The Engine Room

Thursday, 1^st April 1943

           To walk from one end of the ship to another would take approximately five minutes, if one’s strides are long, and their pace consistent. To descend from one deck to another can be an arduous process, depending on which deck one is wanting to get to. Of course, these estimations are hypothetical, and on fletcher class destroyer, full of military personnel, these travel times may be longer.

           Now, Private Evan Krushnic paced the upper deck, counting his steps, 253, 254, 255, 256. There was not much to do on the ship besides keeping your eyes peeled for any Italian ships and keeping the ship moving. 257, 258, 259. Evan struggled with the monotony of it all, the steady rocking, the whine of straining bolts and engines, the hiss of steam. 260, 261, 262. Above, the sky was dark, the wind whipped and howled across the deck, leaving others to stumble as they ventured forth across the vessel, but not Evan. Evan continued, 263, 264, 265.

           “You know a good soldier keeps his head up when walking.” A voice sounds behind the Private, it’s almost drowned out by the wind, but Evan hears it all the same.

           “And what would you know about being a good soldier?”

           The voice behind him chortles, sidling up to the young man, “I would watch that mouth of yours, you could be the next man overboard.”

           “Like we can afford another man going overboard. What do you need Grant?”

           “You’re needed at your post; the engines can’t run themselves Private.”

           “Of course, I’ll be right down, Sir.”

           The other man walked away shortly after, Evan continued, 271, 272, 273. On most destroyer class ships, there are two separate engine rooms, the forward and the aft. They worked much the same, both being sweltering, dangerous, and an unpleasant area to be assigned. 274, 275, 276. The descent down to his post was uneventful, just one hundred more steps to add to his count, 376, 377, 378. To work in the engine room, one must have some sort of engineering knowledge, and a healthy amount of insanity, to be willing to work in such an environment. Evan possessed both attributes, as did many of his fellow engineers in the engine rooms.

           No one really spoke in the engine room. The hissing of steam, the clanging of metal on metal, and the occasional bellowing from a soldier filled the space enough, there was no room or need for aimless chatter. As Evan made it down, he stationed himself at the control panels, taking in the knobs, buttons, and screens all hidden behind a mess of wires. A quick glance to his left would confirm that the telephone is in place, clear of any mess.

           The air around the control panel was oppressive. Sweat trickled down Evan’s brow, as he began to pace in front of the panel, 410, 411, 412. Minutes ticked by, 100 more steps were taken, orders were given, an uncharacteristically loud clang of metal, followed by an even louder shout filled the air. Evan thought nothing of it, continuing his pacing, adjusting knobs here and there, 515, 516, 517.

           A crunch of metal, another clanging, another, garbled shout. Evan stopped. More thuds and booms, another crunch. Creeping over to the ladder, Evan looks up, “Anyone there?”

           “…he-help”

           Sweat dripped down Evan’s back, his heart in his throat, “Tell me where you are, and I’ll send someone up.”

           Nothing came in response, just a faint gargling, drowned out by the hiss of the engines.

           “Hello? Is anyone still up there?” Evan began to venture up the ladder. His hands trembled the higher he climbed. His breath grew short. Dear God, let this be nothing more than a joke. Once upon the landing, which was nothing more than white, metal grating, there was no sign of any other soldier. With careful steps, Krushnic ventured further.

           “E-van…” A voice whispered, dragging out the first syllable of his name. A breath ghosted across the back of his neck. The soldier whips around, only to find no one there. He creeps forward, peering further down the walkway.

           A lone boot, speckled with oil and grime stood in the dull glow of the overhead lamp. No owner in sight. With one last glance over his shoulder, Krushnic steps towards the boot. 535, 536, 537. Oh, the smell. Evan scrunched up his nose, bringing his arm up to block the onslaught of metallic tang.  

           The owner’s foot never left the boot. Flesh and bone stood in the opening, like a grotesque bouquet of flowers in a vase, welcoming the viewer to take a closer look. Evan did not. He retched, coughed, and spluttered as he backed away, tripping over his own feet, falling flat onto his back.

           Above him was a canopy of once white pipes, now stained with age, and streaks of blood, traveling ever so slowly down the surface. A drop lands on Evan’s uniform as he stares up in silent horror.

           A body lay, tangled in the piping, staring down, glassy eyed, upon the walkway, directly into Evan’s eyes.

           “…he-lp” it wheezed, but their mouth did not move, “why… won’t you…help?”

           Blood seeped out of the body’s mouth, it’s skin growing paler by the minute. Merciful God, what have you done? The soldier gaped at the sight, unable to move, to breathe, to scream. What have you done?

           A loud whine echoes through the corridor, another crunch, another gargling. The floor shook with heavy footfalls, but no one came. It grew silent. The steady hissing of the engines faded; the clanging of metal ceased. All that was left was the ringing in Evan’s ear as he scrambled to his feet. He turned to the ladder, rushing back to the phone at the control panel, only to find deep gouges in the machinery. Wires sparked; the phone lay on the ground.

           Evan ran. No longer worried about how long it will take him to cross from one side of the room to the other or how many steps it will take to get from one ladder to another. He searches for one of his fellow men, desperately calling their names as he travels up ladders and peers down different corridors.

           The entire vessel stuttered and rocked, throwing the man off balance. He stumbled, bracing himself on the wall. Another body lay in the dark corridor, nothing but the crunch of bones and tearing of flesh filled the space. A dark shadow hovers over it, unaware of its audience. Bloody footsteps lead to and from the body, claw marks gouged into the metal piping that surround them. Evan Krushnic could not look away.

           Minutes pass before he dares to move, slowly taking a step back, and another, and another. 1,2,3,4,5,6. Up another ladder, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16. His hand, going to reach for another rung, brushes against a boot, the soles were marred by the heat, and the canvas splotched with grease. Above him hung Grant, rope around his neck, face bloated, and deep, oozing gashes across his chest. Intestines hung, the smell of rot permeating the air.

           The soldier gagged at the sight, losing his grasp upon the rungs, falling to the metal floor below. Searing pain erupted up his leg, a strangle scream escaping his lips. Down the corridor, the monstrous shadow slowed its feast, stalking over to the fallen man. Evan claws at the ground below him, inching away from the figure. It’s claws were stained a deep crimson as it dragged them along the floor, with a slow, elongated screech.

           Please don’t let me be next, oh God, please save me. Evan sobbed as he crawled away from the creature, his hands bloodied, his leg screaming in pain. I am a good man, don’t let me die, please God don’t let me die.

           Evan turned to see where the creature went, only to be met with glowing amber eyes and burning across his abdomen. Another strangled scream, another crunch, another whine. Then it was silent.