'The infirmary.'
Above them the noise intensified. Through the opening to the port-side elevator they saw a helicopter rise up and wheel round, flying close to the waves. The steel girders of the hangar deck groaned. The ship was warping.
'Be quick,' said Weaver.
Anawak met her gaze. Their eyes lingered. 'You can depend on it,' he said.
Evacuation
Unlike most people on the Independence, Crowe knew almost exactly what had happened. Footage of the glowing sphere had been relayed via the cameras on the hull to the monitors above. From what she could tell, the ball had been made of jelly, and there'd been gas inside, which had expanded when it burst. Probably methane, thought Crowe. Amid the swirling bubbles she'd caught sight of something familiar: the outline of a submersible racing towards the ship.
A Deepflight armed with torpedoes.
In the seconds that followed the explosion all hell had broken loose. Shankar's head had cracked down on the desk and was bleeding profusely. Crowe had helped him to his feet, before soldiers and technicians stormed into the CIC and hustled them outside. The repeated buzz of the alarm kept them moving. People were crowding into the companionways, but the crew seemed on top of the situation. An officer was there to help them out. He guided them aft to a companion-way that led upwards.
'Straight through the island and on to the flight deck,' he said. 'Don't stop for anything. You'll get further instructions at the top.'
Crowe pushed the dazed Shankar up the ladder. She was small and dainty, and Shankar was big and heavy. She had to summon all her strength. 'Come on, Murray,' she gasped.
Shankar's hands trembled as he reached for the rungs. He pulled himself up with difficulty. 'I never thought making contact would end like this,' he gasped.
'You must have seen the wrong movies.'
Ruefully she thought of the cigarette she'd lit only seconds before the explosion. It was still smouldering in the CIC What a waste. She'd have given anything for a cigarette now. Just one before she died. Instinct told her that no one on the ship was likely to survive.
But no, she thought suddenly. Of course. They weren't reliant on lifeboats. They had helicopters.
Relief flooded through her. Shankar had reached the top of the companionway. Hands stretched down to haul him out. As Crowe followed, it struck her that what they were experiencing might be the kind of contact humans knew best – aggressive, ruthless and murderous.
Soldiers pulled her into the island.
Well, Ms Alien, she thought, what do you think now about finding intelligent life in space?
'You wouldn't happen to have a cigarette, would you?' she asked a soldier.
He stared at her. 'You've got to be kidding, lady. Just get the hell out of here.'
Buchanan
Buchanan was on the bridge with the second officer and the helmsman, keeping himself informed of developments and giving orders. He stayed calm. As far as he could tell, the blast had destroyed some of the ammunition magazines and the engine room. They could have lived with the loss of the magazines, but the damage to the engine room had sparked a chain reaction in the hydraulic system and the fuel-pumping stations, triggering more explosions. One by one the vessel's systems failed. The ship drew her electricity from a series of motor-driven power plants. In addition to the two gas turbines, the Independence had six diesel generators, which now broke down in quick succession. The main priority now was to evacuate. The explosion had occurred amidships, but some of the forward cargo compartments had already flooded, causing the Independence to sink bow-first.
There was too much water in the hull. As the pressure built, it would force its way towards the far end of the bow, then blast through the bulkheads and on to the level above. If the bulkheads at the stern gave way too, the ship would fill with water.
Buchanan had no illusions: he knew that the vessel would sink. It was merely a question of when. Whether or not they survived depended on him and his ability to assess what was happening. Right now he estimated that the water was about to break into the vehicle stowage compartments located below the lab. It would probably flood some of the troop berthing too. The one small comfort was that there were no marines aboard. During a normal operation he would have had to evacuate three thousand men. Now he had only a hundred and eighty, and they were mainly on the upper levels.
Some of the monitors that usually displayed the information from the integrated main screen in the CIC had stopped working. Directly above Buchanan's head was the sealed case containing the red phone: his hotline to the Pentagon. His gaze wandered over the chart tables, communication devices and navigational aids, all arranged in neat, logical order. None of that could help him now.
