Island 731

EPILOGUE

“Over there!” Jason Bachman shouted, pointing at the distant chunk of debris. As a deckhand aboard the Darwin, his job usually entailed grunt work like cleaning the deck or fixing clogged toilets. So when the captain had offered him a chance to stand lookout for the day, he took to the role with gusto.

The Darwin had taken up the job left vacant by the missing Magellan and her crew—to study the Great Pacific Garbage Patch. They’d come with a full crew of fifty people and had already uncovered a great deal of evidence that should change the tide of public opinion and hopefully get some legislation pushed through.

“On top of the white tarp!” he shouted to the Zodiac crew who gunned the engine and aimed for the tarp floating atop a layer of debris. If not for the stark white tarp, he might not have recognized the shape, but it stood out as a clear silhouette in the noonday sun.

The Zodiac engine’s whine quieted as it approached the tarp. He watched through his binoculars as the three-man crew brought the basketball-size object aboard. The engine whined again as the small boat shot back to the Darwin.

Bachman’s lanky legs carried him quickly to the port rail of the lower deck, where the Zodiac crew would hand their find to waiting scientists. He rarely got to witness discoveries as they were made. Usually only heard about them over dinner. But since he’d found the object, he’d be the one to bring it aboard.

He descended the stairs three at a time, startling the waiting scientists. Dr. Dan Mueller, a senior oceanographer on his third voyage with the Darwin, jumped at Bachman’s sudden arrival. “Geez, Jason, excited much?”

“Sorry,” Jason said. “This is a little more exciting than what I’m used to.”

Mueller frowned. “If you’d been hauling trash out of the ocean all day for the past month, you might have a different opinion. Oceanography isn’t as romantic a profession as some people think.”

“I find your enthusiasm refreshing.” Dr. Kim Hale stepped around Mueller and gave Bachman a pat on the shoulder. She motioned to Mueller with her head. “If he had just a fraction of your good nature, my job would be a lot more fun, too.”

Bachman blushed. Hale was pretty, not too much older than him, and had a smile that twisted knots in his stomach. He stammered for a reply. The whine of the Zodiac engine saved him from embarrassing himself.

The Zodiac swung around and pulled up alongside the ship. The prize had been wrapped in a towel and was offered up to Bachman. He took it with a smile and said “thanks.” As the Zodiac buzzed away in search of more treasures, Bachman knelt down, placed the object on the deck, and opened the towel.

“Huh,” Mueller said. “I don’t recognize the species.

“What do you mean?” Bachman asked. “It’s a turtle shell.”

Mueller sighed.

“Look at the peaks,” Hale said. “And the coloration. It looks more like a species of freshwater snapping turtle.”

“Snapping turtle?” Bachman said, screwing up his face. “What’s a snapping turtle doing way the heck out—”

Eight black legs sprung from the sides of the shell.

Before Bachman could shout in surprise, the thing was airborne. He felt something wrap around his waist and squeeze, then three sharp stings in his stomach. His head swirled with confusion and sudden exhaustion. As he fell to the deck, he saw the thing jump on Mueller. A tail wrapped around the man. And then a stinger, like a scorpion’s tail, emerged and jabbed the man three times. As the creature released Mueller and pursued Hale, who’d ran for the stairs, he screamed in agony. He didn’t know how. Or why. But he could feel it. Something was inside him.

Eating.

Growing.

He died ten seconds after they tore out of his stomach, which was long enough to hear Hale, and several others, screaming on the decks above.