Chapter 15
Fifteen
“No. No, no, no.” Cally pushed past Gabe, the sleeve of her borrowed shirt skimming the red-hot edge of the hole they’d cut, but she hardly noticed, brushing the sting away. “How can this be?”
Her voice echoed through the gaping, empty warehouse, lit only by the dull glow of a few low-level security lights.
A rectangle of oil-stained flooring marked the sub’s footprint, fringed with gouges where it had been dragged free.
A coil of thick power cabling snaked across the floor, disconnected at one end.
Crates and bulky shapes stood in shadow against the walls, all left behind.
A faint chemical tang hung in the air; grease mingled with cleaning fluid, and someone had swept, but not well.
There was nothing left to even shout at.
“Ryan,” Gabe barked. “You said it wasn’t scheduled to leave for Puerto Rico for another three days.”
Gabe’s lieutenant stepped in, eyes narrowed, guard up, as he took in the empty space. “That’s the information we had, boss.”
“Yeah? It was wrong.”
Ryan looked at Cally. “I apologize, Miss Davis,” he said formally. “We did the best we could.”
She shook her head. “I’m not interested in placing blame or performing an autopsy on our fuck-up. Where is it, and how do we get it now?”
Noah and Zoey entered, along with the other thralls, one at a time through the rapidly cooling opening they’d made. Gabe moved farther in, giving them space, and crossed his arms. “It will be out at sea by now.”
“GPS?” Ryan suggested. “It must have monitoring systems. We hack into WHOI and—”
“Even if we could, we’d have to hijack it off its boat.”
“Take the boat itself? Get out there by chopper, a small team, and intercept?”
“And do what with the crew?”
“You know what.”
Cally left them to it, walking farther in.
Three weeks wasted, and back to square one.
She paused in the center of the space. She would’ve been standing inside Alvin, if it had still been there.
How long now until they could get Antoine out? They didn’t have a backup plan. This had been the best shot.
Damn it. Why had Alvin been taken early? Their information had been from official sources. They should’ve had time.
She kicked at a loose bolt that went skittering across the grimy floor to clang against metal.
It wasn’t just Antoine. If they couldn’t find a solution within two weeks, Gabe would have to feed from her again. That would absolutely cement his bond—if it wasn’t already too late.
She stared at nothing, blinking back tears of failure.
So it took a moment to realize what she was looking at.
“Gabe!” she snapped out, cutting through their finger-pointing and strategizing, her voice carrying enough weight to turn heads. She pointed to the far wall. “What are those?”
Half-hidden behind the crates, two hulking humanoid shells loomed dormant in the murky shadows, rounded limbs and torsos, like metal bubbles pushed together.
“Get a light in here!” Gabe ordered, stepping forward. “We’ve just found our solution.”
“Exosuits?” Cally asked, knowing he could see them clearly even in the dark.
“Atmospheric Diving Suits,” Noah said, approaching with a light bar that lit up the whole area and sent dense shadows jittering on the wall behind. “Zoey? How deep?”
“A thousand feet, maybe.”
“And Antoine?”
“Don’t know for certain.” Zoey grimaced. “Less than that, or we have a problem.”
“They’re our only option,” Gabe said. “Get them loaded up.”
Cally hugged herself as the thralls sprang into action, opening the roll-up door from the control panel within and shoving crates out of the way.
Work lights were brought in, illuminating the whole warehouse, but she only had eyes for the two imposing suits.
From outside came the distinctive, rhythmic beep as a thrall backed the semi into the lot.
Noah joined her. “Back on plan.”
She nodded once, eyes fixed on the thralls who were carefully clearing a space around the two suits.
“This is better in some ways,” he said, watching as they worked. “No GPS tracking on those things, and easier to hide. Less chance WHOI will call in the Navy to get them back.”
“If they can go deep enough.”
“Well, yeah. I suppose.” He asked quietly, “You okay?”
“I trained for the sub,” Cally said. “I don’t know how to use one of those.”
“How hard can it be?” He waved Zoey over. “You know anything about these things?”
“Never seen one before,” she said, and hollered across the warehouse. “Anyone familiar with these suits?”
“Me,” said one of Gabe’s thralls, from among the group working. He handed off his light to another man, and approached them.
