3 Deep Sea Research Station Horror Stories
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"Here they come," I say, pressing the transmitter to my ear while listening to Thomas narrate their ascent. The medic, Sandra, stands nearby, watching the watery surface of the entrance pool. I stare at the water, heart careening around in my chest as I wait for Addison to surface. "It's just a little leak," I tell myself repeatedly. "Just a little leak in the leg of her pressure suit, that's all."

But the fact is, until she's up here in the station once again, the leak could prove fatal. The suits are designed to prevent catastrophic implosion if one component weakens. But the pressure down here is so immense, there's no telling what can happen. So as the six-foot diameter pool shimmers under the LED lights of the station, I find myself wishing it was anyone but Addison. It's a horrible thing to do, wishing this kind of danger on someone else. But I can't help it.

I've come to the realization that I love Addison, and what's worse is I haven't even told her. Dim lights emerge in the dark ocean under the station. They're hard to see because of the overhead lights reflecting off the pool's surface. But I crouch down and squint as they get closer. "They're the twin lights on her pressure suit's helmet," Addison says over the channel, voice shaky in my ear. I ready the straps from the hoist. Relief starts to expand in my chest.

Then her helmet breaks the surface, and I breathe an oh-thank-God sigh as I reach out and connect the hooks to the shoulders of her suit. We share a look through the thick visor, and I have the urge to tell her I'm in love with her right now. Over the transmitter, allowing everyone to hear, I would surely get fired and sent back to the surface, but at this point, I think it would be worth it. Still, angels of caution went out, and I say nothing but, hang on.

Using the hoist controls, I pull Addison out of the pool and stand her up in the staging area where robotic clamps come out and secure the heavy suit so it doesn't topple. Sandra, the medic, immediately starts working to get Addison out of the suit. I rush over and do the same. The water down here is so cold, she could already be hypothermic. Leaving Thomas and Delrod in the water for the time being, Sandra and I get the helmet, the arms, and the torso off Addison.

She's shivering, her lips are going purple, and her skin is covered with goosebumps. But she's still the most gorgeous woman I've ever seen. As we help her climb out of the suit's legs, I see a wound on her left leg. It doesn't look too bad, but as soon as her feet are on the metal grating that serves as the floor, I kneel down and inspect it. "Does it hurt?" I ask, noticing a bulge just above the two-inch wound on the side of her calf. I drag my thumb gently over the bulge,

And it moves. It twitches and seems to disappear into her leg. "Ah, shit!" Addison says. "What the hell did you do?" "Nothing," I say, looking up at her. "Sorry." "For nothing? It hurts like hell!" "Let's get her to the infirmary," Sandra says. "We need to get these wet clothes off. I'll look at the wound in there." "Right," I say. The phantom's sensation of that bulge moving still lingers on my thumb.

It felt solid but not hard, like a worm or an eel. I help Sandra get Addison to the infirmary. Along the way, I ask her what happened. She tells me. I help get her situated and then I have to force myself to leave her side to go get Thomas and Delrod out. As I hurry back from the infirmary, I go over what Addison said happened. They were exploring an underwater cave one of our rovers discovered under the sea floor.

Addison was the first one to go in, and she wasn't in the cave for more than 10 seconds before something struck her leg and caused the leak in her suit. She said she didn't see what it was, that it was too cloudy in the cave to see much of anything, but she said she thought it had to be a rock fall or something like that. The relief I felt upon seeing Addison's surface is fading away.

And as I clasp the hooks onto the rings on Delrod's suit to pull him out, an implacable horrific feeling seats itself in the deepest part of my guts. I'm thinking about the pressure suit leg when there's a gentle knock at my door. "Come in." I say absently, thinking about the small hole in the high density reinforced knee joint of the pressure suit. The hole that no rock could have caused. The hole that not even a bullet could have caused.

"Certainly there are no bullets that small and that powerful." Addison pokes her head in, still looking like she's freezing, but she smiles that same hungry smile I've seen a half dozen times before and hope to see a thousand more. "You busy?" She asks. I shake my head. "Not at all. Come on in." She's wearing a tank top and yoga pants, but my eyes flick down to the bulge of the bandage on the outside of her left calf. Did I just imagine what I felt earlier? Is that possible?

She shuts the door behind her and then she's straddling me, gripping my face in her hands, sticking her tongue in my mouth. All of a sudden, I forget about the impossible hole in the suit and the bulge in her leg. Now, all I'm thinking about is how good she feels, how right this is, and how now's the time to tell her how I feel. After a minute or so of grinding and tongue play, she gets off me and takes me by the hand, pulling me toward the bed.

