“We’re out of time,” Chief Maxey said. “You’re both absolutely positive that no one else is left alive onboard?”
Runkle and I both nodded.
“Then I suggest we go. Carol and the children first. Then you gentlemen.”
We climbed into the lifeboat and Chief Maxey started the winch while I stored our supplies in a dry spot beneath a bench. I noticed the chief taking one last look around. He seemed close to tears. The winch’s gears and pulleys squeaked as the boat began descending toward the ocean’s choppy surface. As we sank lower, the chief jumped aboard. The ropes swayed from his added weight and the lifeboat crashed against the side of the ship. Carol screamed and the rest of us held on tight. There were six of us and four life vests. Runkle declined his, and the chief insisted I take the spare. The others went to Carol, Tasha, and Malik. Once the lifeboat had splashed into the water, the chief released the ropes and started the motor.
“Thank God we refueled after your trip to the rescue station,” he said. “Or else this would be a very short trip.”
We pulled away from the Spratling, and I got a good look at the hole in her side. It was huge—twisted, blackened steel stuck out like jagged teeth. Wave after wave surged through the gash, flooding the interior. Almost half the vessel was beneath the surface now, and I wondered if there were fish swimming around in the passageways. The stern tilted up into the air. Water cascaded off it in sheets. Thick, black smoke and orange flames erupted from a bilge pipe.
“Jesus Christ,” I whispered. “Look at it.”
The bow nose-dived for the ocean floor and the stern rose higher. The Spratling sat in the water like an arrow. We continued retreating from the sinking ship. Chief Maxey pushed hard on the throttle and increased our speed. Despite the rain, oil fires were beginning to cover the ocean’s surface. A whirlpool swirled around the wreckage, sucking in some floating debris that had slid off the flight deck.
“Look!” Malik stood up and pointed. The boat rocked from the sudden movement, startling us all.
“Malik,” Carol scolded. “Sit down before you capsize us.”
“But it’s Professor Williams.”
We all looked where he was pointing. Sure enough, the Professor’s undead corpse was bobbing up and down in the water, caught up in the churning whirlpool. His arms flailed uselessly, almost as if he were waving good-bye. And then he was gone, sucked beneath the surface. Grief tugged at my heart. I’d liked the old man. I would never be able to smell pipe tobacco again without thinking of him. But even in my sadness, I knew that he was gone long before this. He’d died when the fish infected him.
Soon the Spratling slipped beneath the waters as well. Huge bubbles burst on the surface, marking its departure.
Tears welled up in Chief Maxey’s eyes as he watched it sink.
“There goes everything I’ve ever had,” he said. “My entire life was tied up in that ship. It gave me a purpose. The best friends I ever had were the guys I served with onboard her. We were so young back then. Good bunch of guys. The absolute best. They were the salt of the earth. I haven’t spoken to any of them in years, but I used to think about them all the time. Never knew what happened to any of them after they got out. I guess it’s like that for most military personnel. You serve together, live together closer than most folks live. Bonds are formed—unbreakable bonds that are hard for a civilian to understand or appreciate. You rely on those guys for your very life. You trust them in ways you will never trust another person, including your spouse or children. But then, when it’s all over, you lose touch with each other. I tried writing to some of them and got a few letters back—the occasional Christmas card or pictures of their children. But over the years we all lost touch with one another. Ran out of things to talk about, I guess. Seemed like all we did was reminisce about the old days. When the maritime museum hired me to serve as the curator and tour guide, I had lots of time to think about them. That ship was haunted. I saw ghosts around every corner.”
“Ghosts?” Malik asked, sitting back down.
Chief Maxey wiped his eyes. “Not real ghosts, Malik. Not the scary kind. More like ghosts that existed in my memories. Nobody knew that ship better than me. We were a part of each other. But when they saved her from the scrap yard, I never thought it would end like this. Not after everything she and I have been through together. Never thought she’d die.”
“Look at the bright side,” I said.
“What’s that, Mr. Reed?”
“The Spratling may be dead, but at least she gets to stay that way. She doesn’t have to come back.”
“Good point.”
He continued piloting us through the storm. Carol and the kids huddled together beneath a sheet of plastic and tried to stay warm. I rubbed my tired eyes and tried to stay alert. Runkle hunched over on his bench and closed his eyes.
Lightning crashed overhead. Death lurked beneath the waves. We floated into the darkness.
Chapter Twelve
Once we were far enough away from the wreckage, the chief shut off the motor. He said that he wanted to conserve fuel, but I thought the real reason might be that the sound of the engine could attract underwater predators. Occasionally the GPS would beep, letting us know we were still on course.
It was a miserable night. We were cold and wet. Exhausted. Carol and the kids were still underneath the plastic sheet, clinging together and trying to stay warm. I smiled at them, told them that everything would be okay as soon as we reached the oil rig. They didn’t respond. I didn’t blame them. I knew I was full of shit, and so did they. Sure, maybe things would be cool on the drilling platform. But chances were we’d never reach it, not with an entire ocean full of dead things.
The chief opened up a storage box and took out some plastic oars. He screwed them on to aluminum poles and handed one to me. He and I rowed while Runkle stood guard. The former cop looked worse than any of us. His drooping eyes were bloodshot and he shivered uncontrollably, despite the heavy pea coat. He didn’t say much, just sat there staring out at the water.
I noticed that the supplies we’d rescued from the Spratling’s galley were getting wet, and I passed them over to the chief so he could stow them in the box. He found some glow sticks at the bottom of the storage compartment. He snapped one in half and a fluorescent green glow filled the air. Its radius was small, but I think it made us all feel better. The light held the darkness at bay, if only for a little while. The chief had taken Mitch’s rifle from Tasha and it rested at his side. He laid plastic sheeting over the weapon in an effort to keep it dry, and weighted the plastic down with some emergency flares. I propped the shotgun up next to me. I didn’t know if the rain would hurt it or not, but I had no way to shelter it from the elements. The chief had used the last of the plastic on the rifle.
If there were zombie fish stalking us beneath the ocean’s surface, we didn’t see them. Maybe the sea was too rough. Every few minutes, a wave would crash over us, swamping the boat with several inches of water. Then the kids would have to come out from under their shelter and bail with two buckets the chief had found in the storage compartment. Occasionally, debris from the Spratling that hadn’t been sucked down with the ship bobbed by, tossed on the waves. There were wooden crates, an aluminum lawn chair, seat cushions, a mattress, a coast guard life preserver, and a push broom. We salvaged whatever useful items we could from the stuff that floated within reach and let the rest of it drift away. After rescuing the push broom, Malik unscrewed the long handle and pulled out Mitch’s bayonet. The glow stick’s green light reflected off the serrated blade. Glimpsing the knife made me think of Mitch. I fought down a lump in my throat. I could mourn him later, if there was a later.