Hynd smiled.
“At least we got a fire out of it.”
Banks turned to Nolan. The lad looked pale and dog tired.
“You still standing, Nolan? We’ll see what’s what inside, then get Mac to have another look at those wounds,” he said and Nolan gave him the thumbs up but couldn’t manage a smile.
“A cup of tea and a fag wouldn’t go amiss either, Cap. I’m gasping and I’ve had enough of this running around shite for a while.”
I think we all have.
Banks thought it but didn’t say it.
“Mac, you’re on point. We’re headed into the superstructure and up to the control room. We’ll take stock up there depending on what we find.”
*
What they found was an empty boat. There were more blood smears; many of them, all leading across the decks or corridors and off the boat at the nearest vantage. What they didn’t find were any bodies, although there was more blood in the first stairwell going up into the superstructure; the steps were sticky with it, despite it being congealed, almost dried. Whatever happened here, it had been a day to thirty-six hours ago by the look of it.
It was dim, almost dark, in the stairwell; the power appeared to be off and there was no thrum of engine or generator noise, only a gentle lap of waves on the hull and a slow, almost imperceptible roll in the swell. The only sound was the squad’s footsteps on the stairs.
Banks looked up, past Mac to the top of the stairwell, checking for any signs of a possible ambush but there was only dark shadows, no hint of any of the blue shimmering luminescence he’d come to associate with the beasts.
He realized as they climbed he was now operating from the conclusion the creatures they’d encountered onshore were also responsible for what had happened here on the boat. He didn’t believe in coincidence and certainly not one of this magnitude.
But what the fuck were these Russians doing here in the first place? And where did these beasts come from?
*
Banks’ hopes of finding answers in the control room were dashed. Mac led them into a quiet, and most definitely empty, room; there weren’t even any signs of an attack, no blood smears of gouges on the deck. It was as if all of the crew had suddenly left in a hurry; there was even a cold mug of coffee sitting by the main viewing window.
Hynd went over and checked the controls, then looked up and shook his head.
“There’s no power. Either they switched it off, or something did it for them. We’ll have to go downstairs to find out.”
“Later,” Banks said. “Nolan here had the right idea. We’ve been at it too long without a break. Smoke them if you’ve got them and we’ll have a brew. Who’s got the stove?”
Mac had the small camp stove and the makings for the tea in his backpack; they found a faucet in a small galley area off the control room and the water looked and smelled clean enough to drink. Banks was even able to get himself a mug of hot coffee by using a small French Press from one of the cupboards and helping himself from a jar of fresh ground Colombian. It was marked with a label, ‘Captain only.’
That’s good enough for me.
He made two mugs, strong and black, and took them over to where Hynd stood at the door, watching the stairwell. They kept their voices low; the other four were behind them in the center of the room, sitting on the floor, smoking and drinking tea, almost calm.
“What happened here, Cap?” Hynd asked, sipping at the coffee, then giving Banks a mock salute in gratitude.
Banks shook his head.
“Best guess? The beasties got in, overran them, and then left again. What the Russians – or the beasties – were doing here in the first place is the mystery. But I’m guessing it has got something to do with yon rig we climbed up on the way in.”
“Any log book?”
“None I could see; I’m guessing it’s all on the main computers. We need to get them up and running; that’s the first job.”
“We’ll have to go downstairs. The main board for the generator is probably down there; and even then…” Hynd began.
“Aye, you said already; something might have been fucking with it. We’ll have to go and check. And we’re all going together. I’m taking no chances on this one; not when it’s so fucking weird all ‘round. And if we can’t get the power on, I’ll call for evac and let the suits back home sort this mess out. This is too fucking weird, even for us.”
“Sounds like a plan to me,” Hynd replied.
*
Banks gave the squad plenty of time to finish off their tea and have two smokes each but the day was already getting on. The shadow of the drill rig marked the sun’s crossing of the sky by laying a dark, slow-moving patch of blackness across the deck outside the window.
“Okay, lads,” he said. “On your feet. Time to get going.”
Three of them rose but Nolan stayed where he was on the floor.
“Nolan?”
The Irishman looked up at Banks, fear in his eyes.
“Don’t tell me, tell my legs, Cap,” he said. “The fuckers have given up on me.”
They got Nolan off the floor and up into the large captain’s chair at the main control board. Mac sliced into the bandages, first removing the ones wrapped around the scraps of the Irishman’s trousers, then starting on the ones dressing the wounds. All of them clearly saw what had been white cotton was now green, putrid, and giving off a stench that made them step back and breathe through their mouths.
Nolan’s fear was clear in his eyes now.
“It’s bad, isn’t it?” he said.
Mac put a hand on the man’s shoulder.
“We’ve got a mite cleaning up to do, that’s all. This might hurt.”
“I can’t feel a thing below my waist, Mac,” Nolan said. “Haven’t been able to feel much of anything since I was sat in that fucking canoe. So you do what you need to do. Give me another smoke, could you?”