She lies down and pulls me on top of her. Wait, I say. Just wait a second. Please, just fuck me, she says, grabbing me and pulling me between her legs. I thought I was going to die down there, and the only thing I could think about was having you inside me. She grinds against me, and I decide that I will tell her how I feel just as soon as we're done having sex. I know it will be a special moment. I can imagine it.

as we're lying intertwined on my bunk, both breathing heavily from the amazing sex. I'll say, "I love you, Addison." She'll smile and say, "I love you, Hayden." But first, I'm kissing her again, feeling her with my hand reaching down. I shove my fingers under the waistband of her yoga pants and find that she's not wearing any underwear. Then I'm parting her and sliding a middle finger inside, and she's moaning and kissing me harder. "Oh my God," she says.

That feels amazing. What are you doing down there? I smile, not sure what she's talking about but not really caring. I just keep going. Then my smile shatters like a priceless vase dropped onto a tile floor as I feel something wrap around my middle finger. No, not something, some things. Panic makes me go flaccid as I try to pull my finger out. Addison's eyes go wide.

"What are you doing?" she asks. "That hurts!" I shift, trying to pull my finger out. Then I scream, feeling one of the wire-like appendages dig into my finger. It's so strong, so sharp. I yank again and scream again, and then I pull my hand out, but my middle finger is gone. There's only a messy nub there, with pink bone visible for a moment before blood obscures it. Addison screams and pulls her yoga pants down to her knees, reaching down to look, to see what's happening down there.

I tumble off the bunk and smack my head on the wall. The world goes swimmy for a minute, but I look back up at Addison and see that three of her fingers are gone now, the nubs spurting blood. As I stagger to my feet, I catch a glimpse of what's happening, but the image isn't coherent. It doesn't make any sense.

The only thing my mind thinks to call them is tentacles. But instead of suction cups, the shimmery purple-black appendages seem to have little saw teeth on their undersides. "Get it out!" Addison screams as she lurches from the bed and runs to my cabin door, yanking it open and stumbling out into the hall. I move after her. Sure, I don't want to touch her, but knowing I have to do something to help the woman I love, our screams have drawn the others. Sandra turns the corner up ahead, with Thomas behind her.

What the hell happened?

She starts toward Addison. "Don't touch her!" I shout. Sandra ignores me, getting to her knees in front of Addison and reaching out with one hand. The moment Sandra's hand touches Addison's shoulder, the injured woman's head whips up and four wire-thin tentacles shoot out of Addison's mouth, gripping Sandra's head with their little razor-sharp ridges. Sandra tries to scream, but it just comes out as a muffled gargle.

She grips Addison's shoulders and tries to pull away, but the tentacles are already ripping at her face. Addison is trying to push Sandra away too, both of them fighting against the creature. When they finally succeed, Sandra falls back, but she does so without a face. The creature greedily devours the skin it ripped from Sandra's head, pulling it into Addison's mouth before disappearing. Sandra, now writhing on the floor, is screaming. Her shouts sound like they should be tearing her lungs apart.

but I'm more concerned with Addison as she turns around and lurches toward me. "Help me!" she cries, cheeks and lips smeared with Sandra's blood. I back away, shaking my head, hot tears rolling down my face. I try to form the words, "Stay away!" but I can't quite get them to come out. Delrod steps out of his cabin to my right, holding something in his hands, looking scared.

Before my shocked and reeling mind can comprehend what I'm seeing, Delrod squeezes the trigger on the object in his hands. The spear gun kicks as the spear shoots out and impales Addison through the chest. No! I scream, but I make no move to help Addison as she stumbles back and falls to the floor. The three of us, me and Delrod at one end of the hall and Thomas at the other, stand and watch as Addison twitches for 30 seconds before she finally stills.

Sandra has stopped screaming and passed out. The three of us stand and stare at the two women. I can't speak for the other two, but my mind seems vapor locked, unable to complete a coherent thought. It's only when Thomas starts forward that I complete a thought. "No!" I shout. "Stay away from her!" "We have to help Sandra!" Thomas says. I know he's right, but I look at how close Addison and Sandra are on the floor, and I don't like it, not one bit.

Still, after pausing briefly, Thomas starts forward, and I don't stop him. As he's about to kneel beside Sandra, Addison's throat bulges. Thin tentacles emerge from her mouth. Thomas sees this happening and backpedals away from Sandra. The creature emerges with the quickness of a spider, flinging itself out of Addison's mouth and onto Sandra's bloodied head. It's not like any creature I've ever seen.

