Horror Sci-Fi Box Set: Three Novels

by Bryan Dunn

  “Ah, mon capitain,” Dr. Rousseau said, greeting the captain with a smile. “Please meet Mademoiselle Amy Tyler and Monsieur Harry McNills, who has just made a most miraculous recovery.”

  Captain Chabot nodded and smiled through a set of big square teeth the color of a sandstone wall. “Bon soir. I am Capitain Luc Chabot. Welcome aboard le Seraph.”

  “Captain Chabot, we’re grateful for being rescued and for being alive,” Amy said, barely containing the frustration in her voice. “But like I was telling Dr. Rousseau, we must contact St. John’s immediately.”

  The captain turned, ignoring Amy, and stepped directly in front of Harry, leaning forward to examine his face.

  “You do not look dead, Monsieur Harry,” the captain laughed, pleased with his clever comment, then wiped his mouth with the matted sleeve of his sweater. “Maybe just a little mal de mer, eh?” And still laughing, he reached out and patted Harry on the cheek.

  Before he could withdraw his arm – Harry’s hand flashed up, seizing the captain tightly around the wrist.

  “Maybe you didn’t hear the lady, captain. We need to phone home. Got it?”

  Captain Chabot jerked his arm back, breaking Harry’s grip, and rubbing his wrist said, “All in good time, John Wayne.”

  “Bullshit!” Harry snapped, rising to his feet. “I don’t know what the hell’s going on around here, but people have died – and right now, more people are risking their lives trying to find us. If you don’t –”

  Suddenly the room began to shake. Then a shudder ran the length of the keel, issuing up the bulwarks and rippling through the spine of every soul on board.

  And then it stopped. Everything was instantly returned to normal. A silent, terror-filled beat, and –

  Everyone was slammed forward and thrown to the floor as the ship suddenly rose up at a horrible angle. The cabin filled with the awful sounds of rending metal and shattering ice as the Seraph plowed into a massive iceberg.

  Harry was knocked back, flattened on his bunk. He rose to a sitting position, rolled off the bunk, went to Amy and helped her off the floor, making sure she was okay.

  Captain Chabot and Dr. Rousseau staggered to their feet, both looking around the cabin with shocked expressions.

  “Tell me again about the excellent French sailors, captain,” Amy said, giving him a direct look.

  Outside, the bow of the ship had lifted out of the water. Its keel ran onto a shelf of ice protruding from the base of the iceberg about ten feet below the water’s surface. As the ship settled back toward the sea, smashed hull plates bit into the ice, digging in like cat’s claws and stopping the Seraph’s downward movement with a mortal groaning.

  Silence.

  All movement stopped. The ship was left hanging off the edge of the iceberg at a crazy angle – half in and half out of the water.

  The Seraph’s spine had been broken and jagged tears appeared amidships in the steel hull. The lights flickered, then remained on. Smoke poured out of the ship’s kinked smoke stack, and the evening arctic air filled with yelling voices, and cries for help.

  Chapter 48

  Captain Chabot, followed by Amy, Harry, and Dr. Rousseau, made their way along a steeply tilted passageway. They had escaped being plunged into the North Atlantic by the length of one stateroom. The cant of the ship and the spotty lighting slowed their progress as they made their way forward, desperate to get topsides to see what had happened.

  After they clawed their way up a narrow flight of stairs and passed through an airlock, the corridor opened up and they entered the ship’s main salon. The room looked like it had been turned upside down. Tables, chairs, plates, glassware, wine bottles (most of them long since empty), and anything else not tacked down, careened across the floor, ending in a pile at the rear of the room.

  Pushing aside an upended couch and stepping over the rubble of twisted plates and shattered bottles, they picked their way across the eerily empty room and angled toward the companionway stairs that led up to the main deck and the bridge.

  Captain Chabot, Amy, Harry, and Dr. Rousseau stood in the arctic chill on a steel observation deck that circled the bridge, starring out at the towering mountain of ice where the Seraph had impaled herself.

  The night was calm and clear, and the sky was filled with so many stars that the iceberg almost seemed to glow with an inner luminosity.

