“I’m scared.”

Elina clutches Charlie’s hands in her own. The shadows and fog have continued to intensify, but now there’s a much more physical, tangible experience adding to that. The temperature inside the Narwhal has dropped at least ten degrees Fahrenheit. The chilly, damp air has become cold, enough to seep through clothing and latch onto the skin, sapping the heat from their bodies. Donning coats, layering shirts, pants, even underwear, those onboard do anything they can to fight back, but they cannot fully escape its bite.

“I know.”

Charlie cannot muster the energy for a more reassuring reply. She’s running on fumes. The cold has taken her last ounces of strength and she can feel her body slowing. In mind, she’s distracted, dulled, but still clear-headed enough to see the intensifying anomalies in the ship. Even now, sitting in the bunks, she can feel a breeze on her shoulder where there should be none, and the faint scent of licorice passing under her nose. She no longer even tries to convince herself that there’s a rational explanation for what’s happening. It’s not hallucinations of restlessness and radiation. It’s not the constant nightmares lingering in her tired mind. The shadows move, undulating and warping without a source. Mist creeps along the floors and drips from pipes. Even the fog of her breath in the cold coils and twists in unnatural ways.

But Elina is worse off. She jumps at every noise, normal or otherwise. Her breathing is quick and ragged. Adrenaline has kept her going for some time, but it’s fading fast. She struggles just to keep her eyes open from weakness, and can barely get out of bed to use the bathroom. She’s been thoroughly crippled by her fear of Julia as it’s sucked the life out of her.

Bill is crouched nearby, he’s checking on Piper. Hunched over and bundled in a thick winter coat, he sniffles. In the dark, she cannot see it--and almost prefers it that way--but in the light of the mess hall, seeing him hurts Charlie more every day. He should be bedridden by now. His face is eerily skeletal, and the way he walks is slow, like a zombie, struggling just to keep his balance. He speaks only in short phrases, unable to talk for any real amount of time without falling into a coughing fit. But, though his face is dark and deathly, his eyes hold all of his strength. He can’t express it outwardly, his body too deteriorated to do so, but he forces his mind to stay in one piece. Bill is holding himself together out of the force of his will alone, but Charlie knows it cannot last. The limits of his body will catch up to him, she just doesn’t know when.

“Do we have any fever reducers?” Bill croaks. “Anti-inflammatories?”

Piper is the worst off of them all. She never seemed overly fearful, but the radiation has hit her body hard, tearing her apart, and leaving her in a barely conscious state. Today’s extreme cold has only worsened her condition, and she can no longer even leave her bed.

“I don’t think so,” Charlie replies.

They burned through their medicines days ago now. The only hope for any of them was for help to come, but nobody speaks of rescue anymore. If it comes, they’ll consider themselves lucky.

Other than those who died in the engine room when they were attacked by the whales, and Carter who had been taken from the torpedo room, fatalities are still nil. Even the three crewmen locked inside the torpedo room are still alive if their incoherent babbling through the steel door is anything to go by. But they are at a tipping point. It had only been two and a half weeks since they had been stranded at the bottom of this heartless sea, but it was more than enough. Their minds and bodies alike are nearing their limits, and food is now in more short supply than ever. If Julia doesn’t kill them first, between starvation and radiation, they won’t last long anyway.

Lewis walks into the room, returning from a brief visit to the control room. He and the crew that he had left were trying to find a solution or even just a cause for the sudden drop in temperature. But he’s come back empty-handed.

The captain’s flashlight beams across the room, casting light on the horrorshow inside. The floors here are not just slick with moisture from the air but vomit as well, as the number of people emptying buckets has quickly been overtaken by the number of people filling them. Lewis breaths through his mouth as he delivers the news.

“Nothing. Air systems are green,” he grunts. “Not that that really means jack shit since we know other systems are spitting out false greens too.”

James rolls over in his bed, his eyes sunken and sad. “Probably isn’t even the ship,” he says with a sigh. “Julia’s having another bit of fun with us, that’s what it is.”

Nobody objects to that theory.