The Swarm: A Novel

by Frank Schätzing

  ‘Leon, you’re a jerk. The day before yesterday you and I were in a plane crash. Your knee’s swollen, my brain took a hammering, but so what? We were lucky as hell. We could have been killed, like Danny and the pilot. And all you can do is moan about your stupid alarm. Now, are you ready?’

  Anawak dropped down on to the bench. ‘Fine. Point taken. What did John have to say?’

  ‘All the data’s there, and he’s taken a look at the video.’

  ‘It just gets better. And?’

  ‘That’s all he said. You’re supposed to draw your own conclusions.’ She heaped coffee into the filter, slotted it on to the jug and started the machine. After a few seconds the room was filled with slurping sounds. ‘I told him you were asleep,’ she went on, ‘and he said not to wake you.’

  ‘He said what?’

  ‘He said you needed to get better. And he’s right.’

  ‘I am better,’ said Anawak stubbornly.

  But he wasn’t sure of it. The DHC-2 had lost its right wing when it collided with the breaching whale. Danny had probably died on the spot - the Whistler hadn’t retrieved his body but there was no real doubt. He hadn’t got inside in time, which meant the side door had been open when the plane hit the water. That was what had saved Anawak. He’d been thrown out of the cabin on impact. After that his mind was blank. He couldn’t even remember what had happened to his knee. He’d come round on the Whistler, brought back to life by the throbbing.

  Then he’d noticed Delaware stretched out beside him, and the pain had stopped mattering. For a moment, he’d thought she was dead, but someone had told him that she was OK. She’d been even luckier than he had. The body of the pilot had cushioned her fall. Barely conscious, she’d struggled free from the sinking wreck, and the plane had filled with water in less than a minute. The Whistler’s crew had managed to fish Anawak and Delaware out of the water, but the pilot and his DHC-2 had sunk into the depths.

  The trip had ended in tragedy, but their goal had been achieved. Danny had fired the tag. The URA had followed the whales and recorded twenty-four hours’ worth of footage without coming under attack. Anawak had known the recording would arrive on John Ford’s desk at the aquarium that morning, and he’d intended to be there on time. Besides, the Centre national d’études spatiales had released all the telemetric data received so far from the tag. They’d have been patting themselves on the back now, if the plane hadn’t crashed.

  Instead things were looking more desperate than ever. People were dying every day. On two occasions he’d nearly died. At the time of Stringer’s death he’d dealt with things quite well - perhaps his anger with Greywolf had distracted him from his grief. But now, two days after the plane crash, he felt wretched - as though he’d finally succumbed to an insidious sickness, and was paying for it in uncertainty, self-doubt and a worrying lack of strength. There was a chance he might be in shock, but Anawak didn’t quite buy it. There seemed more to it than that. Ever since he’d been hurled from the plane, he’d had spells of dizziness, pains in his chest and vague feelings of panic.

  He wasn’t better, and the problem wasn’t his knee.

  Anawak felt bruised inside.

  The previous day he’d done little but sleep. Davie, Shoemaker and the rest of the team had been to see him, and Ford had called a few times to ask how he was. Apart from that no one seemed overly concerned. While Delaware’s parents and friends were urging her to leave the island, the only people who’d spared a thought for Anawak were his colleagues.

  He was ill, and he knew the doctors couldn’t help him.

  Delaware put a mug of coffee on the table in front of him and studied him through her blue-tinted shades. Anawak took a gulp and burnt his tongue. He asked her to fetch him the phone.

  ‘Can I ask you a personal question, Leon?’ she said.

  ‘Later.’

  ‘How much later?’

  He punched a series of digits.

  ‘We haven’t finished sifting the data,’ said Ford. ‘Take your time and get some rest.’

  ‘You told Licia I should draw my own conclusions.’

  ‘Yes, once we’ve been through the rest. So far it’s uninteresting. For the moment, we’ll carry on sifting. Who knows? Maybe you can save yourself a trip.’

  ‘When will you be done?’

