Chapter 15: Whale's Song - Part 1

Esther stood on her tiptoes, trying to catch a glimpse of Sonia, who lay motionless on the infirmary bed. Her effort was necessary, as the view was obstructed by a desk and the ship’s intimidating doctor, seated squarely in her way.

Her friend lay pale and still, her red shoulder-length hair vivid as flame against the sickly pallor of her face. The thinness of her already frail frame seemed even more pronounced beneath the loose, faded white tank top she wore. IV tubes and other unfamiliar lines snaked from her wrist to an array of bags filled with fluids and medications Esther couldn’t name.

“Can’t I visit her? Just for a moment?” Esther asked, her voice hopeful.

“Quarantine protocol. There’s still a chance it could be influenza,” the ship’s doctor replied without lifting his gaze from the journal on his desk. Esther vaguely remembered his name—Heisenberg, or something like that. He appeared to be sketching.

“But it’s been over a week!” she protested, though she swallowed the rest of her words when Heisenberg glanced up at her.

It wasn’t unlike the feeling she got when Holland stared at her—except where Holland’s gaze reminded her of an impending quiz she hadn’t studied for, Heisenberg’s sent shivers up her spine, raising the fine hairs on the back of her neck.

Satisfied she understood, the ship’s doctor lowered his gaze and resumed sketching.

Esther was fairly certain Heisenberg wouldn’t be as easily swayed as Matthew, so she prepared to turn and leave the infirmary.

Just as she was turning, something caught her eye.

The drawing Heisenberg was working on.

Esther froze, leaning closer to examine it. It was a rough pencil sketch, unfinished but detailed enough to capture the essence of its subject. The creature depicted was massive, muscular, with enormous fins on either side of its body and a tail shaped like an oversized paddle. Its mouth was equally gargantuan, dominating nearly its entire bulk.

She recognized it instantly.

Heisenberg had stopped sketching, his pencil hovering over the creature’s tail.

“Do you know what it is?” he asked in a low voice.

Esther nodded slightly. “The largest creature in the Sunless World.” She paused, her voice tinged with awe. “It’s a whale.”

Heisenberg raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “You just call it a whale? Not a fish?”

“I know whales aren’t fish. They’re mammals, like humans. Don’t try to trick me,” she replied, proud of her knowledge.

To her surprise, Heisenberg smiled at her. The expression softened his stern demeanor, making him look decades older. “Not every kid knows that.”

“I’m not a kid,” Esther shot back immediately.

“Understood, Assistant Scholar.”

The smile faded as quickly as it had appeared. Heisenberg’s gaze shifted past her, to the bed where Sonia lay sleeping.

He turned back to her with a weary sigh. “If she wakes up, I’ll let you know first. Here—this is for your father’s seasickness.” He handed her three capsules in a small plastic zip bag.

“Thank you,” Esther said, bowing politely to the elderly doctor before heading toward the exit.

“By the way... if whales aren’t fish, how do they breathe underwater?” Heisenberg’s sudden question stopped her in her tracks, just as she was halfway out the door.

Esther turned back, one hand on the doorframe. “They use lungs to breathe, just like us. Whales have to surface to breathe air; they just hold their breath underwater for a really long time.” She imagined the massive creature gliding beneath their ship at that very moment. “They say whales have blowholes on their backs to exhale through, shooting water high into the air like a giant fountain.” Her voice carried an almost reverent fascination.

Heisenberg lifted his pencil again. “Wrong.” He bent his head and resumed sketching.

“They use those blowholes to spray out the blood and entrails of their prey,” he said matter-of-factly.

…

Esther nudged the control room door open with her foot, sliding in with a grin. “Snacks are here!”

The center of the control room had been transformed into a makeshift table setup, multiple foldable metal tables lined up end to end, stretching toward the captain’s chair. Esther placed a tray of coffee cups and a loaf of bread on the cluttered surface, already piled high with thick stacks of documents, binders, and scattered sheets of paper.

Every head in the room turned toward her, the crew rising from their chairs and moving eagerly to claim their share.

