burned through all the jet fuel in the world.”

  Calhoun nodded. “I’m sure Simpson found a way to make that happen.” Most of the emails were the usual corporate dreck fit to be sent directly to trash. He poured a cup of coffee from the thermos and sipped at it as he brought up the visuals from AUV 2.

  Catfish had sent it down to retrieve a sample of the tube worms, but that didn’t mean it hadn’t captured something near their drill point. Considering the changes in the ocean floor compared to the original survey, Thomas wanted to see the middle of the trench.

  He brought up the video of the AUV heading toward the bed. Catfish had programmed the robot to start filming when it was 10 meters away. The preview of the video showed the first frame. The eerie blue-light image was razor sharp even if the color wasn’t quite right.

  A few meters below the robot, the tube worms moved as one toward the interloper. Calhoun tilted his head. “That’s not right,” he said. He didn’t hear Catfish ask what he was talking about. The AUV lowered itself and then thrust forward at high speed. Just before it hit the bed, Calhoun thought he saw teeth.

  The blue-light video was suddenly a cloud of pitch black. The AUV sped upward and then the image stuttered. After a moment, the AUV broke free and started its journey through the swirls of dark liquid.

  “Jesus,” Calhoun said.

  “What are you talking about, Thomas?” Catfish asked.

  “Not possible,” Calhoun said. He brought up the rear view video and sipped at his coffee. He hit play. The forward camera had shown the robot approaching the target worm bed. The rear, however, showed the other beds in the distance as well as the ocean floor.

  He watched as the time/depth counters changed in the video’s lower left corner. The image jarred and jumped and then he was looking at the bed beneath the robot.

  The worms leaped upward to grab at AUV 2’s body. A black, flattened head snapped at the camera. Its maw was filled with what looked like teeth. “Oh, Christ,” Calhoun said.

  Catfish groaned and stood from his workstation. He peered over Thomas’ shoulder as the video jumped upwards. The tube worm heads strained to follow, but couldn’t. As the AUV fled upward, the rear camera displayed the ocean floor twitching and then jumping. The ground was further and further away as the AUV dumped its ballast and flew toward daylight.

  Before the blue-light video displayed nothing but water, both Calhoun and Catfish watched the other worm beds across the trench. They all pointed upward and writhed in time.

  “The fuck?” Catfish asked.

  The water far below the AUV was murky with silt and sand. They could see the beginning of the pressure bubble that would hit the surface an hour later.

  “What the hell was that?” Calhoun swiveled in his chair as Catfish stepped back. “What the fuck, Craig?”

  Catfish shook his head. “Dude, I’ve never seen anything like that. Tube worms don’t act like that.”

  “I don’t know what the fuck those things are, but they’re not tube worms,” Calhoun said. His deep baritone had risen an octave. His heart rapidly thumped in his chest. “I think we need to check the scoop.”

  “Yeah,” Catfish agreed. “Like right fucking now.”

  #

  Simple, right? Simple. Just walk down the fucking steps to the fucking deck and open the scoop.

  Catfish stood on the dive deck wearing heavy jeans, a heavy blue denim shirt, and thick gloves. A large plastic sample jar sat on the corrugated iron. He might as well kick the goddamned thing into the ocean.

  AUV 2 hung exactly where JP had left it. The battery and data cables had been attached to charge it up and give Catfish access to its memory and programming interfaces. JP had done his job.

  But the scoop wasn’t closed—it was open. Wide open. Catfish blinked at it. The scoop’s lower jaw had been depressed. The metal was shiny as though it had been lovingly polished. He looked down at the grate below the scoop. The iron, normally black with flecks of rust, gleamed. Whatever crud had covered its surface had disappeared.

  “Um, okay,” he said aloud. He walked to the equipment lockers and picked up a screwdriver. Adrenaline writhing in his veins, he slowly approached the scoop and shined a flashlight inside it.

  The scoop’s insides were the same as the lower jaw—immaculate and shining. There was no trace of whatever the AUV had captured; it was as though it had never been there.

  He tapped the screwdriver against the lower jaw. Nothing happened. He looked at the end of the screwdriver. It was the same dull gleam as it had been when he picked it up.

  Catfish walked to the back of the AUV and looked at the starboard side screw. Sure enough, the damage was severe. Serrated scratches covered the screw’s housing and one of the propeller fins was bent. “Jesus,” he said. The paint was stripped down to the metal which was just as shiny as the scoop.

  This made no fucking sense. Whatever had attacked the robot had also managed to remove any oxidation, not to mention the industrial paint. A fucking solvent? he asked himself. What kind of goddamned animal has that?

  He had nothing to send to Macully but more questions. The idea of tasking another AUV to get a sample was out of the question. Until he knew what had happened to AUV 2, there would be no more close encounters with whatever was down there.

  But the other AUVs were already in the water and plummeting toward the spud site. He hoped like hell Shawna and Calhoun had chosen an area clear of the damned things. If not, then instead of recovering the AUVs when the drill string was done, they might be picking up floating debris.

  Being completely blind in this much water wasn’t an option. If something happened with the ocean floor, they wouldn’t be able to stop the drill in time. Last time it was a bubble. This time? Could be a massive system failure on the blowout preventer or some
thing much, much worse.

  Catfish detached the scoop with his heavy gloves and lay it on the deck. Inert. Innocuous. Just a hunk of shaped steel.

  He squatted and cast his flashlight over the jaw mechanism. The springs were gone. That’s why the damned thing was stuck open. The jaws had been pried apart. He jabbed the screwdriver on the side of the jaw and a long sharp crack appeared. Whatever substance had shined the scoop had also weakened the metal.

  “Okay, that’s bad,” he said aloud. He smacked the other side of the scoop with the screwdriver. The metal shattered. Shards of gleaming steel covered the dive deck. Catfish reached over and picked one up with his thick gloved fingers. The piece of metal was normal, except when he turned it sideways. It looked as though the metal was no longer a single layer, but stratified. He pushed his fingers together and the steel crumbled.

  Gooseflesh covered his arms beneath the heavy denim shirt. If it did that to the steel, what did it do to the deck? He stared at the corrugated iron grate below AUV 2. Catfish duck walked to it and tapped the screwdriver against the iron. The tool’s metal tip clanged, but no cracks appeared. He whistled. Maybe they were in better shape than he thought.

  He stood up and tried to walk around the AUV. His left work boot caught the edge of the shining grate. He heard a crunch and leaped sideways, heart racing in his chest. A piece of the iron had disintegrated and fallen into the ocean below.

  Fuck. Suddenly he wanted to be on the next helo off the rig. He wanted to be anywhere but above whatever sat below the ocean crust.

  #

  The portholes glowed with wan light. They were shut, of course, but the sun was relentless in its desire to get in. The ambient light wasn’t enough to be anything more than uncomfortable.

  If one had shined a light across JP’s room, they would have seen nothing but destruction. The center of the bed had melted into little more than particles of fabric, wood, and metal. The bed frame was still intact, but had begun to crack. No matter—It lay on the floor.