that Sharlene can get the medical attention she needs. It was then that the lights went out. And we discovered that everything was out. The radio is dead. The computers are off. The engines won't even turn over. Nothing electrical works, even though there seems to be no reason for it. It is insane.

After an hour of futile attempts to figure out what the problem is, I ordered the men to go back to bed and get some sleep. Anyone who can't sleep, takes some pills. It won't help if we are all dog tired tomorrow. Besides we don't have enough lanterns to work efficiently in the dark.

I can see fear begin to creep into the men's eyes.

As I sit here by the light of the hissing lantern, I will admit that I to am shivering almost as much from nervousness as from the wet, clammy cold. There is something in the air, in the dirty, slimy fog that seems to penetrate everywhere, even into my cabin, even into me. It is a feeling, a premonition of unnatural dread. Something evil is coming! My wife says I rate zero in imagination, but I can feel this. I know it.

It does not help that Sharlene wakes up every fifteen minutes now screaming insanely. We are out of sedatives, so we just let her scream until she passes out. We gagged her once. But she bit through it. So there is nothing else we can do. We let her scream.

My head hurts. I am going to take a large shot of whiskey and try to fall asleep. Maybe tomorrow the engines will start and this hellish fog will lift.

If not, God save us all.


5/4 1000 hours What is happening to us? Are we all going mad?

About an hour ago, I was sitting down before a cold breakfast in the mess. With me were Lyndon and Jackson, our two part-time mechanics, and we were discussing what systems to check out first, and what could make the twin diesels refuse to turn over. Soon the rest of the crew--Curley, Ramon, Schwartz, and Stuart--had joined in. Only Sharlene was absent. She was quiet at the moment.

Stuart is our oldest, most experienced diver and an extremely valuable man to have around. He has been the "straw boss" of my crews and my head diver since I started with the company. In any popularity contest, he would win hands down. Easy going, fair, level-headed, quick in emergencies, and always smiling; that is Stuart. Things always seemed to go smoother when Stuart was around. We've been friends for many years, all the way back to our Navy days.

We had been sitting around the big table, arguing about what could make all the electrical systems fail suddenly, when Stuart made a humorous remark. I don't even remember what it was, but it was funny and slightly dirty. The whole crew broke out into laughter, a welcome relief from the grim tenseness that had hung over the room.

Then Stuart got up casually and walked back to the galley. I thought he was going to get another cup of cold coffee; he drank the stuff whether it was hot, cold, or lukewarm. A few moments later, however, he returned carrying a meat cleaver. He was staring at it and laughing.

"Hey, look everybody," he chuckled. "If thy right hand offend thee, then cut it off."