02 Oct Aqua Aeterna

The submarine mess hall was total chaos. It rang with clanging trays, raised voices and general hubbub. Even so, Nathan’s head snapped up when the first rivet pinged free. The sharp fracturing of metal was followed immediately by a second report as the massive pressure of the ocean flung the failed piece of metal against the far wall.

Water sprayed, a compact but concerning fan. No one else seemed to have noticed. They all remained intent on their food and conversations, unaware of the slow bend developing in the steel plate above them.

Another rivet sprang loose. The one below it was already under visible strain. When it went, the entire panel would come off all at once.

Nathan shouted, “The sub’s coming apart!” No one heard him over the din.

He gesticulated wildly. No one even glanced in his direction.

Nathan was as invisible to the rest of the mess hall as the encroaching water, which was now sheeting down the wall.

Frantic, Nathan grabbed the sailor next to him. The man looked up in surprise.

“What’s up?”

Before Nathan could answer, the rest of the plate gave way. The rivets popped off in split-second succession, their rapid rattle subsumed in the triumphant roar of the invading ocean.

The wall of water hit Nathan like a firehose, sweeping him off of his feet and smashing him against the bulkhead behind him. He opened his mouth to scream, but the water swarmed into his mouth and stole his voice.

The cold paralyzed him. The salt burned in his eyes, nose and mouth. The ocean was everywhere.

Even as it filled the room, even as its pressure crushed the life from Nathan’s body, his crewmates carried on as if nothing was happening.

As the room grew dark, the man Nathan had grabbed addressed him.

“Stop fighting, man. It’s so much easier once you just let go.”

With one final Herculean effort, Nathan forced a yell from his frozen lips. The sound forced the water away, and suddenly he was wrapped in blankets instead, thrashing to get free of his narrow bunk.

“Shut UP,” came a tired voice from above him. “I swear I actually will drown you just to get a full night’s sleep.”

Drowsy agreement echoed from various racks around the room. Nathan mopped the sweat from his body with his damp sheets and tried to slow his racing heart.

“Can’t believe they’d let you on a submarine with nightmares like this,” grumbled his bunkmate. The metal squeaked as he rolled over, resuming his interrupted slumber.

Honestly, Nathan agreed with the complaints. If he’d known this would be how he reacted, he never would have signed up. The dreams were new, though. He’d always loved the ocean growing up. He’d never had an issue with tight spaces.

Even the first month of the voyage had been no problem. The dreams had just started seemingly at random one night. They always began in an innocuous manner, mimicking some portion of day-to-day life on the vessel. And they always ended with his agonizing death in the uncompromising embrace of the ocean.

He should probably talk to the sub’s doctor, he knew. The problem was that people sealed up together for months on end got antsy when they heard that someone else was having mental issues. Theoretically the conversation with the doc would be private, but gossip had a way of getting out. Better to let everyone think it was seasickness, or something else innocuous.

He didn’t need the doctor. He could handle this. He just needed more sleep.

Nathan attempted to pull up his blankets, but they were tangled around his legs. He shifted slightly, trying to get loose from his self-imposed cocoon. As the blankets pulled free, he felt something cold and wet flop against his leg.

Confused and alarmed, Nathan reached into the blankets. His hand wrapped around something scaly and damp. He pulled it free to reveal a fish struggling weakly in his grip. It whipped its tail ineffectually against his hand. Its bulging eyes stared at him, as lost and out of place as he felt.

Even as he stared at the fish in his hand, Nathan felt another brush up against his body beneath the sheets. It was joined by two more, then three, and then the entire bed was alive with the thrashing of the stranded fish. Their fins scraped at his skin. Their scales caught on his hair. He screamed and threw the blankets away, swiping the fish from his bed in huge sweeping waves.

Suddenly they were gone. He was alone in his bed again, panting and cold. His bunkmate stood next to the rack with a bucket in his hand.

“I told you to shut up,” he growled. “I’m trying to sleep!”

He seized Nathan’s head and dragged him forward, forcing him face down into the bucket. Cold seawater surged up Nathan’s nose as he fought for air. He grabbed at his bunkmate’s arms for purchase, but the man’s skin was as slippery as the scales of the fish had been. There was no air. There was no escape. The ocean had him.

Nathan stared blankly at the mop in his hand. How long had he been mopping up the bathroom? He couldn’t remember starting. The floor was wet, and the bucket was half-empty. He must be almost done.

The bucket reminded him of something. He willed the memory to surface, but it drifted out of reach, another shadow in the depths. Sighing, he plunged the mop into the murky waters and slapped it against the floor.

It was only a day until they docked. Shore leave was coming up. He could get rest on shore. He could get away from the ever-present reek of the ocean. The smell shouldn’t be able to get inside, not in their hermetically sealed environment, but it did. Everything stank of salt and dead fish.

The doors to the bathroom stalls were all closed.

