Luke said, “God, I can barely imagine.”
“So when the engine blew, our team evacuated into the maneuvering room and locked the hatch. But there was this kid, Eldred Henke. Nineteen years old. He got trapped in the hallway. I tried to open the hatch, but the locks had engaged. The kid hammered his fists on the porthole until his knuckles broke. Another explosion rocked us as the turbine blew. The wall beside Eldred tore apart like a tin can. Bits of the superheated turbine, screws and rivets and what all, blew through the ripped steel and buried into him. He slammed into the far wall and reeled like a drunk. This thin metal rod was stuck through his throat. Bolts and whatever else had ripped his cheeks open. I could see inside his face, places nobody ought to see. Next the hull caved and the sea rushed in. I saw it all. I was safe. The current carried him out lickety-split. The kid disappeared like he’d been sucked out of an airplane cruising at twenty-five thousand feet.”
Luke digested this, then said: “Al, there’s nothing you could have done. Surely you understand that.”
“No, I get that.”
“I mean, if I nailed myself to the wall every time I couldn’t save someone’s dog or cat—”
“I think this is a little different, Doc.”
“I’m just saying that guilt carves you up, right? Things happen sometimes and there’s no way to fix it—in the moment, or any time after. But no creature is more adept at putting themselves up on that cross than human beings.”
She nodded, accepting Luke’s logic. “The thing is, I used to dream about that kid. But those dreams weren’t so bad, because in them I wrenched the hatch open and yanked him through just before the sea poured in. Those dreams were bittersweet, sure, because some part of my subconscious knew there was a cream-colored headstone in a cemetery in Eldred’s hometown with his name etched on it.”
“But the dream you had down here wasn’t like that, was it?” Luke said. “The dream you had here was worse.”
She nodded reluctantly—her face looked softer and almost girlish in the queer light of the tunnel.
“Much worse,” she said.
The dream had the same setup, she told Luke. Eldred was trapped behind the hatch. Al was torqueing the hatch-wheel—and same as in real life, it wasn’t budging. Then the turbine blew and that shower of superheated rubble hit the kid. Except in the dream, Alice noticed something else. There was… stuff… mixed in with the rubble. A glittering patina in the air.
“The ambrosia,” Luke said softly. “That’s it, isn’t it?”
“Ding ding ding. Give the man a prize,” Al said.
Alice dreamed it in down to the tiniest detail—every pore on the kid’s face. He started to shriek. Why? Because of the bits of metal spiked in his flesh or the ambrosia? She could hear him screaming through the hatch. Fluttery, boyish screams.
“Which is impossible, right?” she said. “Those hatches are soundproof.”
“You don’t have to tell me any more,” Luke said.
“Don’t I?” Alice said wretchedly.
Next, the dream got real funny. Not ha-ha funny. Funny-awful. Eldred’s skin… it healed. Or only sort of. The metal was pushed out of it, the wounds shrinking, then disappearing altogether. He stayed that way for a heartbeat, his skin flawless, then the wounds opened up again, even though there was no cause for it. It was like watching his face get torn open by invisible surgeons with terrible intentions.
“Or like watching the most awful movie,” Alice said, “rewinding it and playing it again.”
Next the sea rushed in and carried Eldred down. And Alice knew the kid would keep suffering… but he’d never quite die. He’d keep falling into the dark but he’d live on—and in an agony like no human has ever known.
“The worst part is this,” she said. “Before Eldred’s sucked out, as his body’s swirling out that rip in the sub, he catches my eye. And he says—and I hear this clearly: You did this to me. This is your fault, Alice Sykes. Goddamn you to hell.”
She leaned forward miserably, cradling her skull in her palms. LB padded over and settled her head on Al’s knee.
“This station,” Luke said. “I don’t know what’s going on. It’s in the air, in the metal. Alice, it’s the most awful place I’ve ever set foot inside.”
“Clearly you’ve never felt the need to take a piss at a dog-racing track,” Al said with forced levity.
Luke smiled, appreciating her efforts. “There’s two possibilities,” he said. “One, something unexplainable is happening down here. Or two, and by far and away the more reasonable possibility—”
“Is that we’re going a bit batty,” said Al. “Jesus, Luke, we just showed up. This is a cup of coffee compared to the hitches I’ve pulled.”
“This isn’t a sub. It’s a different animal entirely, isn’t it?”
Alice ran her hand over her stubbled skull. “I’m inclined to agree with you. Bad enough to make Dr. Toy flip his lid. And Dr. Westlake, God rest his soul.”
With strange serenity, the two of them sat with the fact that they could be sunk neck deep into a case of the sea-sillies—or were perhaps even coming down with the preliminary manifestations of the ’Gets. It made more sense to believe they were going crazy or falling prey to the ’Gets than to believe that… well, any other logic was not logic at all. It was total insanity.
“Your brother could be suffering, too,” said Al. “He may just wear it differently.”
Dr. Toy’s words floated through Luke’s mind: You are not who you are.
9.
THEY REACHED THE CHALLENGER.
Al said: “Stay here. Keep an eye out for Dr. Toy or your brother. Although I don’t think you’ll see them. I’ll try to get a signal up to the Hesperus. I’m not ready to pack up shop down here yet—too much on the line for that.”
Luke grudgingly nodded. He’d already come 8,008 miles—the last eight miles straight down—and he didn’t want to leave quite yet, either. He could withstand the pressure a bit longer, couldn’t he?
Al opened the hatch and slipped through. The hatch closed and locked.
Luke crouched beside LB. She chuffed, a doggy hack, and gave him a look that said: What are we doing here, boss?
“Stuck in a holding pattern, girl.”
Somewhat stunningly, Luke didn’t find it at all weird that he’d be talking to a dog. LB could well be the sanest creature down here. She set a foreleg on Luke’s knee and rested her head on his thigh.
“It’s okay,” he said. The reassurance felt cold.
A faint humming filled his ears. The feverish drone of flies hovering over a heap of shit was the revolting mental image that hum kindled. He didn’t hear it so much as feel it—the hum radiated from his bones.
The crushing pressure of the station sucked to him like a second skin. It entered his clothes, stabbing through the material; he felt as if he were wrapped in bands of sinew while a huge muscle contracted, splitting his every vein—
LB licked his cheek. The tang of her breath was bracing.
The hatch opened and Al reappeared.
“There’s no power.”
A storm of busted glass blew through Luke’s chest. “What?”