  ‘No idea. Four of us are looking at the tapes. Give us another two hours - no, three. I’ll have you flown over mid-afternoon. That’s one of the perks of working for an emergency committee - always plenty of helicopters.’ Ford laughed. ‘Not that I want to get used to it.’ He paused. ‘There’s something else you can do, though. I don’t have time to tell you about it now, but ask Rod Palm. You’d be better off speaking to him directly. He’s just had a long chat with the Nanaimo lab and the Institute of Ocean Studies. Call Oliviera if you prefer, but Palm’s on your doorstep.’

  ‘Christ, John. Why doesn’t anyone call me when something’s going on?’

  ‘I wanted to let you sleep.’

  Anawak said a surly goodbye and phoned Palm. The head of the research institute on Strawberry Isle picked up straight away. ‘Ah!’ he said. ‘Ford promised you’d ring.’

  ‘So I hear. Apparently you’ve made an earth-shattering discovery. Why didn’t you call me?’

  ‘Everyone knows you’re supposed to be resting.’

  ‘Yeah, right.’

  ‘Seriously, Leon, I thought you should get some sleep.’

  ‘That’s the second time I’ve heard that in the last sixty seconds - actually, it’s the third, what with Licia’s constant fussing. And I’m fine.’

  ‘Why don’t you pop over?’ suggested Palm.

  ‘In the boat, you mean?’

  ‘Come on, Leon, it’s only a few hundred metres. Besides, we haven’t had any trouble in the Sound.’

  ‘I’ll be with you in ten minutes.’

  ‘Great.’

  Delaware peered at him over her coffee and frowned. ‘What’s up?’

  ‘I’m being treated like an invalid.’ Anawak scowled.

  ‘That’s not what I meant.’

  He got up, rummaged beneath his bunk and pulled out a T-shirt. ‘Some discovery at Nanaimo,’ he said gruffly.

  ‘What is it?’ asked Delaware.

  ‘I don’t know. ‘I’m going over to see Rod Palm.’ He hesitated, then added, ‘Come along, if you like.’

  ‘I’m honoured.’

  ‘Don’t be stupid.’

  ‘I’m not.’ She wrinkled her nose. The edges of her incisors rested on her lower lip. She desperately needed some work on those teeth, thought Anawak. Whenever he saw them, he had to fight off the impulse to tell her. ‘You’ve barely said a civil word for two days. You’re in a foul mood, Leon.’

  ‘You wouldn’t feel great yourself if—’ He stopped.

  ‘I was in the plane too,’ she said calmly.

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘I can’t tell you how scared I was. Lots of girls would have run straight home to Mummy, but since you’d lost one assistant I stayed. To help you, you old grouch. Now what was that about not feeling so great?’

  Anawak felt the bump on his head, which was painful. His knee hurt too. ‘Nothing. Calm again now?’

  She raised her eyebrows. ‘I’m always calm.’

  ‘Good. Then let’s go.’

  ‘Can I ask you that question?’

  ‘No.’

  There was something unreal about crossing Clayoquot Sound in the Devilfish. It was as though the mayhem of the past few weeks had never happened. The islet itself was just a pine-covered mound - the circular tour took five minutes on foot. Right now there wasn’t a ripple on the water. The wind was still, and the sun beat down on them. At any moment Anawak expected to see a fluke or a fin rise out of the ocean, but since the trouble had started, orcas had only been sighted twice in the Sound. On both occasions they’d been residents, showing no sign of aggression. Anawak’s theory about the change in behaviour being peculiar to migra
nts still seemed to hold true.

  But for how much longer?

  They pulled up at the landing jetty. Palm’s research station was opposite, housed in an ancient sailing-boat, the first British Columbia ferry, now nestled prettily on the shore, supported by logs and surrounded by driftwood and rusty anchors. It was also his home, which he shared with his two children.

  Anawak was trying not to limp. Delaware was silent.

  A few minutes later the three were sitting round a small beech-bark table in the ferry’s bow, Delaware sipping Coke. From their vantage-point they could see Tofino with its houses on stilts. Strawberry Isle, a few hundred metres away, was much quieter than the town, and they were treated to a variety of nature’s sounds.

  ‘How’s the knee?’ Palm asked. He was an affable, bald man with a curly white beard, who seemed to have been born with a pipe in his mouth.

  ‘I’d rather not talk about it.’ Anawak tried to ignore the hammering in his head. ‘Why don’t you tell me what you’ve found?’

