William Meikle - Infestation

“Slim to none, I’d say, Cap. Want me to go and find one? There’ll be an engineer’s stash around here somewhere.”

“Just as long as it’s not already underwater. How’s the hand?”

“The lassie here’s been looking after me fine,” he said and blew Svetlanova a kiss. He flexed his fingers. “A wee bit stiff and sore and not up to punching anybody but it’s not going to fall off, at least not anytime soon.”

“McCally, you go with Mac,” Banks said. “Don’t do anything stupid. No heroics and no fucking about with anything electrical. Find me something to cut the anchor cables and get us away from that drilling rig. You’ve got fifteen minutes; then we’ll be coming looking for you.”

Svetlanova spoke up.

“I should go too. I know where the engineers worked, although I don’t remember seeing a cutting torch. And I know where not to look, which should cut down the search time.”

Banks didn’t waste time arguing with her. He handed Nolan’s rifle to her.

“I already know you can use this. Just don’t get dead.”

He addressed everyone in the room.

“Fifteen minutes then. We’ll meet up at the prow, at the end of the long corridor where we came aboard.

“Move out.”

Svetlanova led the two men toward the stern. She hadn’t known the ship’s engineers but she’d seen them around often enough to know where they worked. Instead of heading up into the superstructure, they needed to go down two decks at the rear of the boat. The crew’s cabins were there and, below them, a large engineering workroom she had never visited but was where she thought they had the best chance of finding a cutting torch.

There was more evidence of the carnage that had befallen the crew in these darker corridors and room; men had been taken in their sleep or dragged out of closets in which they’d tried to hide. Blood splattered over walls, guts and fatty tissue lay in oily, drying smears on the floors and bloody handprints spoke of frenzied attempts to escape.

Svetlanova stopped, her toes touching a pool of congealed blood filling the corridor. The smell of death lay everywhere and somehow the sight of the carnage was worse here at the cabins, where crew were supposed to be at rest, supposed to be safe.

Mac put a hand on her shoulder.

“Eyes forward, lass,” he said softly. “The only thing we can do for them now is remember them, mourn them, and revenge them if we get the chance. Your only job now is to get us to the engineering room; the sooner we get back up to cleaner air, the better it’ll be for all of us.”

She turned to him and saw the Glaswegian was favoring his injured arm, not using it for anything, just resting it on the top of his right forearm.

“Do I need to take another look?” she said.

“No time, lass,” he replied. “We’ll get it seen to once we get the job done here. It’s fine.”

His face told a different story; she saw pain etched there and more than a hint of worry.

But he’s right. It won’t matter much if we don’t get out of here.

Her spirits lifted slightly when they descended out of the sleeping area to the next deck, but now they needed to use the lights on their weapons; whatever sunlight there was didn’t penetrate down here and she found her bearings confused by the lack of artificial lighting. The rock and sway of the boat threatened to tumble her off her feet and down the stairs with every step. She let Mac and McCally go first while she directed from the rear.

“Two doors down is the one we want. There’ll be a cutting torch there, if it’s anywhere.”

The two men moved more carefully now, focussed and cautious, weapons raised so they sighted along the light beams. Mac went first, waved is beam around in the room beyond, then turned and waved McCally forward.

Svetlanova followed them, five paces behind and alert to any sudden scuttling, into a large, dark room whispering with soft echoes as they made their way through it. The flashlights picked out workbenches, racks of power tools and parts.

“Bingo, ya fucking beauty,” Mac said as his beam came to a halt on two tall cylinders in a wheeled iron frame. He went over, took hold of the pistol-like grip at the end of the cables, and checked the pressure valves.

“Braw. There’s plenty of juice in these lassies. We’ve got our cutting gear.”

His voice echoed in the empty corners of the room. In reply, a scurrying noise came from their left. Both soldiers had turned, weapons raised, before Svetlanova even thought to react. Their beams picked out a doorway, with its heavy steel door currently lying open. There was only darkness beyond, so deep their lights barely penetrated.

“What’s through there, lass?” Mac asked.

She tried to picture the layout in her mind.

“There’s a corridor running along the side of the engine room, then the main cargo bay,” she said. “This must be an access door for the engineers.”

The soldiers moved closer to the doors and she followed, peering over their shoulders. They looked down a long, empty corridor but she caught a glimpse of something that momentarily took her breath away – blue luminescent shimmering she knew only too well, in the distance, deep in the black shadows where the corridor became the cargo bay. Skittering, scratching echoed around the corridor, the sound coming from the far end where the blue shimmered.

“Close the door,” she said softly. “Back away and close the door. Quick, before they notice us.”

McCally moved quickly to comply and the door shut with a satisfyingly loud clunk. They stood still for several seconds but there was no noise now; the door ensured all sound stayed on the other side.

Let’s hope it does the same for the beasts themselves.

“They’re still on the boat,” Mac said. “The fuckers are still here.”

“I suspect they’ve been around for a while,” Svetlanova said. She didn’t voice her next thought; she didn’t even want to be thinking it herself.

Scavengers never move far from a food source.

“We should be okay as long as we don’t use any electricity,” she said, whispering, trying to convince herself as much as the two men.

They stood, watching the door, waiting to see if an attack was coming but there was still only deep silence; they had evaded the beast’s notice.

For now.

McCally checked his watch.

“We’d best get a move on,” he said. “The cap will be waiting for this gear.”

Mac went to move the iron rack and cylinders. He slung his rifle and tried to shift it with his good hand but the combined weight of the frame, cables, and cylinders proved to be too heavy for him. When he put both hands on the frame, it was obvious the pain would be too great for him to bear.

McCally had noticed too and stepped over to Mac’s side, gently moving him away from the cutting gear. He arranged the cables, stowing them inside the iron frame between the cylinders, then rocked the whole lot back so all the weight was on the wheels. He pushed it back and forward a few feet, checking it rolled smoothly on the floor and nodded, seeming content he could handle it.

“You take point, Mac. We’ve got this between the two of us.”

Svetlanova agreed, addressing Mac directly.

“I can take the weight on the stairs where needed. You watch out for us. Deal?

It was a sign of how much pain the Glaswegian must have felt that he went along with the plan almost meekly. They moved out again with Mac in front and McCally and Svetlanova piloting the awkward weight and bulk of the frame and cylinders along the corridor, following the dancing beam of Mac’s flashlight.