Echoes of the Fourth Magic (6 page)

The destruction was total. Splintered bunks, shredded blankets, and blasted footlockers floated about and lay jumbled in uneven heaps.

And scattered all about the mounds, meshed in like just so much more debris, were Del’s shipmates.

Del set a determined visage and squeezed in through the hole. Working methodically and with as much detachment as he could muster, he brought each man out and released him to his watery grave, saving the last body for the experiment, bringing it back to the air lock, where those inside the sub could retrieve it.

Del’s second mission was to retrieve a body from the
Bella
. This task both scared and intrigued him, his imagination running wild in this eerie scene, already launching several promising plots for horror movies. But at the same time, Del could not repress his curiosity about the wonders around him.

When he first went aboard the
Bella
, he moved gingerly, like an archaeologist brushing sand away from an ancient relic or an historian leafing through a delicate medieval manuscript. Before long, though, he realized that this ship was not in any way fragile with age. Her flooring remained unwarped and her masts stood straight and firm. Del was convinced that if she were raised and her hull patched, the
Bella
could sail proudly once again.

He moved without hesitation to the door leading belowdecks and found a suitable cadaver for Brady as soon as he opened it. But that would have to wait, for he pushed his way past the corpse, determined to get a closer look at whatever relics lay below.

It exceeded anything his imagination could have hoped for. Everything that wasn’t bolted down had been jumbled and battered, but that included just a small fraction of the room’s contents. How well the people of this age had prepared to handle the tossing of heavy seas! Del had always known that danger was a very real fact of a nineteenth-century sailor’s existence, but had never fully appreciated just how powerful an influence the unpredictable savagery was for the
Bella’s
gallant crew, and for all the sailors who had braved the seas when the advantage was so lopsidedly
on nature’s side. Almost as a tribute to those brave seafarers, he cleaned up the room.

And the treasures he found! Trinkets and artifacts, masterfully crafted by human hands. He wanted to scoop everything up and take it with him, but of course Mitchell would have had his head if he did. There was one item he couldn’t resist, though, a small silver box, sealed and locked, perhaps a jewelry case, and bearing his own initials: JD.

That night, after an exhausting stretch of work, the crew headed for their beds in the conference room. More interested in privacy, Del stayed behind on the bridge, assuring Doc Brady that he’d sleep better alone. Brady suspected that something was up, for the agitated look on Del’s face made it obvious that he had no intention of sleeping.

Finally when he was alone, Del broke open the silver box and found a small pistol, a derringer, again engraved with his initials, a solid silver bullet, and a note:

“I’m keeping this,” Del breathed. He considered the others’—particularly Mitchell’s—reaction, then shoved the pistol and bullet out of sight, into the inside pocket of his shirt.

By the sixth day all of the patches were in place and Reinheiser was ready to make the attempt to blow the water out of the sub. Their only chance was to use the atmospheric
control unit to force great gushes of air into the flooded sections, displacing water out an open diving hatch. It proved a tedious and dangerous chore, for the physicist couldn’t possibly produce enough power to empty the entire ship all at once. Del and Thompson had to remain in the flooded sections and seal off each room as it cleared.

The process had to be repeated several times; twice Del and Thompson weren’t quick enough in securing a room and the ocean charged back in as the pressurized air burped out a hatch in a great bubble. But the patches all held, and near the end of the day, Del closed the outside hatch, and the interior of the
Unicorn
was fairly dry once again.

After a few hours of final clean-up, jettisoning everything that wasn’t nailed down, all was ready for their desperate attempt. No one gave any speeches or assurances; they all knew the odds that faced them.

Thompson remained in the engine room, at the controls for blowing the ballast tanks, while the other six men used belts to strap themselves down on the bridge. Each of them held on to supplies of some sort—food, water, clothing. Corbin clutched an inflatable life raft, a going-away present from his father on the day the
Unicorn
had sailed out of Miami—a joke gift, really, for what use might a life raft be on a vessel destined to prowl at a depth of thirty thousand feet?

Mitchell carried the heaviest pack: four rifles strapped together in a plastic bag. Del saw no need for the guns, and the sight of the volatile captain holding them disturbed him profoundly. He shook his head incredulously—guns wouldn’t save them from drowning. The irony of that thought brought a wry grin to his face, for if it came to a watery scramble, that heavy pack would likely take Mitchell down first.

Yet the rifles were indeed a comfort to Captain Mitchell. He could accept that they might all die in the escape attempt; this was Reinheiser’s game and he’d let Reinheiser worry about it. Mitchell was more concerned with situations
that he could control—situations that he and his guns could control.

“Let it begin,” Reinheiser said when they had all settled.

Mitchell took the com and called back to the engine room. “Thompson?”

No reply.

“Thompson!” Mitchell growled more loudly.

“Here, sir.”

Del and the others winced at the uneven timbre.

“Our lives are in his hands?” Billy Shank remarked.

Mitchell spoke calmly but firmly. “Blow the tanks.”

But again no reply.

A few more seconds of silence broke Mitchell’s patience. “Blow those goddamn tanks, mister!” he roared. “Now!”

The sub shuddered with the release of water. Mitchell shut down the intercom and slammed the mike onto its holder.

With another shudder, the
Unicorn
began to rise.

Their moment of hope was upon them; as one, they clung to their bindings. They said nothing, each too engulfed by the probability of impending death to think of anything else, those feelings proving too personal and unresolved to be shared. Totally immersed in their work during the last few days, they hadn’t had time to come to terms with this delicate moment, and every one of them welcomed the contemplative silence.