It only has six tentacles and they're extremely thin, only thickening near a tiny oval shaped body that looks as if it has no eyes and a suction cup like mouth. I blink and it's gone, scurrying into Sandra's mouth and down her throat like a rat into a hole. Delrod and I look at each other, then at Thomas. Understanding passes wordlessly between us.

"Hayden, get her feet," Delrod says to me. "Thomas, her arms. We'll lock her in the decompression chamber until we can figure out what the hell it is and what we should do." Thomas and I start toward Sandra, but Delrod stops us. "Wait," he says. "Let me get my scaling knife first, just in case." He drops the spear gun, the line still attached to the spear sticking out of Addison's chest. He ducks back into his cabin.

Moments later, he's back with a thin-tipped, sharp-looking knife in one hand. Thomas and I pick Sandra up. She's still unconscious, which is for the better. I adjust my grip on her ankle with my injured hand, wincing as we start toward the decompression chamber. Both Thomas and I stare at her throat and mouth, looking for the telltale bulge of the creature. Delrod follows behind us, knife-ready.

Just outside the decompression chamber, I shout, It's coming! I drop her legs, and Thomas drops her arms. Her head cracks against the hard metal floor, but it's the least of our worries because the creature is coming out. Thomas jumps into the decompression chamber and slams the door, locking us out. The creature scurries along the length of Sandra's body as I back up, bumping into Delrod, who's trying to see what's happening. The creature launches itself at my face, but I get my hand up.

It latches onto my hand, tentacles tightening and barbs cutting through my flesh. I scream, but make a fist, trying to grip the thing. I whip around, holding my hand out toward Delrod. "Kill him!" I shout. The creature is trying to crawl up my arm to get to my mouth, so I bring my other hand up and snag a couple of the tentacles. I feel the sharp barbs sink into my flesh, and I have to grit my teeth against the pain, knowing it isn't even close to being done.

Delrod hesitates, but I scream at him again. "Do it!" He jabs the knife at the creature, but it's so thin that he does more damage to my hand. Still, the creature writhes, cutting into my fingers as it tries to escape. Delrod stabs again and again. The creature rips my pinky off, and the index finger on my other hand, before Delrod manages to hack two tentacles off. He keeps stabbing and slicing until it's hard to tell where the creature is under all my blood.

but I urge him to keep going. I can feel the thing weakening. Both my hands are fairly mangled when the creature finally loosens its grip and drops off. I don't waste any time, stomping on what's left of the thing until it's nothing but mush on the floor. I put my back against the wall and slide down, hitting the floor hard as I hold my mangled hands to my chest. Delrod runs to get some bandages. I'm left in the hall with Sandra. I look over and see the pool of blood surrounding her head.

Her chest is no longer moving. But the creature is dead. The fucking thing is dead. Still, I can't help the tears that come flowing forth as I realize something truly horrible. I never told Addison that I love her. Imagine what's possible when learning doesn't get in the way of life. At Capella University, our game-changing FlexPath learning format lets you set your own deadlines so you can learn at a time and pace that works for you.

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Cade always does a few more pushups than me, and he's always sure to tell me exactly how many more he does. I collapse to the floor of our little gym, huffing, pulse thrumming in my temples. "Is that all you got?" Cade says, jumping up and moving over to grab his towel. He wipes sweat from skin that always seems perfectly unblemished. During the three months we've been down here in the crushing depths, I've never once seen him get a pimple or a runny nose.

I've never even seen him get mad. I have to take solace in the little things, like his messed up blonde hair that makes him look like a dumb surfer dude, or the fact that he doesn't seem to have anyone topside waiting for him. He never talks about any family or friends. Granted, the only family I have waiting for me is a stepsister and a stepfather, and they probably aren't exactly counting the minutes until my return.

When this little expedition started, I was excited about doing some first-of-its-kind research in a station on the seafloor. Now, I can't wait to get out of here. Actually, that's not strictly true. I can't wait to get away from Cade. Three more months with Mr. Perfect seems like an eternity. If it were just me here in this station, I could finish the contract no problem. I've never had an issue with being alone.

And living in close proximity to Cade has only solidified that notion. So as I get to my feet in the little gym, I decide I'm going to ask the program director, Dr. Quintana, if we can change up the schedule. I've already asked him once and his answer was no, but maybe things have changed. Maybe Cade and I can exercise at different times for the next three months. That alone would be enough breathing room for me.

Cade gulps down some water and looks at me, smiling with his perfect teeth and his freshly shaved jaw. He must shave two or three times a day because he never seems to have a five o'clock shadow. Me, I've got a full-on beard. Shaving isn't required. So I decided to grow a beard after the first month.

