Jeremy Robinson - Island 731

“Slowly,” Joliet said, pulling on the top half of the plastron.

Hawkins held the lower half, lifting up so the entire shell could come free at once. Bray stood behind a video camera, documenting the dissection. All three wore blue surgical aprons over their shorts and T-shirts, but only Hawkins and Joliet wore bright blue, elbow-length rubber gloves.

The turtle lay on a table at the center of the biolab, a four hundred-square-foot space on the port side of the Magellan ’s main deck. Foam blocks had been wedged under the sides of the turtle’s shell, keeping it from wobbling, or from slipping off the table. Bright fluorescent lights hanging from the ceiling illuminated the body. The only other source of light came from a single porthole, through which the sun—now heading for the horizon—shone brightly.

As the plastron lifted away from the body, the tangy scent of turtle insides wafted into the sterile-smelling “clean” lab, which normally smelled like bleach. Hawkins nearly gagged. He wasn’t sure which smell was worse—guts or bleach—but combined, they sent a wave of revulsion through his body and made him wince.

Bray lowered the camera and said, “Good God, that reeks.”

Joliet paused and looked at Bray. “Keep the camera up.”

Bray lifted his shirt collar over his nose and continued recording the scene.

“The plastron came free after cutting along the seam between the marginal and inframarginal scutes, and then along the posterior margin,” Joliet said, describing the work she’d completed. She tilted her end up so that it was facing the camera. “As you can see, the subject’s body is quite deformed.”

“What was the cause of this deformity?” Bray asked.

Joliet appeared annoyed for a moment, but then nodded. They hadn’t recorded that portion of the dissection. Hawkins and Joliet placed the underbelly on an adjacent workbench.

“The deformity of this specimen was caused by a thick band of red plastic, which we cut away.” Joliet picked up the hard plastic ring and held it up for the camera to see. “I’m not sure what its original purpose was, but there is some faint Japanese script, here on the side.”

She turned the band around so that all the text could be captured by the lens. “It seems likely that the turtle, still very young, swam through the plastic band, which then became stuck around its midsection. As the specimen grew, the ring restricted its growth, resulting in this severe abnormality. That it survived into adulthood is something of a miracle.”

Joliet moved back to the table and Hawkins followed, hoping he wouldn’t puke on camera. He’d been hunting several times in his life, but quickly cleaning out a freshly killed deer wasn’t quite the same as slowly poking around the insides of a decomposing sea turtle.

The inside of the turtle was bright red and pink mixed with bits of dull gray. Hawkins swallowed and turned his eyes toward Joliet, hoping her words would distract him. They didn’t.

“The ventral surface of the specimen is covered by three muscle groups.” She pointed to the exposed neck. “The longitudinal.” She pointed to the upper body, where a pair of feather-shaped muscles had been exposed. “The large pinnate, which power the turtle’s front flippers.” She moved to the lower extremity. “And the pelvic muscles, which we already separated from the plastron. Despite the upper and lower portions of the body being separated by the deformation, the muscles appear whole and healthy. There is no disease present.” She looked at Hawkins. “Hand me the knife.”

A metal tray next to Hawkins held three large metal bowls, sliding calipers, metal snips, scissors, hemostatic forceps, toothless forceps, tweezers, three scalpels of various sizes, a turkey baster, a pair of pliers, a hacksaw, and a razor-sharp knife that looked rather like a fishing blade. He picked up the knife, pinching the flat side of the blade between his fingers, and handed it to Joliet, handle first.

Knife in hand, Joliet made quick work of the large muscles, cutting them free from the shell, ligaments, and bone where they were attached. “Bowl,” she said.

Hawkins held out the largest bowl and Joliet placed all six slabs of turtle meat inside. When she was done, the bowl weighed quite a lot and Hawkins grunted as he carried it to the corner of the room and placed it in the large metal sink.

“This is where it gets interesting,” Bray said, raising his eyebrows at Hawkins.

Joliet spoke quickly, keeping them on task. “The peritoneal cavity is now exposed. It should be noted that I would normally now separate the flippers and shoulder girdles, but they were… removed prior to recovery by a large Carcharodon carcharias—”

“A great white shark to the layman,” Bray added.

“—that has learned to feed on creatures that become entangled in the Garbage Patch.”

Joliet motioned for Bray to move closer. He moved to the end of the table, where he had a clear view of the loggerhead’s exposed organs.

Hawkins took a deep breath and instantly regretted it. The smell had worsened significantly. The sight of the organs didn’t help, nor did the guacamole-like green mush oozing around the cavity’s perimeter. Man up , he told himself. This is important .

“The heart is here, in the center, and is hugged by the large tan liver on either side. The intestines, however, are severely out of place, running down the core of the turtle’s body, to the posterior.” She moved to the lower half of the disfigured subject and pointed out the jumble of pink intestines. “The intestines, normally bunched up just beneath the liver, have been elongated through the pinched midsection. It’s likely that this resulted in poor digestion and nutritional health.”

Hawkins frowned. This wasn’t the slam-dunk revelation they were hoping for—most of America suffered from poor digestion—but it was a start.

“Let’s take a look at the heart, before moving to the stomach,” Joliet said and then reached a hand out to Hawkins. “Baster.”

Hawkins handed her the turkey baster. “What’s this for?”

Joliet moved over the heart, scalpel in one hand, baster in the other. “The pericardial cavity often contains liquid.” She slowly made an incision and put the tip of the baster inside. After pushing it as far as it would go, she gave the baster a couple of squeezes, each one sucking up pink fluid. “Bowl.”

Hawkins held out a fresh bowl, but leaned his head away from it. The baster burped as Joliet squirted the liquid in the bowl, and then repeated the process two more times until the cavity was empty. Hawkins quickly brought the bowl to the sink. He placed it down a little quickly and some of the fluid splashed out. He glanced down and saw small globs of green, some white stringy fibers, and a swirl of nearly clear and deep red fluids.

He moved away from the sink and took a deep breath, once again regretting it.

“You okay, Ranger?” Bray asked.

When he looked up, Hawkins found the camera turned toward him. He put on a brave face and gave Bray a thumbs-up. “Never better.”

“If you’re not feeling well, Mr. Hawkins, I can help.”

The three of them turned toward the voice. Kam stood in the doorway, staring at the turtle. He looked simultaneously interested and disgusted, sentiments Hawkins shared.

Hawkins was glad for the respite, but wasn’t sure if Kam could do the job. He spent most of his time in front of computers, not dissecting animals. Still, it beat puking on camera, so he swept his arm toward the turtle. “Be my guest.”

Kam stepped up next to Joliet and nodded at her. “Umm, okay. I’m ready.”

Bray gave Hawkins a look that asked, Is he for real?