“Thanks for the coffee, Esther,” Matthew said with a squinty smile, lifting a cup from the tray for a sip. He reached out and tore off a piece of bread.

“You’re a big help,” her father said, patting her shoulder gently.

“This one’s for you, Dad.” She handed him a glass of water and a small bag of pills. “Take them after you eat. And no coffee, okay?” The last part she added on her own authority. Esther had never liked coffee much—not that this was real coffee. It was a brew made from the leaves of some plant. She’d heard roasted coffee beans were a luxury only found within the Reich Empire, the sole place where coffee plants could still grow.

Her father took the pills and water with a resigned look of disappointment. She noticed he seemed healthier—probably getting used to the motion of the ship.

“Where’s the jerky I asked for?” Hector glared at her.

“Yes, Commander, but the kitchen didn’t approve it.” She glared back, matching his intensity.

“Don’t blame the kid, Hector. We still got bread,” Matthew said, speaking through a mouthful of it.

“You forgot to buy meat at the last station, didn’t you, Matthew? I told you to stock up!” Hector grumbled as he stomped away, a large piece of bread clutched in his hand.

Esther sighed inwardly. She hated being the ship’s snack server more than anything, but everyone else had a role to play aboard this vessel—except her. Offering to help with the snacks was her way of staying busy.

Couldn’t she have found something more important to do while everyone else was busy discussing critical matters?

Holland arrived last, following a few command crew members Esther didn’t recognize as they grabbed drinks and bread. He picked up a cup of coffee and looked at the now-empty bread tray with an expression even more world-weary than usual.

Esther offered a dry apology. “Sorry, Captain. The kitchen only approved this much.”

“At least, thanks for the coffee,” Holland replied, raising his cup before downing a large gulp.

Once everyone had their share of snacks, they returned to their seats around the table. The room settled, the quiet broken only by the occasional rustle of papers.

“Where were we?” her father asked, having finished his water and medicine.

“Nowhere sensible,” Hector muttered, shaking his head in frustration as he took another large bite of bread. “A creature so massive it can destroy an entire city? Really?”

“It’s not impossible,” Matthew interjected, his expression serious. “I heard stories about the Stalingrad Station—how they lost contact because of an army of bats attacking them.”

“Dockside tall tales,” Hector scoffed. “We’re talking about something capable of killing an entire city in the blink of an eye. What kind of creature could do that? Humans, that’s who. It’s obvious. This is Soviet work—those bastards must have developed a new kind of missile. A missile that can level a city. They’re going to use it to conquer the world!”

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

“If there’d been an explosion of that magnitude, we’d have felt it—tsunamis, earthquakes, structural collapses,” Holland replied, sipping his coffee. “Not to mention the tunnels caving in. They wouldn’t be able to keep moving to hit another city.”

“Then what’s your better idea?” Hector shot back, glaring at him.

For a moment, the captain of the Washington didn’t reply. His eyes scanned the pages of the book in front of him.

“Beasts.”

The word sent an icy chill through Esther. Beasts—the name sailors used to describe the monsters of the deep. At least, that was what the old seafarers’ stories called them.

“Let me tell you about the Beast of Iowa,” Esther recalled the words of a sailor she’d once begged to share tales of his voyages. In truth, she remembered countless stories of beasts, etched into her memory. As a child, she had believed in them so completely that she developed a fear of the sea and dark places. In these tales, the beasts were always colossal or endowed with supernatural power. But as she grew older and began questioning things, she started to see these stories for what they were: sailor’s yarns, nothing more than tall tales.

Hector gave a dismissive laugh. “More sailor’s tales.”

“Some tales are true,” Holland said quietly, his hand idly resting on the blood-red scarf around his neck. “I’ve met a few of them myself.”

The room fell silent. The people around the table exchanged uneasy glances.

“Alright, let’s entertain the idea for a moment,” Hector said, his tone more measured. “Let’s assume that this ‘something’ we’re discussing is a creature—something capable of killing an entire city in a heartbeat. It’s already wiped out half the population in the major cities and capitals of the Confederacy of Africa.” Hector inhaled deeply. “What would it have to be?”

