The next morning Lewis gathers whoever’s still able-bodied in the mess hall. He walks into a room greeted by the faces of a group of people who really don’t want to be there. Half the room looks so ill they can barely stand to keep their heads propped up on their elbows. Eyes half-closed, skin pallid and sweaty, breathing slow and labored, they’re all just one stumbling step away from being as bedridden as those who haven’t left the bunk room for days. But, though many are sick, and would rather have stayed in bed, Lewis knows they need to hear what’s happened. This isn’t a secret worth keeping.

  “Well?” Max says from the back of the room. “What’s this all about then?”

  Lewis clears his throat. “It’s important, so bear with me. I know we’re all feeling pretty awful, but this is something y’all need to know.”

  Max settles down, slumping into his seat and waiting with a grimace on his face.

  “We lost somebody,” Lewis begins, “one my men. Carter Wolpaw.”

  Eyes look down to the floor, saddened, and worried.

  “But he wasn’t sick-- least not too bad--he was up and about until last night.”

  Sadness fades from the group and turns to confusion.

  Lewis nods. “He died in the torpedo room last night. Something forced the tube open on both ends and pulled him right out of the ship. I don’t believe there’s any need for speculation.”

  And finally, the crowd’s gaze turns to shock and horror. Their hands shoot to their mouths. Terror grips their hearts.

  Bill manages to croak out a weak, “What?”

  “It’s true,” Rat stands on legs still shaking from what she witnessed. “I saw it happen, watched him die. One minute he was standing next to me...next thing I knew there was water everywhere and I only saw his legs dangling out the hole.”

  Charlie looks up. “I’m sorry to ask, but did you see her?”

  Rat shakes her head. “Too dark, and water spraying everywhere, couldn’t see a damn thing. By the time I looked ‘round he was already in the tube.”

  Ernie, who had been silent up to this point, eyes pointed square on the floor, jumps up. “It’s my fault.” His shoulders are rigid, fists clenched.

  Rat turns to look at him, she says nothing, her face a blank void.

  And everyone else looks too, waiting for him to elaborate.

  “It’s true. I just needed to know. I didn’t think--” his voice is weak, and he struggles to find the words he wants. “I brought this on us, it’s my responsibility.”

  Bill steps over to Ernie and places a hand on his shoulder. “Calm down, Ernie. What happened?”

  “My sister, the way she talked about her, like she’s intelligent. And we all thought it too, right? After Max hit the wall and she responded. I went down to test it, to learn something, anything, then maybe it would be just a bit less terrifying to be stuck down here with her. So I did. You have to believe me I thought it’d be safe enough, I didn’t think anybody would get hurt. I’m so sorry.” He shakes his head, tears in his eyes.

  “You damn well should be!” Max shouts. “You could’ve gotten us all killed, piece of shit!”

  “Shut your trap, Max,” Lewis says. “You’re the last person who gets to point fingers.”

  “Ernie,” Bill asks, leaning over to look into his downturned eyes, “tell me, you said you were testing her, what did she do?”

  Ernie looks up. “Pattern recognition, possibly tool use. I sang to her, and she sang back. It knew where I was the whole time, that’s how it got in, I practically showed it the torpedo tube. She was trying to find me. If they hadn’t shown up.”

  “Don’t think you would’ve fit through the tube, Ernie,” Max says.

  “Max,” Lewis growls.

  Rat glares at Max. “Wouldn’t have mattered. The strength she had to pull him against the water pressure. She could’ve pulled Carter through a pinhole.”

  Bill pats Ernie on the back. “You had no way to know that would happen. You were just trying to learn, to understand. Blaming yourself--”

  “I know,” Ernie says, “I know what you’re going to say. But there’s no excuse, my actions led to a man’s death.”

  Bill’s strength wanes. His eyes darken and his shoulders slump down. He barely has the energy to prop himself up, let alone someone else. He nods, then sits down and looks at Lewis.

  “Are we safe?”

  “We sealed the torpedo room,” Lewis says, “so it can’t get in through there anymore. But who knows, if it can force open a tube then there’s a dozen ways it could get in.” He turns to face the room as a whole. “Let’s make this clear right here and now. Keep it quiet, keep it calm. No banging on the pipes, no ranting and shouting. Keep your voices down and don’t let this thing find another way inside. You’re all dismissed, go back to whatever it was you were doing.”

