Infestation

by William Meikle

  *

  Banks landed hard but again, Mac was there to steady him. The weight on his back almost overbalanced both of them until Hynd steadied all three with an arm. They turned to see the post office fully aflame, the roof already starting to fall in on itself. In the yard at the back, the beasts burned. And they weren’t going to get to use the Skidoos; the flames had taken them too and one of them went up with a dull whump as the heat got to the gas tank. The beasts not caught in the conflagration retreated fast toward the shoreline. None paid any attention to the men on the roof.

  The main danger looked like it was going to come from the fire itself; the breeze off the sea whipped flames across the gap between the buildings. It was only a matter of time before this building went up along with the post office.

  “Right, lads, time to go,” Banks said. “Lead on, Sarge. Get us to those kayaks and get the flock out of here.”

  Hynd led the team quickly across the roof. They let themselves down easily on the far side, then, moving as one silent unit, headed away south into the dark.

  None of the creatures followed them.

  - 6 -

  Svetlanova stood in almost pitch black darkness; the bulb above her was down to a single glowing red worm of filament and the only other light she had was the dim LED on her Dictaphone; she had no idea how long it might last.

  There had been no more sound of shooting, not for a while now. She could only hope whoever it had been had survived and was now on their way to the boat; it might be her only chance of escape. And now that the darkness was closing in around her, she found she wanted to live, determined that this dark cell would not be the sum total of her life’s ambitions.

  She held the Dictaphone loosely in her hand; there was more yet to tell but she couldn’t bring herself to speak it aloud; the memories came too raw, too vivid. The scant minutes after the wave of the swarm came over the bows of the boat would be etched in her mind forever.

  The crew had died bloodily, some of them fighting, others pulled screaming from hiding places. Svetlanova and the captain had retreated into the lower decks via the closest access point to where they’d been standing at the instant of the attack, but they weren’t given time to close the exterior door; the weight of the beasts was too much and they were too many. They were forced to retreat inside but the beasts kept coming. Soon, she was fleeing, full pelt through the corridors and down stairs with little regard for safety. At first, she was aware the captain ran right alongside her then one second he was there, the next he was gone. She turned, almost stumbled, to see the man get engulfed in a squirming wave of isopods, already tearing at the flesh of his legs and back. The captain looked her in the eye.

  “Run!” he shouted, then was gone under as if drowning in the mass of tearing pincers and flaying hooks. She hadn’t been trying to reach the large pantry; it was a coincidence the door was open when she reached it. She was planning to keep going, heading for the lifeboats at the stern but the corridor ahead was also blocked; three isopods engaged in dragging the flayed, thankfully dead, body of a crewman away.

  She had leapt inside the open doorway, not really knowing where she was going, merely needing an escape, and slammed it shut. She’d stood there, fighting for a breath, her weight against the door, waiting to see if the defense would hold.

  The beasts behind her had kept going. They sounded like a wave rushing along the narrow corridor. There had been more distant screams and several gunshots, then it had gone quiet. When her breathing recovered, she noticed she’d been fortunate enough to end up in the pantry. Something had settled in her, her mind determined a safe place was the best place and no other place would do.

  The quiet had settled on the boat like a funeral shroud. Svetlanova could not risk calling out and if there was anyone else aboard still alive, in hiding like her, they too were being circumspect in their silence.

  The boat belonged to the isopods now.

  *

  The first night had been bad. She ate too much; hard biscuits washed down with fizzy pop, far too much pop leaving her with an almost overpowering urge to urinate. And there was no way she was going to do it in the confines of the pantry. But the need was becoming far too great; an accident was imminent.

  There hadn’t been any noise for several hours, so she took a chance and pried the door open, a millimeter at a time until she had a clear view along the corridor, intending to retreat at the first sound, or first glimpse of shimmering blue. There was only darkness and deadly silence. The only light came from the room where she’d been hiding, the single bulb high in the pantry. The rest of the corridor was in deep shadows in both directions and she wasn’t in any hurry to investigate the darkness. She stepped outside the pantry, some five feet along the corridor, lowered her clothes, squatted and did her business; it felt like much of her tension left her in the same moments and she found she was thinking straight for the first time since the beast’s incursion.

  She still wasn’t in any mood for investigation though and stood, intending to step back into the pantry. That was when she’d seen it; a blue, shimmering glow right down at the far end of the long corridor running almost the length of the boat. Then she heard it too; the hum, high and whining as it communicated. Then it moved and she realized how far away the beast was; and how big it had to be for her to see it so clearly. It almost filled the corridor; five feet wide and the same again as tall; this wasn’t one of the juveniles; this was a large one, like the one they’d burned and sent back to the deep. She’d been hoping there was only one of the larger ones but that was now dashed.

  And where there’s two, there can be many.

  She had slid quietly back into the pantry and stayed still for many hours but nothing had come to investigate her presence.

  Not yet.

  Now all she could do was eat biscuits, ration her water, and worry, not about the infestation here on the boat but about the possibility of it spreading. Just how far the spread might go was a matter of speculation but everything she knew about isopods pointed in one direction; they liked to swarm and they liked to feed.

