Up From The Deep by Vaughn Jackson (highly recommended books txt) 📕

“Not many people want to be on the water, what with them creatures over there,” he said, “but then, by the size of you, you might be able to take them yourself.” He flashed a winning smile.

“Alcatraz,” Ivan said, staring out over the grey waters of the bay. He extended a hand full of crumpled dollars and coins.

Raymond took the money. “So you are here to tussle with the creatures then?”

“Alcatraz. Now.” His gaze dropped onto Raymond.

“Strong silent type. I’ll get you to the island. Hold tight.”

Raymond made his way back to the helm, and radioed Brannigan once more. “Something’s off about him. He’s only speaking in single word sentences.”

“Grenade might have done some brain damage,” Brannigan said. “Try not to aggravate him. He might get violent.”

“So avoid my usual tactics.”

The door to the helm slid open causing Raymond to jump and fumble to hide his radio. “Faster,” Ivan said.

“Of course,” Raymond said, “just warming up the engines. She’s an old girl.”

Ivan merely grunted in return, before seating himself on the bench to the back of the helm room. He folded his arms across his chest and stared out towards Alcatraz Island in the distance.

“You know, I heard the creature left the island and sank down beneath the Golden Gate Bridge. Are you sure this is where you want to go?”

“I wait,” Ivan replied.

“You think it will come back?”

“Nest.”

“Oh,” Raymond said, feigning surprise. “Smart man.”

“No. Hunter.”

Raymond didn’t know how to respond to that. “Hunter, right.” He needed to make it about halfway to Alcatraz Island for the plan to start. They needed deep water.

#

Brannigan waited down in the captain’s quarters, awaiting the signal. He could hear the conversation between Raymond and Ivan Cole through the radio, and the inspector was right, the man sounded different, addled in some way, like he was talking through a fog. They’d been going at a good click for about an hour or so now. Soon it would be time. He checked his GPS. Correction, he thought, now is the time. He pulled on a pair of rubber gloves and approached the breakers. He flipped the switch Raymond had showed him earlier and heard the engine sputter and die. The boat stopped moving. Through the radio he heard:

“Go.” Ivan.

“I don’t know what’s happened. The engine was fine this morning.” Raymond.

“Go!”

“I can’t! The engine is dead, you see?”

Silence.

Did something go wrong? Brannigan thought.

“I check,” came Ivan’s slow voice through the radio.

“Are you sure? I can call someone to come with another vessel.”

“I check.”

“I won’t stop you then,” Raymond said.

Brannigan heard heavy footsteps plodding towards his hiding spot. The door opened and Ivan’s boots thumped down the steps. The giant man approached the cabin and examined the panel. Brannigan could see the thick armor covering his entire body. A gun wouldn’t work. He picked up a nearby wrench and snuck from his hiding spot, taking great care to be quiet. He raised the wrench above his head and brought it down as hard as he could. A massive hand caught the wrench mid-air.

“Surprise,” Ivan said. “You?”

“Hello again. You’re not still mad about the whole clipping a grenade to your belt thing, are you?”

“No.” A cruel smile spread across Ivan’s face. His fist slammed into Brannigan’s stomach, winding him. Ivan hoisted him off the ground and tossed him against the stairs leading out of the cabin. Brannigan felt the same ribs from the last fight crack again, and maybe a few others.

“Hey Raymond,” he gasped. “We have a problem.”

“Big problem,” Ivan said, emerging from below deck. “Me.”

“Yes, I gathered that,” Raymond said, drawing his gun. “Freeze,” he shouted.

“No,” Ivan said, stalking towards Brannigan as he clamored to his feet.

“That’s a first,” Raymond said, blinking in surprise. He squeezed off two shots into the man’s chest.

Ivan went rigid, before casting a dark glare up the steps. “Armor,” he said. “No pain.” He continued towards the now standing Brannigan.

“I will put a bullet in your brain,” Raymond shouted.

“No,” Ivan said again. Still facing Brannigan, he opened up the large jacket he wore.

“Raymond,” Brannigan said. “Don’t shoot him.”

“What?”

“He’s got a bomb wired up to his vitals. You kill him, we all go boom.”

“Boom,” Ivan said, smiling with crooked teeth.

“Damn it,” Raymond spat.

“Don’t worry,” Brannigan said shakily. He emerged onto the deck of the boat. “I got this.”

“Not this time,” Ivan taunted.

“Three words in a row? Just for me?” Brannigan said in a mocking voice. “I’m touched, really.”

Ivan’s smile fell. “Die.”

“Make me.”

Ivan roared, and charged at Brannigan, who just barely got out of the way, tripping the giant in the process. He smashed into the deck with a thud and a grunt. He roared again as he rose to his feet, looking around until his eyes locked onto Brannigan again. He charged again, straight into a right hook from Brannigan. It didn’t do much but staggered the man, as though he was surprised at being hit. Pain shot from Brannigan’s wrist up into his shoulder.

“He’s not fighting,” Brannigan said, trying to shake the pain out of his arm, “just charging at me.”

#

Kurtis watched the sensory readout for Ivan with interest.  “And we’ve lost complete control?”

“I’m afraid so,” Dr. Felding said. “It’s like his drive for vengeance is overwriting our control mechanism.”

“Shame,” Kurtis said. “Shut him down.”

The doctor flipped a switch. “Uh…”

“Uh?”

“He should be dead, but…”

“He’s not?”

“He’s not.”

Kurtis sighed. “I guess we just see where this goes then.” He stood up. “I need to send word to the rest of the council, informing them of Mr. Martin’s failure.”

“He hasn’t failed yet,” Dr. Felding said.

Kurtis flashed a glance at the screen where Captain Brannigan squared off against the reanimated shell of Ivan Cole. “Trust me, he will.” He flicked his lab coat out behind him as he exited the room.

#

Can’t fight. Can’t talk. Can’t swim? Brannigan hoped whatever had been done to the mercenary since their last encounter had addled him as much as it seemed. He’d finally started fighting instead of charging, but his moves were sluggish and telegraphed; nothing