  “My career, my life, my ship… Pffft, gone…” the captain lamented, almost breaking into a sob.

  Amy stared out at the iceberg. Most of it was cloaked in shadows. She let her eyes drift away from the bow, scanning across the ice – and something flashed in the periphery of her vision. She quickly moved her eyes back and there, fifty yards beyond the bow of the boat, lay a small, shiny object.

  “Look,” Amy pointed, keeping one hand firmly locked onto the railing so as not to slip on the slanting deck.

  “What?” Harry asked, following Amy’s arm.

  “There, out on the ice – there’s something out there.”

  Captain Chabot grabbed a small spotlight that was fixed on the observation deck, flicked on the light, and swiveled the spot over the bow, letting the halogen beam sweep the ice. He let the beam pass over the area and then brought the spot back, letting it rest directly on the object.

  “Oh my God!” Amy gasped.

  There, sitting out on the ice, was Lt. Cushman’s flight helmet!

  Harry stared at the helmet, saucer-eyed with disbelief. “It can’t be…”

  “Is that a helmet?” Dr. Rousseau asked.

  “We’ve got to get away from here,” Amy said. “Now!”

  “What are you saying?” the captain demanded. “What are you talking about? It is a blessing we have run up on the ice. The ship she would have sunk.”

  “The lifeboats, captain,” Amy pleaded. “We’ve got to get them in the water and get clear of the ice.”

  “She’s right,” Harry said.

  “She’s wrong,” the captain responded. “You always stay with the ship. We will call for help, and at first light the Coast Guard will come and find us.”

  “Eacxtement!” Dr. Rousseau exclaimed, agreeing with the captain.

  “Both of you,” Harry said, looking first at Dr. Rousseau and then at Captain Chabot, “You don’t understand…”

  “Get them off the bridge,” the captain commanded brusquely, waving to two deckhands who had been standing by waiting for orders. “They’re both suffering from exposure and are apparently delusional.”

  The deckhands stepped up and seized Harry and Amy, grabbing them both tightly by the arms.

  “Wait! Listen,” Amy insisted. “You must evacuate…” She yanked her arm free of the deckhand’s grip and moved directly in front of Captain Chabot. “Captain, we know this iceberg. It’s the same one we escaped from before you found us adrift in the raft. Captain, we discovered something buried in the ice – something amazing. Unbelievable.”

  “Hah! What is this amazing thing you found?”

  “Something long lost… A creature,” Amy said flatly. “An evolutionary freak. Something primitive. Deadly.”

  “Think of a pissed off polar bear and quadruple it,” Harry said. “Oh, yeah, better give it upright posture and human intelligence, too, while you’re at it.”

  “This is some silly joke,” Dr. Rousseau said in a dismissive tone.

  “You expect me to believe such a fantastic story? Merde!” the captain said, waving a hand through the air. Then he motioned for the deckhands to take them below. “And somebody get me a fucking damage report!”

  Captain Chabot let go of the rail and skidded toward the pilothouse.

  As Amy and Harry were led away, Amy called back to the captain, “It killed five men, captain!”

  Chapter 49

  Deckhands swarmed over the wrecked ship, clearing debris, plugging holes, and assessing the damage.

  A team of four men had run the ship’s anchor, still attached to its bow chain, out onto the iceberg.
Using shovels and wrecking bars, they carved a large hole in the ice, then pushed the anchor inside and filled the hole with chunks of ice and buckets of fresh water so it would freeze and lock itself in place.

  A cargo door on the side of the Seraph’s hull was wrenched open and after a ramp had been rigged from the side of the ship to the ice, deckhands began offloading gear and supplies. The thinking was that if the ship became unstable and sank they could take refuge on the iceberg.

  Two lifeboats near the bow were swung out on their davits and lowered to the ice in case they were needed later. More would be lowered as soon as some bright engineer could figure out how to free them from the twisted wreckage.

  Back on the bridge, Captain Chabot was studying a chart and jotting notes in a small notebook. There was a knock and a deckhand entered, silently waiting for the captain to acknowledge him.

  The captain looked up from the chart. “What is it, Pierre?”

