Distress Call

Sitting on the steeple of our boat looking out over the waves, the salt stains the air and stings my cheeks like swarms of bees falling from the sky. The putrid stench of vomit and decay drifts up through the hatch. Thundering waves deafen me to monsters that lurk below them. I pray to god though my heart isn't in it. The air, thick like oil and just as hard to swallow, forces me to draw shallow breaths. With disjointed thoughts, the flashes of days that led up to now beat on my mind like the rain. I wonder if they felt the sickness and fear – one by one before they died. They looked up to me. They depended on me. Just a bunch of stupid kids.

Two weeks of provisions ended a week ago when the crew began experiencing boils and thinning of the skin. They deteriorated like animals dipped in acid in death that lasted for days. Petty Ofiicer Puckman, Lieutenant Fishler, Seaman Iddleston – I threw them all to the waves below. There were others as well and I can see their faces going over the edge until I threw the last body off to afix myself topside permanently. I go down periodically only to check the radio for transmissions to come home and to sleep. The radio is the last system on the ship still lit up with that beautiful green reminder of distant society. Though it’s connected to nothing it is hope in the dark of the hull in sleepless nights. I don't know why, out of 155 people, I alone survived.

I replayed our last day in my mind: a portal on the horizon while we surfaced, and as soon as I saw it, I gave the order: “DIVE DIVE DIVE!.” It stretched for miles below the surface and trying to retreat only pulled us toward it quicker. That horrible singularity that seemed to draw in everything in its path while it warped all light around through the periscope. Triangles and dead zones are well documented but the charts showed clear waters. There was no warning before our exact position melted into unfamiliar seas and the ship’s instruments stopped making sense.

I remember being surrounded by light. It was beautiful, mesmerizing, and while I admired it, the rest of the crew screamed in terror. When the light faded, the engines died and wouldn’t restart. I’ve been a captain for 32 years. I don't recognize these waves. I don't recognize this sky. I don't recognize any of the creatures I see swimming by. There's a terrifying noise I hear at night. a moaning from beneath the waves that taps and scrapes on our hull looking for a way in.

A fire fight would have been an acceptable way to go down. To be disabled and floating on the waves – triumphant after a glorious battle would be an okay reason to be stranded. Even if the crew had died and I was in the same situation as I am now, someone would tell the tale of the U.S.S. Cochrane when we were rescued. Even if they didn't, there would be a monument of enemy ruble beneath the waves to mark that we existed – To tell that we did not go gently into the terrifying night.

Did this place have rescuers? Did I want to meet them? As I asked these questions, I retreated into fear till only one question remained.

I looked up at the titanic planet above me and took a deep breath of the oily, salty air. I screamed, "Why!?! Someone! Anyone..."