Xombies: Apocalypse Blues (27 page)
Read Xombies: Apocalypse Blues Online
Authors: Walter Greatshell
Mr. Albemarle was the OOW—the officer of the watch—and he erected a clear canopy over the cockpit to permit a normal six-hour duty shift. After an hour or so he was called below to attend to some minor crisis, and I volunteered to stand watch. He didn’t like me, but he trusted me enough to leave me alone up there, keeping in radio contact from the control room. From time to time he or someone else would sneak up underneath, trying to catch me napping. They didn’t do this to be funny—falling asleep on watch was considered a heinous crime. That was why standing watch topside wasn’t considered a very desirable posting, because it was not just the boredom and the cold you had to contend with, it was also Navy guys threatening you with the whippings, hangings, and keelhaulings traditionally meted out to errant sentries.
They didn’t scare me; I wasn’t there to sleep. I was grateful for the chance to be alone. Never having been a tremendously sociable person, the daily strain of being in close quarters with so many people was taking a toll on me. Just after St. John’s, the boat had seemed incredibly roomy, but its limitations were finally starting to sink in again, and I was glad the end was in sight . . . if in fact it was. I was shaken by what Coombs had said. I didn’t want that responsibility, or even that key.
I
had become Cowper’s jailer. Every second I had that key, it was killing me.
I
had become Cowper’s jailer. Every second I had that key, it was killing me.
As the midmorning darkness wore on, I started thinking about my mother. The memories were intensely vivid, a trancelike dislocation that was common to everyone on the sub, weighed upon as we all were by the unfinished business of our lives. It was hardly surprising that our subconscious should come on so strong—what is a submarine but a giant sensory-deprivation tank?
I remembered singing in a church at Christmastime. It was the only time I ever went to church, except for a brief enrollment at Sunday school. This was a Southern California Lutheran church, airy as a basketball court, with honeyed sunlight beaming down on the lustrous blond wood and congregation. And above it all, an understated, minimalist cross.
My mother was beside me, gripping my hand. We were all holding hands and singing carols, but from my mother’s glazed look and sweaty palm I suspected an agenda.
She had been working part-time in the church office as a secretary, and I knew she liked the pastor. I’d asked her if he was married.
Oh, it’s not like that, honey,
she said.
We’re just friends. He’s a nice man, that’s all
. She had even arranged for me to have a private talk with him in his study, under the pretense that the two of them had discussed my bookish ways, and he was “fascinated.” But meeting the man was only awkward; I knew at once that Pastor Lund and I had both been duped—each of us kept waiting for the other to evince any sign of interest. In desperation I scanned his bookshelf for anything familiar. Seizing upon
Alive—The Story of the Andes Survivors
, I asked, “What do you think of the proposition that survival cannibalism is a form of Communion?” He became very uncomfortable and recommended I read C. S. Lewis.
Oh, it’s not like that, honey,
she said.
We’re just friends. He’s a nice man, that’s all
. She had even arranged for me to have a private talk with him in his study, under the pretense that the two of them had discussed my bookish ways, and he was “fascinated.” But meeting the man was only awkward; I knew at once that Pastor Lund and I had both been duped—each of us kept waiting for the other to evince any sign of interest. In desperation I scanned his bookshelf for anything familiar. Seizing upon
Alive—The Story of the Andes Survivors
, I asked, “What do you think of the proposition that survival cannibalism is a form of Communion?” He became very uncomfortable and recommended I read C. S. Lewis.
Now Mum had begun singing in German, singing “O Tan nenbaum” while everyone else was singing “Oh Christmas Tree,” and doing it in loud tones of righteous indignation. People craned their necks to see what was going on.
“Mom,”
I hissed. “What are you doing?”
I hissed. “What are you doing?”
She sang right over me. No one had any idea how to deal with it, paralyzed by the hard-to-define offense. When the song ended, a man in our pew leaned over and pleasantly asked her, “Was that German?”
She remained rigid as a wooden Indian.
It wasn’t over. When “Silent Night” began, she belted out the German version of that, too (“Stille Nacht”), while Pastor Lund dueled with her from the pulpit, directing his organist and choir to pour it on. Elderly ladies got up to leave, covering their ears.
Once again I had been brought along as a prop. I was boiling. When it was finally over (I believe the service was cut short), and Mum and I were outside in that opulent residential neighborhood heading back to our roach motel, I turned on her furiously. “This is it,” I stormed. “This is the last time I trust you.”
She put on her innocent face, twitching nervously. “What? Why?” she asked.
“Don’t give me that! How could you do that?”
“Because I love him! Can I help it if I love the man?”
“But why do you have to drag me into it?”