It didn’t last. Suddenly the door burst open and a terrified Thompson rushed in, tears streaming down his face.

“Oh, no,” Doc Brady groaned.

“I’ve got him,” Del shouted. He wriggled free of his restraints and tackled Thompson, pulling the trembling man down to the vacated seat.

“Get the hatch!” Mitchell screamed.

Del ran to the door. Dismay stole his breath when he got there. “The rest of them are open,” he cried. “All the way back!”

The
Unicorn
thudded to a stop, the jolt knocking Del to his knees. He froze, fear seizing him, and did not try to rise.

“We’ve hit the top of the cavern,” Reinheiser explained.

“No time, man!” Brady cried to Del. “Get back.”

Del scrambled to secure the hatch, then dove down, trying to slip under the belts with Thompson, just as the
Unicorn
started moving again.

Mitchell looked to Reinheiser. “Currents?”

“Magnetic force,” the physicist answered. “Drawing us to the center of the field interaction.” Suspecting what was about to happen, he warned, “Hold on.”

Just as Reinheiser finished the statement, it grabbed the sub. Like a great untamed beast, the newborn storm sprang upon the
Unicorn
, seeking an outlet for its uncontrollable power. It raged about in torment, aimless at first, but then suddenly finding a direction. Its power became purposeful anger, guided as if by vengeance toward the black portal, as if it were a sentient thing, blaming that area for its agony. The storm raced in, pulling the helpless sub along, and tore through the barrier.

The men’s knuckles whitened under a grip of terror. Up and up they went, spinning and swirling. Up to a world that had once been their home.

But not anymore.

T
HE MINUTES PASSED
slowly as the
Unicorn
spun and bounced through the five-mile trip to the surface. Up and up she went, and then, as suddenly as it had started, the violent thrashing stopped.

The
Unicorn
righted herself and sat calm, but the seven men did not release their grips on the belts. “We’ve stopped going up,” Del dared to whisper at length.

“The surface,” Corbin added. “And we must have broken clear of the storm.” Wide smiles curled upon every lip.

But even as the seven men began freeing themselves from the straps, the lights went out. And in the blackness an ominous sound became evident, a sound that every seagoing man hears in his worst nightmares. Somewhere toward the back of the
Unicorn
the ocean had again found its way in.

“We’re taking on water!” Billy cried. As if to confirm his statement, the
Unicorn
tilted to starboard.

“She’s going to roll!” Mitchell shouted. “Get out!”

Cool-headed Ray Corbin proved the hero this time. At the first sign of danger, when the lights went out, he had wisely groped his way to the base of the conning tower. “I’m at the ladder,” he said calmly. “Follow my voice.”

Mitchell found him first, and with the captain in position to guide the others, Corbin stated loudly enough for all to hear, “I’m going out with the raft.”

Little light entered when the first officer opened the outer hatch; the sky above was starless and pitch-black. Undaunted, he threw out the raft, designed to hold twenty men, and blindly scrambled onto it as it inflated.

Reinheiser was next up the ladder, then Doc Brady.

“Hurry up!” Mitchell urged as the sub listed farther to starboard.

But Del had a problem: Thompson was frozen in terror, refusing to move despite Del’s pleas. As time seeped away, anger replaced diplomacy, and Del finally grabbed Thompson’s shirt and hauled the man up the incline.

“Help me!” he yelled to Mitchell. The captain latched on to the terrified seaman’s shirt and heaved him up the ladder, where Billy Shank was waiting.

But just as they got Thompson safely onto the raft, the
Unicorn
listed again. Mitchell was braced by the ladder, but Del lost his footing and skidded away into the darkness.

“DelGiudice!” Mitchell cried.

“I’m okay,” Del replied, rubbing a new bruise on his shoulder. Unmercifully, the
Unicorn
assumed an even steeper angle. “I’ll make it,” he assured Mitchell. “Go ahead up.”

Mitchell shook his head, not so certain that Del could get back to the ladder. But the captain had no way to help, no ropes, or even wires, close at hand that he might throw to the distant man. He moved out of the sub.

Del heard his companions calling as he groped around on all fours. Even for those moments that he managed the steep incline, he could not find the ladder. Then the sub rolled some more, practically on its side, and the ocean streamed in through the open hatch, hungry to claim its prize.

“She’s on her side!” came Billy’s distant cry as the raft drifted away. “She’s going over! Del!”

Del slumped back against the now vertical floor, resigned to his fate. He didn’t even notice that the water pouring in was strangely warm.

Suddenly he felt himself rising, and not with the water;
it wasn’t deep enough to buoy him. His eyes darted around. What sort of delirium gripped him? He was floating in the air! And then, miraculously, he was at the ladder!

“How?” Del asked aloud, but he didn’t wait for any answers. He fought his way out the hatch, plunged into the warm ocean and swam toward the dim outline of the raft and her six passengers.

They hauled Del aboard silently and gathered at the edge of the huge raft.

All was quiet save the rustle of wet clothes and the occasional groan of a soft-soled shoe on the rubber raft. Behind them, far off now and racing away, the wild storm raged, but the men took no notice. They stood solemn, peering into the blackness, waiting for a part of their lives to come to an end. And then, with a mere gurgle, the vast, unconquerable ocean took the
Unicorn
.

“Well, she’s gone,” Corbin said, staring vacantly into the black void.