The room grew still once more. Esther shivered as she tried to picture a beast fitting Hector’s description. It was almost comforting to imagine this “something” being a plague or a natural disaster. Hell, even if it turned out to be a Soviet army with a doomsday weapon, she might have felt relief—at least it would be something she understood.

When no one answered, Holland turned his gaze to her father, whose face had grown pale again. “Your thoughts?”

Arthur looked profoundly uncomfortable with the question. Running a hand through his short blond hair, he adjusted the round glasses on his face—a nervous habit Esther recognized immediately. “Are you seriously suggesting this ‘something’ could be a beast from the depths?”

Holland didn’t answer. His silence was its own kind of affirmation.

Her father licked his lips nervously.

“No one knows the true boundaries of this world. It’s estimated that only twenty percent of the land has been explored and mapped,” Arthur began, his voice calm yet laced with gravity. “And, of course, that figure completely disregards everything beneath the Sunless Sea, where no submarine has ever ventured beyond five thousand meters in depth.”

“Abyss…” Esther murmured softly, though the word seemed to echo through the stillness of the control room.

Arthur turned to nod at her, acknowledging the term. “An ancient word from the old world, meaning ‘the hellish depths.’ Sailors use it to describe depths beyond five thousand meters. It’s a realm of mystery, an uncharted dominion, a world of the unknown.” He lifted his glass of water and drained it completely before continuing. “If you ask me whether it’s possible for something to exist in this world that could wipe out an entire city in an instant, I’d say yes. Just as it’s possible humanity once lived in a world filled only with light.”

“That doesn’t help us figure out anything,” Hector growled, slamming his fist on the table. “We’re here to come up with a way to deal with whatever’s killing people on this river, not to sit around swapping bedtime stories!”

Holland rose to his feet, his expression calm and voice measured as he turned to face Hector’s simmering anger. “We’re here to narrow down the possibilities,” he said evenly. “And if the abyssal beasts are the only remaining possibility for the identity of this ‘something’…” He lifted his coffee cup and drained it in one long gulp before slamming the ceramic mug down onto the table. The loud crack of it made Esther jump.

“Then there’s no need to figure out how to deal with it,” he continued, his voice sharper now, a cruel smile curling at his lips. “Because it would be a waste of time.”

Hector opened his mouth to retort, but the sharp creak of the control room door cut him off. A radioman burst in, her urgency written on her face. “Incoming transmission from the Tutankhamun, Captain!”

Holland nodded toward the control room’s communication officer before striding to the wall console. He pressed a button, and the room filled with the static hum of white noise. Adjusting the frequency dial, he replaced the static with the deep voice of an Egyptian general.

“Tutankhamun calling Washington. Tutankhamun calling Washington...”

A radioman handed Holland a headset with a microphone. He adjusted it quickly. “This is Washington. We hear you, Tutankhamun.”

“We’re entering the waters of Giza in five hundred meters,” came the response.

“Understood, Captain Sayid. Any word from the scouts?” Holland asked.

“No response yet, but it’s possible we’re in a signal dead zone.”

Holland chuckled, though it carried no humor. “Be ready, Captain Sayid. Stick to the protocol we agreed upon when we pass Giza’s floodgates.”

“Understood, Washington. Ending transmission.”

Holland removed the headset, handed it back to the radioman, and returned to his captain’s chair.

“This meeting is adjourned. Have the soldiers clear the tables and documents. Everyone back to your posts,” he commanded, spinning his chair to face away from the group.

As soon as Holland finished speaking, the room erupted into organized chaos. Everyone stood and moved to follow his orders.

Esther once again felt out of place, unsure of what she should be doing amidst the flurry of activity. Her eyes caught the figure of someone else standing still, just like her.

Esther decided to approach Rain, who was leaning against the radio console beside the helm’s left-hand controls. The chaos around them seemed to barely register in his presence.

“Is it really that bad?” she asked softly, her voice barely cutting through the din of the room.

Rain’s expression remained impassive, untouched by the commotion around him. “I don’t know,” he replied, his tone detached.

“Have you and Holland faced a beast before?” she pressed, her curiosity genuine.

Rain nodded faintly.

