Dark Alignment Page 6

  The colonel nodded. “We’re almost done. Just a few more questions. Prone to motion sickness?”

  Dean almost answered in the negative instinctually, but realized that such an affliction might get him home all the faster. Plus it had the benefit of being entirely true. “I am, actually. Airsickness, mostly, but cars too.” He noted with an odd sense of accomplishment that the problem didn’t seem to extend to submarines.

  The colonel checked another box. “Any allergies?”

  * * *

  Dean was surprised to find Jo waiting outside the conference room on the third morning. Rumor had it the scientific contingent was to be taken to the surface and returned home by ship, so he figured there would be no more rides in the bond-car—not that once wasn’t more than enough.

  “Stopped by to say goodbye?” he said cheerfully. The attempt at friendliness had served him well among his peers these past few days.

  Her expression didn’t change, but he knew from the stiff body language that it annoyed her. “No,” she said, “I’m here to see the attaché. And to give you this.”

  Dean recognized the OTDA device, the untraceable one with his research on it, which she’d delivered each day and taken each night. He wondered if he’d be allowed to keep it this time.

  “Oh, okay then,” he said, taking the device and stepping aside so Jo could enter. She didn’t acknowledge the gesture, brushing past him as she made her way into the conference room. “Nice to see you again,” he muttered, keeping it low enough for her not to hear.

  Jo stood in the back, ignoring the scientists. Dean set the device down on a desk and moved to join his more congenial peers, adding his voice to the buzz of morning greetings. The attaché entered and the chatter died down. He was about to address the group when the floor trembled, then a distant Thwoooom rang out. It sounded like it came from deep below their feet, somewhere in the bowels of the undersea structure. Then another, and another, growing closer each time. The final concussion was near-deafening, accompanied by an upthrusting jolt that rocked the room, knocking several men out of their seats, Dean included. He looked up to see the attaché dash out into the corridor. To check on what’s happening? The room began to fill with smoke.

  8.

  Dean gave himself up for done. He was too slow, and stuck in the back. The smoke was filling his lungs, making it hard to breathe, and even harder to think. Just as he was leaning back into a row of seats, trying to get himself lower in search of good air, he felt strong arms wrap around and drag him backwards and away from the clawing crowd.

  It was Jo. Given the circumstances, she might as well have been an angel. For the first time she didn’t looking cocky, nor even in control. She looked scared, which came as some comfort. But she still had the air of a woman with strong intentions and a workable plan, and Dean began to feel like he might just get out.

  Her strength gave him a boost of energy, and as she pulled him to his feet, he was able to keep himself balanced and upright. Within a few seconds, he’d composed himself enough to follow when she motioned to the side of the room that was relatively clear.

  “But there’s no door,” he choked out, still reeling. His wasted breath prompted a hacking cough, which Jo waited out patiently, at the same time indicating with her expression that he should remain calm and quiet.

  “Just follow me,” she said, her voice worn and raspy from the toxic air. When they got to the wall, both were knocked off their feet by the largest concussion yet, which not only rocked the facility, but left it listing to one side. A few more jolts like that and the whole place would surely cave in and flood, that’s what Dean’s brain was reporting. And it was no guess. His mind was extremely precise when it came to physics. He marveled at the fact that these sorts of calculations were even possible under the circumstances, but then again he should probably ignore all that, focus on how to get out of here instead.

  On their feet and mobile, Jo lead him along the far wall. In the wings, there were riggings and fixtures and, most importantly, pathways out. Jo selected the farthest one and Dean followed without question. He had no idea if she knew what she was doing, but he certainly did not, so her judgement was at least as good as his. Probably better. He was simply hanging on her decisions now, his life in her hands.

  Just a rushing sound at first, as they moved along they began to see evidence of further disaster. Water was gushing through a thousand cracks, threatening to cave in the whole corridor. Jo examined them carefully, looking for God knows what, but she seemed to find whatever it was. Grabbing Dean’s arm, she said, “Come on, this way!” and pulled him along.

  They made their way down several levels. Dean was tempted to protest, his instinct being to head ‘up’ in the direction of the surface. But it seemed as though she’d made the right call. The water wasn’t so deep in this direction. They continued pushing through, she testing doors along the way by tapping on them with a piece of metal. Dean wondered what she was listening for, and again, whatever it was appeared to be found behind one door at the far end of a corridor. Nobody else had made it this far. Aside from the waterfall background effect, the area had an eerie quiet.

  The door didn’t open easily. Too much water at their feet held it back.