It was something that helped me pass the time. Something different amid a tightly structured schedule of sleeping, eating, exercising, working, and mandated relaxation and bonding time. As I grabbed my water bottle, Cade looks at his watch. "15 minutes until work time, good buddy. You gonna be late again?" I have to clench my teeth for a moment, getting myself under control before I answer. "Cade, remember what I said about calling me good buddy?

Still smiling, Cade says, "Oh yeah, right. Sorry bro." My teeth grind together. I've asked him not to call me bro either, but I keep my mouth shut because if I don't, I'm liable to say something really mean. "I'll be on time today," I say, grabbing my towel and heading out of the gym.

When I close the door to my cramped cabin, I toss my towel and water bottle down on the bed and then punch my pillow as hard as I can, imagining it's Cade's smug fucking face. I punch it again and again, a continuous grunt erupting from deep in my lungs. With my anger momentarily sated, I step into the cramped bathroom and turn the shower faucet. Nothing happens. No water comes out. "You've gotta be fucking kidding me," I grumble.

This place is falling apart. And guess who's in charge of fixing everything? Cade. Fucking Cade. But every time I have to ask him to fix something, he always makes some comment about me breaking it or not having the skill to fix it myself. I try the sink, finding that it's working. I take a quick hobo shower with sink water, towel off, and get dressed. I still have five minutes until I have to be on shift. I grab my phone and call Dr. Quintana.

The phone takes a moment to connect because the signal has to go through a series of relays floating in the ocean above the station before it can reach Quintana. The doctor's slim, boyish face appears on screen. "Bradford," he says with a smile. "How are you this morning?" He looks at his watch. "Isn't it about time for you and Cade to be on shift?" "I'm struggling down here, doctor. I need a change of pace, even a small one. Cade is driving me nuts,

"Can we just change the schedule? Allow me to exercise on my own? I'll even wake up earlier for that. Can't we just do that?" Quintana's brows furrow over brown-green eyes. "I thought we discussed this. The schedule is just as important as the work you two are doing down there. We need as much data on how you two interact as we can get. That's why the schedule is set up the way it is." "Well, doesn't the fact that I'm asking you to change the schedule tell you something?" Quintana waves my comment away.

Minor spats are to be expected. It's only natural. I know you can take it. You two got along so well during orientation. Yeah, but his behavior has changed since then, I say. Is he being hostile toward you? Do you fear for your safety? Nothing like that. It's just... Then I'm sure you two can figure it out. Remember, communication is paramount. I must be going now, Bradford. Quote anything else you wish to discuss in your evening check-in. Good luck.

and remember what I said about communication. He ends the call. I look at the time, realizing I'm going to be late again. Cursing, I head out of my cabin and toward the lab to do the day's work of reviewing footage from deep sea drones. When I step into the lab, I'm not surprised to find Cade already sitting at his workstation. He makes a show of looking at his watch. You're late, again.

"Shut the fuck up, you sanctimonious piece of shit." I think but don't say. "My shower isn't working." I say as I sit down. "I need you to fix it." Cade smiles at me. "What did you do to it this time?" "Nothing." I say, voice rising as the dam I've constructed inside springs a leak, letting some of my anger jet out. "Not a damn thing, but it's broken anyway. So how about you just fucking fix it and leave the snide comments to yourself?"

Still smiling, Cade says, "Calm down there, good buddy. Don't get your panties in a wad." It's the smile that does it. To me, that smile says, "I'm not afraid of you in the least." To me, it says, "Fuck you, good buddy. I'm here to make your life a living hell, and I take pleasure in it." Yeah, it's the smile that puts me over the edge, causing the dam to shatter, letting my anger rush out in a flood.

I lurch out of my seat and swing clumsily at Cade, hitting him on the right cheekbone. His bone seems to collapse under the blow. It's a strange sensation, like there's flimsy aluminum under his skin instead of hard bone. But this strange sensation doesn't make it to the surface of my awareness. Not now. I'm too busy shouting through clenched teeth as I hit Cade again. He falls out of his chair, face strangely deformed from the two blows.

I grab the computer screen from off his desk, yanking it, feeling the cords resist and then giving way as they pull from their sockets. I smash the edge of the screen into Cade's face, right over his eyes. His head folds around it, skin splitting. But there's no blood. Why is there no blood? I raise the monitor again, looking through the haze of my fury at the strange dent left in Cade's face. But it's still his face. And he's still smiling.