Banks watched as Mac cut away the dressings. The wounds gaped and the flesh on either side of the cuts had gone necrotic and blackened at the edges, oozing green, noxious fluid in their whole length. He’d never seen anything like it, nor smelled anything worse. The green goop looked to be foaming, as if boiling up from deeper in the muscle and sinew of Nolan’s legs. Beyond immediate amputation, Banks couldn’t see anything that would save the man. Mac turned, looked up at him, and shook his head. He had reached the same conclusion. It was beyond the man’s experience to tend.
“Can you wiggle your toes, Pat?” Mac asked Nolan. He started putting fresh bandages on the Irishman’s legs but as soon as he applied them, they soaked through with green.
Nolan laughed bitterly and took a deep drag on his cigarette before replying.
“I can’t even wiggle my todger,” he said. He looked up at Banks. “It’s spreading, Cap, like I’m turning to ice from the feet up. It’s a poison I’m guessing, a toxin on their claws? Take my advice, don’t let the fuckers get close to you. But at least you won’t get to put me on suspension for firing when I shouldn’t have, so there’s that to be thankful of.”
“Don’t you believe it, lad. You’ve got two weeks peeling spuds ahead of you.”
Nolan laughed, then coughed and spluttered, pain crossing his face.
“Can I start now?” he said.
Banks was at a loss for a reply and Mac stepped in.
“Is there anything we can get you?” Mac said. All of them present knew what he meant; the chances of Nolan ever getting up out of the chair were slim.
“You lads go and do what you need to do,” Nolan said. “Just leave me here with some smokes; I’ll watch your back. Bring me back a fish supper and a bottle of Jameson’s though, could you?”
*
They took turns in shaking Nolan’s hand; Banks was last.
“Watch the door,” he said. “And if it’s not one of us, put it down hard and fast.”
Nolan laughed, although both of them ignored the tears running down his cheeks.
&
nbsp; “Hell, Cap,” he said. “If you don’t bring me a fish supper, I might shoot you on principle. Now get going. It’s up to my waist now; when it hits my chest, I doubt I’ll be breathing for long.”
Banks shook the Irishman’s hand. It felt as cold as the water he’d waded in earlier in the morning but Nolan managed to return his grip, then let go as Banks turned away. The last sight he had of Nolan was as he looked back on leaving the room; the Irishman had his rifle trained on the doorway and was lighting another smoke from the butt of the last. He gave Banks a salute and Banks saluted in return, before finally turning his back and heading for the stairwell to join the others.
- 8 -
She couldn’t have told you how she knew it but somehow Svetlanova knew she was no longer alone on the boat. She hadn’t heard anything but she’d felt it, a subtle shift in the air, a sense of life in a place where there had only been death. The feeling of a presence was quickly confirmed by the faint but unmistakable smell of cigarette smoke seeping in to her from somewhere in the boat.
She pondered whether it was worth taking the risk to investigate. Dim light came under the door; she knew from the clock in her Dictaphone it was morning.
And they mostly come at night. Mostly.
Suddenly, the thought of a cigarette was the biggest thing in her mind. Before arriving on the boat she’d only smoked two, maybe three a day but first boredom, then stress had got to her and her intake had become an addiction again all too quickly.
I am not getting myself killed because I need a smoke. I am not.
But she couldn’t stay in the pantry forever, no matter how safe it made her feel. There had been no sign of any scuttling or shimmering blue, from outside for many hours. She was too much of a pessimist to believe the beasts had decided to go away, but she needed human contact to avoid going insane in here.
And I’m out of cigarettes.
She cracked open the door and peered along the corridor.
All was quiet and still, although once again she had the feeling she was no longer alone. The smell of cigarette smoke was stronger here too and the thought of having a cigarette and talking to other people was enough to give her courage she hadn’t had until now. She stepped out of the pantry into the corridor and headed toward the smell of smoke.
*
The first room on her right was the main galley; empty and quiet now where it was normally a crash and clatter of pans and activity. There were no bodies, no sign of disturbance; it looked like the place was waiting for the crew to arrive and make breakfast. The mess, the next room down the corridor, was a different matter. Tables and chairs were overturned, crockery lay strewn and smashed on the floor and blood, far too much blood, splattered across every surface, arterial spray washing across the ceiling. Congealed blood and tissue had splashed the portholes, the dim light coming in from outside casting the whole scene in a red, hellish, tinge.
She backed away, even as she saw she’d been walking in streaks of gore. The floor was covered with it, the width of the doorway itself, showing where the dead had been dragged out, into the corridor and out of the door leading onto deck.
She headed in the other direction; she wasn’t ready to show herself in the open just yet, feeling safer with walls around her. She moved quietly, not wanting to give away her presence and at the same time wanting to hear if there was indeed someone else moving around on board. She reached the stairwell leading up to the main superstructure. The smell of cigarette smoke was even stronger here. And as she stepped into the doorway, she heard something else; something completely unexpected. An Irish voice sang, high and pure, an old song Svetlanova had heard in bars and clubs in cities around the world; she had never expected to hear it here, on a boat she’d thought was long dead.
