Infestation

- 23 -

The small isopods emerged first, scuttling over the rim of the hold, scores of them, all moving with a single purpose, heading for the superstructure.

“Don’t shoot,” Banks said. He dropped the phone, still switched on, into his inside pocket. “We want as many of the buggers up here where we can see them as possible.”

The dog-sized isopods kept pouring out of the hold and across the forward deck. Hynd and McCally moved to join Banks on his left and Svetlanova stepped up on his right so all four were in a line looking down over the length of the boat. Banks realized they hadn’t given Svetlanova a pair of night glasses but it hardly mattered; the blue luminescence coming off the isopods lent the whole scene an eerie glow more than bright enough to see by.

The only sound was the clickity-clack of talons on deck as the isopods came forward toward them. Banks shoved his earplugs deep in both ears and saw Svetlanova had torn up a bandage and was stuffing them in as makeshift plugs of her own. She finished and gave him an ‘OK’ sign. He realized he knew nothing of the woman’s past before her time on the boat but he wouldn’t be surprised to find she had military training; she handled herself as confidently as most men he’d served with and a damn sight better than some. He knew he wouldn’t have to watch out for her in the imminent firefight.

Which is just as well. I think we’re going to be busy.

The first of the smaller isopods reached the bottom of the superstructure and started to climb. Banks hefted one of the canisters of oil.

“One each, pour it down over them, quickly now.”

Everybody moved to comply and they send a wash of oil down the side and over the approaching swarm. It didn’t slow them any, although the blue shimmer took on a rainbow aurora at the foot of the superstructure that might have been almost beautiful in different circumstances.

“Sarge, give me two of those flares. Hold onto yours until I say otherwise.”

Hynd moved quickly to comply, then all four of them lined up, rifles poised, watching the swarming beasts scuttle up the side toward them. They weren’t finding it easy; the gasoline had made the surface slippery and they went backward almost as much as they came forward but they were piling up, force of numbers and pressure from below allowing them to gain height. The nearest of them was now almost halfway up.

“Cap?” McCally said.

“Not yet,” Banks replied.

The head of the swarm was almost two-thirds of the way up when Banks saw what he’d been waiting for; two of the larger, pickup truck-sized isopods scuttled up out of the dark hold, heading for the superstructure. He waited to see if more were going to appear but they were the last things to come up out of the dark.

I can only hope that’s all of them.

“Fire at will,” he shouted and the night air filled with the roar of gunfire.

At first, they targeted their fire on the swarm of smaller isopods on the superstructure, sending the front rows of them down and back into the others, where a feeding frenzy commenced, making more of them easy targets. But there were others who were still concerned with climbing and they came on fast.

And they ate bullets; if the aim wasn’t accurate enough, a shot into the body rather than the face did little to slow them. Despite their volley fire, the beasts kept getting higher.

Banks’ first magazine was running low. Instead of stepping back to reload, he shouted.

“Fire in the hold,” he said and pulled the string of a flare, dropping it over the side before it blazed in his face.

An orange glow lit up the whole forward deck, then the flare hit the isopods and the swarm around the superstructure went up with a whoosh and a searing wall of flame that almost reached the four defenders on the top deck, forcing them to step back and turn away from the heat.

Banks slammed in a fresh mag, counted to ten, and watched the orange glow subside slightly then turned again to the rail. The other three joined him and once again they poured round after round down into what was now a much-reduced swarm, some of which burned even as they kept trying to climb.

The two large isopods had kept back from the fray so far but they now moved forward toward the base of the superstructure, drawn, as Banks had hoped, by the easy scavenging to be had on the dead.

He stopped firing and poured the last two canisters of oil down over the side. It hit the isopods and immediately started to burn, catching both the larger ones and sending them scurrying back. He lit the second flare and threw it over the top of all the isopods, to the oil-soaked deck behind them.

“Time to go,” he shouted, as the flare blazed like a miniature sun and the whole forward deck went up in a sheet of flame. The isopods danced in fire.