  And they’re not fussy eaters.

  She listened, hoping to hear the gunfire again, hoping someone might be on the way with a rescue.

  Hoping.

  - 7 -

  Off to the north, the sky was reddened with the flames from the still burning house and post office in the harbor, but the fire had spooked the beasts. For now, the yard where they stood was quiet and empty and they’d managed to negotiate a series of backyards to get here without any further encounters. Hynd led them into the dark shadows at the back of a squat timber house and removed the ties on a canvas sheet, drawing it back to reveal their proposed rides. The long slim vessels were raised up off the ground on a series of heavy timber railings to protect them from the ice and frost.

  Banks stepped forward for a better look over the kayaks. The timbers they sat on were old, rotted in places but the kayaks themselves looked to be well maintained and probably seaworthy.

  “I’m guessing they only take them out in summer,” Hynd said quietly at his ear.

  “Probably a great idea around here generally,” Banks replied. “Unfortunately, we can’t wait. Let’s get these ‘round the front to the shore. If the beasts are still concentrated up the other end near the fire, we might be able to slip off quietly out of the way. Best be quick about it, lads. The fire isn’t going to burn forever and we’ve got a boat to catch before it buggers off without us.”

  The squad ferried the kayaks and paddles ‘round the side of the house and down the short driveway to the shoreline, two men to each kayak, until they had six of them lined up at the waterline. Looking up the shore, Banks saw the beasts were still congregated a hundred yards or so to the north in the harbor area, near the now burnt-out, smoking ruin of the post office. He also noted something else – he wasn’t going to need the night glasses much longer. The sky was lightening over in the east, a red tinge on the horizon showing
dawn wasn’t far off. When Banks took the night glasses off, the first thing he saw was Nolan’s pale-faced gaze, studying the kayaks warily.

  “I’m not going to enjoy this, Cap, me with the fucked legs and all…”

  “Suck it up, lad,” Hynd replied. “We’re not leaving you here. Yon beasties have had a taste of you already. They would be having you for a light breakfast.”

  Banks waited until the rest of the squad got settled inside the long kayaks and slipped on the waterproofs at their waist to stop the freezing water sloshing inside onto their legs. One by one, he pushed them off the rocky shore into the water; he was the only one to get wet feet. To mitigate the cold, he had zipped the parka all the way up, pulling the hood tight over his head so the fur lining sheltered his face from the worst of the chill. He kept his weapon slung on the outside, hanging down at his chest so he’d only have to drop the paddle to reach it. His boots were laced up tight enough that the slushy water didn’t penetrate but his feet felt like blocks of ice as he slid his legs into the kayak, although he felt almost warm after clipping the waterproof sheet around him. With the help of a pull from Sergeant Hynd, he got himself launched into the water to join the rest of the squad paddling in the shallows, holding their position, waiting orders.

  *

  The crab-like beasts had lost interest in them and the squad was able to paddle, albeit slowly in the slushy water, to a position some twenty yards offshore. The sky was much lighter already and all of the squad had stowed their night glasses. Pink washes above fiery orange lit the horizon and it might have been psychological but Banks felt warmer with the coming of the new day, even while bemoaning the fact they would now be in plain sight on their approach to the Russian boat.

  Nolan looked paler than ever and a pained expression crossed his face with every paddle-stroke but he managed a wan smile as they all came together in a line.

  “How you doing, lad?” Banks asked

  “Guess the auld legs will do me for a few years more yet, Cap,” he said.

  Banks turned to look at their destination. The Russian boat sat at anchor some quarter of a mile out in the bay; it was going to be hard work getting there in the slush, which was thicker in places and interspersed with larger blocks of ice to be navigated. The boat itself looked, at first glance, to be a typical cargo boat for these waters; a hundred meters or so long, with a high superstructure at the back end and a flat main deck with two large cranes to load and unload fish. What was different about this one was the attached drilling rig at the prow, taller even than the boat itself and looking solid enough, although even at a distance Banks saw scorch marks from a recent fire all across its surface. There were no lights on board and no sign of life on the deck or up in the superstructure. She looked dead in the water.

  “Spy boat, my arse,” Mac said and spat in the water. “They’re fucking drilling.”

  “What do you think they’re after, Cap?” Hynd said.

  Banks shook his head.

  “Oil maybe? Or gas? Could be anything. We won’t know until we get there and we won’t get there by sitting around here freezing our asses off. Keep your eyes peeled; any sign of trouble, anything at all, you know the drill. If some fucker starts shooting at us, take them out; don’t bother waiting for an order.”

  They’d all been preoccupied with looking at the Russian boat and it wasn’t until Mac turned and looked back to shore they saw something had changed; the harbor area lay quiet and empty; the beasts had slipped away with the dawn. The only movement was thin wisps of black smoke rising from the ruined burned-out buildings.

  “What the fuck, Cap?” Mac asked.

  Banks still didn’t have an answer for him.

  “Eyes front and rear,” he said. “The fuckers could be anywhere and the boat’s the mission here; we’ll worry about the beasties when we have to. Move out.”