  Lewis sighs and returns to the control room. Some slowly file out as well, many choosing to return to bed. Others, though, find themselves glued to their seats, trying to sort through the mess of information they just received, the new danger they’d have to cope with weighing heavy on their already overburdened minds.

***

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  Sometime past five that evening, Charlie stumbles out of bed. She checks on her bedridden friends. Elina and James are both awake and able to exchange a few words, but when she feels their heads she finds they both have a burning fever. Piper is even worse. She’s sleeping, and Charlie wants to avoid waking her, but just the sound of her breathing, quick, short, and uneven, tells her she’s not doing well. The stink in the room has only worsened, the humidity as well. She knows the damp and stink don’t help anybody’s condition, but there’s nowhere else for them to go. It’s hard for her to leave the room. She feels as if leaving the room, taking her eyes off of them, will hasten the deterioration of their condition. But, there’s nothing more she can do for them but keep them covered by their blankets and whisper reassurances into their ears.

  Her stomach is churning and she avoids eating but goes to the mess hall anyway. Bill is there and she sits beside him. He pokes at a meager meal, but what he can actually eat is even less than the tiny ration.

  She wanted to say something, anything, not necessarily make conversation either, just a word or two to fill the silence and make things seem normal, even if it's only for a moment. Nothing comes, the words die in the fetid air and Charlie droops down, arms crossed over the table. A lock of her unkempt hair falls over her face and she runs her hand through it, pushing it back behind her ear. A few strands come loose and fall to the floor.

  Bill stands up. He takes his plate to the sink behind the kitchen counter but stops as he rounds the corner. Charlie sees him hesitate and stare at the floor before stepping back to the other side of the counter.

  He looks at Charlie. “Wanna tell me what you make of this?”

  She rises and takes slow steps toward him. He remains planted, peering over the counter and into the kitchen as she comes to his side. Following his eyes to the floor, Charlie sees a carpet of mist building thin on the floor, barely enough to conceal the black and white checkerboard tile beneath, but spreading, thickening, quickly.

  She shakes her head. “The humidity?”

  Bill shrugs. “No idea.”

  The mist moves almost like water across the floor and it starts to seep around the corner.

  “Did you step it in before?” Charlie asks.

  “Yeah.”

  “Did it...I don’t know, do anything?”

  “Nope.”

  Charlie watches the fog warily. “What should we do?”

  “Jessica’s back there.” Bill looks at the closed closet door behind the counter.

  “Shit.”

  She and Bill look at each other, then, seeing no other option, they walk into the mist. Charlie tells herself it’s just a normal bit of fog, but can’t shake the feeling that it’s something more. After everything that’s happened, she isn’t confident that it’s as innocuous as it seems. The paranoia is mutual, as Bill too, proceeds with great caution. It barely rises above the soles of their shoes, and vortices twirl off their toes with each step. It does not appear unusual in any way, until it starts to move. As Charlie approaches the door, she stops dead in her tracks as Bill grabs her shoulder and points. In the center of the kitchen, there’s a drain in the floor. The mist swirls around it, like water down a bathtub drain and, almost as quickly as it appeared, it flows down and out of the room.

  “Okay,” Charlie says, “weird.” She frowns and takes a deep breath.

  Grabbing the handle on the pantry door, Bill opens it, letting a sliver of light inside.

  “Jessica?” Charlie peeks inside. “Everything okay in here?”

  On the makeshift bed in the corner, Jessica rolls over and looks at Charlie.

  “Did you notice?” Jessica whispers.

  “Notice...what?”

  “It’s so quiet. Julia is quiet.”

  She hadn’t noticed before, but Charlie realizes that Jessica is right. Not only had she not heard the creature since getting up, but she can’t remember hearing her all day either.

  Jessica’s eyes roll to the ceiling. “Someone’s dead, aren’t they?”

  “How did you know?” Charlie responds with a question of her own.

  Jessica shrugs. “My brother seemed like he was going to do something stupid last I saw him.”

