by JE Gurley
Asa shook his head in disappointment. He had hoped his explanation would make Simon see some sense, draw him back from the brink of abyss over which he teetered. He liked the outspoken chef and didn’t want to see him die. He didn’t want to see anyone else die.
“This obsession is going to kill you.”
“Maybe. It doesn’t matter. Ilsa was the only family I had. She died hating me, and I can’t live with that.”
“She didn’t hate you. She … she was better than that.”
“Our last words were spoken in anger. She accused me of being emotional detached. I’ve had many girlfriends but none of them took. I’m lousy with relationships. I told her it’s because being a chef took all my time and emotion. She said I was afraid of commitment. We argued and left on bad terms. I, I never got the chance to apologize and tell her she was right.”
Simons sat slump-shouldered, his head bowed. Asa could see how much his admission had taken out of him. Two women would have hugged to show mutual support. Asa just grunted, the manly equivalent. After, in Asa’s mind, and uncomfortably long minute, Simon raised his head. He looked at Asa as if seeing him for the first time.
“I shouldn’t have involved you in this. I used you. I took advantage of your guilt and doubt and persuaded you to help me. I was wrong. I can’t see a way out of this for me, but you’re different. You’ve walked through the fire and emerged a new man. If you get the chance, promise me you’ll walk away. You don’t owe me anything.”
It was exactly what Asa was hoping to hear, but somehow, it didn’t comfort him.
The intercom, one of the few things operational, crackled to life. “Asa, cut the engines,” Will said. “I think you two will want to see this.”
What now? Asa thought
15
December 26, 2018, 7:20 p.m. USS Sunfish, Beaufort Sea, Antarctica–
Will felt the engines shut down as Asa relinquished control of them. It was just as well. They were going nowhere anytime soon. With the exception of the small bay-like area in which the Sunfish floated, a dun-colored carpet blocked their passage, extending out of sight both left and right, and looking as if it extended all the way to the horizon. The gently undulating mass was a floating island. All it needed was a sandy beach, a thatch-roofed cabana, and hula girls. However, this was no tropical paradise. It was a lichen-covered biomass with spindly, fuzz-covered plants waving in the breeze.
The breeze bore the acrid odor of sulfur-rotting vegetation, much stronger than the sea around the Vanguard during the storm. The floating algal mat was so alien he knew it had originated from the subsea cavern. He could see no way around the mass, and the Sunfish’s water jets could not operate in it. Unable to continue, he had to make a decision whether to go back or to make a long detour around it.
He did not like retreating.
Will climbed atop the cabin for a better view. From there, the solid-appearing mass became a series of various-sized islets separated by narrow leads of open water. Several such streams converged to traverse the entire width of the mass, but a hundred-yard-wide portion of the mat separated the Sunfish from the open water. Though benign in appearance, something about the mat troubled him. It reminded him of a kelp bed on the Pacific coast. Kelp beds usually swarmed with a myriad of sea life, both predator and prey. He decided to take no chances. He turned to Apone, standing behind and below him, waiting expectantly.
“Go to battle stations. No klaxon.” He didn’t want to draw any creatures that might be lurking on or beneath the mat, especially the giant megalodon. “Anything on sonar?” he asked.
“Nothing, sir,” McGee reported.
Still, he felt uneasy but wasn’t certain why. He stared at the mat for several minutes but saw only clouds of flying insects. Small crustaceans he did not recognize scuttled among the mounds of lichen, and a few Arctic terns swooped down to pluck the crabs into the air to feed on.
Up close, the tightly interwoven strands of kelp and mucilage nodes of bacteria resembled a sisal welcome mat, but Will doubted they would find a smiling face greeting them if they knocked on the door. He wrinkled his nose at the stink. He was no biologist, but he understood algae. Unlike autotrophic algae, the alien alga—if alien was the correct word for something of this earth, merely from a different time—lacked chloroplasts, hence the pale color. Unable to fix carbon from sunlight in the sunless cavern, the chemoautotrophic bacteria derived their energy by the process of osmotrophy, absorbing sulfur dioxide, hydrogen sulfide, and carbon dioxide dissolved in the water through cell membranes, and releasing oxygen as a byproduct. By all rights, the algae should not have thrived in a sun-rich environment.
