Page 55 of Clive Cussler Desolation Code

As Paul finished applying the treatment, Chantel called over to them. “No response from the bridge. No one’s answering.”

—

Up on the bridge, the chaos erupted in stages. The night watch consisted of a junior officer and an engineering mate who was only there to chat and grab some coffee. They’d been talking quietly with the windows and doors open to let the cool night air in.

With the tinted glass and the illumination of the various computer screens affecting their night vision, neither of them had noticed the subtle glow appearing on the sea around them. The first hint of something odd was a whirring sound like cicadas in the trees. This was followed by a dull thud as something hit one of the windows.

“Was that a bird?” the mate asked.

The officer of the watch saw no feathers flying and thought the sound was too sharp for a bird strike. He leaned in close, looking fora chip in the glass, but didn’t find one. Still, he saw things fluttering around outside, illuminated by the forward lights. They looked like bats or large moths circling a fire. He noticed the throng growing thicker with each passing second.

“What in the world…”

Stepping out onto the wing, he focused on the swarm in the lights. Flipping a switch, he turned on a spotlight and aimed it over the side.

In an instant the sea came to life. The surface turned white as the creatures left the water. The rush of a million wings drowned out all other sounds as they swarmed up and around the ship like a living tornado.

They came for the light and found the officer of the watch, crashing into him with a shocking amount of force. Each one weighed mere ounces, but a hundred of them hitting at once was like being slammed with a twenty-pound bag of rice. He was knocked off balance and stumbled back toward the wheelhouse. He tripped over the weatherproof sill and landed on his back.

By the time he hit the deck, they were swarming all over him, biting and stinging every centimeter of exposed skin. They burrowed down through the collar of his shirt and under the legs of the Bermuda shorts he wore.

Twisting and swinging his arms wildly, the officer cried out in pain, but that gave the tiny creatures another place to attack and they went for his mouth, biting his lips and tongue and burrowing inside.

The engineering mate dropped down to help his friend, sweeping the insects off him by the handful, but it was pointless. Every spot he cleared was immediately covered again. And now the insects were latching onto him.

He stood up and backed away, marveling at their numbers. They were flooding into the wheelhouse through the side doors and pouring through an open window like sand coming down a chute.

He pulled one window down and tried to shut the door, but it jammed before it closed as masses of the insects piled up in the track.

By now the engineering mate was living in full-blown terror. His arms and legs were covered by the biting creatures. His face and neck were under assault. Unlike the officer of the watch, he kept himself upright by stumbling into the control panel and holding on. Feeling about blindly for anything that might help, he found the engine controls and shoved the throttle forward.

Deep in the ship, the engine surged to life. As the prop spun up, theIsabellalurched awkwardly into motion. The next thing he found was the button that sounded the ship’s horn. He pressed the button and held it, sounding a warning with a loud, long blast.

Startled by the noise, the insects launched themselves back into the air, and the inside of the wheelhouse became a swirling vortex of wings and teeth.

The engineering mate couldn’t take it anymore. He moved for the far door, but stumbled and fell forward. Reaching for anything that might stop him from falling, his hand caught the ship’s wheel and sent it spinning. He went down to the deck and was soon covered by the mass of insects in a mound several inches deep. He didn’t move again.

Chapter 32

“We’re moving,” Paul said, sensing the vibration in the deck. “We’re underway.”

Gamay and Chantel could feel it as well. Forward motion replacing the slow rocking of a ship at rest.

“That’s a good sign,” Gamay said.

A long blast sounded on the ship’s horn.

“A warning signal?” Paul suggested.

“Six short blasts followed by one long blast would be a call for muster stations,” Chantel said.

Paul knew that; he was just guessing at the reasoning behind the signal. “I’m guessing muster stations are not the best place to be right now.”

As the ship picked up speed, it leaned into a turn, rolling significantly.

“Rudder must be hard over,” Paul said.

The deck remained pitched as the moments passed by. It soon became obvious that they weren’t coming out of the turn.

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