  *

  The paddling was as strenuous as Banks feared it would be and twice as cold. The early illusion of warmth inside the kayak proved to be a fleeting memory as an icy breeze coming across the surface of the water sucked all the heat out of him. His arms felt like iced-over wood, his arse like stone, and he couldn’t feel his feet. But he kept paddling; it was better than the alternative. He also kept an eye on the boat ahead of them but the closer they got, the surer he was it was deserted, totally dead in the water. But it wasn’t going to be easy getting aboard; he couldn’t see any ladders or gangplanks to get them up onto the deck.

  “Head for the drilling rig, lads,” he said. “That’s our best hope of getting up there.”

  As they closed in, Banks saw there were still two long lifeboats in their clamps at the rear of the boat. Whatever had happened to the crew, they hadn’t abandoned ship by the conventional route.

  We’ve got a regular Marie Celeste on our hands.

  Mac went ahead to the drill structure while the rest hung back several yards. Banks took the opportunity to do a three-sixty check but it appeared the six of them were the only things moving on the bay. There were no birds; not in itself unusual in these northerly climes and no ripples disturbed the water. Even the wind, such as it had been, had died in the past few minutes, leaving everything flat and calm, the bay holding its breath, waiting.

  But waiting for what?

  Banks’ spidey sense was tingling hard and he’d learned over the years to trust it.

  “Mac?” he called out. “How’s it looking? I’d like to get out of this thing before my balls drop off.”

  “Come on in, Cap,” Mac called back. “There’s been a fire right enough but the structure’s sound and it looks like we can get all the way up to the deck, slick as shite off a shovel.”

  Mac led them forward into the shadow of the rig. It felt colder still here out of the morning sun, but they had ample room to quickly pull the kayaks out of the water and store them six feet up on the drill structure itself. It made extra work for them but Banks felt better knowing the vessels were there and safe, should a quiet, or quick, escape be needed without resorting to the lifeboats.

  Five minutes later, they had the kayaks stowed safely on the second tier of the drilling rig and stood at the foot of a ladder leading all the way up to the deck.

  “Time to go to work and find what we were sent to find, lads. McCally and Briggs, you’re up first. Mac, bring up the rear. Heads up; and keep your eyes open. Quiet doesn’t mean safe.”

  *

  He felt every rung of the climb drain strength from his already weakened arms. On top of that, his gloves put too much of a distance between his fingers and the ladder, threatening to slip every time he tried to grip but he knew better than to go bare-handed; the cold metal would strip the skin from his palms as fast as any burn. Hynd was the man ahead of him and Banks concentrated on taking it one rung at a time, following the sarge’s feet on the way up. The feeling he’d lost while paddling slowly came back in his feet and ankles, as if someone was running a blowtorch over them, and his breath froze into ice droplets around the fur of his hood. But he was doing better than Nolan below him, who moaned and complained every inch of the way up until Mac, below him, had heard enough.

  “If you don’t hurry the fuck up, I’ll put a bullet in your arse myself, lad. Get a move on, I’m fucking freezing back here.”

  They kept climbing. It was only fifty rungs but Banks felt every one of them and by the time he clambered out onto the deck, his arms trembled and his shoulders ached from the weight they’d taken. At least it was warmer up here, marginally, and as he waited for Nolan and Mac to climb aboard, he raised his weapon, aware that now, this precise moment, was when they were at their most vulnerable. But the boat stayed quiet – more than that, it actually felt dead. Banks relaxed, as much as he could allow it, and had his first good look round.

  Hynd, McCally, and Briggs also had their rifles in hand but there was no sign weapons would be needed; there was no sign, at first glance, of any disturbance. It was only when Banks looked more closely he saw it; more scorc
h marks, particularly around the top part of the drilling rig. Right on top of the rig, the metal was bent and twisted out of shape, as if something heavy had sat there once before being roughly torn away. Alongside that, there were numerous scratches and gouges on the deck; he’d seen their like before, on the shore where they’d found the dead walruses.

  Our beastie pals have been here too.

  There were no carcasses here though, no charred shells but as Banks walked several paces forward, he found the first clue as to the fate of the crew. A long smear of blood and tissue led across the deck and over the gunwales. It reminded him all too clearly of the similar smears they’d found back at the broken doors of the houses on the shoreline. There was something else too. The more he looked, the more he saw, deeper gouges and larger, longer scratches, far too big to have been made by any of the beasts they’d seen so far. It looked like only one set of them, but it had Banks thinking and he wasn’t happy at his conclusion.

  They come in bigger sizes.

  *

  Mac had to boost Nolan the last few feet up and over the gunwales; the Irishman had spent what little energy he had left on the climb but finally everyone was up on deck, rubbing their arms and stamping their feet to try to get some life into frozen limbs.

  “Let’s head inside,” Banks said, “see if we can get a heat, or at least some respite from the chill. We’ll try the control room first.”

  “Shall I take somebody with me down to check out the engines, Cap?” Hynd said.

  “Negative. I want us all together until we know what’s what. Last time I let any you off on your own, you brought back a load of hungry critters with you.”