Infestation

by William Meikle

  “We can’t take to the kayaks in this weather,” Hynd said. “That would be suicide.”

  “Agreed,” Banks replied. “But there might be another way to make use of this wind from the north. The shore won’t come to us but maybe there’s a way we can go to it.”

  He turned to Svetlanova.

  “How are we attached to the rig? Is it part of this vessel?”

  “You’re thinking of floating away from it? We’re anchored next to it and I think we’re only attached to the rig itself by a series of cables. But I wasn’t paying attention when it was put in place so I can’t say for certain. And we can’t lift the anchors without getting the main power on.”

  “I wasn’t thinking about lifting them,” Banks replied. “Mac, what are the chances of a boat this size not having an oxy-torch?”

  “Slim to none, I’d say, Cap. Want me to go and find one? There’ll be an engineer’s stash around here somewhere.”

  “Just as long as it’s not already underwater. How’s the hand?”

  “The lassie here’s been looking after me fine,” he said and blew Svetlanova a kiss. He flexed his fingers. “A wee bit stiff and sore and not up to punching anybody but it’s not going to fall off, at least not anytime soon.”

  “McCally, you go with Mac,” Banks said. “Don’t do anything stupid. No heroics and no fucking about with anything electrical. Find me something to cut the anchor cables and get us away from that drilling rig. You’ve got fifteen minutes; then we’ll be coming looking for you.”

  Svetlanova spoke up.

  “I should go too. I know where the engineers worked, although I don’t remember seeing a cutting torch. And I know where not to look, which should cut down the search time.”

  Banks didn’t waste time arguing with her. He handed Nolan’s rifle to her.

  “I already know you can use this. Just don’t get dead.”

  He addressed everyone in the room.

  “Fifteen minutes then. We’ll meet up at the prow, at the end of the long corridor where we came aboard.

  “Move out.”

  - 14 -

  Svetlanova led the two men toward the stern. She hadn’t known the ship’s engineers but she’d seen them around often enough to know where they worked. Instead of heading up into the superstructure, they needed to go down two decks at the rear of the boat. The crew’s cabins were there and, below them, a large engineering workroom she had never visited but was where she thought they had the best chance of finding a cutting torch.

  There was more evidence of the carnage that had befallen the crew in these darker corridors and room; men had been taken in their sleep or dragged out of closets in which they’d tried to hide. Blood splattered over walls, guts and fatty tissue lay in oily, drying smears on the floors and bloody handprints spoke of frenzied attempts to escape.

  Svetlanova stopped, her toes touching a pool of congealed blood filling the corridor. The smell of death lay everywhere and somehow the sight of the carnage was worse here at the cabins, where crew were supposed to be at rest, supposed to be safe.

  Mac put a hand on her shoulder.

  “Eyes forward, lass,” he said softly. “The only thing we can do for them now is remember them, mourn them, and revenge them if we get the chance. Your only job now is to get us to the engineering room; the sooner we get back up to cleaner air, the better it’ll be for all of us.”

  She turned to him and saw the Glaswegian was favoring his injured arm, not using it for anything, just resting it on the top of his right forearm.

  “Do I need to take another look?” she said.

  “No time, lass,” he replied. “We’ll get it seen to once we get the job done here. It’s fine.”

  His face told a different story; she saw pain etched there and more than a hint of worry.

  But he’s right. It won’t matter much if we don’t get out of here.

  *

  Her spirits lifted slightly when they descended out of the sleeping area to the next deck, but now they needed to use the lights on their weapons; whatever sunlight there was didn’t penetrate down here and she found her bearings confused by the lack of artificial lighting. The rock and sway of the boat threatened to tumble her off her feet and down the stairs with every step. She let Mac and McCally go first while she directed from the rear.

  “Two doors down is the one we want. There’ll be a cutting torch there, if it’s anywhere.”

  The two men moved more carefully now, focussed and cautious, weapons raised so they sighted along the light beams. Mac went first, waved is beam around in the room beyond, then turned and waved McCally forward.