“How did you defeat it? How did you survive?” Esther asked, unable to contain her wonder.

For a moment, Rain met her gaze, something he rarely did. “We didn’t defeat it,” he said plainly. “We abandoned the ship and ran.”

“Floodgate of Giza, twenty meters ahead,” the sonar operator reported, though the announcement was almost redundant. Through the thick glass in front of her, Esther could already see the massive metal gate reflecting the submarine’s lights.

Floodgates were the first line of defense for port harbors, controlling access to cities. Any vessel wishing to dock had to contact the port’s control center to state its purpose. If approved, the gates would be opened. In dire circumstances, the gates served as barriers to repel foreign invaders. Larger ports often had multiple gates, built with exceptional durability.

The Giza floodgate was no exception. Its iron framework spanned the width of the tunnel, with patches of rust and algae clinging to its surface. Yet, Esther could tell the gate’s thickness exceeded three meters.

“So, what’s the plan? Contact the port’s control center?” Hector asked, turning toward Holland.

“Our floodgates have a maintenance override system, Commander. We’ll handle it ourselves,” Captain Sayid’s raspy voice crackled through the control room’s radio.

Esther noticed two shadows in diving suits moving toward the gate like phantoms gliding through the dark water. As they reached the massive iron doors, one diver produced a tool. Sparks erupted, dazzlingly bright, forcing Esther to avert her gaze. After a while, a small metal panel detached from the gate and fell into the abyss below, revealing a manual control panel. One of the divers reached out and turned a lever.

A loud mechanical groan filled the control room as the gate began to rise, the screech of metal grinding against metal echoing through the tunnel.

“Call your men back, Sayid. End transmission,” Holland ordered, removing his headset and resting it around his neck. “Cut the front lights and activate the armored glass shutters. Prepare to surface. We’re going into battle station level one.”

“What does that mean?” Hector demanded, glaring at Holland.

“It means stealth mode,” Holland explained as the communications officer announced the battle readiness across the ship. “Sonar off. Minimum speed. We’ll be as quiet as the grave.”

The sonar screens dimmed one by one, followed by the radio monitors. The control room lights faded, leaving only the emergency lights, bathing the space in a blood-red hue.

It felt as though the entire room was drenched in blood. Esther shivered, unease twisting in her chest. This is a bad omen, she thought.

“We’re through the gate,” Matthew whispered. “Rising to the surface.”

Holland pulled down the periscope to eye level. He remained still, staring intently at whatever lay above the waterline. The silence that followed was oppressive, thick enough to feel, as the rest of the crew waited, each imagining what their captain was seeing.

That was when Esther heard it.

At first, it was so faint she didn’t register it. But as the sound grew louder and shifted pitch, she realized it was something entirely unfamiliar.

A moan? A wail? The snore of a restless sleeper?

It was all of these things at once—and none of them.

Though she couldn’t place its source, Esther was certain of one thing:

she was terrified of that mournful, alien sound. It reached deep into her chest, squeezing her heart with icy dread.

“Can anyone else hear that?” she whispered, her voice trembling, only then realizing her body was shaking.

When no one responded, she turned back toward the control room.

The control room was drenched in blood.

Her breath caught as she slowly pivoted, taking in the carnage.

The crew lay sprawled across the floor, their bodies twisted in grotesque angles.

Matthew’s upper torso slumped over the helm, his severed head resting on the floor below.

Hector had been torn in half, his organs splattered across the control panel.

Holland sat rigid in the captain’s chair, his eye sockets empty, streaks of blood trailing down his cheeks where his eyes had been gouged out.

Rain’s body was shredded into fragments, as if his own blade had cleaved him apart.

And before her stood her father.

His hollow eyes locked on hers, blood streaming steadily from every orifice on his face.

His voice was calm, unnervingly so. “I told you,” he said. “If anything ever happened to you, what would I do?”

And then, his head exploded.

His glasses tumbled across the floor, skittering to a stop as blood and fragments of brain splattered across her body.

Esther realized she was screaming. Or thought she was.

But no sound came out.

Because she was drowning in blood that flooded the room entirely.