The Swarm: A Novel

by Frank Schätzing

  Licia was down there. Everything he’d ever wanted, everything he’d valued, was under water. It was only logical that he was on his way there too. It was time for him to go.

  Live a good life, and one day you’ll come back as an orca.

  He saw a dark shadow flit through the water above him. Then another. The whales paid him no attention. That’s right, thought Greywolf, I’m your friend. You won’t hurt me. He knew, of course, that the real explanation was more prosaic. They hadn’t noticed him. Orcas like those had no friends. They weren’t even orcas any more. They had been subjugated by a species that was as ruthless as mankind.

  But some day it would be OK again. The time would come. And the Grey Wolf would become an orca.

  He breathed out.

  Peak

  ‘Are you completely insane?’ Peak’s voice reverberated in the tunnel. Li sped ahead of him. He tried to ignore the throbbing in his ankle and keep pace with her. She’d abandoned the machine-gun and was carrying her pistol.

  ‘You’re starting to get on my nerves, Sal.’ Li headed for the nearest companionway. They climbed in single file to the level above, where a passageway took them to the restricted area. From the bowels of the vessel came the sounds of destruction. There was another explosion. The floor shook and tilted, forcing them to pause. The bulkheads must be giving way to the pressure. Now the Independence was at a noticeable angle. The passageway became an uphill slope. Men and women streamed out of the control room, running towards them. They looked at Li expectantly, awaiting her orders. Their commander strode past.

  ‘On your nerves?’ Peak blocked her path. His horror was turning into blind rage. ‘You can’t just go around shooting people or having them killed. For Christ’s sake, Li, it’s uncalled for. We never planned it this way. No one agreed to this.’

  Li’s face was calm, but her blue eyes were flicking back and forth. Peak had never noticed that before. Suddenly he knew that this highly intelligent, well-educated, distinguished general was mad.

  ‘Vanderbilt knows,’ she said.

  ‘You cleared it with the CIA?’

  ‘With Vanderbilt of the CIA.’

  ‘So you and that scumbag agreed to this lunacy?’ Peak’s lips curled in disgust. ‘Well, it makes me sick. Right now we should be helping to evacuate this vessel.’

  ‘We’ve got presidential approval,’ Li added.

  ‘Yeah, right.’

  ‘Or as good as.’

  ‘Not for this. I don’t believe you.’

  ‘Well, I know he’d approve it.’ She pushed past him. ‘Now, get out of my way. We’re running out of time.’

  Peak rushed after her. ‘But these people have done nothing wrong. They risked their lives by joining this mission. They’re our allies. Arrest them if you have to, but don’t kill them.’

  ‘They’re either with me or against me. Can’t you see that, Sal?’

  ‘Johanson wasn’t against you.’

  ‘He was against me from the start.’ She spun round, glaring up at him. ‘Are you blind or just stupid? Don’t you understand what will happen if America doesn’t win this war? Another state’s victory is America’s defeat.’

  ‘But this isn’t about America! It’s about the world.’

  ‘America is the world.’

  Peak stared at her. ‘You’re crazy,’ he whispered.

  ‘No, just realistic. And it’s about time you did as you were told. You’re under my command.’ Li walked off. ‘Come on. We’ve got a job to do. I need to be in that submersible before this ship is blown to pieces. Help me find Rubin’s radioactive torpedoes. Then you can do as you like.’

  Vehicle Ramp

  Weaver couldn’t make up her mind which way to run until she heard voices coming from the ramp. Li and Peak had vanished. They were probably on their way to Rubin’s lab to fetch the contaminated pheromone. She ran to the next bend in the tunnel and saw Anawak and Johanson at the entrance to the hangar deck, each propping up the other, about to head down.

  ‘Leon!’ she cried. ‘Sigur!’

  She ran forward and threw her arms round them. It meant a pretty big stretch but she needed to hold them both. One especially. Johanson grunted in pain. She jerked away. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, I—’

  ‘It’s OK.’ He wiped the blood off his beard. ‘The spirit is willing but…Anyway, what’s going on?’

  ‘Whatever happened to you?’

  The deck rumbled beneath their feet. The Independence’s hull gave a drawn-out squeal. The hangar bay tilted another degree towards the bow.

  Hurriedly they swapped accounts, Anawak still in shock from Greywolf’s death. ‘Does either of you know what’s happening to the ship?’ he asked.

  ‘No, but I don’t think we’ve time to worry about it.’ Weaver glanced round. ‘I’d say we’ve got two urgent jobs to deal with: stopping Li getting into that sub, and somehow getting out of here alive.’

  ‘You think she’ll stick to her plan?’

  ‘Of course she will,’ Johanson growled.

  Noises were coming from the flight deck above them. They heard the thump of rotors. ‘Do you hear that? The rats are deserting the ship.’

  ‘But what’s come over her?’ Anawak shook his head uncomprehendingly. ‘Why would Li kill Sue?’

  ‘She did her best to kill me too. She’d shoot anyone who stands in her way. She never intended to negotiate peacefully.’

  ‘But what’s she trying to achieve?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter now,’ said Johanson. ‘Her schedule will have moved forward dramatically. Someone’s got to stop her. We can’t let her take that stuff down there.’

  ‘No,’ said Weaver. ‘We need to take this stuff down there instead.’

  For the first time Johanson noticed the case in Weaver’s hand. His eyes widened. ‘Is that the new batch of pheromone?’

  ‘Sue’s legacy.’

  ‘But how’s that going to help us?’

  ‘I’ve had an idea.’ She hesitated. ‘God knows if it’ll work, though. I thought of it yesterday, but somehow it didn’t seem viable. I guess things have changed.’ She summarised.

  ‘Sounds promising,’ said Anawak. ‘But we must act fast. We may have only minutes. We need to be out of here before the ship sinks.’

  ‘But I don’t know how we can do it in practice.’

  ‘Well, I do.’ Anawak pointed down the ramp. ‘We need a dozen hypodermic syringes. I’ll fetch them. You two go down and take care of the submersible.’ He thought for a moment. ‘And we’ll need…Do you think you’ll find someone in the lab?’

  ‘Sure. No problem. But where are you going to get syringes?’

  ‘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 naïve, 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.