  ‘Leon doesn’t like it when people ask him how he is,’ Delaware said pointedly.

  Palm coughed. ‘I’ve had a long chat with Ray Fenwick and Sue Oliviera,’ he said. ‘We’ve had a lot to talk about, what with J-19’s dissection and the other stuff that’s happened since. You see, on the day your plane crashed another whale was washed ashore, a grey. It wasn’t one I’d seen before, and it’s not in any of the databases. Fenwick was too busy to fly over, but Nanaimo needed the usual autopsy samples so I got a few people together and we took it apart ourselves. A god-awful task, I can tell you. We’d just about got down to the heart and I was standing in the ribcage when I slipped - blood and slime everywhere, in my boots and splattering down from above. We looked like zombies at a feeding frenzy. A not-so-romantic view of the heart, that’s for sure. Anyhow, we took samples from the brain as well.’

  The thought of another dead whale filled Anawak with sorrow. He couldn’t bring himself to hate the animals for what they had done. To him they still deserved protection. ‘What did it die of?’ he asked.

  Palm gestured vaguely. ‘I’d say it was an infection. According to Fenwick, that’s what did for Genghis too. But the weird thing is that there’s something inside those whales that doesn’t belong there.’ He pointed to his temples and traced a circle with his finger. ‘Fenwick found a clot in their brain stems. And some kind of leakage between the brain and the skull.’

  Anawak sat up. ‘A blood clot? In both whales?’

  ‘Not a blood clot, although at first we thought it was. Fenwick and Oliviera were pretty keen on the idea that noise was behind the change in the whales’ behaviour. They weren’t going to mention it till they’d found some proof, but for a while Fenwick was convinced it had something to do with the effects of that sonar system—’

  ‘Surtass LFA?’

  ‘That’s it.’

  ‘No way.’

  ‘Is anyone going to tell me what this is about?’ Delaware chimed in.

  ‘Well, a few years ago the American government decided to grant the US Navy permission to use low-frequency active sonar for the detection of subs,’ said Palm. ‘The system’s called Surtass LFA. They’re trying it out all over the place.’

  ‘Seriously?’ said Delaware, appalled. ‘But what about the Marine Mammal Protection Act? Surely they’re bound to it.’

  ‘All kinds of people are bound to all kinds of Acts,’ said Anawak, with a grim smile. ‘But there are loopholes. Evidently the Americans couldn’t pass up on the opportunity of putting eighty per cent of the world’s oceans under surveillance, which is what Surtass lets them do. Anyway, the system cost three hundred million dollars, and its operators were insisting it wouldn’t hurt the whales.’

  ‘But sonar is bad for whales. Any fool knows that.’

  ‘Unfortunately it hasn’t been adequately proven,’ said Palm. ‘Past experience shows that whales and dolphins are incredibly sensitive to sonar, but no one can say for sure what effect it has on feeding patterns, reproduction or migration.’

  ‘It’s ridiculous,’ snorted Anawak. ‘At 180 decibels, a whale’s eardrums can explode. Each underwater transmitter can generate two hundred and fifteen. The combined effect is much louder, of course.’

  Delaware looked at them. ‘So…how does it affect them?’

  ‘That’s why Fenwick and Oliviera went for the noise theory,’ said Palm. ‘Years ago, when the navy started experimenting with sonar, there was an upsurge in beachings all over the world. Large numbers of whales and dolphins died. They all showed signs of heavy bleeding in the brain and in the inner ear - injuries consistent with noise damage. In each instance, environmentalists proved that NATO military exercises had been going on close to where the bodies were found. But tell that to the navy!’

  ‘You mean they denied it?’

  ‘Until recently the navy always denied any link between sonar and the beachings, but they’ve had to admit that in some cases sonar was indeed to blame. The problem is, we still don’t know enough. The only evidence we have of damage is from the dead whales. Everyone’s got their own theory. Fenwick, for instance, thinks underwater noise causes outbreaks of collective madness.’

  ‘Noise just disorients them’, growled Anawak. ‘It causes beachings, not attacks.’

  ‘Well, I think the theory’s worth considering,’ said Delaware.

  ‘Oh, really?’

