Infestation

- 13 -

“We can’t sit here, Cap,” Mac said. “This crate’s going down.”

“Aye, eventually,” Banks replied. “But I heard you earlier; these are hardy buggers and so are we. And we’re not going anywhere in this weather. So sit tight and pucker up.”

Banks couldn’t bring himself to take his own advice; the thought of the flooded engine room was too big in his mind.

If the damage has gotten worse, I have to know.

Another thought was growing in his mind too. If the isopods were coming up the drill rig, then it probably wasn’t a good idea to be so close to it. He had to find out whether they could uncouple from it, maybe even send the whole thing down to the seabed and how easy, or difficult, it was going to be.

Maybe the woman’s idea of a massive strike is the right idea.

There was little he could do about the rig in the current weather conditions; he wasn’t stupid enough to step outside in an Arctic gale if he didn’t absolutely have to. But at least he could check the engine room.

“Watch my back, Sarge,” he said to Hynd. “I’m going downstairs for a shufti.”

“What about all that bollocks about not splitting up?”

Banks smiled.

“You can come and hold my hand if you’d like? I’m going to the foot of the stairs; a quick look at the engine room to check the damage and I’ll be right back.”

Hynd nodded.

“Okay. But I’ll be down at the first deck level behind you, in case there’s another of those big fuckers about.”

“I think we’re all clear; I think she was right about the electricity thing.”

“I bloody well hope so.”

Getting down the stairs proved quite an adventure in itself, for the roll and yaw of the boat had got much more pronounced since his last descent. He fell, hard, against the wall twice and was almost thrown off his feet when a gust of wind again shook the whole vessel. He heard a loud creaking, like tearing metal, from somewhere up near the prow.

Two more hours; give me two more hours.

The only good news in the engine room was that the hole at the far end didn’t appear to be any larger. But the water was at least a foot deeper than the last time he’d looked, even accounting for the dead beast floating to and fro in the wavelets set in motion by the wind and the roll of the vessel. The wind howled and whistled through the hole and sleet, more like hail, spattered the hull like shotgun pellets. At least there was no sign of any more isopods and it didn’t look like the big dead one had been scavenged in any way; with any luck, they’d be able to hide out the remaining time without worrying about an attack.

But the weather and the rising water level in the flooded room had him worried more than the thought of an attack. Mac had been right, the RAF lads could land a chopper almost anywhere, but the wind outside showed no sign of relenting. A rescue might not be as imminent as they hoped and the danger of sinking was rising with every passing minute.

“I don’t think we can afford to sit and wait,” he said when he got back to the control room. “This hulk might not last long enough in the storm.”

“We can’t take to the kayaks in this weather,” Hynd said. “That would be suicide.”

“Agreed,” Banks replied. “But there might be another way to make use of this wind from the north. The shore won’t come to us but maybe there’s a way we can go to it.”

He turned to Svetlanova.

“How are we attached to the rig? Is it part of this vessel?”

“You’re thinking of floating away from it? We’re anchored next to it and I think we’re only attached to the rig itself by a series of cables. But I wasn’t paying attention when it was put in place so I can’t say for certain. And we can’t lift the anchors without getting the main power on.”

“I wasn’t thinking about lifting them,” Banks replied. “Mac, what are the chances of a boat this size not having an oxy-torch?”

“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.”