So I slam the edge of the screen down again and again, only stopping when I realize there's someone else in the room with me. Someone besides Cade. Which shouldn't be possible. Looking up, I'm confused to see Dr. Quintana standing there, looking down at me with a knowing smirk on his face.

Coming back to myself, I drop the computer screen and get up from Cayde. Looking down at his deformed but unbloodied face, my thoughts lurch, confusion tinging my anger, which is still flowing out of the broken dam. "It's okay," Quintana says. "You haven't hurt anyone." Backing up, I bump into my chair but don't sit down. My eyes dart from Cayde to Quintana. "He's extremely lifelike, isn't he?" Quintana says.

The fact that you lived with him for three months without any inkling that he was an android bodes well for Pearson Robotics. But that was just one facet of the study. "Study?" I say, realization nipping at the edges of my confusion. "What are you doing here? How did you get down here?" "There is no down here," Quintana says. "You're in a facility in Burbank. We orchestrated it so you would think you were in a deep-sea research station. But you never were.

"You said we needed to be unconscious for the pressure change," I say in a small voice. "We were on a boat. We were in a submersible." "Yes, you were. All necessary to make you believe. But after the drugs kicked in, we brought you back here. Are you beginning to see?" My teeth grind together as I ball my shaking hands into fists. Quintana studies me. "I thought you would be relieved to find that you didn't just assault another human being." I say nothing, staring at Quintana.

"You should be proud of yourself," he says. "Other subjects couldn't even last a month with Cade before losing their cool." "This was all a setup?" I say, but there are very different words going through my head. Smashing a robot isn't the same. "You agreed to a study. We just didn't give you the full details of the study. But don't worry, you'll still get the promised amount of money." Smashing a robot isn't the same, I think.

It doesn't have the same impact. It doesn't feel the same. I smile through gritted teeth and take a step toward Quintana. "You're right," I say. I am relieved, so relieved. I reach a hand out, offering to shake it. Quintana looks at my hand hesitantly, then takes it. I use it to yank him toward me, wrapping my other arm around his neck. Then I force him down to the floor, releasing my hand from his and punching him in the face several times.

This feels right. It feels like punching a man made of flesh and blood. I force the smaller man onto his back, pinning his arms with my knees. I reach out and grab the computer screen. Quintana screams as I raise the monitor over my head. I can hear rushing footsteps from elsewhere in the ersatz research station. I don't have much time. I smash the monitor into Quintana's face. This time there is blood. Lots of it.

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It's something deeper, more resonant, and it provokes a feeling in me, a sick feeling in my gut, and a cramping in the center of my head. I push back from my desk, where I've been studying the carbon content in the marine snow that reaches the bottom of the Java Trench. The sound continues, and my panic rises as I lean over, putting my head between my knees and wrenching my eyes shut.

down the hall, in the living module. I can hear Armand crying out, asking where the noise is coming from. I don't answer. I can't answer. My lungs feel as if they've turned to stone, frozen in place, preventing me from pulling oxygen into my body so my autonomic processes can deliver it to my vital organs via my blood. As my bulging eyes feel like they're going to pop, the sound fades out. Only that's not quite right.

I can't hear it anymore, which is some kind of relief, but I can still feel it, as if my body is somehow absorbing it. I have the sensation that the vibrations, if that's what they were, are echoing throughout my body, bouncing off the walls of my flesh until they disappear into the deepest, most essential parts of me. But now I can breathe, and my eyes are starting to feel normal again.

I fall out of my chair onto all fours and vomit what's left of today's breakfast onto the pale gray floor between my hands. Gasping with sudden relief, I sit back on my heels, absently wiping vomit off my hands and onto my trousers. I look up at the domed metal ceiling, taking huge gulping breaths, wondering what the hell just happened. "Remy?" Armand calls. "You okay?" I raise my shaking hands and give him an honest answer. "I don't know.

"At least you're talking," he says. "How about you, Yahir?" There's no answer. Maybe it's because Yahir is on the other side of the station in the gym, or maybe something has happened to him, something to do with that sound. "Yahir?" Armand says. "You good?" I get unsteadily to my feet and lurch to the door, moving down the cramped oval hall and turning into the living quarters.

Armand, who was sitting on the couch playing video games, is now bent over, gripping the arm of the couch as he tries to steady his shaking legs. He gives me a sickly smile as I come in. His normally rich brown face is like the muddy ocean floor after a heavy snowstorm of organic matter has fallen. - Well, that was weird. - Leave it to Armand to maintain a positive attitude when under pressure.

