Adrift

by W. Michael Gear

  “All right,” Michaela told them. “Here’s the plan: Casey and I climb down. We get to Kevina in the seatruck. Once inside, we spool up, lift off, and climb up to the landing pad. We set down just long enough for Kevina and me to leap out and load the crate. While we do, Vik, you climb aboard. Soon as you’re on, we’re off for the beach.”

  “You’re sure about this?” Vik asked. “What if there are others? What if Kel’s down there, somewhere? Maybe locked in a room? We can’t just leave him behind.”

  Michaela stepped over, laid a hand on Vik’s shoulder, and pinned the woman’s frightened gaze with her own. “Listen to me. If Kel’s not on the second level, he’s dead. The kids have taken the first level and there’s slime all over it. We’re out of time. As it is, it’ll be dark by the time we get to the beach. You can stay or go. Choose.”

  Vik nodded, wind flipping her hair. “Go.”

  Michaela gave the woman a reassuring slap on the shoulder, turned and strode to the rope ladder. She started to climb down, the ungainly rifle cradled in her aching left arm. Wished desperately that the thing had come with a sling. It made her progress slow, clumsy. Then she figured out a sort of rhythm. Wished the fucking ladder wasn’t so unsteady. Figured it would be a miracle if she didn’t flip the thing upside down and fall to her death.

  But she made it, stepping down onto the dock, and turned. To her horror, thick-braided ropes of slime crisscrossed the dock in tangles of pulsing blue-green. They wound around the seatruck closest to the level one hatch, were fingering their way up the side of the portal.

  “Oh, God, no.” Michaela made a face, stepped warily out from the wall, rifle at the ready. “Kevina!” she bellowed. “Where are you?”

  “Here!” The door to the second seatruck flung open. “I can’t get back inside! The slime’s got the door covered.”

  “Don’t worry. Casey’s coming down behind me. She’ll fly us up to the . . .”

  An anguished scream from above caused Michaela to turn. She heard the hollow rasp of metal on sialon as Casey’s rifle appeared, sliding around the Pod’s curve, gaining speed to fly free and smack, butt-first on the dock’s decking. With a crack, the stock splintered, the barrel and action taking a half cartwheel before clattering to the hard deck between two tendrils of slime.

  “Sorry,” Casey cried from above. “It just slipped.”

  “Well, get down here! Fly us the hell out of here.”

  If there was any upside, it was that, unencumbered, Casey descended one hell of a lot faster. The woman made the bottom and turned, horrified as she gaped at the interlaced tangle of green engulfing the nearest seatruck’s fans, and where it piled against the hatch.

  “Come on!” Michaela called. “Jump the slime. Let’s go.”

  They needed Casey. Michaela used the rifle for balance, skipping and jumping to stay as clear as she could of the thin veins of blue-green that traced out over the deck.

  Behind her, she heard Casey, shoes thumping on the deck as she followed.

  Michaela made the door, swung up, and almost tumbled into the seatruck’s cabin. Kevina reached down, pulled her all the way in.

  The look Kevina gave her was almost worshipful with relief. She pulled a long strand of blond hair out of the way as she said, “I knew someone would come. God, the waiting. I came out to see if anyone was here, figured we’d be evacuating. I was with Kel when he tried to close the Underwater Bay hatch. Someone had opened it. Let the slime out. The stuff just wound around his legs.” She pinched her eyes shut. “It pulled him down into the tube. Like it was some creature, not just mindless algae.”

  “I don’t know if hearing that makes it better or worse for Vik? At least she won’t think she’s leaving him behind.”

  Casey, whimpering again, had made it to the door. Swung up and pulled herself into the cabin. “Let’s get the hell out of here.” She flung herself into the driver’s seat, quickly adjusted the chair to her height and reach. Then her capable fingers began flipping the switches, hit the starter, and powered up the fans.

  Michaela heard it. That straining sound. Even as Casey said, “What the hell? Port side’s not spinning up.”

  Michaela clawed her way across Kevina’s lap to press her face to the transparency where it curved around the cabin. Her heart missed its beat. “Got slime in the fans.”

  “Powering up,” Casey called. “Maybe we can chop it free.”

  Desperate, praying, Michaela felt like her chest was about to explode. Come on! Come on!