  Charlie shakes her head. “It wasn’t his fault.”

  Jessica sighs. She seems indifferent, separated from her brother’s actions and the events they caused by a wall. She speaks to Charlie about it but seems preoccupied with other things.

  Bill peeks under Charlie’s arm to get a look inside. “The fog,” he tries to get back on topic, “did you see it?”

  Jessica tilts her head. “You know, when you close that door, it’s so dark in here I cannot even see myself. Sometimes I don’t even know if I’m here, so I can’t say if I know about any fog.”

  Charlie’s eyes drop to the floor.

  “Do you feel bad about putting me in here, Charlie? Don’t. I’m only more sure than ever that the only way out is death.” She pauses, taking a deep breath, then rolls her eyes. “I didn’t see any fog, but I did wake up with a cough. There was something in the air, felt like needles in my lungs. It sort of smelled like licorice in here. I hate licorice. Maybe she knows that. Maybe that’s why.” Her eyes move to the floor and start to trace the lines of the tile lining it.

  “You feel...alright, though?” Charlie asks.

  “Nobody feels alright now. The Narwhal is poisoning our bodies and Julia our minds. I don’t think any of us are going to feel alright ever again, even if we do--by some miracle-- escape.”

  Bill and Charlie look at each other for a moment, confused and sad, then close the door. They step back and look toward the drain on the floor, watching it carefully as they return to the other side of the counter.

  “Now what?” Charlie asks.

  Bill shakes his head. “I don’t even know where to start.”

  “You should talk to Lewis, first. Maybe it’s nothing to worry about.”

  “I’m not so sure. But you’re right, I’ll tell Lewis at least.”

  Charlie nods and Bill heads up to the control room. Left alone in the mess hall, Charlie feels a bit of light-headedness coming on and takes a seat. She draws slow, deep breaths, and the room around her stabilizes. She wants to believe that the fog was something normal, something explainable. She’s modeled her career on that form of thought. But the longer she spends here, the more she finds herself struggling to hold on to that way of thinking. She swallows a bout of nausea and looks up. For a moment she thinks she sees something move behind the stove, casting a shadow in its flickering light, but it quickly slips down below the counter and out of her view. Standing up, she walks toward it and leans over, expecting to see the fog again, but there’s nothing there.

  Deciding she’d rather not remain alone in the mess hall, though, Charlie wanders back to the bunks. She bends over next to Elina to check on her and she’s already awake, responding to her presence right away like she was waiting for Charlie.

  “Lee?” She whispers, her breath hot and weak.

  “Yeah, I’m here.”

  “How much longer do you think we’re gonna be stuck down here?”

  Charlie thinks for a moment, a dozen morbid thoughts cross her mind, but she shakes them loose. “Soon. I’m sure it won’t be much longer.”

  Elina takes a while to respond, when she does her voice cracks, on the verge of tears. “I hope so. I don’t think I can take this much longer.”

  “Oh, don’t say that. You’re strong, El, always have been. If anybody can fight through this it’s you.”

  “I just wanna go home.”

  “Good,” Charlie nods and grips Elina’s hand. “That means you aren’t ready to give up yet.”

  Elina sighs, and another silence follows. She’s too weak to speak for long periods of time, she has to rest before moving on. “This morning, when you and everybody left. I heard some of the sailors say someone died. Is that true?”

  “Yeah, it is.”

  “How?”

  Charlie bites her tongue, unsure how to proceed, but Elina had always been able to sniff out Charlie’s lies, so she tells her the truth. “Julia got him.”

  “She got inside?” Elina’s voice raises, fear bubbling up in her voice, making her quiver.

  “Yes, but they sealed the way in. We’re safe.”

  Elina doesn’t seem to believe that last part, and Charlie is pretty confident herself that the opposite is true. But it’s the type of lie neither party can deny, because to do so would be to let go, to let their light die, and for any glimmer of hope to go with it. Nothing about their situation is safe, and the fog has made Charlie uncomfortable in a way that something so simple shouldn’t have. Even thinking about it twisted her guts into a knot, but she grips Elina’s hand tight and speaks small reassurances even though she herself is so uncertain.