But the force we faced was unlike the storm in every possible way. I was drenched to the bone, my fur slicked with seawater. The other two boats were capsized, their crews thrashing in the water, struggling against the surging waves. Our boat was the only one still afloat, though thoroughly soaked from the wave that had crashed down upon us.

Francis gritted his teeth. He stood at the bow, his harpoon ready, tracking the dark shadow circling us just beneath the surface. Then, he fired. The spear struck, but instead of piercing, it deflected off the creature as though hitting solid iron. Whatever was in the water was no ordinary sea creature—it was something else, something nature herself could never have produced.

“That thing’s no ordinary sea beast,” he growled, yanking the harpoon back by its rope. He reloaded it and fired again, but this time the creature vanished. A new wave rose in its wake and it slammed into us with enough force to nearly split it apart.

Alan clutched me tightly against her chest. And then, the world spun upside down. The cold hit me like a thousand needles. Everything went black as we plunged headlong into the freezing abyss.

Just as I teetered on the threshold to meet the maker of the universe, life surged back into me. Air flooded my lungs in a sharp gasp, followed by a torrent of water that I heaved out, sputtering and choking. Alan lay nearby, rolling onto her side as she hacked up seawater. We were sprawled on something solid, smooth, and white—nothing natural like the leathery back of a whale or the rough hide of some sea predator.

“Help me!” Francis’s voice rang out over the crashing waves. He was fighting against the water, his strokes frantic as he neared. Alan scrambled to the edge, extending her hand. She grabbed hold and pulled him up onto the strange platform with us. Both of them were panting and soaked to the bone. 

Francis raked his fingers through his wet beard and dark hair, his eyes searching the waters for the third member of our crew. Fragments of wood from our boat bobbed around us. The stern of our vessel was half-submerged while the rest of it was gone. And then, a wrenching cry tore from Francis’s throat as he saw a motionless figure floating face down. 

The current carried the body farther and farther away, slipping beyond any hope of retrieval. On the hulls of their upturned boats, the other survivors gestured frantically, shouting something we couldn’t hear. Their words were drowned out by the distance. 

“What do you suppose this is?” Alan wondered aloud as she knelt to run her fingers over the smooth surface.

I padded carefully along its length. It wasn’t flesh or bone—no creature would feel this way. My mind settled on one conclusion: a machine. Could it be some sort of ship built to travel underwater? The thought struck me as absurd—who would create such a thing? I had never encountered—or even imagined—such an invention. But here it was, under my paws, defying logic and stirring questions I couldn’t answer. It challenged everything I believed possible. Then again, the past few days had shattered every notion of logic I once held.

The machine let out a deep, resonant groan, like a slumbering giant stirring after a centuries-long sleep.  None of us moved. My fur bristled as fear crept over me. The thought of it submerging again, dragging us into the depths to meet our end, made me sick to my stomach. Then came a sharp hiss, and at the far end of the craft, a circular hatch began to form, yawning open like the maw of a great beast.

Alan took a step toward the opening, but Francis raised a hand to stop her. “Don’t move,” he ordered.  “We can’t just rush in. We don’t know what’s in there.”

We stood there, silent and expectant, staring at the dark opening. Moments passed in tense silence, broken only by the gentle lap of waves against the machine. When nothing stirred, Francis made his move, approaching cautiously. Alan and I followed, just far enough behind to let him take the lead. 

Peering inside, I first thought the interior was nothing but impenetrable darkness. But then a faint, sporadic light flickered within like a dying ember. Francis knelt at the edge of the hatch, his brow furrowed in deep thought. Then, steeling himself with a sharp intake of breath, he jumped in, feet first.

Alan let out a startled cry. “Francis!”

The clang of his boots hitting a metal floor echoed up to us. 

“I’m alright,” he called back.

The machine hummed to life, its walls coming to life with rows of glowing buttons and switches, and numbers and strange symbols flickered across smooth black stones. Alan jumped inside, and I followed, my paws landing sharply on the cold metal floor with a jarring thud. The corridor stretched before us. Francis studied the walls in stunned amazement, clearly taken aback by the bizarre sight.

“It just occurred to me that I’ve heard of something like this,” Alan said thoughtfully.

Francis shot her a curious look. “You have?”

“Yes,” she nodded. “But it's all just stories from Jimmy and the old residents who lived before the Great Wrath.”

“What kind of stories?”

“Some of them, like Jimmy, used to be part of something called The Navy. They worked on ships, and sometimes, the ships could go underwater—submarines, they were called.”

“Submarines?”

“Yes, but they weren’t designed simply to navigate the ocean,” she continued. “They were built for war.”

“War? Like what pirates–”

“No, not quite. Pirates are disorganized thieves. The Navy was different. They would wage battles against other navies and launch missiles to sink enemy ships.”

Francis swallowed hard as he looked to the solid metal door at the end of the corridor. “Then it means there’s someone—or more—operating this... submarine.” 

We moved closer and pressed our ears to the door. On the other side, something was dragging itself across the floor, and there was a drawn-out moan.