He laughed, low and bitter. “But that’s the only thing I’m supposed to do. If you succeed, I fail. If I fail…”
His eyes grew distant, and then he moved toward the flood lock and pulled hard on a lever. He was performing some kind of manual override, but it wasn’t quite working. The door was jerky, stuttering, and sparks issued from it in a juddery burst.
“You have me outnumbered,” he continued. “And I’ve never been much of a fighter.”
“Stop that,” I demanded, moving toward him.
He looked at me straight on and in a matter-of-fact tone said, “They will sing my name. They will celebrate my righteousness as the blood of the sinners floods the streets.”
In an instant, he stepped into the chamber, threw a lever, and shoved the door shut behind him.
“No!” Aspen screamed. “What are you doing?”
He gave us a horrifying grin and then threw another lever,and without utilizing any of the safety straps or equipment, he let the chamber flood. Thick blue liquid rushed in, slamming him against the side of the lock before carrying him out into the indigo expanse beyond.
“We have to do something,” Finn yelled, moving to the door. “He’s going to drown.”
I dropped the harpoon and started to suit up, intent on going after him, my eyes on the nymphs, but they didn’t seem to even notice him.
“The outer door needs to close before we can do anything,” Aspen said, coming to Finn’s aid.
Together they were working on closing the door and clearing the water, and for an instant I thought we might be able to do something, but then they came. Like a flood of darkness, they swept up. Black scales and needle teeth, their eyes almost human but with a sickness to them that spoke of something primordial, something rotten. The legion surged up, surrounded him, tearing his flesh, devouring him.
Our screams filled the room, echoing around that dank, funereal space, and time seemed to expand beyond the laws of physics, each moment bleeding into the next as we pounded against the glass, powerless to stop the bloodshed we were forced to witness.
And then like sated piranhas, they disappeared, undulating wisps of inky darkness, fluttering back down into the depths, leaving nothing but floating strands of marrow in their wake.
No one spoke. The nymphs never even woke up. Still half clad in the suit, I stumbled back, nearly fainting, but Finn caught me.
Lexi was close to hyperventilating, and Aspen wrapped an arm around her. “Deep breaths,” she said calmly.
“What are we going to do now?” Lexi gasped. “What the fuck are we going to do?”
Finn looked over at me. “Do you really think it’s possible to fix it manually?”
I looked out through the viewing window to the liquid, deep into that cerulean expanse beyond. “I do.”
“It’s too dangerous,” Aspen said. “You saw what those things did to Dorian. We’ve never even seen those before. Who knows what the hell else is out there.”
“The actual repair will take me a matter of seconds. I’ll be in and out,” I said. “But we need to go now.”
We left the woods soon after that. Finn grabbed diving gear from his cabana, and the four of us headed out to the island. No one spoke as we glided across those inky depths, and when we reached the shore, I was shaking with fear. I knew exactly what I had to do, but no part of me actually wanted to do it. The sun was just beginning to rise as we walked through the fields of silphium, and by the time we reached the office, the mountain bluebirds were trilling.
Inside, we removed the rug to reveal the trapdoor. Finn smashed the lock with a heavy stone and we pulled back the bolt. Opening the trapdoor, we saw an expanse of stone steps stretching down in front of us. Antiquated sconces lined the walls.
“Jesus Christ,” whispered Finn. “I had no idea this was here.”
He lit one of the sconces. We climbed down the long flight of stone steps, and soon we hit a lengthy corridor. It was colder down there, and the atmosphere felt odd, unstable. I almost thought for a moment that I could hear something on the other side of the wall, something undulating and massive.
“You know where we’re going?” Finn asked.
“I think so,” I said. “It should be at the end of this corridor, and then down another flight of steps.”
Soon the firelight no longer reached us, and we switched to phone flashlights. But when we descended the final steps to the old entrance, there were two more sconces. Finn lit them, and warm light blazed forth, flooding the area.
“Jesus,” whispered Aspen.
We were in an ancient space, all metal and stone. There was a rusting iron gate that led to a kind of cell half filled with water. On the other side of it, we could see heavy bars with spikes on them, and near the stone ceiling, a small, barred aperture with hinges like a cage door.