  The deckhand stepped forward and handed Captain Chabot a sheet of paper. “Damage report, mon capitain.”

  The captain’s eyes traced down the page, then looked back at the deckhand. “Fifteen dead? Over half the crew? How?”

  “The aft third of the ship is underwater, sir. Most of the men were in the engine room drinking and playing cards when we hit the iceberg.” The deckhand cleared his throat, trying to stop the tremor in his voice, then continued. “It flooded before they could get out. When the ship rode up on the ice, the force collapsed many of the bulkheads, sealing all the airlocks. And some of the men… they were just too drunk.”

  The deckhand broke down and tears spilled out of his eyes and rolled down his grease-smudged cheeks.

  “Thank you, Pierre. Now go help the others secure the ship.”

  The deckhand straightened and said, “Yes, sir.” Then he turned and left the bridge.

  The captain looked down at the casualty tally and an involuntary sob burst from his lips. Then he whispered to himself, “I’ll hang for this.”

  An electrician who had been under the helm, trying to get the radio back on line, rose and looked at the captain. “Mon capitain, it isn’t all your fault. It was nighttime. Ships can hit icebergs with the most alert of crews.”

  “Shut up. The ship is always the captain’s responsibility.” Then he crushed the damage report in his fist and slumped against the helm.

  * * * *

  Harry and Amy had been escorted to the officer’s wardroom. It was another dingy affair with nicotine-stained, mint-colored walls. They were sitting at a table – well, not sitting – due to the severe angle of the ship they were plastered into chairs propped up against one of the room’s lower bulkheads.

  “Maybe that thing left somehow,” Harry said, wrapped in a fleece blanket, still trying to warm his bones. “Maybe it can swim and it tried to follow us in the raft and drowned. Or maybe it slipped off the iceberg and –”

  “Stop it, Harry. It’s out there – and it’s probably watching.”

  “What the hell do you mean, watching? You make it sound like it has a plan or something.”

  “I don’t know what I mean. All I know is that thing is a survivor – and this is its environment.”

  “Well, it looked like a pretty stupid son of a bitch to me.” Harry pulled the blanket tighter around his neck. “Strong as hell, yes – but stupid.”

  The wardroom door opened and Dr. Rousseau entered, clumsily working his way across the slanting floor.

  “The Coast Guard has been alerted to our position. At first light they will be on their way.”

  “Well, that’s something,” Amy said. “I just hope they make it in time.”

  “Oh, come now…” the doctor said, trying to assuage her fears. “Stop this hand-wringing. Our situation’s not really all that perilous.”

  “You’ve got your head up your… Your head in the clouds, doctor,” Harry said. “How do you say denial in French?”

  “Denial. But all we need to do is wait. Besides, we have a ship full of champagne and foie gras. Hah, what more could you ask for?” He laughed, then added, “We should all be praying we don’t get rescued too soon.”

  “You’re wrong about that,” Amy said firmly. “But I’d be grateful for some food in the meantime.”

  “Of course. Very sensible, mademoiselle. Now you’re starting to sound French.”

  “Hey, don’t go and start insulting us,” Harry quipped.

  “Tsk tsk tsk…” the doctor waved a finger at Harry. “Ahh, you Americans have got a lot to learn about living.”

  “Speaking of living, doctor, do you have any weapons on board? Rifles, pistols… derringers?”

  “Weapons?” the doctor repeated with a wide-eyed look, as if he’d just received an electric shock. “Perhaps there are one or two, but only for recreational purposes. The French, well – we are lovers, not fighters.”

  “Right,” Harry said dryly. “How could I forget. Oh, and thanks for all the help after 9/11.”

  “I don’t know what you’re saying, Monsieur McNills. The French have always stood up when it counted.”

  “Yeah, sure. You mean like after the Germans invaded Poland,” Harry said. “Hey, here’s a good one for you, doctor: Do you know why the Champs Elysees is lined with trees? So invading troops will have shade to march in.”

  “If you weren’t so mistaken,” Dr. Rousseau said, “I’d be offended.”