He noticed streaks of color, darker brown, green, and red threading through the otherwise uniformly taupe expanse. The new alga mass had adapted and began to incorporate existent autotrophic cyanobacteria, including blue-green algae, into its evolving body, cannibalizing them for their chloroplasts, a melding of prehistoric and modern worlds.
He glanced down and saw Apone staring up at him, waiting for orders. The Sunfish had drifted until her hull brushed against the fringes of the mass.
Curious, Apone poked the mat with a boathook to test its density. He pushed with all his strength, but the hook sank only four inches into the mass. His actions disturbed a swarm of tiny black flies that dove for his face. He sputtered as he swatted at them and spat them from his mouth.
“It’s like a friggin’ putt-putt golf course,” he said. “You know; the artificial turf kind.”
Simon and Asa walked out onto the deck. Asa stared at the mat with dark wonder in his eyes, but Simon’s reaction was instant and antagonistic.
“It’s trying to take over the world,” he growled.
Will wasn’t sure if he meant the algae or the megalodon. “It looks harmless enough,” he replied, but his palms itched, to him a sure sign of danger. He was glad he had ordered battle stations. He climbed down from the roof.
Simon immediately turned on him, his face twitching with rage. “It’s not just the sharks. It’s the whole primeval ecosystem. It could supplant ours; make the earth more suitable for Miocene creatures than their present-day descendants. It’s like a virus, rewriting the DNA of the planet.”
Asa stared at the delicate fronds waving in the breeze with muted terror. “We should go around it.”
“Nonsense,” Simon replied. “It would take hours, maybe a full day.”
“To you, this is just another megalodon, something to kill. I think it’s much worse.”
Will watched the intense interchange with interest. This was the first sign of disagreement he had noticed between them. “It’s an algal mat, Asa,” Simon said, “like kelp or seaweed. It’s not an animal.”
Simon’s assurances did not placate Asa. “For millions of years, it derived energy from sulfur-eating bacteria in symbiosis with the algae instead of sunlight and released oxygen in the cavern’s closed system; yet, here it is, alive and thriving in an oxygen environment in full sunlight. That’s strange, don’t you think? It’s like an iceberg. It’s what’s beneath the surface that we have to worry about.”
Will thought it ironic that Asa’s thoughts mirrored his own.
“Oh for God’s sake, Asa!” Simon snapped. “I use seaweed and kelp in my recipes. Let’s burn this shit and get going.”
Asa looked at Will and shrugged. “Do what you want. I’m just a passenger.”
Will and Simon exchanged questioning glances. Whatever doubts Asa might have planted in Will’s mind, he still had to follow the Utah, which could pass safely beneath the mat. The Sunfish could not.
Apone interrupted them. “I see something out there, about five points off the starboard beam, two hundred yards out.”
Will raised his glasses and spotted a dark mass that appeared to be the wreckage of a small boat. “Good eyes, Apone,” he said.
“Could there be survivors?” Asa asked, shading his eyes with his hand to see.
“Unlikely,” Will responded
.
“But you don’t know for sure,” Asa insisted.
Will lowered his binoculars and cast an annoyed look at Asa. “No, how could I? However, it seems unlikely.” He paused. “What would you propose we do?”
“Go look.”
At first, Will thought the mechanic was joking, but his expression remained deadpan. “We can’t get to it. The Sunfish can’t hike its skirt and walk over this stuff.”
“No, but we can. The mat looks firm enough. Send someone out to check.”
“Are you volunteering?” Will asked Asa.
Asa glanced at the object in the distance and swallowed hard. Will knew he had hurt his pride, but he was curious to see how the mechanic responded. After a few moments consideration, Asa nodded. “Yeah, I’ll go, but not alone.”
Simon shook his head and patted his ample belly. “Not me. No way. I’ll fall through.”
“I’ll go, sir,” Apone volunteered.
“No, I’ll go with Mr. Iverson. You take command of the boat while I’m gone.” He looked at Asa. “Ready?”
“Sure. Let’s go.”