"Let's go check on Yajir," I say, moving over and allowing Armand to grab my shoulder. We're like a couple of drunks leaning on each other for support as we head out of the living quarters and down toward the gym. We get to the gym and open the door. "Oh man," I say, rushing inside to see Yajir lying cramped on the floor between the wall and the still running treadmill. He's unconscious and the left side of his face is on the treadmill.

The textured rubber tears into his cheek like sandpaper. I grab Yajir by the shoulders and lift him up. Blood drips onto one hand from the ravaged left side of his face. Armand slaps the treadmill off and grabs the safety cord that Yajir never uses. The one you're supposed to attach to yourself that will shut the treadmill off if you fall. "Dammit!" Armand says, yanking the safety mechanism out, even though the treadmill is already off. The belt quickly slowing. "Let's get him to the infirmary."

"How is he?" I ask, turning from the array of computer screens I've been staring at for the past hour. "We need to get him topside as soon as possible," Armand says. "I've done all I can do for him now, but he's going to need to see a professional. The treadmill took too much of the skin off. He must have passed out right as soon as the noise started." "I probably would have too if I'd been exercising. I nearly passed out and I was just sitting here." "Yeah," Armand says. "I know. Me too."

"Have you called up yet?" I ask. "Yeah, they're loading a submersible up now, but you know how it goes. They won't be able to get down here for seven or eight hours." "Seven hours from call to contact," I say, reciting the words that were hammered into our heads during training. "When you're dealing with pressures this great, a whole slew of precautions must be taken. And then there's the slow descent. You have to make sure the submersible is sound as the pressure continually increases."

We're both silent for a moment, thinking about what an ordeal it was to get us down here, how many hundreds of millions of dollars were spent, and about how sending a manned submersible down here will cost about a million more. "What about you?" Armand asks. "Find anything?" I turn in my chair back to the computer. Even though I cleaned it up, I get a whiff of my vomit under the string of cleaning chemicals.

"Maybe," I say, pulling up a still image taken from a camera feed on the south side of the station. I gesture at the screen and say, "See it?" Armand bends at the waist and squints. "All I see is dark ocean and some marine snow." "Yeah, that's the problem," I say, hitting a couple of buttons to zoom in on the dark ocean he's talking about. There's a slightly darker splotch in the middle of the screen, just beyond the reach of the station's lights. I point at it. "How about now?"

"Sure," he says. "A pocket of slightly warmer water, maybe. A cloud of sediment kicked up by some creature. Whatever it is, it's not conclusive. The image is from right before the noise started." I tell Armand. I zoom out and say, "Now watch this." I hit play. A deep-sea jellyfish floats from left to right on the screen. Two seconds pass, as denoted by the timestamp in the bottom right corner.

Then the sound starts, flowing strangely out of the small computer speakers. The jellyfish darts away, moving as though something's trying to kill it. A wave of marine sediment sweeps up like a desert sandstorm, coming from that lurking figure hiding in the dark. The wave of sediment flows toward the creature and then obscures it. I hit pause and look up at Armand. His face is pale again, but there is an unmistakable excitement there too. "That sound!"

"That's not what I heard at the time," he says. "I know," I say. "It's like the underwater speakers only caught part of it or something. It didn't catch the... vibrations," Armand says, finishing my sentence. "For lack of a better word, yeah. Wait, this is the South Side camera?" Armand asks. "Yeah," I say. "So this is the camera directly outside the gym?" It's not a question, but I nod anyway. We don't say anything.

but the implications are clear. Whatever it was seemed to hit Yair the hardest. Was it because he was closest to it or because he was exercising or maybe both? I'm not sure I want the answers to those questions. I look at a clock in the corner of a computer screen and see the time, seven hours can't pass fast enough. "Let's see it again," Armand says, gesturing at the screen.

As I move to replay it, a nut shriveling clang comes from elsewhere in the research station. I half expect the ceiling to implode toward us, frigid ocean water flowing in to provide the stuffing for our watery coffin, but it doesn't. Armand and I whip our heads toward the door. The clang comes again, followed by a savage bellow. Yahir is awake and he's screaming.

Armand and I race out of the room, Armand slightly ahead of me. We hustle down the narrow hallways, past the living quarters, past the gym, past Yahir's little office. The door to the infirmary is open, so it's not hard to see Yahir over Armand's shoulder as we approach. He's still dressed in his workout clothes, shorts, and a sweat-wicking t-shirt, but the left side of his face is still a mess of blood.