  “Here, grab hold,” she ordered, showing Dean where to place his hands along the long handle. She grabbed hold further out, and gave a three-count. He pulled as hard as he could, but it seemed as though her effort was the deciding factor. Straining and shaking, she forced it down, then gave him a dirty look as he let go prematurely. Even so, the door swung far enough for them to enter.

  It appeared to be an airlock, with several heavy looking diver suits standing ready. Not the kind used for scuba, these looked more like something out of 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea, and Dean hesitated.

  She read his reluctance, telling him, “It’s not as hard as it looks. We just need to breathe a few minutes outside the lock so I can get to my car.”

  Dean gave her an ‘if you say so’ shrug, and watched her begin to don the suit, mirroring everything she did with his own, albeit more slowly and far more awkwardly. Still, it was much easier to get into than he’d expected. After both were suited up, she checked his connections and flipped a switch. He heard a hiss that he imagined, or hoped, was the start of an airflow. Then she gave him an oversized thumbs up, and without waiting for confirmation, opened the outer door.

  The gushing water from earlier on was nothing compared to the flood that smacked into them. If not for the heavy suit, Dean was sure he’d have been swept away. As it was, he had to brace with all his strength to remain upright. Only when the water was approximately knee-deep did he begin feeling stable again, except that now he had to fight back a rush of concern at the sight of the fast-rising maelstrom.

  All this time, Jo had stood quiet, apparently relaxed and confident. Has she done this before? he wondered. It sure as hell seemed so. At any rate, her calm demeanor was the only thing keeping him from a full blown panic. She’d gotten them this far, he reasoned, so clearly this was a woman who knew what she was doing.

  When the chamber had filled, she began to moon-walk her way forward, Dean shuffling behind without much sense of what he was doing. He kept a close eye on the back of her helmet. His breathing was coming out rapid and hot, the sound of it echoing around his own helmet, threatening to fog his vision.

  Oddly enough, when they got ‘outside’ he felt calmer. Seeing the vast ocean sweeping away from them, it felt as though he were again looking out a window. An observer, safely back from any danger. This illusion was quickly shattered, however, when Jo’s arm swung around and stopped him in his tracks. He had no idea why she’d done it, but he obediently took several steps back. That’s when the floor he was walking on entered his field of vision, which should’ve happened when he stepped out the airlock. He’d been too intensely focused on Jo’s form to notice.

  It wasn’t a floor, per se, but more of a shelf. And just forward of where he’d been
about to step, it abruptly dropped off, with ocean plunging downward and out of sight. He wasn’t entirely sure if he’d have floated or sank, had he crossed the rim, but it wouldn’t have been a good place to be regardless.

  He had to be more vigilant. And he couldn’t count on others to save him. They were too busy saving themselves, it seemed. Turning to Jo, she motioned off to one side where a service ladder contraption led off in both directions. He followed, stepping carefully, and watching where it was going this time.

  She motioned for him to stop when they came to the ladder, and used rudimentary sign language to indicate she’d go up first, and he was to wait until summoned. He gave the only response he knew to give, the oversized thumbs-up, then stepped to one side to watch her go.

  She moved with a lithe grace that belied all that heavy equipment surrounding her petite form. Ascending quickly, she was soon out of sight, and for a panicky few minutes Dean wondered how he’d know when and if to climb up after her. As if to answer his concern, a sudden, shocking crackle of radio signal assaulted his ears. There was no way to adjust the volume, so he simply winced through it, but after the initial connection the volume dropped some.

  ‘Eckert, you hear me?’

  It was Jo’s voice, he was certain of that.

  “Yeah, I can hear you. Should I come up?”

  ‘Negative. I need to have a look around first. Sit tight.’

  Dean acknowledged the order, facing away from the facility so he wouldn’t have to think about what was going on in there. He had no doubt there were fatalities. Possibly large numbers. The seabase had always seemed thickly settled everywhere he went. He doubted there were enough of these sea-suits for everybody, even if they were savvy enough to find them.

  ‘Eckert,’ Jo said, startling him out of his daydream, ‘level my car’s on is flooded and wrecked. Conference level’s flooded now too. I’m coming back.’

  Conference level. Eckert felt his blood run cold. “Jo, I just remembered something.”

  ‘You left the research data device behind,’ she replied calmly. Too calm, in Dean’s view.

  “Did you get it?”

  ‘Affirmative. But it’s waterlogged to who knows how many depths.’

  “I’m sorry.”

  ‘Spilt milk, Eckert. Don’t think about it right now. I’ll be down shortly.’