  “Nothing personal, doctor, but if you want to strike me across the face with a glove or something, I understand.”

  Chapter 50

  Amy and Harry had been released from detention in the wardroom and invited to join Captain Chabot and Dr. Rousseau in the main salon for food and drink.

  The mood was relaxed, or more so than two hours ago, and the conversation congenial, but tense. Amy hungrily tucked into a wedge of pate, crackers, and cornichon and then chased the food with a gulp of Pellegrino water.

  Harry only picked at the pate. Instead he consumed a large wedge of brie and was working on his second buttered roll.

  Captain Chabot and Dr. Rousseau seemed to be disinterested in the food and were instead quaffing their way through their second bottle of Veuve Cliquot.

  “Dawn in four hours,” Harry said, looking at his watch. “What is the Coast Guard’s ETA?”

  “In the morning, Monsieur McNills,” the doctor replied. “Please, have a glass of champagne. There is nothing to be done.”

  Harry held up his coffee mug. “No thanks. If I’m going to die, I want to be wide awake.”

  “Me, I am already dead,” the captain said, draining his glass. “Half of the crew gone… And the ship – she is lost.”

  Amy finished a bite of pickle and then looked directly at Captain Chabot. “Captain, there is still time. Please, please get everyone into the lifeboats – just until the Coast Guard arrives. We can stay within sight of the ship.”

  “I am in no mood for such silliness again,” the captain snapped. “Remain quiet or be locked up.”

  “Then let us go. Let Harry and me go.”

  “No one leaves the ship. Enough people have died.”

  * * * *

  Outside the Seraph, two deckhands lugged boxes down a ramp that protruded from the ship’s hull, carried them onto the ice, then placed them next to a stack of the same. The captain had ordered an emergency salvage operation to empty the ship of valuables, not trusting the Seraph’s precarious hold on the iceberg.

  The deckhand stood next to the crate he’d just placed on the ice, stretched and rubbed his back, then said, “Merde.” He fished out a pack of cigarettes, offered one to his shipmate and both of them lit up, staring at the growing stack of crates.

  The deckhand with the stiff back took a long drag, exhaled a cloud of smoke, picked a bit of tobacco off his tongue, and said, “The two we picked up… there is a rumor they escaped from some kind of killer monster.”

  “Merde,” his shipmate scoffed. “Americans. Hah, too much sugar and too many movies. Merde.”
r />   His buddy laughed, flicked his half-smoked Gauloise onto the ice, turned to start back to the ship, and –

  Right there, silently looming out of the shadows was the creature – towering directly over him!

  The deckhand looked up at the massive shadowy thing. His nose filled with the creature’s primal musk and the sweet fetid smell of rotting human flesh.

  The deckhand opened his mouth to scream, but the air from his lungs never had a chance to reach his vocal cords. Razor-sharp fingers flashed out and circled his throat like a steel cable, instantly shearing his head from his neck.

  A whimpering sound issued up from his shipmate’s chest. His bowels let go, and too scared to move, he rocked back on his heels, dropped to the ice, and passed out cold.

  The creature dragged its kill behind a stack of crates just as two more deckhands, each on the end of another large box, moved down the ramp and crunched across the ice toward the stack of crates.

  A little way behind them, a deck officer followed the men partway down the ramp, supervising the offloading of gear. As the deckhands approached the stockpiled gear, they saw their shipmate sprawled on the ice.

  They quickly lowered the box and rushed over to the collapsed sailor. One of the deckhands knelt by the man’s head and raised it up, trying to wake him. And then they were suddenly aware of something staring down at them...

  The deck officer, watching from the ship, stood frozen on the ramp and witnessed a horrific scene as the creature fell on the men, turning them into a hideous pile of human pate. When it had finished killing the sailors, it stood in the puddle of carnage and unleashed a terrible victory scream.

  The deck officer backed up the ramp, not daring to take his eyes off the creature. Two more steps and he pivoted, then ran for his life, flying up the ramp and disappearing into the ship’s hull.

  Inside the hold, the deck officer allowed himself to vomit, then grabbed the edge of the cargo door, and using every ounce of his remaining strength, slammed it shut.