“I must have opened those,” Nathan muttered. “I wouldn’t have mopped around them. I have to have done them already.”

The mop bucket was full to the brim, though. Hadn’t it just been half-empty? Maybe he had just started after all. He couldn’t remember.

Something moved in one of the stalls. It made a sound like a fish flopping onto the deck of a boat. The stench of the ocean intensified.

Nathan jammed the mop into the bucket, slopping salt water all over the floor. He made a beeline for the door and fled the room. Nothing the Navy could do to punish him would make him look in those stalls. What were they going to do, give him scutwork? He was already cleaning the bathrooms.

A thought occurred to Nathan as he hurried down the hallway. They could cancel his shore leave.

Reluctantly, he crept back. He could at least retrieve the bucket. They would never know if the floor had been thoroughly cleaned. It wasn’t like anyone was going to check.

He opened the door. The bathroom was gone. In its place was the empty, endless ocean. The bodies of sailors drifted randomly about. Their faces were corpse white. Their hands and feet were pruned from long exposure to the water.

Nathan closed the door. The outside said HEAD. It should have led to the toilets.

He did not open it again.

“Squires!”

Something was gripping his shoulder. Panicked, Nathan lashed out.

“Stop fighting, man! If you slept half this well in your bunk you wouldn’t be falling asleep at chow.”

Nathan was in the mess hall. A sailor was shaking him awake, his expression halfway between amusement and concern.

His words sounded familiar for some reason. Nathan grabbed for it, but the idea slipped away like water being taken back by the tide.

It was his bunkmate, Nathan thought. He didn’t know the man’s name. Why didn’t he? They’d been on the sub together for months. The man slept above him. He had to know his name.

It was gone, slippery as an eel. Nathan wanted to ask. He thought it might help anchor him. He was afraid to admit that he didn’t know.

“You gonna eat your calamari?” the man asked.

Nathan looked down at his metal tray. Tentacles were piled on the plate like thick spaghetti. They were fresh and gleaming. The wounds at the ends glistened like mouths.

One of the tentacles twitched.

Nathan shook his head and pushed the tray slightly farther away.

“Suit yourself.” The sailor pulled Nathan’s tray over and began to suck down the thick, rubbery arms. They waved frantically as he drew them into his mouth, their suction cups popping lightly as they sought purchase against his cheeks.

“You holding out for a burger landside?” The man’s voice was almost unintelligible around his determined chewing.

Land. Nathan grabbed onto the idea as a lifeline. They were almost to shore. He would get off of the sub and everything would be fine. And when it was time to get back on—well,  he would sort that out when he had to. Maybe it would be fine by then.

They couldn’t force him. Sure, they could kick him out, even put him in jail, but at least he’d be on land. He’d be away from the dreams and the salt and the fish. He’d be free.

The chewing sounds continued. They were coming from all around Nathan now. Everywhere he looked, sailors had severed squid arms heaped in front of them. They were all shoveling them into their mouths like there was no tomorrow.

Disgusted, Nathan left the mess hall. The solid metal door sealed the sound away behind him.

They were almost to land. Just a few more hours. He could hold out that long.

Nathan paced the corridors, his eyes constantly flicking to his watch. The numbers barely seemed to change. Something was going to go wrong, he knew. A hull breach. A storm. A mutiny. He didn’t know what. He only knew that somehow, he would be prevented from reaching land. And so he determinedly stalked the halls, looking for anything that might be off.

Every small noise from the sub, every creak, click and groan, had him searching the walls for imperfections. His paranoia grew with every group of sailors whose conversation fell silent as he drew close. They were all staring at him, and why not? He knew he looked crazed.

But was that the only reason? Why did they all stop talking and look at him with such suspicion? What were they hiding?

Two hours to go. He knew he should see the doctor. Surely the man could give him something to calm him down for such a short amount of time. He wouldn’t ask any probing questions, not for a one-time dispensation like this. He wouldn’t spread rumors.

The door to the doctor’s room was ajar. From inside, Nathan heard a slurping, gnawing sound. It was the sound he’d heard leaving the mess hall, the sound of hundreds of mouths gnashing their way through resistant flesh.

The doctor’s office was only designed to hold a few men at a time. Perhaps a dozen could have crowded in if they’d tried. Nathan surely would have been able to see some of them through the crack in the door, though. Instead, all he saw was an empty office, with strange shadows undulating on the wall.

He could not tell what cast them. He was afraid to find out.

Nathan returned to the barracks to pack his duffel bag for shore leave. All around him, fellow sailors chattered, discussing plans, bragging about upcoming exploits. It was normal, simple. For just a moment, Nathan let himself relax.

When he reached in to gather his clothes, he found that they were sopping wet. Angry, he looked around to find who had pranked him, but his words of accusation died on his lips.

Water ran from the belongings of every sailor. They did not seem to notice as they packed the drowned articles into their bags. Seawater spilled everywhere, soaking the bags, covering the floor in a tidal slick. It spattered up from their socks and bare feet as they walked, yet they saw and felt nothing.

