Then he heard a sound. Faint, distant, muffled by the water, but unmistakable. Singing.
Low, slow male voices. An old church chant. It was coming from deeper inside the church, from the direction of the main nave.
“I hear a sound,” Vance said. His voice stayed even, but his fingers tightened on the signal line. “An acoustic anomaly resembling singing.”
“Singing?” Somers did not bother hiding his disbelief. “Yes.” “That’s impossible. Sound behaves differently underwater.”
“Maybe you’re hearing structural resonance.” “Maybe,” Vance said. But he knew perfectly well it was not resonance.
He had heard resonance hundreds of times in wrecks, underwater tunnels, and lock chambers. This was not that. This was singing.
He turned slowly. The candlelight behind him flickered steadily. Their shadows slid along the walls, stretching and shrinking.
Vance looked toward the center of the church. The darkness there was much thicker. And the movement in the water was stronger.
It felt as if something in the dark was breathing. Slowly. Regularly. He took a careful step into the aisle between the rows. His lamp lit up wooden benches.
They stood in neat lines. Some leaned slightly, but most were upright. People were sitting on those benches.
Vance froze. The figures were completely still. Blurred by the murky water, but clearly visible.
They sat upright, facing the altar. There were maybe twenty of them, maybe more. He raised the lamp higher.
The light caught pale, waxy faces. Their eyes were open. They were staring straight ahead.
They wore dark, long clothing: robes, plain coats, women’s headscarves. Their hands were folded in prayer. “Multiple bodies observed inside the structure, seated position,” Vance said quietly.
“How many?” Somers asked quickly. “Can’t say exactly. No fewer than twenty.” Somers asked about their condition.
Vance stepped closer to the nearest figure. It was an elderly man with a long gray beard. Big hands. A working man’s hands.
He wore a black robe. His face looked calm, with no sign of struggle. “Bodies well preserved,” Vance reported.
“No visible decomposition. Position is inconsistent with drowning victims. Drowning victims float or settle on the bottom.”
“They don’t sit in rows on benches with their hands folded and their eyes fixed in one direction.” Vance looked over the rows.
Every figure was frozen in the same posture, facing the altar. It looked as if the service had just ended. Or had never ended.
Meanwhile the singing grew louder. Now it was not distant. It was here, inside the church. The voices were surprisingly clear.
It was an old liturgical chant. Vance did not know the words, but he recognized the tone. His grandfather had once sung that way in old-country congregations that kept to the old forms.
The movement in the water grew noticeably stronger. Vance felt a slight but steady pressure. As if something large had begun moving nearby.
He turned and looked at the people. The figures were still sitting motionless. Then one of them, in the third row on the left, slowly turned its head.
The movement was smooth, without any jerk. The figure simply turned its head and looked at him. Vance stood still, holding his breath.
It was the face of a young woman in a dark headscarf tied low. Her eyes were wide open, but there were no pupils. Only white.
Then another figure in the front row turned its head. A man. Then another. Then another.
The heads turned slowly and in perfect unison. There was no sound. The bodies did not move. Only the heads.
And soon all of them were looking directly at him. “The structure is showing anomalous activity,” Vance said slowly and clearly. “Recommend immediate ascent.”
“Confirm anomaly,” Somers answered in a hard voice. “Bodies are moving.” “That’s impossible.”
“I am observing it directly.” The figures kept staring at him without blinking. The singing never stopped for a second.
The candles burned with a steady, unwavering light. The movement in the water grew stronger still. Under the suit, Vance felt a deep rhythmic pressure, like a pulse…
