“The operator in the control booth must have initiated the lock-down protocol.”

Below our feet, a deep, resonant vibration shook the steel deck.

It was not just the main shaft turning anymore.

It was the sound of high-pressure pumps.

I bent down and pressed my ear against the cold steel of the hatch cover.

I could hear a faint, metallic clanging from deep within the pressure hull.

It sounded like someone was hammering on the pipes inside.

“There are people down there,” I said, looking up at Hayes.

“The duty watch,” Hayes said, his eyes scanning the dark sail. “At least four men should be in the maneuvering room.”

“They don’t know what’s happening,” I said.

“Or they’re trapped,” Hayes said.

He walked over to the bridge trunk, looking for another way in.

The secondary hatch on top of the sail was also sealed tight.

The red status lights on the external bridge console were all glowing a solid, mocking red.

Then, the sound beneath our feet changed.

The deep hum of the pumps grew louder, transitioning into a wet, rushing roar.