  The motors whined, she could see the heat rolling out of the nacelles as the fans slowly began to turn. This was accompanied by a frantic shake as the slime reacted, tensed; the thick green vein leading into the fans convulsed. Then it let loose. A spray of water, green goo, and bits of algae spattered onto the sides of the seatruck. Michaela stared, stunned, at the star-shaped clump that slapped onto the transparency inches from her nose.

  The seatruck rose, fighting for every scrap of altitude, a meter, and then two.

  Michaela, still sprawled across Kevina’s lap saw when the nacelle began to smoke, heard the sudden grinding. Felt the seatruck shift, losing stability.

  “No!” Casey screamed. “God damn it, no!”

  The gyros kicked in, the emergency override taking control and dropping them back to slam down on to the deck. The impact knocked the wind out Michaela, bounced her off Kevina’s lap and onto the floor. Pain shot like lightning up her left arm. Frantically, she scrambled to her feet. Dared to stare out at the smoking nacelle.

  “Must have overcooked it cutting the slime loose,” Casey muttered as she stared at the temp gauges. “Think we stripped some of the gears. You heard that grinding?”

  “Yeah.” Michaela choked down a sob. “No way we’re flying this to the beach, is there?”

  Casey was staring dull-eyed at the second seatruck. It perched on the deck, no more than ten meters away. So close, and with its entwinement of slime tentacles and veins, it could have been on Donovan’s moon for all the good it did them.

  “What do we do now?” Kevina asked, gaze fixed on the tortured blue-green ropes of slime; they seemed to be whipping in a maniacal frenzy about where the fans had shredded them.

  “God, no,” Casey squeaked in a mewling voice. “It’s coming!”

  Michaela shifted her attention to the front of the vehicle; the ocean lay no more than four meters beyond. Every one of the rope-like tentacles were shifting, moving with that weird pulsation. They might have been pumping themselves across the salt-brined deck. Each one was now inching its way toward the truck.

  Too many of them.

  “Out!” Michaela screamed. “They get a hold of this, they’ll drag it right over the edge and down into the depths. Just like they did Jym’s launch. Move it!”

  She grabbed up the rifle, threw herself at the door, and kicked it open. Dropping to the deck, Michaela gauged the distance. Took in the twisting and squirming ropes of slime between her and the ladder. Gritting her teeth, she ran. The others were either coming, or they weren’t. Hell, she might not make it as it was.

  At the ladder, she reached up, got a foot on a rung, and, rifle cradled, climbed.

  She did throw a glance over her shoulder at the sound of the scream. Casey, the last in line, had missed a step. A wrist-thick tendril of pulsing blue-green had wrapped tight around her ankle. Her right leg was being pulled back as she tried to balance and break free with her left.

  Michaela blinked away the silvering sheen of tears.

  Climb! You’ve got to climb! It’s the only way.

  89

  Kevina, every muscle trembling, her gut knotted, prayed with all her soul that Michaela would move faster, but the woman could only climb so fast with one hand; the rifle cradled in her other slowed her rate to what seemed like a molasses crawl.

  Clinging to the rope ladder—the hard-cu
rved side of the Pod more of an unforgiving cliff than a shelter—Kevina heard another scream. She glanced over her shoulder.

  Casey was on her back now; the slender fingers of slime-roots were lacing their way over her body. It didn’t matter how Casey screamed, how she kicked or thrashed, the inexorable pulsing ropes of slime were dragging her back toward the dock’s edge.

  Frozen, Kevina watched. Saw the moment when one of the green shoots flicked across Casey’s face, found its way into her left nostril. The scream torn from Casey’s lungs was unlike anything Kevina could have imagined. Then Casey bucked, struggled. Her body convulsed as she spewed vomit over her chest. The slime might have rejoiced, following it across the woman’s breasts, up her throat and chin, to send no less than three of the green tendrils into Casey’s mouth.

  The next scream was muffled, half choked.

  Kevina clamped her eyes shut, fought the terror shakes that sought to paralyze her. Looked up through tears to see Michaela still climbing.

  “Climb. Climb.”

  With all of her will, Kevina made herself reach for the next rung. Somehow managed to lift her left leg, search for the next foothold. Having broken free of the paralysis, she made it. Rung by rung as the rope swayed and whipped under both of their weights.