USELESS CLUTTER.
On the roof, the landing crew were keeping everyone moving. People were being led out of the island and over to where the helicopters were waiting, rotors whirring. Everything happened quickly. Buchanan spoke briefly to Flight Control and looked out through the green-tinted windows of the bridge. A helicopter had just taken off and was disappearing from the vessel. They had no time to lose. If the bow dipped any further, the flight deck would turn into a chute. The helicopters were securely tethered, but soon the situation would become critical.
03 LEVEL
Anawak didn't encounter many people. He was afraid he might run into Li or Peak, but they must have headed in the other direction. Out of breath, with a constant pain in his chest, he raced along the passageway towards the infirmary.
It was deserted. There was no sign of Angeli or his staff. He had to pass through a series of rooms lined with beds before he came to the one that held equipment. Cupboard doors gaped open, and the floor was littered with shards of glass that crunched as he walked. One after another he yanked open all the drawers and rummaged through the debris on the shelves, but failed to find a syringe.
Where the hell did they keep them?
He tried to think where they were usually kept at the doctor's surgery. In little drawers. He could picture it. Shiny white cabinets with lots of little drawers.
There was a rumble beneath him. Groaning noises rose through the ship. The steel was buckling.
Anawak hurried into the compartment across the way. Much of the equipment had been smashed, but the room contained several white cabinets, which seemed to have been bolted into place. He opened them, searched inside and finally found what he was looking for. He grabbed a dozen syringes in sterile packaging and shoved them into his jacket.
Their plan was crazy.
Either Karen was right, and it was a stroke of genius, or they had no idea of the reality of the situation. On the one hand it seemed plausible, but on the other impracticable and naive, especially compared to the sophisticated messages that Crowe had been sending into the depths…
Where was Crowe?
There was a deafening clanging noise as though a bell had exploded. The deck tilted further. He could hear a muffled sloshing.
Anawak wondered whether he had time to get out. Then he stopped wondering and started running.
Lab
Weaver didn't know what lay ahead. Just the thought of opening the door to the laboratory made her stomach churn. But if they were to go through with the plan, it was their only hope.
The floor shook. From under the deck they heard gurgling. Johanson leaned against her, breathing heavily. 'Well, go on, then,' he said.
The red light was flashing above the keypad. The lab was sealed. Weaver tapped in the code and the door slid open. Water rushed towards them, swirling round their feet, but instead of flowing down the ramp, it collected round their ankles. The level rose. In a flash Weaver saw why: the ship was tilting at such an angle that it couldn't run down to the well deck. This section of the ramp wasn't a ramp any more: it was level.
She took a step back. 'Careful,' she said. 'The jelly might have got out.'
Johanson looked inside. Two lifeless bodies floated next to the wreckage of the chamber. He waded into the streaming
water, and advanced through the door. Weaver followed. Her eyes shot over to the two large containers that made up the biohazard lab. They appeared intact, and she felt a wave of relief. This wasn't the time to be poisoned by Pfiesteria.
Aft, the deck sloped out of the water, most of which had formed a deep pool at the opposite end of the lab. 'They're all dead,' she whispered.
Johanson squinted over the water. Look!'
There was a third body – Rubin's.
Weaver fought back revulsion and fear. 'We're going to have to take one,' she said. 'It doesn't matter which.'
'That means wading in deeper.'
'It can't be helped.' She set off.
'Karen, watch out!'
She tried to turn, but something collided with her from behind and her feet skidded out from under her. Yelping, she landed in the water, and rose, spluttering, to the surface. She struggled on to her back.
A soldier was standing in front of her, training an enormous black weapon on them both.
'Oh, no,' he said slowly. 'Ooooh, no.'
In his eyes she could see panic and incipient madness. She got up slowly and raised her hands, showing her palms.
