William Meikle - Infestation

The only corridor running the length of the boat down at this level appeared to be the one they’d closed the door on, the one with the beasts at the far end. To avoid it, they had to go back the way they came, to the stairs that nearly ended their journey when it had barely begun. Svetlanova and McCally heaved the rig up the first step; the weight of the tanks was almost too much for them and the frame’s center of balance shifted as the boat rocked, threatening to topple it over on top of them. It took all of their effort and no little cursing on McCally’s part, to stabilize everything.

It was slow work but they got into a rhythm of lifting and stabilizing, pausing at every step. Even then Mac had to use his good hand several times to keep them from all toppling back down the stairwell in a heap. That and the clangs and clanks of cylinders, frame and wheels banging against stairs and walls as the boat rolled and swayed under them meant it was two steps up and one step back more often than not. And all the while Svetlanova tried to concentrate on moving forward, while worrying what might be, even now, scurrying toward her in the darkness at her back.

Finally, they got up as far as the crew’s quarters and as they moved, quicker now, along the corridor, Svetlanova’s heart sank at the thought of yet another flight of stairs ahead of them. At least they had some light again, however dim, but the roll and sway of the boat was getting worse and the howl of the wind had gone up a notch, wailing like a banshee beyond the hull.

Mac was worse too; his face looked pale and etched with pain but he waved her away again when she offered to look at the wound. His accent was stronger than ever when he spoke, as if he didn’t have the energy to moderate it for her benefit.

“Dinna fash yersel’ lassie. I’m fine, or I will be when we get this bastard thing where the cap wants it.”

“What does he hope to do with it in this weather?”

“It’s his backup plan, in case the chopper has to abort,” Mac replied. “He won’t risk anything too dangerous unless he has to but he likes to have a plan for everything.”

“I’d guess he didn’t see this mess coming though, did he?”

Mac laughed.

“Don’t underestimate the cap, lassie. When he wants to do something, it gets done and nowt gets in the way, either men with big guns, or your vicious, mindless beasties.”

His gun slipped, and when he went to grab it with his wounded hand, he yelped in pain.

She reached for his arm to check on it but he pulled away brusquely. He was not quite fast enough to avoid her seeing the bandages. They had been white not too long before, but were now soaked, damp, not with blood but with watery fluid and more than a hint of green.

“We’ve got to see to this. And we’ve got to do it now,” she said.

Mac had already started up the stairs.

“As soon as we get the rig to the captain; I’ve got my orders.”

With more light at their disposal, the last set of stairs up to the long corridor proved easier to navigate, or maybe it only seemed that way now Svetlanova could see both in front and behind her and the fear of something rushing out of the dark had abated. But by the time they reached the top of the stairwell, Mac was clearly flagging and in great discomfort.

“It’s gone cauld on me, lass. My arm is like a slab of iced-over iron and damned near as heavy. Have I really got what Pat had? Am I headed the same way? All those firefights and battles and close calls over the years and I get done in by a fucking poisonous bug?”

She had no good answer for him and he saw it in her eyes.

“I’m a soldier, lass,” he said softly. “Something was going to get me one of these days. Let’s get this rig to the cap and get the fuck off this boat. Hopefully you – or somebody – will get to see to me before I pop my clogs. But if not, I have no regrets.”

I’ll have plenty .

She didn’t say it but she tried to move even faster as they pushed, pulled, and cajoled the cutting gear along the long corridor and the boat rocked and rolled and squealed beneath them.

Banks, with Hynd at his side, saw the others coming, headlong and fast, down the long corridor. Within a minute, all five were together at the prow exit leading up and out onto the forward deck.

Banks was already soaked through and frozen to the bone; he and Hynd had spent the last ten minutes out in the storm, checking out the anchor housings and the cabling connecting the vessel to the drilling rig. It hadn’t taken them long to discover it was a larger job than they’d hoped. Clamps held some of the cables and some of those could be removed relatively easily once ice was chipped away from metal but others were corroded and fused in place; those were going to need cutting. With an oxy cutter on hand, it wouldn’t be too much of a problem in better weather. But the storm showed no signs of abating; wind and sleet lashed a deck that rolled and heaved in a sea only getting heavier. It was going to be dangerous, almost deadly, work to disengage from the rig.

And then there were the anchor chains to deal with – two of them, inches thick black iron, both attached at spots wide open to the elements without a single hint of shelter. There was probably a place under decks where access could be had to the chain mechanism but it would involve more searching and working down there in the dark with the possibility of more of the isopods appealed even less than facing the weather.

Banks had hoped to get the job done in shifts, two two-man teams working in tandem at the cutting, giving the others some rest and respite. But one look at Mac put the idea to bed straight away.

“How you doing, Mac?”

“I’ve had better weekends, Cap. All in all, I’d rather be in Cairo.”

Mac raised an arm to show the green-tinged bandages. The smell came almost immediately; rot and vinegar hitting hard in nostrils and at the back of the throat.

Banks spoke directly to Svetlanova.

“The bleach didn’t work?”

“We don’t know yet; it may have slowed the infection or toxin enough to let him fight it off. But he won’t let me look at the wound.”

“Hey, Cap, I’m right here,” Mac said. “I don’t have the energy to go out in the rain, I’ll admit. But I can still watch your back and I can still handle a gun.”

Banks spoke to the woman again.

“How about you? Can you work a cutting torch?”

She shook her head.

“I wouldn’t know where to start. But I’ll do anything I can to help. Just tell me.”

“Do what you can for Mac,” he said, then turned to the Glaswegian. “The nice lady is going to clean your bandages. Do me a favor, don’t be an arse about it?”

Mac gave him a weak salute.

“You’re the boss, Cap,”

Banks turned to McCally and Hynd.

“The three of us have got a lot of work to do. Zip up and gloves on. This is going to be brutal.”

Hynd spoke up.

“You help with Mac. McCally and I will take first dibs,” he said. “I’ll send him back in, you join me, then we take it in turns?”

“Ten minutes max for McCally now, then I’m coming out and we’ll rotate after that. We’ll concentrate on the rig cables first; if we get lucky, the storm will take the rig apart for us. Then we work on the anchors. And if we don’t get it done in an hour, it’s not going to get done at all,” Banks replied. “Move on out, Sarge. And good luck.”

“There’s something else, Cap,” McCally said. “Yon beasties are definitely still aboard; we caught sight of them in the cargo hold but we let them be and they didn’t bother us.”

“Hopefully, the weather will keep them down below. But even if not, there’s bugger all we can do about right now,” Banks said. “We’ll concentrate on the cutting and keep an eye open while we’re at it; it’s all we can do.”