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eath the opening he could see rusted floor platings and a sheen of water perhaps three inches deep。 He saw his reflection there； a shadow without form or face。
Kip； his teeth clenched around the match； his breath ing in short gasps； lowered himself carefully through the opening； his feet groping below for the rungs。 He stepped onto the floor plates； splashing water； and waited for Moore to join him。
They stood in a narrow； cramped chamber filled with pipes； flywheels； and plex machinery。 Kip swung his light around and motioned。 There were four sealed torpedo tubes at the bow； with hatches the size of upended kettle drums。 Two torpedoes seemed to rise up from the floor plates on iron tracks； thick clumps of dried black grease； veined with a greenish fungus； clotted the tracks； but the torpedoes themselves seemed almost clean。 Moore ran a hand along one of them。
〃Careful；〃 Kip cautioned； the sound of his voice an eerie noise that rang from one bulkhead to the next。 He moved his light again； illuminating the thin； fungus…coated mattresses which had been hung on chains so they could be folded back when not in use。 A narrow path led between the bunks into the black guts of the U…boat。 Beneath the bottom bunks were more torpedoes； secured in place with metal clamps。 Kip shined his light on the bulkheads； there were photographs； badly faded and hardly recognizable； still in place among the mattresses。 A young dark…haired woman stood in the midst of an amusement park； smiling； a middle…aged man and woman embraced on a bench with a fountain in the background； there was a postcardlike photo of a huge house surrounded by woods； a pretty blond woman stood on skis； against a backdrop of snow…covered mountains； and waved to a lost love。
The lights revealed crates stowed in every possible nook and cranny。 A bucket had overturned； spilling out something that resembled thick； whitish globs。 Everything was covered with the sickly hues of decay； a shoe； caught in the miniature swells made by the men's movements； bumped against one of the stored torpedoes。 Moore lowered his flashlight and saw what was left of a shirt； coiled like an octopus in a shadowy corner。 Moore thought： And what happened to whoever wore that？
Kip sloshed through the water； bent down and picked at the shirt。 It fell into pieces in his hand； covering his fingers with a yellowish residue。 He held a scrap of it before the light as if mesmerized by it； and then abruptly let it drop back into the water。 The shirt fragments floated out of sight beneath a bunk。 Kip wiped his hand on a trouser leg。
A passageway stretched ahead of them。 The air seemed putrid and thick here； Kip found it difficult to draw a full breath。 There had probably been no air at all in here until that hatch was torched through； and not enough had circulated yet。 Over the graveyard stench there was another odor： cloying； sickly sweet； harsh on the lungs。 Some kind of noxious gas？ Something that had been collecting inside here for forty…odd years？ Kip waited until Moore's light caught up with his and then he crouched forward； ducking under pipes； and started into the corridor。 The darkness seemed to gnaw away at the lights； and up ahead small shadows scurried for safety。 The men couldn't walk side…by…side because the corridor wasn't wide enough。 It was like crawling down the throat of a huge beast into the sodden entanglement of tissues and organs and bone。 〃Jesus；〃 Moore said softly； hearing his voice jump back at him； 〃it's hard to breathe in here。 It's a claustrophobic's nightmare。〃
There was a large central pipe above them that wound its way through the boat like a rusted spine。 Kip shined his light through one of the openings off to the side； toward a cramped storage space filled with crates； two more bare mattresses； and a table bolted to the floor plates。 A row of white shirts hung from the ceiling； and more lay in water。 He moved on； his shoes stirring swirls of rust and filth from the plates。
The crewmen had gone about their duties here； all part of the efficient mechanism； like cogs in a terrible weapon。 But how they managed to keep their sanity in this place day after day； week after week was beyond prehension。 The smell of humanity； of sweat； of cigarette smoke and urine mingled with the stenches of diesel oil and fuel must have been all but overpowering。 Even now Moore felt trapped； as if the bulkheads and ceiling were gradually closing in on him； and he was walking downhill instead of straight ahead。 What had started as an irritation had bee a raw burning at the back of his throat； and when he drew in a guarded half…breath his lungs were seared。 He heard Kip cough violently once； then again。
Moore leaned inside the next opening； probing with the flashlight as Kip moved on ahead。 On a metal table there was a radio console； a set of headphones dangled from wires； and a chair had been overturned。 The shadows were deep and thick； clinging to the corners like solid cobwebs； they resisted the thin spear of light。 Rising off the rotted debris in the water was that terrible crypt smell； dry and sweet。 Moore drew back； inhaling sharply。 He was about to rejoin Kip when he thought he heard something move。
He froze； listening。
There was only the sound of Kip moving ahead； sloshing water。 The echoes were merging； doubling and tripling； vibrating full force off the bulkheads。 Moore flashed his light into that radio room again。 A pulpy mass bumped against the back of the chair； and it took him another moment to realize it was more torn rat carcasses； entrails floating behind。 Rats down here？ What had they done； gotten down into the boat after the hatch had been opened； lured by the smells of fetid food？ But they were all mangled； ripped to pieces like the ones piled on the deck。 He shuddered。 How had that occurred？ What in God's name had done that？
Moore backed away from the cabin； feeling the ooze of the water at his feet； he shined the light back in the direction they'd e。 The sound he'd heard had been the noise of something moving back down the passageway； he knew he hadn't imagined it。 He kept his light steady for a few more seconds； and then he began to move toward his friend。
Kip was examining the filth that floated around him： articles of tattered clothing…shirts； underwear； shoes…empty crates。 There was part of a magazine； showing a picture of a girl coyly hiking a skirt up over a thigh。 There was a date on it： November 1941。 Racy stuff for that time； Kip thought。 He was about to move on when a feeling of dizziness swept over him； he thrust a hand out against iron to keep himself from failing face…forward。 Black spots swirled before his eyes and his lungs seemed filled with fire。
Moore caught his shoulder。 〃Are you all right？〃
〃Just a minute；〃 Kip said thickly； trying to catch his breath。 〃There's bad air in here； David。〃 He shook his head； waiting for the spots to clear。 〃Okay。 I'm better now。〃
〃Can you go on？〃
Kip nodded； looking ahead。 Beyond the narrow beams of light the darkness was clinging and ominous； like something hideous and alive。 On either side； fungus and rust had scrawled strange multicolored patterns。 The boat