I left him bent over the stretcher and slithered back to the edge of the hole. Lying with my head and shoulders hanging over the rim, I could see Clay’s flashlight cutting this way and that through the shadowy water below. Her movements stirred up clouds of junk. I saw objects whirl through the circle of daylight thrown by the hole: a plastic fork, a comb, an empty cup, a loose shoe…

Another clap of thunder rolled in from the horizon.

If we’d had more time, I would have sent a drone in to help her. As it was, we were already pushing our luck.

When Clay reappeared a second time, her dreads were sodden and plastered to her head, and her goggles were missing.

“There’s something in here.” She lunged upward and grabbed the lip of the hole. “Get me out.”

I took hold of her wrists.

“What are you—?”

“I’m not kidding, Sally.” She tried to pull herself up. “Get me the fuck out!”

I didn’t argue. In the three years I’d known her, I’d never seen Clay this rattled. I’d seen her tense and anxious, maybe, but never actually afraid. I dragged her up with all the strength in my arms. Then, when she was halfway out and levering herself up on her elbows, I reached down and grabbed her by her tool belt. I pulled back hard and she slithered up on top of me. Her clothes were soaked, and I tasted salt water. We rolled apart and sat panting on the wet deck while lightning danced like fire among the clouds and the quickening wind delivered the first spots of rain.

“Where’s the other one?”

Clay swallowed, trying to control her breathing. “Gone.”

I climbed to my feet and scrutinised the circle of darkness. “But there were two…”

“Something took him.” She wrapped her arms across her chest.

“What was it?”

“I don’t know.” Her chest rose and fell. “But it was big, and fast.”

“Like a shark?” With one of the submerged airlocks left open, I could see how a big fish might have wormed its way into the Hobo’s drowned interior.

“No.” Clay shook her head. “No, it had tentacles.” She stood up and drew her pistol, and backed away from the hole. I took one last look into the depths of the flooded cabin and then did likewise.

Another peal of thunder split the sky. Although the clouds were still some distance from us, the rain rode ahead of them, blown like spittle.

“We need to leave.” Clay had her gun trained on the hole in the hull, seemingly expecting some aquatic horror to rise up from within. She was scared, and she was right to be. The weather was closing in and the Hobo was in danger of dropping out from under us at any moment. We were out of time and we needed to evacuate the survivors, pronto.