  Svetlanova followed them, five paces behind and alert to any sudden scuttling, into a large, dark room whispering with soft echoes as they made their way through it. The flashlights picked out workbenches, racks of power tools and parts.

  “Bingo, ya fucking beauty,” Mac said as his beam came to a halt on two tall cylinders in a wheeled iron frame. He went over, took hold of the pistol-like grip at the end of the cables, and checked the pressure valves.

  “Braw. There’s plenty of juice in these lassies. We’ve got our cutting gear.”

  His voice echoed in the empty corners of the room. In reply, a scurrying noise came from their left. Both soldiers had turned, weapons raised, before Svetlanova even thought to react. Their beams picked out a doorway, with its heavy steel door currently lying open. There was only darkness beyond, so deep their lights barely penetrated.

  “What’s through there, lass?” Mac asked.

  She tried to picture the layout in her mind.

  “There’s a corridor running along the side of the engine room, then the main cargo bay,” she said. “This must be an access door for the engineers.”

  The soldiers moved closer to the doors and she followed, peering over their shoulders. They looked down a long, empty corridor but she caught a glimpse of something that momentarily took her breath away – blue luminescent shimmering she knew only too well, in the distance, deep in the black shadows where the corridor became the cargo bay. Skittering, scratching echoed around the corridor, the sound coming from the far end where the blue shimmered.

  “Close the door,” she said softly. “Back away and close the door. Quick, before they notice us.”

  McCally moved quickly to comply and the door shut with a satisfyingly loud clunk. They stood still for several seconds but there was no noise now; the door ensured all sound stayed on the other side.

  Let’s hope it does the same for the beasts themselves.

  “They’re still on the boat,” Mac said. “The fuckers are still here.”

  “I suspect they’ve been around for a while,” Svetlanova said. She didn’t voice her next thought; she didn’t even want to be thinking it herself.

  Scavengers never move far from a food source.

  “We should be okay as long as we don’t use any electricity,” she said, whispering, trying to convince herself as much as the two men.

  *

  They stood, watching the door, waiting to see if an attack was coming but there was still only deep silence; they had evaded the beast’s notice.

  For now.

  McCally checked his watch.

  “We’d best get a move on,” he said. “The cap will be waiting for this gear.”

  Mac went to move the iron rack and cylinders. He slung his rifle and tried to shift it with his good hand but the combined weight of the frame, cables, and cylinders proved to be too heavy for him. When he put both hands on the frame, it was obvious the pain would be too great for him to bear.

  McCally had noticed too and stepped over to Mac’s side, gently moving him away from the cutting gear. He arranged the cables, stowing them inside the iron frame between the cylinders, then rocked the whole lot back so all the weight was on the wheels. He pushed it back and forward a few feet, checking it rolled smoothly on the floor and nodded, seeming content he could handle it.

  “You take point, Mac
. We’ve got this between the two of us.”

  Svetlanova agreed, addressing Mac directly.

  “I can take the weight on the stairs where needed. You watch out for us. Deal?

  It was a sign of how much pain the Glaswegian must have felt that he went along with the plan almost meekly. They moved out again with Mac in front and McCally and Svetlanova piloting the awkward weight and bulk of the frame and cylinders along the corridor, following the dancing beam of Mac’s flashlight.

  The only corridor running the length of the boat down at this level appeared to be the one they’d closed the door on, the one with the beasts at the far end. To avoid it, they had to go back the way they came, to the stairs that nearly ended their journey when it had barely begun. Svetlanova and McCally heaved the rig up the first step; the weight of the tanks was almost too much for them and the frame’s center of balance shifted as the boat rocked, threatening to topple it over on top of them. It took all of their effort and no little cursing on McCally’s part, to stabilize everything.