  ‘Well, why not? The creatures are going mad. It started with a few and then it spread, like a mass psychosis.’

  ‘Licia, that’s rubbish. Look what happened to the beaked whales that died in the Canaries after NATO held a pow-wow there. They’re about as sensitive to noise as you can get. Of course they went crazy. They were so panicked that they beached themselves in their rush to get out of the water. Loud noise makes them want to flee.’

  ‘Or maybe they want to attack the noise,’ countered Delaware, stubbornly.

  ‘Attack what? Zodiacs with outboard motors? Since when is that noise?’

  ‘It must have been something else, then. An underwater explosion.’

  ‘Not round here.’

  ‘How would you know?’

  ‘I just do.’

  ‘You can’t bear to be wrong, can you, Leon?’

  ‘That’s rich, coming from you.’

  ‘Besides, there’ve been beachings here before. It’s been going on for centuries. Ancient stories tell of—’

  ‘I know that, Licia. I think we all do.’

  ‘Fine. So do you think the Indians had sonar?’

  ‘What’s that got to do with it?’

  ‘Everything. Beached whales are being used for ideological purposes without a second thought—’

  ‘Uh-huh. So now you’re suggesting I’m thoughtless.’

  Delaware glared at him. ‘I’m suggesting that mass strandings don’t necessarily have anything to do with artificial noise, and that noise might cause something other than mass strandings.’

  ‘OK, folks!’ Palm tried to pacify them. ‘You’re arguing over nothing. Fenwick has decided that the noise theory has too many holes in it anyway. OK, so he’s still into his collective madness thing, but—Are you even listening to me?’

  They turned.

  ‘OK,’ said Palm, when he was sure he had their attention. ‘So Fenwick and Oliviera found the clots and decided they’d been caused by external factors. Superficially they resembled blood clots, so that’s what they assumed they were. Then they removed the substance and ran some tests. It was the colour of whale blood, but the substance itself was transparent and disintegrated on contact with air. Most of it was too far gone to be useful.’ Palm leaned across the table. ‘But they took a look at some of it. The results matched some findings from a few weeks previously. They’d seen the substance once before. In Nanaimo.’

  Anawak was silent for a second. ‘What is it?’ he asked hoarsely.

  ‘The same substance you found in the mussels on the Barrier Queen.’

 
‘So the substance in the brains and on the hull—’

  ‘Identical. Organic matter.’

  Anawak had only been up for a few hours but already he felt drained. He took Delaware back to Tofino in the boat. His knee twinged painfully as he climbed the wooden ladder to the jetty. He felt helpless, depressed and at the mercy of whatever unpleasantness was on its way next.

  Clenching his jaw, he hobbled into the deserted office of Davie’s Whaling Station, fetched a bottle of orange juice from the fridge and flopped on to the armchair behind the desk. One thought after another raced through his mind, like a dog chasing its tail.

  Delaware had followed him.

  ‘Grab yourself something.’ Anawak pointed to the fridge.

  ‘The whale that brought the plane down…’ she began.

  Anawak opened the bottle and took a gulp.

  ‘That whale must have hurt itself, Leon. It probably died.’

  He thought for a moment. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I expect you’re right.’

  She walked over to a shelf with plastic miniatures of whales for sale, in all different sizes. A group of humpbacks were resting peacefully on their flippers. She took one down and twisted it in her fingers. Anawak kept a watchful eye on her. ‘Something’s making them do it,’ she said.

  He leaned forward and switched on the portable TV next to the radio. Perhaps she’d take the hint and go. He didn’t mind her company but his need to be alone was growing by the minute.

  Delaware replaced the whale on the shelf. ‘Can I ask you something personal now?’

  Oh, not again. Anawak was on the point of snapping at her, but shrugged instead. ‘I guess so.’

  ‘Do you come from the Makah?’

  He nearly dropped the bottle. ‘Whatever gave you that idea?’ he bleated.

  ‘It was something you said to Shoemaker when we were getting on the plane, about Greywolf falling out with the Makah if he kept going on about whaling. The Makah are Indians, right?’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘Your people?’

  ‘I’m not a Makah.’

  ‘But aren’t you—’

  ‘Look, Licia, don’t take this personally, but I’m not in the mood for family history.’