“We need a crash course in piloting one of those things,” Noah told him.
“A crash course, huh?” the man said dubiously. “Who’s going?”
“I am. I’m Cally.”
He nodded. “I know who you are. I’m Brent. You familiar with these suits?”
“No.”
Brent crossed his arms. “What about ROVs? Done any diving?”
“No.”
“Ever worked a crane? Or a forklift?”
Cally clenched her jaw. “No.”
He sniffed. “Piloted a drone?”
“No,” she said coldly. Then enunciated every word, “I’m starting from scratch.”
“Okay. Zero chance then.” He turned to leave.
“Brent,” Gabe snapped. “Get with the program. Cally is going down in one of those things, so your only job now is to get her up to speed, because you’re going with her.”
Brent turned back slowly, gave Gabe a stiff nod, then addressed Cally again. “This isn’t like a video game.” He paused. “Do you play video games?”
“No.”
He threw up his hands. “These suits are equipped with sophisticated hydraulics, manipulators, thrusters and ballast systems. You’ll have near-zero visibility, and even experienced divers become disoriented underwater, let alone a novice.
You get a leg stuck between rocks, you’re dead.
You fall over in it and can’t get up, you’re dead.
You hit something too hard and disable the suit—done.
” He narrowed his eyes. “Using those manipulators to do anything other than snap at fish and miss? No way. It’s a million-dollar piece of equipment, and you just can’t do it. ”
Cally stepped close. “Who cares how much they cost? We’re not fucking buying them, we’re stealing them.
And I don’t need to use the manipulators, because you can do that.
I need to get down there to show you where to go, and you need to do the rest. This is happening, so unless you want to end up dead, you’d better find the right attitude. ”
He tilted his head, regarding her like a curiosity. “Just pilot it? No manipulations?”
“Just pilot it. No manipulations.”
“That’ll be hard enough. Every movement is slow and sluggish. Think astronaut in a bulky suit.” He raised an eyebrow. “You ever been to space?”
“No. Have you?”
“You got me there.” He grinned. “So we’re going anyway, huh?”
“Yes. We are.”
He let a whistling breath out between his teeth. “Can you at least parallel park?”
“What the hell has that got to do with it?”
“Body coordination. Multi-tasking. Mechanical and fine motor control. Spatial awareness.”
“Nine years of taekwondo?”
“Heh.” Brent nodded thoughtfully. “Now that is helpful. Limited, but meaningful. Good sense of balance? Composed under pressure? Mental clarity? Breath control? Fast reactions?”
“Those I can say ‘yes’ to.”
“Great.” He cracked his knuckles. “Then you just tripled your survival chance—to about three percent.”
*
Cally sat in the back of the SUV as they drove to Menauhant Yacht Club behind the semi-truck, focusing on every word Brent said.
“Thrusters are directional. Always use small bursts. You’re not a dolphin, you’re a fridge with jets. Nudge them, like waking a cat that might have a grenade.”
“A fridge piloted by a grouchy grenade-wielding cat. Got it.”
Brent raised an eyebrow. “You’re taking this seriously, right?”
“Deadly.”
“Because that’s what it’ll be if you don’t.”
“It was your metaphor. At least I won’t forget.”
Noah chuckled from the driver’s seat.
Brent paused for a moment, then continued. “Fine, no metaphors. An ADS is a one-atmosphere suit, and as deep as we’ll be, outside it’ll be thirty times that. If you breach it, the good news is you’ll be dead before you know it.”
“Still taking it seriously.”
He nodded. “So you’re in a pressure tank with limbs. You move the arms and legs manually with a joystick and foot pedals. I’ll show you when we’re on the boat. It’s not intuitive, and it’s not graceful, but your coordination might just come in useful there.”
“Anything else?”
“Loads, but the rest can wait until I can show you.” He shook his head. “You still sure you want to do this? One of the other thralls may have more relevant prior experience.”
“None of the other thralls can get you to Antoine.”
“Oh? And how can you?”
“That’s a need-to-know,” Noah interjected. “Just accept she can.”
“I do need to know,” Brent argued. “An ADS doesn’t have a radar.
It’s not search-and-rescue. It’s designed for repair and manipulation.
We’re looking for one man on the ocean floor, right?
We don’t have sonar drones or submersibles.