  And then, magically, the rope ladder stabilized, as if rooted at the bottom.

  “Climb, woman, climb,” Kevina whispered.

  Her entire world shrank to that ladder, to Michaela’s feet as they advanced upward, rung by rung, and the curve lessened. Kevina could see the edge of the landing pad now. Michaela was moving faster. It might have been an eternity, but Kevina was able to pull herself over the edge of the landing pad. Threw herself flat on her back, sucking air, staring up at the sky where strange tube-shaped creatures seemed to float. Illuminated from the inside by a golden light, they were unlike anything she’d ever seen. Once, she would have called them beautiful, magical even. Now, even as ethereal as the glowing cones might have been, they, too, reeked of danger and death.

  Vik stepped into Kevina’s field of view, asking, “Where’s Casey? What happened? Where’s the seatruck?”

  “Slime got the seatrucks. Got Casey.” Michaela’s voice sounded squeaky with fear. “We’re all that’s left. It’s just us. Up here. No way off now. No escape.”

  Kevina rolled to her knees, coughed. Pointed at the glowing cones that seemed to float like pulsating balloons. “What are those?”

  “I don’t know,” Vik told her, following her finger. “Related to seaskimmers, I’d guess. They just showed up, came floating in on the wind.”

  “Think we ought to shoot at them?” Michaela wondered. “Every other fucking thing on this planet is trying to kill us.”

  “Pull up the ladder,” Vik said. “It’s our only way off the Pod if we lose the second level.”

  Kevina pivoted, grabbed hold of the ropes and pulled. “What the hell? How heavy is this?”

  “Not more than about fifteen kilos, why?” Michaela asked as she panted for breath and stared worriedly at the floating cones with their wispy tentacles.

  The things might have been fifteen to twenty meters high; the way they held position in the wind belied the notion they were like balloons. Now they lowered, dropping the long lengths of tentacles into the water. As they did, the slime began to react, almost churning.

  Get the damned ladder up!

  Kevina threw her back into it. Grunted. And felt no give in return. “It’s not moving.”

  Michaela added her strength, sharing the duty.

  “Slime’s got it,” Kevina realized.

  A wash of defeat colored Michaela’s weary eyes. “Cut it loose.”

  Vik cried, “But that’s our only way down to the dock.”

  “And it’s the slime’s fast track up to us. Now cut the damn ladder loose. You got anything sharp?”

  Vik retreated to her bag, returned with a scalpel. When Kevina took it, cut the ropes, the ladder didn’t just fall, it was ripped down by the weight. A wet, splattering thump sounded from below. A lot of weight crashing down.

  “What now?” Vik asked as she stared up at the glowing, floating cones. “Sort of look like squids, don’t they?”

  “Yeah,” Michaela countered, “if squids glowed and floated. I don’t like this. Come on. We’re getting inside. Undercover. Kevina, the last rifle is in the locker just inside the weather door.”

  “But stay ready.” Vik slapped a hand to her own rifle as if in assurance. “If those flying squid things are drawn to movement and drop in for a taste, shoot to kill.”

  Kevina struggled to her feet, her legs gone wobbly, her heart still hammering at her chest. Damn it, had she ever been this scared?

  But the hovering squid things didn’t follow, just changed their attitude; a couple of the silky tentacles rose from the slime, pointed toward the women as if they were observing, but who knew how, since they had no visible lens-like eyes.

  At the door, Michaela glanced nervously into the foyer. Then back at the floating squids, and jerked the door open, darting inside.

  Kevina was last, slamming the door behind her. As she did, Michaela opened the locker, handing her the last of the rifles and a spare magazine of cartridges.

  “You know how to use that?” Michaela asked, indicating the rifle.

  “Used one to cull seals off Ostrov Belaya Zemia for the polar bear feeding program.” She worked the bolt, figured out how the gun loaded. “It was an automatic, not a bolt gun.” She found the tang safety, flicked it back and forth. After that, it was pretty simple.

  Michaela stepped up, looked her hard in the eyes. “You understand, don’t you? These things. They’re no longer our children. Felix is not your boy. It’s a monster. Our kids are dead, Kevina. The slime has taken them, is directing them through some kind of sounds we can’t hear. Right, Vik?”