  It was slow work but they got into a rhythm of lifting and stabilizing, pausing at every step. Even then Mac had to use his good hand several times to keep them from all toppling back down the stairwell in a heap. That and the clangs and clanks of cylinders, frame and wheels banging against stairs and walls as the boat rolled and swayed under them meant it was two steps up and one step back more often than not. And all the while Svetlanova tried to concentrate on moving forward, while worrying what might be, even now, scurrying toward her in the darkness at her back.

  Finally, they got up as far as the crew’s quarters and as they moved, quicker now, along the corridor, Svetlanova’s heart sank at the thought of yet another flight of stairs ahead of them. At least they had some light again, however dim, but the roll and sway of the boat was getting worse and the howl of the wind had gone up a notch, wailing like a banshee beyond the hull.

  Mac was worse too; his face looked pale and etched with pain but he waved her away again when she offered to look at the wound. His accent was stronger than ever when he spoke, as if he didn’t have the energy to moderate it for her benefit.

  “Dinna fash yersel’ lassie. I’m fine, or I will be when we get this bastard thing where the cap wants it.”

  “What does he hope to do with it in this weather?”

  “It’s his backup plan, in case the chopper has to abort,” Mac replied. “He won’t risk anything too dangerous unless he has to but he likes to have a plan for everything.”

  “I’d guess he didn’t see this mess coming though, did he?”

  Mac laughed.

  “Don’t underestimate the cap, lassie. When he wants to do something, it gets done and nowt gets in the way, either men with big guns, or your vicious, mindless beasties.”

  His gun slipped, and when he went to grab it with his wounded hand, he yelped in pain.

  She reached for his arm to check on it but he pulled away brusquely. He was not quite fast enough to avoid her seeing the bandages. They had been white not too long before, but were now soaked, damp, not with blood but with watery fluid and more than a hint of green.

  “We’ve got to see to this. And we’ve got to do it now,” she said.

  Mac had already started up the stairs.

  “As soon as we get the rig to the captain; I’ve got my orders.”

  *

  With more light at their disposal, the last set of stairs up to the long corridor proved easier to navigate, or maybe it only seemed that way now Svetlanova could see both in front and behind her and the fear of something rushing out of the dark had abated. But by the time they reached the top of the stairwell, Mac was clearly flagging and in great discomfort.

  “It’s gone cauld on me, lass. My arm is like a slab of iced-over iron and damned near as heavy. Have I really got what Pat had? Am I headed the same way? All those firefights and battles and close calls over the years and I get done in by a fucking poisonous bug?”

  She had no good answer for him and he saw it in her eyes.

  “I’m a soldier, lass,” he said softly. “Something was going to get me one of these days. Let’s get this rig to the cap and get the fuck off this boat. Hopefully you – or somebody – will get to see to me before I pop my clogs. But if not, I have no regrets.”

  I’ll have plenty.

  She didn’t say it but she tried to move even faster as they pushed, pulled, and cajoled the cutting gear along the long corridor and the boat rocked and rolled and squealed beneath them.

  - 15 -

  Banks, with Hynd at his side, saw the others coming, headlong and fast, down the long corridor. Within a minute, all five were together at the prow exit leading up and out onto the forward deck.

  Banks was already soaked through and frozen to the bone; he and Hynd had spent the last ten minutes out in the storm, checking out the anchor housings and the cabling connecting the vessel to the drilling rig. It hadn’t taken them long to discover it was a larger job than they’d hoped. Clamps held some of the cables and some of those could be removed relatively easily once ice was chipped away from metal but others were corroded and fused in place; those were going to need cutting. With an oxy cutter on hand, it wouldn’t be too much of a problem in better weather. But the storm showed no signs of abating; wind and sleet lashed a deck that rolled and heaved in a sea only getting heavier. It was going to be dangerous, almost deadly, work to disengage from the rig.

  And then there were the anchor chains to deal with – two of them, inches thick black iron, both attached at spots wide open to the elements without a single hint of shelter. There was probably a place under decks where access could be had to the chain mechanism but it would involve more searching and working down there in the dark with the possibility of more of the isopods appealed even less than facing the weather.