'Oh, no,' he repeated.
He was very young, no more than nineteen, and the weapon trembled in his hands. He took a step back and glanced from Weaver to Johanson, then back again.
'It's OK,' said Johanson. 'We're trying to help you.'
'You locked us in,' said the soldier. His voice sounded whiny, as though he were about to scream.
'That wasn't us,' said Weaver.
'You locked us in with that – that – you left us alone with it.'
This was all they needed – the Independence was sinking, they were racing against time to stop Li, they still had to get hold of a corpse and now they had to deal with a hysterical boy.
'What's your name?' Johanson asked abruptly.
'What?' The soldier's gaze wobbled. Then he raised his gun and pointed it at Johanson.
'No!' screamed Weaver.
Johanson looked into the barrel of the gun and spoke softly: 'Could you tell us your name, please?'
The soldier hesitated.
'We need to know your name,' said Johanson, in the tone of a friendly parish priest.
'MacMillan. I'm… My name is MacMillan.'
Weaver realised what Johanson was up to. The best way to bring someone back to normality was to remind them of who they were.
'Thank you, MacMillan. Good. Now, listen, we need your help. This vessel is sinking. It's imperative that we go through with our last experiment. It could save us all.'
'All of us?'
'Do you have family, MacMillan?'
'Why do you need to know?'
'Tell me where they live, MacMillan.'
'Boston.' The boy's face crumpled. He started to cry. 'But Boston's-'
'I know,' Johanson said urgently. 'Listen, there's something we can do to stop all this. To stop everything – even in Boston. But we need your help. And we need it now. Your family's lives could be hanging in the balance with every second we waste.'
'Please help us,' said Weaver. 'Please.'
The soldier looked from one to the other. He snuffled and lowered his gun. 'Will you get us out of here?' he asked.
'Yes.' Weaver nodded. 'I promise.' What the hell are you talking about? she thought. You can't promise anything. Not a thing.
The secret laboratory seemed unscathed. The floor was covered with broken glass, but otherwise everything seemed to be in its rightful place. A few monitors flickered in the background.
'Now, where would he have put those cylinders?' Li wondered aloud.
She slid her gun back into its holster. The room was deserted. She'd expected to see a blue glow emanating from the miniature tank, but then she remembered that Rubin had tested the toxin – very success fully, as he'd assured her. She peered through one of the portholes. Nothing. No organism. No glow.
Peak wandered among the benches and cabinets. 'Over here,' he called.
Li hurried over. A stand had toppled over, leaving a collection of slim, torpedo-shaped cylinders in a heap, each just under a metre long. They picked them up one by one. Two were noticeably heavier than the others, and Li spotted the markings on their sides. Rubin had drawn on them in permanent ink. Look, Sal,' she said, mesmerised. 'I'm holding the new world order in my hands.'
'I see.' A test-tube rolled off the side of one of the benches and shattered with a tinkle. 'In that case let's get the new world order out of here.'
Li let out a peal of laughter. She passed a cylinder to Peak and walked out of the lab with the other. 'In five minutes' time I'm going to send the yrr into the underworld forever, you can depend on it.'
'Who're you going to take down with you? Is Mick still alive, do you think?'
'I don't give a shit about Mick.'
'I could come.'
'Well, that's incredibly generous of you, Sal, but exactly how were you planning to help? The last thing I need is you bawling your eyes out because you can't stand the thought of me killing a lump of blue slime.'
'That's different and you know it. There's a hell of a difference between-'
They were almost at the companionway. Someone was approaching from the opposite direction, running with his head down.
'Leon!'
Anawak stopped abruptly. They were very close. Only the entrance to the companionway lay between them.
'Jude, Sal…' Anawak stared at them. 'What a surprise.'
What a surprise. It was pathetic. The man couldn't act even though his life depended on it. From the moment Li had looked into his eyes she'd known that Anawak knew everything.