So fare thee well my own true love
When I return united we will be
It’s not the leaving of Liverpool that grieves me
But my darling when I think of thee.
She followed the voice and the cigarette smoke as it led her up the stairwell.
*
So fare thee well my own true love. When I return united we will be
The singer started the chorus again but choked after the first line and a bout of coughing echoed down the stairwell, followed by a soft ‘Fuck.’
She had the source pinpointed now; the singer was in the control room. She went up the stairs quickly until she stood outside the door and decided discretion might be the best approach to introducing her presence.
“Hello?” she said loudly in English, guessing it was best after hearing the song and the cursing.
She got another cough in reply, then a weak voice answered.
“Either I’m already dead and gone to Heaven, or there’s a woman at the door. Who’s there?”
“Svetlanova, Chief Scientist,” she said. “One of the crew of this boat.”
“Well, come on in, then, Svetlanova, Chief Scientist, and let’s be having a look at you. But be warned. I’ve got a gun pointed at the door and my nerves aren’t at their best, so if you’ve got anything in your hands, best put it down now.”
Svetlanova put her Dictaphone away in a pocket – she hadn’t even been aware she was still clutching it until now – and stepped into the doorway with both hands raised.
A pale, ashen-faced man sat in the captain’s chair. For her first few steps into the room, she only saw the gun, the black hole of the barrel pointing straight at her but after a few seconds, she guessed she wasn’t about to get shot and her attention turned to the man himself. He was obviously ill, perhaps severely so. His eyes were dark and deep in his skull, a cold sweat ran at his brow and his lips looked dry, bloodless, almost gray.
He wore a heavy hooded garment on top but his legs were almost bare and as she stepped closer she saw why; a small pile of soiled bandages lay on the floor and green fluid oozed from deep wounds on the man’s shin. She didn’t have to think too long to know what must have happened to him.
He ran into the isopods. Or they ran into him.
“Who are you and why are you here?” she asked.
“I was about to say exactly the same to you, darling,” he replied and tried to laugh but only a cough came out. He laid the weapon in his lap. Then he tried to light a cigarette but he lost control of his fingers and only succeeded in dropping his lighter on the floor.
“Bugger,” he said and coughed again. There was an accompanying rumble deep in his chest, as if something wet was stirring inside him.
He’s dying.
She stepped forward, trying to ignore the weapon, lifted the lighter, and lit his cigarette for him.
“You wouldn’t happen to have another of those?” she asked.
“Inside my jacket here, top pocket, left side,” he whispered. “You could give my nipple a wee tweak while you’re at it; might be the last chance I get.”
She found a blue and white pack of a brand she didn’t recognize, Embassy Regal but when she lit it up, it tasted fine to her, not as strong as she as used to but better for it. The first draw went down smoothly and she felt the hit float in her head.
The Irishman smiled.
“I like a woman that likes to smoke.”
They blew smoke at each other for a time. She sucked deep; because she enjoyed it and because it helped to mask the smell, almost acrid and rough on the throat, rising from the festering wounds on his legs. He saw her looking.
“Just my luck,” he said. “I meet the only woman for a thousand miles and I’ve gone dead in the trouser department.”
“What are you doing here?” she asked again.
He laughed, choked, and laughed again.
“Trying to find out what you were doing here. Her Majesty’s government got curious and sent us.”
“Special forces?”
“That’s us. Just not quite so special at the moment; you’re not catching me at my best.” He coughed again and this time there was blood at his lips; blood and a hint of green.
“And I to him,” she replied. “Where is he?”
“Engine room,” the man said and coughed again, worse this time. Blood and green fluid bubbled at his lips. “Give him a kiss and say cheerio to him from me.”
“What happened to you?”
“I got crabs,” he replied, tried to laugh, then stopped when it forced him to cough up more blood and slime. “A really nasty dose. I’d stay away from the wee beasties if I were you. They’re not friendly.”
He dropped the stub of his cigarette on the floor. His eyes had gone cloudy, bloodshot streaks with green in them.
“At least I got to see a good-looking lass before the end,” he said. “So thanks, darling.”
And that was it for him. He died, between one breath and the next. Green fluid dribbled from his nose and mouth, the wounds on his legs foamed and bubbled and his chest sunk inward, falling in on itself. Svetlanova had to move fast; she grabbed the man’s weapon and took it with her as she headed for the door. The stench rose in a wave threatening to overwhelm her. She had one last look back; the poor man’s body looked to be melting, visibly shrinking away inside his clothing.
And I never even asked him his name.
- 9 -
The boat’s main electrical panel was situated in a small room off the entrance to the engine room and Banks was grateful they didn’t have to do too much stumbling around in the dark looking for it.
“We don’t need, don’t want, the whole boat lit up,” he told Briggs and McCally. “Just get the power on to the control room. I need to get to what’s on those computers. The sooner we do it, the sooner we can get off home.”
There were signs of more death and carnage down here; scratches and gouges on the floors and walls, blood spatter and shit smears where the dead had been dragged off. Banks put on his night glasses, walked three steps out onto a gangway overlooking the main engine room, and surveyed the area.
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