” He leaned back in his seat and blew out a breath. “Shit, this is doomed to fail.”
“I’m bonded to him,” Cally said quietly.
“I get it, I really do. I’m bonded to Gabe. I feel your pain.”
“No, I mean I can sense him. The bond is two-way.”
Brent blinked rapidly. “Two-way?”
Noah twisted around enough to make eye contact. “You tell anyone, I’ll kill you.”
“My lips are sealed,” Brent said. He looked at Cally with undisguised curiosity. “So you’re a walking direction finder, huh? Yeah, that could work.”
“Are we up to five percent survival yet?”
Brent grinned. “Maybe even ten.”
It was 2:20 a.m. as they approached Menauhant Yacht Club, reached via a single-lane road barely wide enough for the semi. Leafy yards and trees on either side, with well-spaced houses and families who were hopefully fast asleep.
“Could’ve put these suits in a van if we’d known,” grumbled Noah as Gabe’s thralls performed a seven-point turn and maneuvered into position at the pier, the night frequently interrupted by the truck’s beeping as it reversed.
Cally texted Eve an update and got a reply straight back. Confirmation she already knew, along with a dozen shocked-face emojis.
The converted fishing trawler had a crane and more thralls on board, and there was nothing to do while they loaded. First the suits, then crates of equipment they’d ‘liberated’ from the warehouse. The wait strained Cally’s nerves, and she tore at a nail with her teeth.
At last, the loading was done.
Gabe strode over to say goodbye. “Ryan will go with you. I’ll catch up before you reach Antoine. My yacht is a lot faster than this old tug.” He fixed Brent with a stare. “You keep her alive.”
Brent shifted uncomfortably. “Yes, boss.”
Gabe nodded to Noah and Zoey, and climbed into an SUV that sped off down the road.
“Let’s go,” Noah said. “Damn, I hate boats.”
It was bitterly cold as they chugged out past South Cape, with no letup from the wind. The two hefty diving suits stood lashed on the aft deck, secured with heavy-duty ratchet straps and tarped until they were out of sight of land. It gave Cally a break from Brent, but nothing to occupy her mind.
The sea was rough, tossing the boat, and Cally had to cling to the rail. The occasional wave threw up icy spray, making her wish for her hoodie. She watched the lights on the coast drift by, alone with her thoughts.
After days of studying Alvin’s training manuals, she felt she had a handle on that. At least she wouldn’t die if she got it wrong. This was far worse, and Brent’s constant fearmongering didn’t help.
If she died, Antoine would never get out. Even if the others somehow managed it at some future date, without Cally to feed on, he’d never recover.
Getting him out was only half of it. They still had to manage a feral vampire.
How long would it take him to regain control? How did that even work?
She should’ve asked Gabe. Maybe he knew.
The boat rounded Chatham, its lighthouse flashing twice every ten seconds, and then the coast was left behind. Shivering with the cold, Cally passed hand-over-hand along the rail, making her way to the cabin in search of warmth.
Noah looked up as she entered, green around the edges.
“Rough out there,” she muttered, wiping spray from her hair.
Ryan huffed a dry chuckle. “This isn’t rough, this is barely choppy—the waves are only six feet. We got lucky.”
“Lucky is good,” Brent said. “We need some of that.” He rose from the bench he was sharing with Noah. “Are you ready to work?”
“Sure.”
“Take Lewis and Amir,” Ryan said. “You’ll need help getting the tarps off.”
Brent nodded and followed her back out to where the suits waited. Despite Ryan’s assertion that it wasn’t rough, Cally gripped the rail as she waited for them to uncover one of the two machines. They opened a rear hatch in the torso, revealing a cramped cavity of metal and padding.
“Climb in,” Brent said. “Careful on the ladder, and don’t stand on anything important.”
Right.
It wasn’t graceful, and the sway of the deck didn’t help, but she made it. Her legs slid into padded shells, like wearing thick pants.
“Good. Now, straps go across chest, hips, and thighs. Tighten until it’s too uncomfortable, then back off a notch.”
She had barely enough space to breathe, let alone move.
So this is what being entombed feels like.
“Your arms will go into those sleeves, but we’ll leave that bit for now…”
Focusing hard, Cally readied herself for a crash-course in not dying.