Even though he's turned away from us, I can see the tatters of flesh hanging there as he shifts, bringing the fire extinguisher back so he can slam it into the porthole window again. My first thought is to ask Armand why he didn't bandage Yair's face. But even before I can complete that thought, I see the ball of bloody bandages sitting on the single hospital bed in the infirmary.

Then, as another loud clang fills the station, my thoughts race on, wondering why Yahir is trying to break one of the quadruple reinforced windows with a fire extinguisher. - Yahir! - Armand yells as he nears the bloody faced man. - What are you doing? - Without missing a beat, Yahir spins around and smashes the butt of the fire extinguisher into Armand's face. Yelling, I charge at Yahir, jumping into Armand as he collapses, blood erupting from his pulverized nose.

Yahir sees me coming and whips the extinguisher up, but I manage to bat it clumsily away before crashing into him with my left shoulder to his chest. He stumbles back, hitting the wall next to the porthole, extinguisher still in hand. "It's us!" I say, looking into his crazed face. "Yahir, it's just us!" Something changes in his eyes, and they go from stone hard to jelly soft.

He still looks like some kind of comic book villain with the side of his face all messed up and bloody, but awareness has come back to him. "Oh God," he says. "Oh shit, what did I do? Give me the extinguisher," I say, reaching a hand out. Yagir gives it over. I take it and move back, stepping over a groaning Armand while setting the item in the corner, farthest from Yagir. Kneeling next to Armand, I survey the damage.

Yahir stands against the wall, hands to his mouth as he blubbers. "Your nose is broken," I say to Armand. His eyes pour tears, a reaction from getting hit in the nose. "No shit," Armand says with his now nasally voice. "Yahir, can you get some tissues?" I ask. "I'm sorry," Yahir says. "So sorry. Just get some tissues for the blood." I snap. "Okay," Yahir says.

He moves over to the infirmary cabinets and opens them up. I turn my attention back to Armand. "How are your teeth?" "He got me good," Armand says. "My front teeth are loose." "Well, don't mess with them," I say as Yahir steps into my peripheral vision.

I look up in time to see Yair's right hand flying toward my face, light from the overhead LEDs glinting off a metal tool in his hand. I throw myself backward instinctively, but I'm not fast enough. I feel the tool touch me directly above my right eye. By the time I land on my ass and crawl backwards toward the infirmary door, that eye is useless, obscured by curtains of blood flowing down from the wound.

I realize Yahir has a scalpel in his hand. Before I can do or say anything about it, he's turned his attention to Armand. Gripping the back of Armand's head with his left hand, Yahir stabs his face with the scalpel in his right hand. I watch through my left eye as Armand gets both hands up around Yahir's neck, but it does no good.

Yahir works his hand like a jackhammer, stabbing through eyelids and cheeks, the metal blade planking as it hits teeth. "Stop!" I scream, although I'm only half conscious of doing it. Yahir slides the scalpel up Arman's nostril, forcing it past the broken cartilage. I watch the length of the medical tool disappear into Arman's head. His hands fall away from Yahir's neck. He twitches, convulses, and goes still.

Yahir pulls the scalpel out, now covered with blood, and looks up at me. I scramble to my feet and run away. When I reach the communications room, I swing the door shut. There's no lock on this door. There wouldn't need to be, so the only thing I can do is grab a cord from a piece of non-vital equipment and wrap it around the door handle at a metal clasp next to the door.

Yahir reaches the door and tries to open it, but the cord holds, only allowing him to open it an inch or so. I turn to the communication equipment, my heart seeming to seize in my chest when I see the mess of it. The equipment has been smashed to bits, probably with a fire extinguisher. Grimacing and wiping blood out of my eye, I head back over to the door and grip the handle, pulling it flush and fighting Yahir as he continues trying to open it.

The only thing to do now is hope Y'hir doesn't get to me before the rescue submersible arrives. I'm sitting against the door, head leaning back as I stare up at the metal ceiling, thinking in circles. My wound has stopped bleeding, but it's still puffy, forcing my right eyelid halfway down.

It has been nearly seven hours since I locked myself in the room. The first two hours I spent in a battle with Yahir, keeping the door closed, tightening the cord when it loosened, trying to talk some sense into him. Sometime during hour three, after Yahir had given up on trying to get to me, I remembered something he'd said before this whole shitty mess started. It was during dinner one evening about a week ago when Yahir told us about a new species he was busy trying to catalog.

New species aren't all that uncommon down here in the depths, so it wasn't something I was particularly surprised to hear. But thinking back on it during hour three, I realized there was a connection to my current predicament. During one of his rover expeditions, Yahir had come across a strange phenomenon. He was busy studying a deep sea cucumber from a safe distance, watching the creature go about its business on the sea floor when something stirred up a wave of silt nearby.

