100 Fathoms Below

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Jerry climbed down the main ladder, following Oran Guidry and Lieutenant Commander Jefferson to the bottom level. Jefferson was already walking up to the torpedo-room hatch when Jerry reached the bottom. He hurried to catch up. Oran, hanging back behind Jefferson, looked nervous. He kept chewing his lip and staring at the door as if he expected floodwaters to come surging through.

“You okay?” Jerry asked him.

Oran nodded, though not very convincingly. “It’s just that I get a real bad feelin’ down here. Felt it earlier this mornin’, and I got it again now.”

“What kind of feeling?” Jerry asked.

“Like we better off keepin’ that hatch shut tight.”

Ever since they found Stubic’s dead body in the freezer, Jerry had felt something too: an unease lurking like a shadow in the back of his mind, making him feel like an animal that could sense a predator hiding in the tall grass but didn’t know exactly where it was. After discovering the smashed lights and mirrors in the head, the feeling had only gotten worse.

Jefferson stood in front of the torpedo-room hatch. “You’re both certain it was Bodine you saw?”

“Sir, I know it sounds impossible, but I would swear to it,” Jerry replied. “I sat right next to the man in the control room for every one of my watch sections. I’d recognize him anywhere, sir.”

“What about you, Guidry?” Jefferson asked.

Oran shrugged. “I didn’t see hide nor hair, suh. Was Ensign Penwarden who saw Bodine. I only know what I heard. The ensign called out Bodine’s name twice. When I left the auxiliary engine room two shakes later, they was both already gone, suh.”

Jefferson shook his head. “It can’t be him. There’s no way.” He banged his fist on the door and called, “Matson? It’s Lieutenant Commander Jefferson. I have some questions I’d like to ask you.”

When there was no answer, he knocked again. A few seconds later, the door opened, swinging outward. Senior Chief Sherman Matson poked his head out. He looked pale and groggy, his hair tousled and sweaty. Jerry knew that Matson had quarantined himself just to be on the safe side, but now he wondered whether prolonged exposure to Bodine had made him sick.

“Lieutenant Commander?” Matson said, squinting at Jefferson. “Sorry. I—I must have fallen asleep.” He rubbed the back of his neck as if he had slept on it wrong. “What can I do for you, sir?”

“Did you or did you not inform me several hours ago that Steve Bodine had passed away from his illness?” Jefferson said. “Because I’ve got two men here who say they saw Bodine not long ago, up and walking.”

Matson frowned. “Saw him, sir? No, not possible. His body is still here.”

“Is it safe for us to come in and see for ourselves?” Jefferson asked. “I’d like to put an end to any speculation.”

“See for yourselves, sir?” Matson asked. Jerry thought he seemed really out of it. “Yes, yes, of course. It should be safe, sir. With the host body deceased, the virus likely died with him.”

“So you’ve determined it’s a virus?” Jefferson asked.

“That’s my best guess, sir.”

Matson stepped aside so they could enter. Jefferson walked right in. Oran and Jerry paused and exchanged a worried look. Jerry knew why Oran didn’t want to go in—that bad feeling of his—but Jerry had more concrete concerns. Matson claimed it was safe, but it was only speculation, and besides, Matson himself didn’t look healthy. If he had contracted the virus, or whatever it was, from Bodine, would it spread to them too? Maybe they were better off staying out of the torpedo room.

“Come along, gentlemen,” Jefferson called from inside.

Damn. The XO wanted him inside, so that was where he had to be. He and Oran reluctantly stepped into the torpedo room. As Matson sealed the hatch behind him again, Jerry saw a second black body bag on the floor, next to Stubic. The tag read bodine, steven.

“Keeyaw,” Oran muttered, crossing himself.

Jefferson stared at the bag a moment, his jaw set, his face unreadable. Finally, he said, “Open it, Matson.”

“Aye, sir.” Matson crouched over the body bag and slowly unzipped it. He took his time, and Jerry just wanted to grab the zipper from him, yank it down, and get this over with. When the bag was fully unzipped, Matson spread it open to reveal the head, neck, and shoulders of the body inside. Jerry’s throat tightened.

Steve Bodine was pale and waxy, as ashen as he had been in the berthing area earlier—if that had indeed been Bodine creeping through the space. What the hell was going on? He approached the body for a closer look, all thoughts of contagion forgotten. Bodine’s eyes were closed. He looked peaceful now after suffering through the illness that had killed him.

Jefferson’s face, which had been so stoical just a second ago, was suddenly overcome with emotion, to the point where Jerry worried that he was going to break down. The XO pulled himself together quickly, though, resuming his air of professional detachment, but that fleeting moment of vulnerability stuck with Jerry. It was easy to forget sometimes that officers were human beings too, when all he’d ever seen them do was bark out orders or reprimand enlisted men for speaking without being asked or forgetting to say “sir.” That was especially true of the higher-ups: the captain and the XO. As he watched Jefferson pull himself together, he thought maybe the XO wasn’t such a bad guy. There was definitely more to him than Jerry first thought.