“Because you’re my child!”
“Oh please. So it’s my duty to let you humiliate me like this? Uh-uh, this is the last time. No more.”
She faltered a little in her haughtiness. “Lulu, have a heart. What do you mean, ‘no more’?”
“I mean that’s the last time I ever let myself be taken advantage of. I should have just got up and left, but I sat there and let you use me. Well, no more, no more.”
I was yanked back to the present by the appearance of a string of fairy lights in the distance. Their blue twinkle revealed higher elevations in the dark, creating the illusion of a floating island.
“Lights—I see lights,” I said. “They just came on to the east, running in a straight line. It looks like a runway or something—” Just as I said this, I could hear the whistle of approaching jet engines. “—omigod, a plane! A big jet is flying in from the south! It’s flying right over us! It looks like it’s coming in for a landing!”
“It is an
air
base, after all,” said Albemarle dryly in my ear. “We’ve been tracking it. Kranuski is gonna try to make a sighting.”
air
base, after all,” said Albemarle dryly in my ear. “We’ve been tracking it. Kranuski is gonna try to make a sighting.”
Behind me, the periscope rose up from its shaft.
“C-5A Galaxy,” Albemarle said, as I watched the plane set down. “That’s a big mother. It’s for cargo—nothing to worry about.”
The lights went out again. The magic island vanished.
When my shift was over, I was supposed to go directly to the galley and help make lunch. I did go down there, intending to do just that, but when I arrived on the third deck and didn’t see Mr. Monte, I loitered around for a while, feeling tense and fidgety, then found myself walking straight through the enlisted mess and the wardroom to the deserted CPO quarters. It was not a conscious decision so much as a deliberately
un
conscious one. With the blood pounding in my head, I strode at that orange warning sign and stabbed the key into the lock. It went in smoothly. I turned the knob and opened the door.
un
conscious one. With the blood pounding in my head, I strode at that orange warning sign and stabbed the key into the lock. It went in smoothly. I turned the knob and opened the door.
“Mr. Cowper,” I said. “Fred?”
The goat locker was empty.
CHAPTER
NINETEEN
NINETEEN
I
stood in the room for a few minutes, staring blankly around at the brown Naugahyde couches, the TV and VCR, the cof feemaker.
stood in the room for a few minutes, staring blankly around at the brown Naugahyde couches, the TV and VCR, the cof feemaker.
“I told him he couldn’t trust you,” said Kranuski from the corridor. “You just won me fifty bucks.”
I turned around, not even surprised. The burly Alton Webb was with him, holding a flashlight. “Why not a million?” I asked. “It’s all Monopoly money now. Where’s Cowper?”
Webb roughly grabbed me by the arm, saying, “Come on, we’ll take you to him.” When I broke his grip and tried to use some of the other techniques I’d learned in self-defense class, he caught me much harder, and grunted, “Keep it up, and I’ll break it.”
“Why are you doing this?” I cried in pain. I couldn’t believe they were laying hands on me.
“There’s been enough child’s play on this boat.”
Webb dragged me forward to a small round hatch and held me tight while Kranuski opened it up. I knew from my studies that this was the terminal end of the CCSM deck—beyond was hydraulic machinery, then the great sonar dome at the bow. It was cold and dark in there.
“I’ll be goddamned if I’m going to keep up this charade,” Kranuski said. “This vessel is not fit to be at sea, and never was. We dodged a bullet, but it’s high time we submitted to military authority instead of trying to train a bunch of jack-asses who couldn’t get a learner’s permit, much less master basic seamanship. Air Force, Navy—what the hell difference does it make at this point? We’re here, we made it, it’s over.”
“Good! I agree with you! So let me go!”
He paid no attention, shoving me through the hole. It opened into a crevasse full of mammoth pumps and the forward main ballast tanks. Above I could make out the access tunnel to the enclosed sonar sphere. I was standing on a grate above a twenty-foot drop to the bilge, and down there, hog-tied and handcuffed to a pipe in the shadows, was Cowper.
“Oh my
God
,” I said, tears springing to my eyes. “Mr. Cowper!” As Kranuski came in behind me, I yelled, “What are you
doing
to him?”
God
,” I said, tears springing to my eyes. “Mr. Cowper!” As Kranuski came in behind me, I yelled, “What are you
doing
to him?”
The old man could see me clearly enough up on my lit perch, but he was gagged and couldn’t speak. There was no way to tell if he was hurt. Kranuski left Webb guarding the door and stood next to me, gazing down at Cowper with a nasty look of disdain. I couldn’t believe I had ever found him handsome.
