The beam from my forward light cut through the darkness. I was dropping through a brown tea-colored world, but everything seemed to be spinning. I squeezed my eyes shut, feeling sick."

"Speak tae me, Zachary."

"Dizzy, I'm just a little dizzy."

"Ye're spinning. Look inside yer headpiece. Jist below yer lower jaw, ye'll see a set o' gauges."

I opened my eyes, focusing on the digital display.

"Check yer compass, it's in orange. It shows direction an' course, sort o' like a submarine. Press on yer thrusters again an' come tae a complete stop."

I did as told. "Okay."

"Call oot yer depth tae me."

"Two hundred thirty feet."

"Have ye stopped spinnin'?"

"Yes."

"Good. Now ease off the thrusters an' continue descendin' while callin' oot yer depth."

"Two-sixty. Three hundred. Three-thirty …"

"Still droppin' too fast. Press doon on yer thrusters gently, let's slow ye up a bit."

"Three-fifty. Three-seventy."

"That's better. Now, the light on yer waist is tethered. Take a moment an' lock it intae the pincers of yer right glove so it'll be there when ye get closer tae the bottom."

"Got it." Securing the light in my right pincer, I aimed the beam into the darkness, feeling more in control. "Four-sixty. Five hundred feet. Five-forty—"

"Dinnae get cocky, Zack. Keep it slow an' steady. Whit dae ye see?"

"Not much. Even with the light, visibility's still less than fifteen feet. Outside the beam, the water's pitch-black."

"Like swimmin' in ink. I want ye relyin' on yer digital display. Which way are ye pointed?"

"South, at one-five-two degrees."

"Keep an eye on yer position, or ye'll be walkin' in circles. By the way, yer backup system's ower the side, the umbilical cord's feedin' fine. How deep are ye now?"

"Oops, I just passed seven hundred feet."

"Hit yer thrusters, afore ye bury yersel' in the bottom!"

I pressed down again, slowing my descent until I regained neutral buoyancy. "I'm good… I'm good."

"Good? Ye're turnin' my hair good an' grey. Check yer gauges again."

I was in 723 feet of water, the pressure outside of my artificial skin over twenty atmospheres, the temperature a chilly thirty-eight degrees.

Inside, I was dry and cool.

I felt a current at my back and allowed it to push me ahead as I looked down, aiming my handheld beam.

The bottom passed twenty feet below my boots. It was a murky desert of mud, its flat expanse desecrated here and there by petrified clumps of Scots Pine. The massive trees were embedded in the soot, belching tiny streams of gas, their plankton-covered branches reaching out for me like the rotting arms of Loch Ness's dead.

Jesus… what am I doing down here?

"Zack, ye still alive?"

"Sorry. I'm drifting, guess I'm about twenty feet off the bottom."

"Ye see oor friend?"

I'd been so preoccupied with surviving the descent I'd completely forgotten about the monster!