“I trust this is enough to put the matter to bed,” Jefferson said.

“Yes sir,” Jerry said. “I’m sorry, sir. I could have sworn it was him.”

“It was dark in the berthing area,” Jefferson said. “It could have been anyone.”

But it hadn’t been “anyone.” Jerry had been certain, but how could it have been Bodine if Bodine was already dead?

“Aye, suh,” Oran said. He looked as confused as Jerry felt. “Like White, I’m awful sorry for the confusion, suh. I woulda’ swore on my mama’s life Ensign Penwarden was talkin’ to Bodine, suh.”

“Penwarden?” Matson said. He blinked and rubbed his neck again. “Did you say Ensign Penwarden? He was… he was just here, wasn’t he?”

“You saw him?” Jefferson asked.

“I think so, sir.” Matson leaned back against the machinery. He looked dizzy and distracted. “Or maybe I dreamed it. I fell asleep for a while there. I mean, I must have. I don’t remember much after calling you on the circuit, Lieutenant Commander.” He frowned. “Or much of what I was doing before you knocked just now, for that matter.”

Jerry, Jefferson, and Oran exchanged worried glances. Jerry knew they were thinking the same thing he was: Matson had the fever now too. But they didn’t leave right away, as Jerry would have preferred. Instead, Jefferson crouched down beside the body bag. He opened it as wide as he could, and peered in, as though looking for something. Then he closed it again and zipped it up.

“Did you see Ensign Penwarden or didn’t you, Matson?” Jefferson asked, straightening.

But Matson only shook his head, looking down at his feet. “I don’t know, sir. I—I can’t remember. I can’t seem to remember anything.”

“Bodine told me he was having the same problems with his memory,” Jefferson said. “He couldn’t even remember breaking one of the ceiling lights. He told me he felt like some part of him was slipping away.”

Matson looked up at them. There was genuine terror in his eyes.

“You have to leave now, sir,” he said. “It’s clear to me I’ve contracted whatever Bodine had, which means all of you are at risk of contagion just by being here. You have to go.”

“Damn it, Matson, you knew this would happen,” Jefferson said softly. “You knew you’d get it if you locked yourself in here with him.”

“You really should go, Lieutenant Commander,” Matson insisted. “Before it’s too late.”

Jefferson nodded. “Take care of yourself, Matson. We can’t afford to lose you too.”

Jerry was all too happy to follow Jefferson out of the torpedo room, and from the look on Oran’s face, so was he. When they were back in the bottom-level corridor, Jefferson closed the heavy hatch behind them.

“White, you were right,” Jefferson said. “I think that was Bodine you saw in the berthing area. And I think he was in the head too.”

“Sir?” Jerry asked, confused. “We just saw his body, sir, how could it be him?”

“When I looked in that body bag just now, I saw cuts on Bodine’s hands,” Jefferson said. “Matson had already patched up his old cuts; I saw it. These were new cuts, the kind you’d get from broken glass. There was blood on his hands too. New blood.”

Oran moaned and crossed himself again. “What does it mean, suh?”

“It means Bodine was our man,” the XO said. “He’s the one who wrecked the head—and the one you say Penwarden was talking to earlier, Guidry. He must have died shortly after.”

“But, sir, you said Matson called you hours ago to report Bodine’s death,” Jerry said.

Jefferson glanced back at the torpedo room. “He’s not well. He’s clearly ill and possibly delusional. In that state, he could easily have hallucinated or dreamed that Bodine was dead and called me to report it. I just hope Matson’s the last one, and no one else gets sick. If we’re lucky, he’ll ride it out until we can get to a navy base. If we’re not…” He trailed off, as if realizing he’d said more than he intended to a couple of enlisted men. “You’re both dismissed.”

Jerry and Oran climbed back up to the middle level while Jefferson continued up the main ladder to the top level, presumably to give the captain a report on his investigation and discuss Matson’s condition. Oran pulled Jerry aside into the mess.

“Do you believe the XO?” he asked.

“What do you mean?” Jerry asked.

“His theory about when Bodine died?”

“I don’t know.” Jerry looked down the corridor. He saw an auxiliary tech come out of the head with a full garbage bag. Light was coming through the doorway now. Either they had taken fixtures from other parts of the sub to replace them or they were using battle lanterns as replacements. Either way, it was good to know he wouldn’t have to relieve himself in pitch-black darkness. “I guess what the lieutenant commander said makes a kind of sense.”

Oran shook his head. “Nothin’ makes sense in this boat, White. Somethin’ been wrong from the start, I can feel it. Back in the bayou, some folks still practice the old religion. They say everything’s got a soul—even things that ain’t alive. Sometimes I think they’re right. And if Roanoke’s got a soul, it ain’t a healthy one. Somethin’ bad got inside her, and now she’s rottin’ away from within.”

“You sure you don’t have the fever too, Guidry? Because you’re talking crazy.”

He laughed, but Oran didn’t. His eyes stayed narrow, sharp, and serious.

“Mark my words, White,” Oran said. “There’s somethin’ very wrong in this boat.”