Nathan crammed himself into his narrow bunk, tucked his feet up off of the floor, and wrung out his clothes as best as he could. He lay on his cot, staring at the metal ceiling only inches from his face, and prayed for landfall.

When the call came at last, Nathan thought for a moment he had imagined it. All through the room, however, sailors were shouldering bags and shoving for the exits.

The water on the floor was gone. The bags were dry. Tentatively, Nathan swung his feet down and touched nothing but cool metal.

He joined the mass of sailors as they moved toward the top deck, certain that every shoulder he bumped was going to be cold and clammy. None were, though, and Nathan slowly allowed their enthusiasm to wash over him and carry him along.

They were singing a song he didn’t recognize, some old nautical tune to which everyone else knew the words. Nathan mouthed along, trying to pick up at least enough of the chorus to join in:

For I’m off to land for a spell, a spell!
Though the land cannot hold me
For though I love the ground so well
I’ll never leave the sea.

The words sent a chill down Nathan’s spine. He suddenly felt trapped by the crowd, a fish caught in a net. Before he could begin fighting his way through the crush of bodies, however, the doors were opened.

The crowd surged forward with a roar. Nathan was dragged along with them. He knew it was a trick, a trap, but his crewmates could not hear him over their own enthusiasm as they poured out into the light.

And yet somehow it wasn’t. He was blinking in the sunlight, his feet planted on ground that did not sway or creak or groan. There were no walls anywhere near him, no doorways to duck through. Best of all, the ocean was a mere lapping presence behind him, and as he strode forward into town he could feel it being left behind.

It wanted him, Nathan knew. It was angry that he was leaving, furious that he had escaped. Nathan exulted in its impotent rage.

He found a bar with outside seating where he could see the sky. He ordered a burger and fries with a salad made with fresh vegetables, grown in the dirt. Nothing in his meal had ever seen the sea. It was the best food Nathan had ever tasted.

Many of the local hotels offered seaside views. Nathan headed farther into town, away from those. He found a place without a pool and booked a room that overlooked the main road. When he opened his window, he could hear the sounds of traffic. No matter how he strained, he could not hear the sea.

He fell asleep on his bed with a huge smile on his face.

Nathan found himself in the middle of a somber, seated crowd. He tensed, ready for whatever sea-based nightmare his mind might have conjured up, but relaxed when he realized he was still on land. The people around him wore suits and dress uniforms. They sat in uncomfortable folding chairs whose legs sank into the grassy field unevenly. Their attention was on a stage at the front, where an admiral stood behind a lectern and read out a long list of names.

“Porter Robinson. John Rocco. Abram Rubens.”

The names sounded familiar. Nathan could not place them. He looked around for context clues.

The stage was set with several American flags. A large poster of a submarine leaned on a wire easel on one side of the stage. The wind tugged at it, but it had been pinned in place.

Two more somber people sat flanking the admiral. Their uniforms identified them as Navy captains. Their role appeared to be simply to add gravitas to the situation. They said nothing and watched the crowd.

“William Severn. Michael Shaeffer. Cory Shanks.”

The names circled like sharks just below Nathan’s conscious memory. The setting suggested that there had been a naval disaster, and that these must be the names of lost sailors. Had he met them? Did he know them?”

“Chen Soon. Edwin Spader.”

Memory rose up from the dark. Ed was the man he had grabbed in his dream of drowning, and the same one who had woken him later in the actual mess hall. He was the one who had tried to drown him in a bucket in another dream. That was the name he had forgotten, the name of his bunkmate. Edwin. How had he forgotten it?

And why was his name on the list of the lost?

“Nathaniel Squires.”

Fear froze Nathan in place as he heard his own name read aloud. It was a mistake, an error. He was not lost at sea. He was here in the field, listening to the tolling of the names.

He tried to stand up, but his body would not obey him. He could only roll his eyes in terror, but what he saw made it worse. The people in the crowd lolled gently in their seats, swaying as if pushed by invisible currents. Their skin was fishbelly white. Their drifting hands were swollen and wrinkled from long exposure to the water.

Nathan felt himself drifting along with them. Water rose up from the field, washing away their chairs, carrying off the stage. The admiral went with it, still calling out the names of the lost from his impromptu raft.

As the water rose and his voice faded away, the corpses around Nathan began to sing, a slow, funereal song. The words were different from when they had sung it before on the boat, but Nathan found that he knew them this time.

I went off to sea for a spell, a spell
And the sea, she welcomed me
I’m gone from the land I loved so well
But I’ll never leave the sea.

The waters deepened and darkened, cutting off all light, pressing in from all sides. Although he could no longer see them, Nathan could still feel the bodies of his crewmates all around.

Stop fighting, he imagined Ed saying to him. It’s so much easier once you let go.

With a final last gasp for the memory of air, Nathan surrendered himself to the sea.