  Banks had hoped to get the job done in shifts, two two-man teams working in tandem at the cutting, giving the others some rest and respite. But one look at Mac put the idea to bed straight away.

  “How you doing, Mac?”

  “I’ve had better weekends, Cap. All in all, I’d rather be in Cairo.”

  Mac raised an arm to show the green-tinged bandages. The smell came almost immediately; rot and vinegar hitting hard in nostrils and at the back of the throat.

  Banks spoke directly to Svetlanova.

  “The bleach didn’t work?”

  “We don’t know yet; it may have slowed the infection or toxin enough to let him fight it off. But he won’t let me look at the wound.”

  “Hey, Cap, I’m right here,” Mac said. “I don’t have the energy to go out in the rain, I’ll admit. But I can still watch your back and I can still handle a gun.”

  Banks spoke to the woman again.

  “How about you? Can you work a cutting torch?”

  She shook her head.

  “I wouldn’t know where to start. But I’ll do anything I can to help. Just tell me.”

  “Do what you can for Mac,” he said, then turned to the Glaswegian. “The nice lady is going to clean your bandages. Do me a favor, don’t be an arse about it?”

  Mac gave him a weak salute.

  “You’re the boss, Cap,”

  Banks turned to McCally and Hynd.

  “The three of us have got a lot of work to do. Zip up and gloves on. This is going to be brutal.”

  Hynd spoke up.

  “You help with Mac. McCally and I will take first dibs,” he said. “I’ll send him back in, you join me, then we take it in turns?”

  “Ten minutes max for McCally now, then I’m coming out and we’ll rotate after that. We’ll concentrate on the rig cables first; if we get lucky, the storm will take the rig apart for us. Then we work on the anchors. And if we don’t get it done in an hour, it’s not going to get done at all,” Banks replied. “Move on out, Sarge. And good luck.”

  “There’s something else, Cap,” McCally said. “Yon beasties are definitely still aboard; we caught sight of them in the car
go hold but we let them be and they didn’t bother us.”

  “Hopefully, the weather will keep them down below. But even if not, there’s bugger all we can do about right now,” Banks said. “We’ll concentrate on the cutting and keep an eye open while we’re at it; it’s all we can do.”

  *

  Banks held the deck door open while Hynd and McCally dragged the cutting rig up the short set of stairs. He let them out into the howl of the gale and spatter of sleet.

  “Ten minutes, max,” he shouted.

  Hynd gave him a salute, then they were gone into the storm. Banks only closed the door after he lost sight of them; the sound of the wind abated in the corridor but not by much.

  Svetlanova was already working on Mac. He sat on the floor, back to the wall, a freshly lit cigarette between his lips and a grimace of pain on his face as she unwound wet, green-tinged bandages. Banks went to take the soiled wrappings from her but she knocked his hand away.

  “We shouldn’t touch it if we don’t have to. If it’s bacterial or viral…”

  He got the message and merely watched the pile of bandages grow on the floor. As they did so, the smell reached him even stronger than before, the same acrid stench that had come off Nolan. And Mac’s wound looked to be in the same condition as the Irishman’s. His wound had split the butterfly clips and was open, gaping and gray, with green goop bubbling and festering in the cut. Svetlanova started gently removing the seeping fluid with a cotton swab but more bubbled up as quickly as she wiped it away.

  Mac looked at the wound and quickly looked away.

  “Take the arm off, Cap. Find a big fucking blade and take it off at the elbow. I cannae feel a thing below my shoulder anyway. I’m up for it.”

  “Don’t talk bollocks, man,” Banks said. “The shock would kill you, if nothing else. Just hang on. The chopper’s on its way.”

  Mac laughed.

  “Now who’s talking bollocks, Cap? We both ken they’ll be avoiding this weather somewhere safe. Those fly boys might be full on fucking fuckwits and glory hunters but they’re not daft.”