  He didn’t have to wait long. When she reappeared, she wasn’t even touching the rungs of the ladder, but rather sliding down with just her hands guiding her descent. When she reached the shelf, she put one foot sideways to stop her momentum, then stepped off the ladder. It was so effortless, it seemed she might as well be on land rather than in such cumbersome undersea conditions.

  “Didn’t know you were such an expert diver,” Dean said, unsure of why a compliment seemed appropriate under the dire circumstances.

  “I’m not,” she replied.

  He offered the equivalent of a shrug, which ended up being a simple lifting of the arm pieces, hardly even noticeable. But she seemed to get his meaning.

  “Alternative training,” she explained. “Water’s not the only challenging medium.”

  Whatever that meant, Dean decided to let it go, asking instead if they were going back inside.

  “Not on this level. We’re going down.”

  “Down?” he said. They were practically at the seafloor already. How much further ‘down’ could they go?

  She ignored his comment and headed back toward the ladder.

  “Wait!” he called out, but she was already on the move. With little choice in the matter, Dean shuffled carefully toward the ladder. She was already below the shelf when he clambered on.

  “Take it one step at a time, watch your footing, and stop when I say so,” Jo ordered.

  Dean acknowledged the instruction, feeling gingerly for the first rung down. It took a few tries, white-knuckling the thing with both fists all the way, but he finally found purchase and eased himself down. The next rung was somewhat easier, and though he never really got the hang of it, after a while he was at least no longer thinking his next step was certain death.

  * * *

  After a perilous climb down the latticework of the undersea structure, Jo finally got them back inside through another airlock. Making their way into the corridor, Dean noted the damage was less severe still, at least in comparison with the chaos above. He wasn’t quite sure how that could be, since the initial explosions had seemed to come from below.

  Safe for the moment, they removed the suits, and Dean’s heart soared with gratitude for his impressive companion. When she found a nearby stairwell and continued to descend, however, his momentary happiness collapsed into a renewed sense of doom.

  Taking a deep breath, he realized he was finally able to breathe normally. When she realized he wasn’t with her and turned to look, he spoke up. “Not to sound ungrateful or anything, but shouldn’t we be going away from the explosions?”

  Truthfully, it was his instinct to get the hell out of the water that prompted him to want to go up at all costs. But the secondary logic seemed solid to him.

  “You’d think,” she responded, “but the structure’s a lot more solid down here. Reinforced, older construction. Anyway, I’m going down. If you want to go up, be my guest.”

  With that, she turned and hurried down the stairs. Dean hesitated a moment, but he knew full well he wouldn’t last five minutes on his own. He gulped hard, steeled himself, and set off down the stairs, trying to keep her in view the whole way. The further down they climbed, the darker it became, adding to the gloomy sense of entering a watery grave. Don’t think about it, he said to himself, which only made the thoughts come out stronger and more fully formed. His face a bloated corpse. A bomb ripping him to shreds. A pool of sharks and giant squids at the foot of the stairs. He ignored his sarcastic inner foreboding and hurried on, fixated on the back of Jo’s fast retreating form.

  * * *

  Shane Douglas put two fingers to the neck of his companion, even though he knew full well there would be no pulse. Half the back of his head had been blown off in the first explosion, and only the luckiest fact of placement had saved Shane from the same fate. The blowback had come through the room sideways—that entire half of the room, the one containing the back of the man’s head, was now a mass of twisted metal.

  Even worse, the outer hull had sprung a leak, and seawater was gushing in fast enough to rend large chunks of the surrounding steel frame inward. Shane knew he had less than a minute, but even so he had to confirm. It was the honorable thing to do.

  The entire facility in peril, his first instinct was to make for an escape craft—but he mentally shot down his own idea, realizing none would be left by the time he got there. He was too far down. So with ‘up’ being a non-starter, he would go further down—try and get below the seabed while there was still time.

  9.

  Jo, intent upon her work, sat on her haunches and flipped the device over and back, and hit the reset several times. No dice. She tried for ages to get the thing to boot up. Not a peep.

  “I guess I really blew it,” Dean said.

  “More likely than not,” Jo agreed. “I’ll have my people look at it when we can get to them, but I’m afraid this sucker took too much damage back there. Not just the water, too, even though that was probably enough to kill it. There was also a ton of debris sloshing around up there. If I’d gotten there sooner…”

  “Don’t blame yourself,” Dean said.

  Jo gave him a steely look. “Who says I did? Anyway, we can always hope for the best.” With that, she tucked the device into an inner pocket and rose to look around.

  “What is all this, anyway?” Dean’s question echoed into the distance, bouncing off unseen walls on the far side of a vast, hollow cavern. The fact they were still under the sea flooded back to the forefront of Dean’s mind.