Steel Sarcophagus

Maiden voyage of the SSN Lazarus

The Submariner pushed past the hatchway, Kitchen knife white-knuckled, close to his chest. Throwing the hatch as hard as he could into the closed position. The screams from all the men trapped in the galley were deafening in such a confined space. As he pushed the hatch closed an arm forced its way through near the bottom, begging to be let out. They weren't trying to escape the water, at this depth, we would all be red paste for the bottom feeders by now. No, they were trying to escape each other. The rabid-eyed crew now set upon one another. The submariner forced the end of the kitchen knife into the tender bicep of the begging crewman. Each slash got deeper as the begging only increased in volume and blood started to pour down the crevices of the doorway and onto the floor. The knife broke against the hard metal, making a sharp clang as it ripped from the handle and bounced across the floor. The Submariners' neurons flashed, “Survive”. At least that's what he told himself. No one was in their right mind. Was he? He grits his teeth and lifts his boot high, with a swift slam on the nearly exposed bone of the sailor's arm, a snap that overcame even the screaming from the poor bastard—breaking against the metal and the Submariner’s boot. Just as it did the door slammed shut and he spun the hatch closed. The screams were muffled now. It wasn't replaced by quiet though. It was replaced by the groaning, creaking metal surrounding him.

The red emergency lights filled the room where the Submariner sat. Back to the hatch, dooming so many men and women to tear each other apart. The nearly full arm sat just inches away from him. Twitching intermittently. Through the flood of survival that soaked his grey matter, he still saw flashes, questions. “What could cause so many to turn on one another?” Or the far worse thought That nearly left him reeling. “Was I already as lost as them?” He wanted to believe he wasn't like them, grabbing at whatever they could to jam into their fellow crewmen. Soaking in the red like some deranged cultist. The other things they did to one another, He didn't want to linger on them. That was the nature of sanity, how could he know he was holding on, or merely daydreaming through it all?

He knew he couldn't stay slumped over focusing on thoughts of his sanity. He grabbed the handle of the ten-inch chef’s knife that saved him, the knife was useless, he didn’t want to run into more crewmen without something to fight them off though he had little choice. If he could get to his SEIE suit he could use the diver lock out. The suit was the first of its kind and would get him to the surface.

He stood and swayed as he moved through the cramped crimson halls of the submarine. He could hear the sonar pinging constantly from the control room above him, he would have to go through it to get to the suit lockers. He moved as quietly as he could down the stairs into the control room, not knowing who would have been on duty. As his head passed the metal partition that separated them the deep red light reflected off the pooling blood of over five men. All of them slumped in their chairs. Blood was smeared across the screens and controls. The only screen still up and running was the sonar imaging. It was pinging a “close” warning. The submariner couldn’t decipher what he was looking at, looked like a black hole in an expanse of green pixels. Like even the sonar didn’t understand it, putting up what should be there. The metal creaked again as a sudden tug hit the submarine, feeling like it was pulled several feet horizontally, nearly knocking the submariner onto his hands and knees. A deafening sound resonated through the sub, like the gargantuan yawning of some colossal metal door rolling over the sub like approaching thunder. The submariner put his hands to his ears. It was the same noise he heard in the galley before the others started to attack. The Submariner bent over at the waist and vomited across the blood-stained floor. It was like instant vertigo as he struggled to regain some form of center. It was like his mind was revolting. It wanted to be as far away from this sub as it could, and it would rip itself out of his skull to do it. Despite the throbbing pain, the Submariner wanted just as much to be out of this place.

He stumbled past his fellow crewmen towards the next set of stairs up to the suits. The infinite crushing black would be better than waiting to die locked in the Lazarus. It only felt like a few steps compared to the walk from the kitchen to the galley hatch. He Moved through the hallway of crew bunks. He could hear mumbling coming from one of the small alcoves that the crewmen had to call home for months at a time. He didn’t want to call out. Anyone that held onto their sense was already on the floor. The submariner moved down the cramped hallway as slowly as he could. He could see blood smeared across the floor and walls, the small amount compared to the pooling blood below almost blended into the walls with the pulsing crimson light. As he got closer to the alcove he could he started to put together the mumbling.

“Why won’t you help me?”

“Please.”

“I just want help.”

“Surrounded by teeth, please help me.”

The Submariner wanted to pull back the curtain door that separated the hallway from the “room,” but he knew this crewman wasn’t right. Everything in him wanted to help. Or was it the drive he thought it was? Was it a short circuit in his neurons that wanted out so badly that it would rather get him killed? His head throbbed at the idea of something so ridiculous.

“Please, keep me away from their teeth.” a hard squelch punctuated the words. The Submariner hadn’t moved, like a kid playing hide and seek his fear-soaked brain locked him in place. As he gained what little control he could of himself he dragged his feet across the ground squeaking loudly. Silence fell over the Submariner, no mumbling, no horrid squelching. Just his heartbeat trying to force its way out of his ears. He took another step, instead of a squeak it was meant with the rabid eyes of the crewman pushing his way out through the curtain and onto the Submariner. Pushed to the ground the crewman pushed a knife into the submariner's left flank. He felt the hot pain radiate outward and immediately be overcome by a flash of cold sweat. He pushed and swung at the crewman, hitting him across the face repeatedly as he felt the cold steel intermingle with his insides. The submariner put his hand firmly around the crewman's neck, pushing hard upwards, and his other stopped the knife from going any deeper. Both their hands slick from sweat and half-dry blood. The Submariner’s eyes were focused on stopping the knife, but somewhere in the flurry, their eyes met. He expected to see the eyes of an angry man, or a predator looking at prey. It was fear, only fear in the crewman’s eyes.

