Her eye was drawn to a glow coming from a panel directly opposite where Martin was lying on his side. It was emanating from a little red light, just bright enough to be noticeable. It seemed odd to her that in a ship without power, one light remained on. Curiosity got the better of her and she went to take a closer look.

The light was a warning indicator, labelled “Batt. Cool.” As she stood there trying to work out what it could mean, a second indicator lit up. She leaned over and shone her torch on the panel to read its markings. It was labelled “Critical.”

To the right of the warning lights were a set of four meters. Lucya thought they looked a lot like the speedometer from a car, each with a needle swinging around a round scale. The meters were also labelled “Batt. Cool.” Most of the scale was black, but to the far right was a section in orange, marked “Danger” and another section in red, marked “Critical. Risk of Explosion.”

Three of the dials were in the orange sections. The fourth was in the red.

Seventeen

AS THE SCREWS came out of the door hinges, the door itself appeared to try and push outwards, towards the little landing party. It was as if it was straining to burst open. Instinctively, Jake took a couple of steps back. The last hinge gave way without warning, flying off the frame with a pinging sound. The door was flung open from the hinged side. The bolts—still shut on the other side—twisted and buckled, filling the passageway with the sound of metal being wrought out of shape. At the same instant, a cloud of white gas erupted out of the doorway, swirling and eddying around the men.

“Masks!” Eric shouted, pulling his own gas mask over his head.

The three navy men dropped to the floor automatically. Jake followed their lead, all the while scrambling to get his own mask back on. His haste caused the straps to become twisted and tangled, and the urge to breathe was overwhelming. He could hold out no more, and gulped in a lungful of the seething cloud. The gas reached his lungs in a second, and for the briefest of moments he thought he was about to drown. Then the burning started. It was like someone had lit a fire inside his chest. Every filament of his lungs felt as though it was individually exploding, and searing pain flushed through him. He lost his balance and fell back against the wall, his head thumping against the concrete.

“Mask! Get his mask on!” he heard someone shout. He was being pulled in a thousand directions at once, a hundred hands were scrabbling to get the gas mask over his face. All he wanted to do was breathe in cold air, to put out the fire in his chest, but the fear of making the pain worse paralysed him.

“Jake! Breathe! Take a deep breath! Come on, Jake, breathe!”

His head was swimming. Logical thought abandoned him, and with it the fear that prevented him from acting. His body took over, and he began to draw tiny breaths. The filtered air tasted of charcoal and plastic, but it didn’t burn. Oxygen reached his brain, and his mind started to clear. The pain had eased and was replaced with an intense irritation. He wanted to scratch at his insides, to rub away the itch, but it was impossible. All he could do was cough and splutter, but the mask made even that simple action difficult.

A pair of hands grabbed him under his arms and dragged him around the corner, away from the door. His mask was pulled off and he immediately gulped down the cleaner air, coughing and heaving between breaths.

Slowly, he regained control of his body. His lungs felt ready to burst, like he had just run a marathon, but he was breathing normally. He tried to focus on the men sitting around him, although his head was still swimming.

“Wha…” He tried to speak, but only a croak came out. “Wha…” He puffed and wheezed, replacing more of the gas in his lugs with humid, stale air. Someone put a small bottle of water to his lips, and he let the cool liquid run into his throat, cleansing it of mucus and slime. He opened his mouth to speak again: “What happened?”

• • •

Lucya stared at the meters. There was no doubt about it, the needles were definitely creeping upwards towards the red section. She looked back at Martin and make a decision.

“I’ll be back,” she said quietly.

It took her two minutes to run most of the length of the ship, back to the temporary morgue. She hammered on the door with her fist, shouting as she did so.

“Janice! Open up, it’s an emergency!”

The door opened a crack and Janice looked at her, worried.

“Lucya? What is it?”

“I need your help. Martin is injured, and I don’t have time to get him upstairs to medical. You have to take a look at him, see what you can do. There is a problem in the engine room and I’m worried it’s serious. I have to find someone who knows what to do!” The words tumbled out breathlessly.

“Alright, calm down, Lucya. Tell me where to find Martin and I’ll see what I can do.”

Lucya gave directions to the engine room and explained where she would locate him.

“Okay, I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Janice said, stepping out into the corridor.

“Don’t you have a bag? You know, a medical bag or something?” Lucya pointed at the doctor’s empty hands.

“My equipment isn’t much use on the living I’m afraid.”

“Right. Of course. Look, I have to go. Take care of him okay?” Without waiting for an answer, she sprinted off towards the stairs.

On reaching deck two her first thought was to try and find some of the other engineers. The trouble was she didn’t know many of them, and had no idea where the cabins could be of the few she might at least recognise by sight. The place was still deserted, every door firmly shut. Knocking on doors to try and find someone qualified could take forever. Instead, she carried on running to the walkway for the Ambush.

Lucya had only been inside the submarine once, on a tour given by Coote for the bridge crew. She hadn’t enjoyed the experience, finding it quite claustrophobic, and had avoided any further visits. Looking across the walkway she tried to bury her fear. She reminded herself that Jake was counting on her. He had left her in charge. Three thousand souls were at risk; there was no time to waste hesitating. She gulped, and set off over the bridge.

Brian was standing guard on the conning tower of the Ambush. He smiled kindly when she arrived, out of breath and flushed red.

“Morning, ma’am,” he said cheerfully. “Are you expected?” Access to the submarine was controlled. All members of the committee could come and go as they pleased. Anyone else needed to be accompanied by a crew member of the Ambush.

“I need to see Coote,” Lucya said. “It’s urgent.”

“I think he’s busy at the moment. Can I give him a message?”

“You ‘think’? We have a situation here, and I need his help, now!”

“Maybe I could ask him to come over and find you?”

“What? No! This is too important. Either get him up here, or I’ll go and find him myself.”

“I’m afraid I can’t let you down there ma’am, it’s restricted access.”

“My name is Lucya Levin, I am senior radio officer and a permanent member of the committee. Let me past now, young man, or else!”

Brian straightened himself up, looking sheepish. “I’m so sorry, ma’am, I didn’t recognise you. We don’t see you over here very often.” He stepped to one side. “Please go on down. Coote is in his quarters.”

• • •

“Halon,” Eric said, removing his gas mask once more. “It was halon gas you breathed in. It’s not dangerous, but you’re probably going to have trouble breathing for a while.”

“What happened? Did you cut through a gas line or something?” Jake asked. He felt like his insides had been pummelled, but at least his head was clearing.