  Vik nodded where she was staring uneasily down the stairs toward the second level. “That thing that looks like my Sheena? Or the one that looks like Felix? It’s taken their minds, Kevina. That’s what killed Bill Martin, Anna Gabarron . . .” Her expression collapsed into a confused grief.

  “Tried to kill me,” Michaela added hotly. “Felix and Sheena, get it? They were chopping down my door when Dik distracted them.” Michaela grabbed Kevina’s shoulder, pinched. “You get a chance, Kevina, you shoot them. You with me? Your son will kill you. He won’t think twice.”

  Kevina clamped her eyes shut, images of Felix flashing behind her lids. The feel of his fetal kicks and shifting in her womb, that miracle as she’d first placed him to her breast to suckle and all that followed. His life out of hers. All the clever antics of his childhood. That wide-eyed boy on his first boat ride out to set the buoy.

  Where had it all gone wrong?

  “I said: Do. You. Understand?” Michaela roared in her face.

  “I . . . Yes.” Kevina swallowed hard, nerved herself. “He’s not my boy anymore.”

  Michaela nodded. “It’s not even a he, Kev. It’s a thing. Alien. And it’s using your boy’s corpse as a home.”

  “Couldn’t have said it better,” Vik agreed. She hadn’t let her gaze shift from the stairs. “We can’t stay here. What do you have in mind?”

  Michaela rubbed her face, smearing the faint streaks of tears on her brown cheeks. “Maybe we can seal the second level? Block the door? Keep them restricted to first level?”

  “If they’re not already on second level,” Vik reminded. “Why didn’t we seal the door when we left?”

  “Because we were fucking flying out of here, remember? Didn’t matter back then.” Michaela gestured. “Kev, you first. Be ready to shoot.”

  Kevina nodded, swallowed hard, lifted the rifle, and used her thumb to click the safety off. Step by step, she started down the stairs, heart hammering, blood rushing in her ears. At the bottom, she took a de
ep breath and stepped out onto the floor. Pivoting, she looked up and down the hall. “No one here.”

  Michaela and Vik eased down after her. Both cocking their heads, listening.

  Michaela hurried across the hall, slammed the door to the stairs leading down to level one. Fearfully, she glanced through the window at the staircase down. “Shit! Slime’s already climbing this way.”

  “Think that door will hold?” Kevina asked, her mouth dry as she pointed the rifle this way and that, expecting some child-shaped monster to leap on her at any instant.

  “Only until someone turns the latch on the other side. How do we seal it so no one can open it?”

  “Got screws in the lab,” Vik said. “We can screw the door into the jamb.” She hurried off.

  Kevina wrinkled her nose. “What’s that . . . ?” But she knew. Gabarron. Shifting her eyes to the clinic, she saw the door open. Remembered that the woman’s sprawled body was blocking it. Shit on a shoe, could this get any worse?

  Michaela was still staring down the staircase, eyes fixed on the advancing slime.

  Kevina heard the patter of bare feet on sialon. Turned, saw Sheena coming from the end of the hall, a weird smile on her oddly green face. “Sheena?”

  The little girl had a vibraknife in her right hand, her face rapturous as she hurtled down the hall calling “Got you! Got you!”

  Kevina cried, “Sheena! No!”

  When Michaela shot, the muzzle blast liked to have burst Kevina’s ears. The pain and surprise of came as a jolt.

  Sheena’s face exploded into bits. Bone, muscle, tissue, and the girl’s right eyeball popped loose. Sheena hit the floor face-first, momentum sliding her on the sialon. In stunned disbelief, Kevina gaped as blood and bits of brain leaked out of the girl’s shattered head.

  At the same moment, the door to the stairway crashed open. Michaela was thrown back, recovered, lifted her rifle, and shot. Something green, muscular, and small launched itself on top of her. A reeling part of Kevina’s mind identified the attacker as an emerald caricature of Breez. But one impossibly agile, strong, and vicious as it clawed at Michaela’s face and squealed in an inhuman voice. Then it ripped the rifle away, sent it clattering across the sialon. Breez batted Michaela’s flailing arms aside, grabbed her by the throat, crying, “Neck: Blood vessels, windpipe, spinal cord.” Her small hands dug deep into Michaela’s throat.