“Please! Why won't you help me!?” the crewmen screamed. The Submariner got purchase on one of the fingers of the crewmen that was wrapped around the end of his folding knife, in one violent motion he pulled it up hard, letting the knife slip slightly deeper. They could both hear the curdling crunch of the finger breaking at the knuckle. Even in the Crewmen's state, he recoiled back off of The Submariner.

“I don’t want their teeth.” The crewmen spoke through a mouth full of his limp finger as he chewed through his gristle and bone. Pulling it from its nest. The submariner was on his feet, back against the hallway wall. Though he had the advantage, he retained the knife.

Before the Submariner could attempt to plea, to let him pass before anything got worse. The Crewmen spat out his finger and started to scream again.

“Why won’t you help me? Get me away from their teeth.” The crewmen fell forward as a man too out of his mind to realize that his body was exhausted. The Submariner was fighting the same exhaustion and clutching his stomach that was weeping sanguine syrup through his fingers and over his hand. The Crewmen grabbed and prodded at the Submariner attempting to do anything to kill him. The Submariner had the knife to his ribs. He moved it up slightly to just under the Crewman's armpit and pushed the knife slowly through the skin, relieving any kind of resistance with an atrocious “pop” of overcome flesh. The Crewmen struggled against the sudden shock. Babbling about teeth and wanting help, until he fell back, either losing consciousness or his life. Either way, his life would leave him if it hadn’t already. The eyes of the Crewmen lay open and wide. Looking as if he was still begging for help.

The Submariner collapsed next to his lifeless adversary. His vision was doubling and his extremities were shaking violently. Pulling off his apron he wrapped it around his abdomen as tight as he could. The pressure made it feel as though his organs would collapse. He wanted to live, right? He didn't want to die here. He wanted to sleep. Close his eyes, maybe then calm could wash over him with the freezing water pushing at this steel sarcophagus. No, he still had to try.

Submariner pushed past the bunks and into the “Escape Room” It held suit frames and linings for every crewman that was on this skeleton crew. He struggled hard to get the lining and the frame of it on by himself. Trying desperately to stem the bleeding. He knew the lining was tight, form-fitting. It would have to work until he reached the surface and it would be much more effective than the blood-soaked apron. He let the apron loose and he felt the blood And something more slip free from the wound. He gripped at the pulsing piece of meat and held it tight as he slipped the suit on. As he zipped it he felt the escaping bits of himself get pushed back in.

He dragged himself into the airlock. Pulling closed the hatch. Latching his helmet into place. He pulled the switch that let the ice-cold water of the depth rush in. He took an instinctual deep breath as the water passed his head. The top hatch opened slowly on its own, and as it did the Submariner could feel his feet leave the surface of the airlock. It wasn’t his buoyancy, it was the Lazurus sinking deeper. It drifted further and farther away from him as he drifted upwards at a snail’s pace. The flickering lights of the Lazarus are the only points of reference in the black. The lights of the Lazurus were overwhelmed by a large pulse of teal-green light, casting a shadow past the sinking submarine. And across the floor of the ocean. He could see a large opening in the ground where the light originated. It was like all the bioluminescent creatures that lived down in the unforgiving depths. Just far brighter than any of them enough to turn the pit of night into day. Whatever sat within the hole dwarfed the submarine. The light died down, pulling the darkness down like it was breathing In the darkness and exhaling light. It pulsed again. The Submariner could see forms floating around the hole, silhouettes of what he couldn't make out. But nearly as large as the submarine itself. They were upright in the water like sleeping Sperm whales. He could see the fading silhouettes of many more surrounding the massive hole as if in a very specific pattern as the darkness dropped once again. The submariner could feel the tears in his eyes welling and cascading down his cheeks. He looked upon a mockery of god. A mockery of life. It pulsed again, the form became clearer, nearly humanoid in its arms and torso, a long bouquet of writhing tentacles attached near where a belly button might be. Its eyes, the Submariner only stared into its massive eyes. As it yawned the same horrid yawn that wreaked chaos inside the Lazarus. The darkness fell again. The submariner had the knife still, it was gripped in his hand, and he never let go of it as he took that poor crewman's life. Like his mind knew what he would come go face. What he would witness within this hell. He knew he wasn't going to make it, he was too far gone.

He lifted it just under where the helmet meets the softer lining at his neck. It pulsed light again. A hand that was reaching its clutches of nearly rigid tendrils toward the still-sinking submarine. The Deadman pushed the knife into his neck. There was less pain than he might have thought, the ice-cold ocean numbed the wound as the blood poured forth into the illuminated ocean around him like distilled life vapor. It swirled and pulled downward with the breathing current of the leviathan below. His vision started to fade, his eyes locked with the atrocities. Fear was leaving Him with what remained of his life. Replaced by calm.

It breathed in the light again, pulling the shroud of darkness over his frigid tomb and he left with the light.