This spooked the sea cucumber, which tried to swim away, but it wasn't fast enough. And the silt enveloped the little guy. What happened next, Yahir only saw through a haze of silt at the very edge of his rover's lights. The cucumber stopped its flight a few short moments after the wave of silt touched it. But it didn't just stop. It actually turned around and headed in the other direction, toward whatever had kicked up the silt.

Shifting the remote control rover, Yahir followed its progress, staying far enough away so he wouldn't interfere with whatever was happening. Suddenly, a dark figure lurched from the very edge of the rover's lights, moving lightning quick. All Yahir saw was a large head dart out with its teeth opening under four white eyes to clamp the cucumber inside its jaws. Then it was gone, leaving only the fleeting memory of the cucumber and the strange creature.

Yahir's hypothesis was that the mystery creature used something like sound waves to stun the cucumber. This, accompanied with the cloud of silt, served to confuse the cucumber's sense of direction, causing it to turn around and head right into the jaws of its predator. Now, I've had four hours to think about it, and I think that the mystery creature didn't just stun and confuse the sea cucumber. I think the creature employed some kind of mind control to get the cucumber to do what it wanted.

It sounds crazy. I've spent the last four hours trying to come up with some other explanation. I want to think that something snapped in Yahir's head when he fell on the treadmill, but that would be discounting what I felt during that strange sound wave. I swear, I felt something trying to get inside my head. But if that's the case, why didn't both Armand and I go nuts like Yahir did? Maybe because Yahir was closer, right there next to where the sound originated.

Or maybe because he was simply more susceptible. Maybe because he was exercising, he caught him off guard. Or when he fell, he knocked himself unconscious so he couldn't put up a defense to the effects of the sound wave like Armand and I did. Whatever the cause, it doesn't change the fact that my eyes go wide at the unmistakable sound of a submersible docking with the airlock.

Realizing I can't let the rescue crew inside with Yahir running around acting crazy, I grab a piece of shattered communication equipment. It's a shard of hard plastic as sharp as a dull knife. I then unwrap the cord from around the door handle. I haven't heard from Yahir in hours since he stopped trying to break into the room. He left without a word and a few times I called to him after that. I received no answer.

So as I open the door slowly, I hope that the effects of the sound wave have worn off. I peer out into the hallway. It's dark. Another muffled metallic clang comes to my ears. The rescue crew is getting ready to open the airlock. Palms sweaty and heart fluttering like a hummingbird's wings, I rush into the hall, determined to get to the airlock so I can warn the rescue crew.

Before I've made it five feet, that sickeningly familiar sound rushes over me like a wave of razor blades. I stumble under the crushing weight of it as it vibrates my lungs and makes my eyes feel like they're going to pop. It provokes a feeling in me, a sick feeling in my gut, and a cramping in the center of my head.

I'm vaguely aware of a dark figure rushing out of the nearby room. A fire extinguisher flies at my face. A bright light flashes in my head. There's a moment of brilliant pain before I feel my legs go out from under me. The world goes black. I lurch to my feet, thinking of nothing but getting to the airlock. I still have the shard of plastic in my hand. I don't know where Yahir is, and I don't care. All that matters is getting to the airlock.

I hear someone shout, "Hello?" I don't answer with my voice, only with my feet, my footsteps sending sound waves out ahead of me. As I turn the corner bringing the interior airlock doorway into view, I see two members of the rescue crew there, two men. They look frightened, but as they see me, they relax a little. Recognition flares deep in my head, but it doesn't make it to the surface. Nothing does. I race toward them,

"Dr. Winslow," one of them says, "are you okay? We lost communication." I jam the plastic shard into his throat and pull it out, blinking reflexively as blood splashes onto my face. The other man starts screaming in lunges for me, tackling me to the floor. But then Yahir is here beside me. He cracks the man in the back of the head with his fire extinguisher. The man falls off of me, and Yahir keeps at him, cracking his skull with another hit of the extinguisher.

Both men are still alive when we close the inner airlock door and flood the compartment with water. Before we can open the exterior door, we have to emergency jettison the submersible. It takes several minutes, but we do it. Then we open the exterior door. The waterproof lights inside the airlock illuminate the two dead bodies floating in the flooded chamber.

A dark head darts through the open exterior doorway, teeth chomping down on one man's leg and yanking his body outside into the dark, deep ocean. Y'hear and I watch on a screen, knowing that one of us will be next. After all, we have to feed the master. It's what we do now. Why else would we be down here if not for that?