Will admired Asa’s courage, but he would never give him the satisfaction of telling him so. He realized Asa had volunteered just to put him on the spot. We’re both fools.
“I thought you were afraid of this stuff,” Simon said to Asa.
Asa’s expression turned grim. “I’ve been shipwrecked twice now. If there’s someone out there, I know how they feel.”
The tension between the two drained away. “Good luck.”
Asa nodded.
Armed only with his Model 1911 .45 caliber pistol, Will climbed over the side and onto the mat. He sank three inches into the growth, but it held his weight. He took a tentative step and found it akin to walking on a trampoline. The substance yielded to the pressure but pushed back as he lifted his foot. He motioned to Asa.
“I think it’s safe. Come on.”
Asa hesitated for a moment, but then climbed down onto the algal mat. He waved his arms for balance, as he walked out to stand beside Will. Their passage stirred clouds of small black flies that swarmed their faces. Will fanned his hands in front of his face toward them off. Black beetles scurried among the undergrowth, avoiding their feet. Small grayish-blue crabs crawled around the mat, their pink claws snapping off fronds and shoving them in their mouths. The bundles of filaments of colonial blue-green alga insinuated itself in the mass like colored thread running through the taupe lace.
As they neared the wreckage, Will saw that the chance of survivors was small. The wooden-hulled craft looked like an Inuit whaleboat that had passed through the gut of a boa constrictor. The boat was a crushed bundle of splintered wooden planking wrapped in a net of algal threads. The only sign of life was the mob of tiny blind crabs scurrying around the area.
“No one survived that,” Will said.
“Or if they did, the crabs got them,” Asa added, making a face of disgust at the tiny creatures. He glanced around the mass of algae. “My original objection still stands. We can’t get through this.”
Asa’s willingness to give up irked Will. The enemy was still out there, and his gut told him he needed to be where it was. “We’ll see,” he answered and started back toward the boat.
A series of concentric ripples swept along the mat, almost knocking Asa off his feet. Will’s sea legs allowed him to shift his weight and ride them out. They seemed centered around the boat. The algal mass bulged upward.
“What the hell is that?” he asked Will.
Before Will could make a guess, cracks appeared in the mat; then, the mat split open, revealing the horrors lay beneath it. The first giant crab crawled up onto the surface and stood staring at them, its six-foot-wide taupe carapace ringed with thorny protuberances like a knight’s mace. Then Will noticed that the eyes on the end of the meter-long eyestalks were blind. Born in the dark, it did not need eyes. It knew where they were by their movement on the algae mat. The creature raised its three-feet-long chelae in the air and clacked them together, producing a sound like a rock hammering on a hollow log. Within seconds, several more of the creatures had joined the first, as if summoned by its call.
“They must live on the underside of the mat, feeding on it.”
Asa began backing away from the advancing crabs. “Well, now they see something else on the menu—us.”
“Let’s go back to the boat. Move slowly.”
As the crabs gave chase, they picked up the pace. Will quickly discovered that the spongy mat allowed him to take long, bounding steps, like walking on the moon. Asa joined him. One of the .50 caliber machineguns began firing, but the bullets only ricocheted from the hard exoskeletons. The sudden noise more than the stream of bullets, slowed the crabs. They milled around as if uncertain of where their prey had disappeared. By the time they decided to attack the source of the sound, Will and Asa had reached the boat. Simon and Apone helped them aboard.
“What the fuck are those things?” Simon shouted. He paced the deck agitated, wiping his hand through his hair. “I read about giant crabs, but I never …” He turned to Will. “I noticed quite an arsenal in your SEAL ready room. If you don’t mind, I’ll borrow one of the machineguns.”
“We have a few FN SCAR Mk-46 5.56mms, and a couple of Mk-48 LWMG 7.62mms. Take your pick.”
Simon cast another glance at the approaching crabs. “I’ll go with the biggest damn gun you’ve got.”
Haig stood in the doorway describing the scene to the bedridden Anderson. He moved aside to let Simon enter. “I can man a .50 cal.”
Will pointed to the starboard gun on the opposite side on the mat. “Careful firing over the boat,” he warned.