'Where've you been?' she asked.
'I'm… Well, I can't find the others so…'
She was running out of time. Maybe he was looking for his friends, or maybe he was up to something. It didn't matter. Anawak was in the way.
Li drew her gun.
Flight Deck
Crowe had been behind Shankar as they walked out on to the roof, but then she'd been stopped. 'Wait there,' said a man in uniform.
'But I've got to-'
'You'll be in the next group.'
Two Super Stallions had left the deck already and two more were waiting beside the island, one parked in front of the other. Shankar turned to her as he ran with the group of soldiers and civilians towards a chopper. The enormous flight deck was sloping more dramatically than ever, but it was so big that it looked as though the foaming, raging sea was tilting, rather than the ship.
'I'll see you later,' shouted Shankar. 'You'll be on the next flight.'
Crowe watched as he hurried up the ramp that rose under the tail and into the belly of the Super Stallion. A glacial wind lashed her face. The evacuation was going pretty much to plan. So she'd just have to be patient. But where were the others? Leon, Sigur, Karen…
Maybe they'd left already.
It was a reassuring thought. The hatch closed behind Shankar. The rotors spun faster.
Hull
Barely thirty metres below the flight deck the flood of seawater was pushing up against the bulkheads of the forward cargo compartments and the lower troop berthing. A single torpedo floated in the water. It had been released when the submersible exploded but its charge hadn't detonated. That was unusual, but by no means unheard of. After being propelled by the water into one of the munitions magazines, it had sunk into a metal storage cage that had been partially wrenched out of position and now was shifting up and down in the darkness. It rolled gently from side to side, advancing centimetre by centimetre, in line with the vessel's inclination.
The bulkheads stood firm, but the cage screeched and groaned with the pressure. The struts to which it was still attached began to buckle under the strain. Fine fracture lines opened in the steel of the magazine's wall. One of the sturdy attachment bolts was being dragged out of its fixing, its thread stripping under the strain…
With an almighty bang it was f
ree.
The tension that had been building was instantaneously released. The cage jerked up, as the bolts shot out and the partition collapsed. In the turmoil, the torpedo was catapulted towards a spot that bordered on the cargo holds at the bow, the vast living quarters for the marines and the empty vehicle deck below the lab.
It was one of the most sensitive intersection points on the ship.
This time the explosive didn't fail.
03 LEVEL
'No,' said Peak. He dropped the cylinder and turned his gun on Li. 'You can't do that.'
Li's pistol was still trained on Anawak. 'Sal, I've had enough of your insubordination,' she hissed.
'Put the gun down.'
'For Christ's sake, Sal! I'll have you court-martialled, I'll-'
'On the count of three I'm going to shoot. I'm serious, Jude. I'm not going to stand by and let you keep killing people. Now, put the gun down. One… Two…'
Li exhaled noisily and lowered it. 'Are you happy now?'
'Drop it.'
'Why don't we just talk this over and-'
'Drop it!'
An expression of pure hatred filled Li's eyes. The weapon clattered to the deck.
Anawak glanced at Peak. 'Thanks,' he said, and hounded to the companionway. He disappeared down it and his footsteps faded. Li swore.
'General Commander Judith Li,' Peak said solemnly, I'm relieving you of your command on the grounds of insanity. From now on you will follow my orders. You may-'
The ship gave a terrible lurch and plunged forward. Peak thudded down, rolled over and scrambled up. Where was his gun? Where was Li?
'Sal!' Li was kneeling in front of him. She raised the gun.
Peak froze. 'Jude.' He shook his head. 'Listen, Jude…'
'Moron,' said Li, and pulled the trigger.
Flight Deck
Crowe swayed. The deck tipped even further. Rotors thudding, the Super Stallion carrying Shankar and the others skidded into the helicopter parked in front of it. Its engine roared as it lifted up and tried to pull away.
The Swarm Page 93