“This is what
happens
when order breaks down,” he said. “I’m a Navy officer—this doesn’t come easy to me. But I know that once order breaks down, it’s sometimes necessary to use harsh measures to restore it. Read Clausewitz. I haven’t been able to make the commander understand that, and the result has been this ridiculous stalemate.”
happens
when order breaks down,” he said. “I’m a Navy officer—this doesn’t come easy to me. But I know that once order breaks down, it’s sometimes necessary to use harsh measures to restore it. Read Clausewitz. I haven’t been able to make the commander understand that, and the result has been this ridiculous stalemate.”
Without warning, he slapped me so hard I collapsed on the grating and would have bounced over the edge if he hadn’t snatched me back. I was a rag doll, my mind spinning with hurt and confusion. The skin of my cheek felt flayed.
“I don’t like this any more than you do,” Kranuski said, breathing hard. Was he talking to me or Cowper? “But I’m not just going to curl up and die. For what? Chivalry? I’m thirty-four. I’m a young man, goddammit! Do you have any idea what it means for me to know this is the last piece of ass I may ever see? Try to look at it from my point of view. All the rules have changed, Cowper—everything’s strictly cash-and-carry from here on out. I’m only human. You want to protect this girl, you have to make it worth my while. A trade. No more bullshit—I know you’ve got it stashed away somewhere. Even you wouldn’t be stupid enough to let something like that be thrown overboard, not when you had to cut through the safe to get it. Just nod, and we’ll call it quits.”
Cowper’s face was turned away. He didn’t nod.
Kranuski tore at my clothes, first yanking down the blue coveralls, then the thermal wet-suit pants I was wearing underneath, and finally my T-shirt. It was so cold in there I could see my breath. As he stripped me to gooseflesh, he said, “You see this? Look at her! Look what she has to go through because of your stupid power trip. You think you’re holding something over our heads? You’re crazy! Look.” He ran his free hand down my white torso. “What is all this leverage buying you? Is it worth it?”
“Stop,” I said.
“She says to stop,” Kranuski yelled down. To me, he said, “It’s his own stubbornness, honeybun. Tell
him
to stop.” He couldn’t look me in the eye.
him
to stop.” He couldn’t look me in the eye.
“What is it you want?”
“Ask
him
.”
him
.”
He bent me forward over a cold steel bar and smacked my behind. “This is your last chance,” he said, voice quaking. “Tell me, and it ends now.” I heard him open his zipper. All I could see, bent double, was my pink knees and the clothes around my ankles.
I grimaced in preparation for what was to come, unable to imagine whatever pain it might bring . . . to both me and the helpless old man below. What in the world did they think Cowper had done? Kranuski was taking a long time, really milking the suspense for all it was worth, and somehow this seemed the ultimate cruelty.
“If you’re going to do it, just do it,” I said.
The XO wavered another few seconds, then let out his breath, and snarled, “God
damn
it!” He zipped his pants and clambered away through the hatch. It became very quiet. When nothing happened for a moment I hurriedly pulled up my clothes and looked out after them, but Kranuski and Webb were nowhere to be seen.
damn
it!” He zipped his pants and clambered away through the hatch. It became very quiet. When nothing happened for a moment I hurriedly pulled up my clothes and looked out after them, but Kranuski and Webb were nowhere to be seen.
Like a shot I was down by Cowper, peeling dark green duct tape off his mouth and trying to lift him out of the freezing bilgewater. “Are you okay?” I cried.
His skin was colder than mine, and he looked half-dead, but he was laughing—a dry husk of a laugh. “Sons a bitches couldn’t find their asses with two hands,” he mumbled. “Too afraid a getting their feet wet . . .” His eyes lit with a dull flame of recognition. “Lulu, don’t show ’em. Use it . . . use it to save yourself . . .” His voice trailed off.
They had done an incredible job tying him up—I couldn’t undo a single knot.
Well duh,
I thought frantically.
Sailors
. And even if I did get the nylon cords off, there were still the handcuffs to contend with.
Well duh,
I thought frantically.
Sailors
. And even if I did get the nylon cords off, there were still the handcuffs to contend with.
“Mr. Cowper,” I said, “I have to go get help. Just hang on a little longer, and I’ll be right back!” I pressed his icy, limp hand and started up. My mind was skittering like a pinball thinking of how to free him. The galley seemed like the best bet: all those heavy-duty kitchen tools and Mr. Monte to lend a hand, plus it was closer than—
The lights went out. A velvet cushion of blackness pressed to my face, and I groped in limbo for something to cling to. Fortunately, I had just cleared the hatch to the goat locker. “Mr. Cowper!” I called down behind me. “The lights just went out up here, but I’m all right. I’m still on my way!” His reply was unintelligible.
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