But how he could know that with the door zipped shut was beyond George. Maybe he just felt it because George was feeling it, too, now: a gradual, almost lazy pressure building in the sea behind the raft. George was certain he could feel it coming right through the rubberized deckplates… a weight, an expectancy, a surging motion like air forced before a train. Right before impact.
There was no way to stay calm. Even Gosling didn’t look so good. He was clown-white under his tan, his eyes jittering in their sockets like roulette balls. He was gripping the plank for dear life.
There.
George felt it and so did Gosling. Something or many somethings had just moved beneath them with such speed and power its aftershock actually lifted the raft up a few inches. The sea exploded with activity.
“They’re under us,” Gosling said.
And they were.
Dozens and dozens of those luminous fish or animals or whatever they were. They swam close to the surface and now they were bumping against the raft, one after the other. The funny thing was that their light – sort of a pale, thrumming green – filled the interior of the raft, actually lit the bottom like an x-ray so that you could see the outlines of the air chambers, every seam and stitch.
Yes, it was amazing. Truly amazing.
But neither George or Gosling had the time to truly appreciate it, for being in the raft was like being on a roller coaster. Thump, thump, thump in rapid succession. The sea boiled and the raft careened and George clenched his teeth down hard, waiting for those chambers to start popping and for them to start sinking.
But that it didn’t happen.
The raft was engineered to handle rough seas and no amount of jolting and jarring was going to pop it. That’s why it was designed with a series of air chambers, rather than a single one.
Gosling had told him this and more than once, but George couldn’t remember any of that. All he was seeing was that weird glow and feeling the raft beneath him in constant motion, spilling him this way and that, into Gosling and then back to the deck.
Then the bumping stopped and the glow went out as if somebody had switched off a lamp.
After a moment or two, Gosling went to the door and unzipped it. Nothing but the fog and the sea again, moving as one when they moved at all.
“Gone,” he said. “And we’re still here.”
“Well, I’m hungry,” Saks said, after a long period of silence. “What do you guys say we cut up Fabrini and have a snack?”
This elicited a low, dry laugh from Menhaus. Cook said nothing. Crycek just stared. Fabrini clenched and unclenched his fists.
“I mean, if this goes on for a long time,” Saks went on, “we’re going to have to eat someone. Fabrini’s my choice. Let’s face it, he’s the most expendable.”
“No, you’re wrong, Saks,” Fabrini said. “I’m too thin. What you want is some lardass. Like you for instance. A big, fat blowhard. A blubbery hothead that’ll cook in his own juices.”
Saks cackled. “You hear that, Menhaus? He wants my juices. All he ever thinks of is my dick.”
Cook tuned them out. He was watching the fog, watching Crycek, and mostly just watching Saks. Crycek’s diatribe earlier of some devil out there, waiting, was not lost on him. It seemed, that he could feel this other when he closed his eyes. Some presence nipping at the back of his mind. And maybe that was sheer imagination and maybe not, but there was a much more clear and present danger and that was Saks.
“Right now, food don’t sound so good,” Menhaus grumbled. “What I need is a cold beer.”
“Shut up,” Fabrini said.
“There’s no point in talking about that,” Cook said. “We have to be realistic.”
Saks held his hands out before him in surprise. “Shit, was that you, Cook? Who rattled your cage? Let’s be quiet, guys, he might speak again.”
Cook narrowed his eyes. “I’m just saying we must be realistic here. There’s no point in talking about beer. We’ll have to get by on our survival rations until… until something else shows up.”
“Well there you go,” Saks said. “Mr. Realism has spoken.”
“Oh, just shut up,” Fabrini said.
“Why don’t you go fuck your mother, Fagbrini?” Saks snarled.
Fabrini rose to his feet, the boat rocking slightly. “I’ve had as much as I’m going to take from you, Saks. You’ve been asking for this.”
Saks grinned without mirth. He stood up slowly, knowing that he had been asking for this. He’d been trying to push Fabrini to violence ever since the ship went down. And the fact that the moment had come gave him no end of satisfaction. He liked to be able to manipulate people. It gave him a feeling of power knowing he could push the right buttons and get someone to act accordingly. Like Fabrini, for instance. Hotheads were the easiest to control.
“Stop this,” Cook said. “You can’t fight in the boat.”