Tracers from Apone’s .50 caliber ignited the dry upper fronds of the algae. Fanned by the breeze, the flames spread outward from several spots, creating billowing clouds of dense, acrid, ocher smoke. Ignoring the smoke, the giant crabs pressed forward toward the ship like an advancing army.
Seeing the flames gave Will an idea. He yelled, “Fire in front of them. Start more fires.”
The creatures feared the flames, but their long legs allowed them to step over the smaller blazes. When the leading edge of the creatures were less than fifty yards away, Will ordered the other three .50 calibers, manned by Haig, Levitt, and Grayson, to open fire. The heavy-caliber slugs chipped away at the crabs’ carapaces, but did little real damage.
“Concentrate on the head,” he yelled over the chattering of the machineguns.
The softer tissue surrounding the mouth proved more vulnerable. Several crabs succumbed to the withering crossfire. Will wished the remaining 25mm chain gun was operational. Its rapid rate of fire would have come in handy. Simon reappeared on deck with an FN Mk-48 machinegun, adding its 7.62mm stream of bullets to those of the four .50 caliber machineguns. His first volley went wide, but he quickly learned to control the recoil and began to hit his target. Within minutes, seven of the crabs were dead or too injured to continue. The smaller crustaceans immediately began feeding on the dead and injured, intent on a free meal even amid the burning algae. In spite of the .50 calibers, the giant crabs continued to advance. They need more firepower.
Will was now glad he had refrained Chico from using all the Griffin missiles on the megalodon. He had five missiles left, one in the portside launcher and a full complement of four in the starboard launcher. He knew he had to make them count. Without power, the MK-60 launcher’s GPS guidance was useless. However, the hand-held laser for targeting operated on battery power. He painted the nearest cluster of crabs with the laser and fired a missile. The solid fuel engine propelled the forty-two-inch rocket across the intervening space in a flash of light and smoke. The explosion of the fragmenting warhead scattered half a dozen crabs, killing four of them. Bits of shell and crab blood and organs splattered the surrounding algae.
“That’s more like it,” he said.
He raced to the starboard launcher. Noticing the ten-foot-wide water-filled crater left by
the Griffin, he got an idea. It was dangerous but could be their only chance. Rather than fire at the crabs, he aimed the missiles in a line along the narrowest point between the Sunfish and the open water. Apone saw what he was doing and looked confused. As he had hoped, the explosions blew away large chunks of algae, not enough to clear the path, but enough to weaken it. He knew the sea would do the rest. Within minutes, propelled by the current, the smaller raft floated away from the larger mass, widening the gap.
“Asa!” he yelled. “The engines!”
Asa ran for the engine room. Seconds later, both engines revved up. Will took the helm, guiding the boat into the narrow channel he had created. He kept the speed under ten knots to avoid sucking any of the kelp fronds dangling below the mat into the water jet intakes. The crabs, seeing their prey escaping, redoubled their efforts, racing along beside the boat. The gunners continued to kill them, but the creatures numbered in the hundreds. At the narrowest point in the channel, three of the creatures leaped the gap and landed on the deck.
One immediately attacked Apone, who backed away from his .50 caliber and fought it off with a boathook. The crab raised its body into the air as is scrambled over the gun mount. Simon noticed Apone’s peril, sprayed the crab’s softer thorax with his Mk-48, and then kicked its corpse over the side. Levitt dispatched a second creature with the .50 caliber. It fell dead across the mangled rear deck.
The third crab ignored the men on deck, concentrating instead on the men inside the cabin. It thrust its claws through the window, shattering it. The claws clamped closed inches from Will’s head. He drew his .45 from his holster and emptied into the creature’s face, but the small arms fire did not faze it. Unable to reach Will, the crab tried to push its bulk through the hatch, but the opening was too small.
Seeing the danger, Anderson, rose from his bench, and standing on his broken leg, leaned against the wall, firing his SCAR into the creature’s head, his face wracked in agony in spite of the morphine. Sensing this new threat, the crab shifted its body, and in a blur stabbed the sharp tip of its claw into Anderson’s abdomen. He screamed and fell backwards onto the deck writhing in pain. Blood streamed from between his hands clasped over his belly.