Chapter 33

Paul stood in the science lab, wearing every piece of clothing they could find. The makeshift anti-insect garb was several layers thick. It was also bulky and hot, made worse by the hat and safety goggles that Gamay had duct-taped to his head. “I feel like the Michelin Man.”

“Just keep your mouth closed once you get out there,” Gamay said. She pulled a makeshift scarf over Paul’s nose and mouth and taped that into place.

“You’ve been saying that to me for years,” Paul muttered. “I’m finally going to listen.”

As Paul joked with Gamay, it dawned on him that he was far more chatty than normal, and a little giddy. He began to wonder about the bites. Maybe there was some kind of cumulative effect to them. All the more reason to get moving. “What’s my route?”

Chantel had mapped it out for him. “Go out the hatch at the aft end of the science bay,” she began. “Go beneath the crane and past both ROVs. Beyond that you’ll reach the next bulkhead. There’s a watertight door in the center. Just inside you’ll find the stairs leading down to the engineering compartments and the engine room itself.”

Paul nodded. His preferred plan was to take manual control of the rudder and center it, allowing the ship to speed off in whatever direction it happened to be pointed at the time. With a little luck, the breeze would dry the insects and inspire them to take flight and leave the ship behind. Plan B was to cut the power, but that would leave them sitting in the middle of the swarm. Not ideal, but still better than capsizing. “Let’s get moving before I overheat.”

They went to the aft end of the lab, stopping in front of a weatherproof door that led to the mid-deck. The ROVs and the submersible were stored out there on racks. Just beyond sat the crane used to lift them into the sea.

Trying to look out through the porthole in the door was useless. The view was blocked by the undersides of the crawling bugs. Paul banged on the door with his fist, causing them to scatter. The view beyond was not what he’d expected. Instead of the flat deck of the ship, covered with mechanical contrivances and ROVs on cradles and stands, he found a softly contoured valley filled with what looked like dunes of shifting sand.

“They’re piled up in snowdrifts,” he said.

“I’ll scatter them for you,” Gamay promised. She raised a flare gun.

Paul took a deep breath and prepared to run. “Okay, let’s go!”

Chantel pulled in the lever and leaned into the door. The hatch moved eighteen inches before grinding to a halt against the mass of insects piled up behind it. With a shove it moved a little farther. Wide enough for Gamay to lean through and trigger the flare.

The tiny crimson star flew across the deck, trailing a line of smoke. It burrowed into a large pile of the invaders near the aft bulkhead. The effect was instant madness as the deck exploded with movement.

Paul lumbered out into the storm, wishing he’d covered his ears with more than cloth. The screeching tone of the swarm was a hideous sound, one he immediately hoped he’d never hear again.

With his head down, he plowed forward like a man walking into a strong wind. The insects battered him from every direction, far worse than what he’d felt during his first exposure. They smashed into his face, banging into the safety glasses and leaving strange smears on the acrylic lens. They crunched underfoot like eggshells. They clung to his clothing, hooking their little claws in and trying to get at him with their mandibles.

The strangest sensation was the weight of the creatures. As they covered his arms and legs and back, Paul felt like a man draped in a weighted blanket. Moving became even more cumbersome.

He shook them off, swinging his arms and legs wildly, but they came back by the thousands, gripping the fabric and then each other until he was covered in a living, crawling suit of chain mail.

It was a revolting sensation, but Paul put it out of his mind and continued ahead.

Behind him, Gamay had lingered in the open hatchway, shocked by the sound and the fury of the insects and struggling with the idea of shutting the door behind her husband.

Chantel grabbed her and pulled her back inside. Slamming the door and dogging the lever down tight before turning to battle the hundreds of insects that had flown through the gap.

Gamay ignored them and went back to the porthole, staring out until Paul vanished in the churning cloud.

Pushing through the swarm, Paul rapidly became disoriented. He had only sixty feet of deck to cross, but with limited visibility, smeared goggles, and the ship rolling and turning, he found himself struggling to maintain a straight path.

He tried to focus on the light from the flare, which had hit the far bulkhead and dropped to the deck. It was garish and intermittent, blocked at times by the flying horde, but it was the one true point of reference.

He continued toward it, stepping awkwardly and then hitting his head on a crossbeam under the crane tower. Shaking off the impact and grabbing the metal strut for stability, Paul allowed himself to rest for a moment.

“At least I know where I am now,” he said, breathing heavily.

He held on as the ship nosed over another swell and threatened to roll. As soon as it straightened out, he pushed away from the crane housing and lunged for the aft bulkhead, reaching a spot near the burning flare.

Bending down he grabbed the flare by the non-burning end and waved it around himself, scattering the insects that had clung to him. He then made his way to the watertight door at the center of the aft bulkhead.

He grabbed the wheel with his free hand and tried to spin it. Despite several efforts, it wouldn’t turn. Just in case it was an odd French design, he tried spinning it the other way. But his luck was no better. The wheel was locked. The door wouldn’t budge.

He held the flare close to it, looking for anything resembling a latch, but found nothing. The watertight door was locked from the inside.

Paul leaned against the door, weary and tired. Now what?

The bridge was a long way off, longer still now that he’d gone aft. But that was the only option he could think of. He began trudging toward the bow, bracing himself against the tilt of the deck and waving the flare in front of him to clear a path.

The ship was completing another circle, coming back around to the east. Paul now realized why the fourth dip was always the worst. With the other three they were crossing the waves from behind or at an angle. As they turned east, they went into the wave and came over the top more suddenly.

The latest dip was the worst yet, sharp enough that Paul nearly lost his footing. One boot slid out from under him. The other threatened to follow. Paul grasped one of the support struts at the footing of the crane and held on.

The ship rolled hard, its list reaching thirty degrees. It ran like that for several seconds, and then slowly began to right itself.

Another lap around the circuit and they’d capsize for sure, Paul thought. There was no time to go for the bridge. He had to get the layer of insects off the superstructure before it was too late. He looked around in all directions and then up.

Earlier he’d agreed with Chantel that using a hammer against the insects wasn’t the greatest of ideas. But he realized now that might depend on the size of the hammer.