William Meikle: Infestation

Hynd was over to the south, looking at the gap to the next building. Banks went and joined him at the edge of the roof. Fortunately, the next building also had a mostly flat roof and the jump didn’t look daunting, little more than six, maybe seven feet.

“Mac and Nolan, pour half the gas down over the front door, Briggs and McCally, the rest down at the back at the yard door. And I hope somebody’s got a match; I lost my lighter.”

Hynd had matches, and a handkerchief he ripped in two.

“I’ve got a better idea than pouring, Cap,” he said. “Molotov cocktails?”

They poured all but two of the gas canisters over the sides of the roof. By this time, smoke came through the shingles and heat rose up in waves at them; it wasn’t going to be long before the roof itself took hold.

Banks slung his weapon over his shoulders to nestle beside his backpack, then sent everyone but Hynd and himself over to the adjoining building; Nolan almost didn’t make it, his wounded legs giving way on landing but luckily Mac was there to steady him and keep him upright. The Irishman gave Banks two thumbs up when he recovered his balance.

“You ready?” Banks said to Hynd. They each held a container of gasoline with a gas-soaked handkerchief stuck in the open cap.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Hynd said.

“Is this going to work?” Banks asked as the sergeant lit up both containers.

“I’ve only ever did it with a milk bottle and petrol back in Cambuslang when I was a lad; I don’t know about this Canadian stuff. I’ll see you in Hell if it doesn’t.”

They each hurled the containers as far as they could out over the swarming creatures below, then ran for the edge of the roof and launched into the air as the gas went up with a blast of heat and flame behind them.

Banks landed hard but again, Mac was there to steady him. The weight on his back almost overbalanced both of them until Hynd steadied all three with an arm. They turned to see the post office fully aflame, the roof already starting to fall in on itself. In the yard at the back, the beasts burned. And they weren’t going to get to use the Skidoos; the flames had taken them too and one of them went up with a dull whump as the heat got to the gas tank. The beasts not caught in the conflagration retreated fast toward the shoreline. None paid any attention to the men on the roof.

The main danger looked like it was going to come from the fire itself; the breeze off the sea whipped flames across the gap between the buildings. It was only a matter of time before this building went up along with the post office.

“Right, lads, time to go,” Banks said. “Lead on, Sarge. Get us to those kayaks and get the flock out of here.”

Hynd led the team quickly across the roof. They let themselves down easily on the far side, then, moving as one silent unit, headed away south into the dark.

None of the creatures followed them.

Svetlanova stood in almost pitch black darkness; the bulb above her was down to a single glowing red worm of filament and the only other light she had was the dim LED on her Dictaphone; she had no idea how long it might last.

There had been no more sound of shooting, not for a while now. She could only hope whoever it had been had survived and was now on their way to the boat; it might be her only chance of escape. And now that the darkness was closing in around her, she found she wanted to live, determined that this dark cell would not be the sum total of her life’s ambitions.

She held the Dictaphone loosely in her hand; there was more yet to tell but she couldn’t bring herself to speak it aloud; the memories came too raw, too vivid. The scant minutes after the wave of the swarm came over the bows of the boat would be etched in her mind forever.

The crew had died bloodily, some of them fighting, others pulled screaming from hiding places. Svetlanova and the captain had retreated into the lower decks via the closest access point to where they’d been standing at the instant of the attack, but they weren’t given time to close the exterior door; the weight of the beasts was too much and they were too many. They were forced to retreat inside but the beasts kept coming. Soon, she was fleeing, full pelt through the corridors and down stairs with little regard for safety. At first, she was aware the captain ran right alongside her then one second he was there, the next he was gone. She turned, almost stumbled, to see the man get engulfed in a squirming wave of isopods, already tearing at the flesh of his legs and back. The captain looked her in the eye.

“Run!” he shouted, then was gone under as if drowning in the mass of tearing pincers and flaying hooks. She hadn’t been trying to reach the large pantry; it was a coincidence the door was open when she reached it. She was planning to keep going, heading for the lifeboats at the stern but the corridor ahead was also blocked; three isopods engaged in dragging the flayed, thankfully dead, body of a crewman away.

She had leapt inside the open doorway, not really knowing where she was going, merely needing an escape, and slammed it shut. She’d stood there, fighting for a breath, her weight against the door, waiting to see if the defense would hold.

The beasts behind her had kept going. They sounded like a wave rushing along the narrow corridor. There had been more distant screams and several gunshots, then it had gone quiet. When her breathing recovered, she noticed she’d been fortunate enough to end up in the pantry. Something had settled in her, her mind determined a safe place was the best place and no other place would do.

The quiet had settled on the boat like a funeral shroud. Svetlanova could not risk calling out and if there was anyone else aboard still alive, in hiding like her, they too were being circumspect in their silence.

The boat belonged to the isopods now.

The first night had been bad. She ate too much; hard biscuits washed down with fizzy pop, far too much pop leaving her with an almost overpowering urge to urinate. And there was no way she was going to do it in the confines of the pantry. But the need was becoming far too great; an accident was imminent.

There hadn’t been any noise for several hours, so she took a chance and pried the door open, a millimeter at a time until she had a clear view along the corridor, intending to retreat at the first sound, or first glimpse of shimmering blue. There was only darkness and deadly silence. The only light came from the room where she’d been hiding, the single bulb high in the pantry. The rest of the corridor was in deep shadows in both directions and she wasn’t in any hurry to investigate the darkness. She stepped outside the pantry, some five feet along the corridor, lowered her clothes, squatted and did her business; it felt like much of her tension left her in the same moments and she found she was thinking straight for the first time since the beast’s incursion.

She still wasn’t in any mood for investigation though and stood, intending to step back into the pantry. That was when she’d seen it; a blue, shimmering glow right down at the far end of the long corridor running almost the length of the boat. Then she heard it too; the hum, high and whining as it communicated. Then it moved and she realized how far away the beast was; and how big it had to be for her to see it so clearly. It almost filled the corridor; five feet wide and the same again as tall; this wasn’t one of the juveniles; this was a large one, like the one they’d burned and sent back to the deep. She’d been hoping there was only one of the larger ones but that was now dashed.

And where there’s two, there can be many.