Island 731

5.

The storm arrived sooner than expected. After hastily bagging and tagging the loggerhead’s internal organs and putting the disassembled creature on ice, Hawkins returned to his quarters with Bray. Not because he wanted to, but because Drake had ordered all nonessential crew to “weather out the weather”—his words—in their berths with close access to the head. In other words, he didn’t want any of them puking on his ship. Of course, confining the crew to their quarters, which were located at the bow of the ship, almost guaranteed seasickness.

The room canted at a sharp angle.

“Oh, good God,” Bray said, clutching the mattress of his lower bunk.

Hawkins typically slept on the upper bunk, but he didn’t feel like being catapulted if a wave struck the ship’s side. He stood across the small room, holding on to the wall-mounted desk for support. As the ship angled up a wave, Hawkins bent his right knee and leaned into it, keeping himself more or less upright. “You’d feel it less if you stood up. Let your inner ear adjust to the tilt.”

“You going to do that all night?” Bray asked.

Hawkins grinned. He’d spent a lot of time on the ocean as a boy. Even these strong waves wouldn’t make him seasick. Bray, on the other hand, had been on a few whale watches in his lifetime and not all of them had turned out well. His first few days aboard the Magellan had been… messy, but he’d gotten his sea legs. Until now. “You think you’re going to sleep?”

Bray clutched his eyes shut. “I just need to get used to the motion, that’s all.”

“C’mon, it’s not that bad,” Hawkins said as the bow began to lower. He shifted his weight in toward the ship’s aft. The Magellan crested the wave and dropped so fast that even Hawkins felt his stomach twist.

Bray groaned.

“I was thinking about going to get some raw clams,” Hawkins said. “Want some?”

“I hate you,” Bray said, but he couldn’t hide his grin.

As the ship entered the trough between waves, Hawkins’s mind returned to the loggerhead dissection. That the stomach showed evidence of environmental damage was horrible, but fantastic for their cause. But the plastic band constricting the turtle’s midsection being part of some kind of experiment took the wind out of their sails. It would have made a powerful image. And sure, they could still use it, but it wasn’t quite ethical. But if it helped save the environment, and through its protection, human lives, perhaps omitting the existence of the tracking device was defendable, if not noble. Then again, someone had performed a horrible experiment on an endangered species. The park ranger in him couldn’t let that slide. Someone had to be brought to justice.

“You’re not even here, are you?” Bray asked.

Hawkins realized they’d gone over another wave. “Just thinking. About the loggerhead. About the radio tracker. Have you ever heard of anything like that?”

“Outside of the low-IQ kids throwing frogs at chain-link fences, no. And they have stupidity as an excuse.”

Hawkins gave a nod. “The plastic band and tracker had to have been done by the same person. It was intentional. The question is, why?”

“People have done a lot of screwy things in the pursuit of knowledge,” Bray said. “And I’m not just talking animals. I’ll just focus on my neck of the woods. Did you know that the Atomic Energy Commission and Quaker Frickin’ Oats gave the residents of Fernald, Mass—my hometown—breakfast cereal with radioactive tracers?”

Hawkins didn’t. It sounded unbelievable.

“My grandfather died of throat and stomach cancers before I was born. Big shocker there, right? The U.S. Navy had a Harvard biochemist inject sixty-four prisoners with cow blood. And, get this, Oak Ridge Labs injected eleven patients—patients—at the Massachusetts General Hospital in Boston with uranium. The United States has a long history of injecting foreign elements into peoples’ bodies to find out what will happen. Sure, sometimes they find a cure to something, but it’s usually accidental.”

Hawkins had no reason to doubt the man. If Bray was an expert on any two things, it was biology—including the history of the science—and his home state. “But what could be learned by binding the turtle’s shell with a plastic band?”

“Adaptability,” came Joliet’s voice. She stood in the open doorway, clutching the frame as the ship rose up on another wave. “To see how the growing turtle’s body would adapt to the constriction. We know the intestines elongated, and the muscle groups separated, but there is still more to uncover, like how the turtle’s neurology and nervous system were affected.” She looked at Bray lying in the bed. “You know, it’s easier if you stand.”

“I know, I know!” Bray threw his legs over the side of his cot and sat up. He looked about to say something when he groaned and held on to the top bunk. “I hate both of you.”

“It’s possible the turtle would have lived far longer if not for all the plastic it consumed.” Joliet frowned. “While I would never condone the experiment, there is a lot to be learned from it.”

“Might as well benefit from someone else torturing the animal, right?” Bray asked. “I thought you Canucks were all touchy-feely, leave-your-doors-unlocked types.”

Joliet’s face scrunched up with anger. “Hey, this is different!”

“Not to PETA,” Bray said, his grin revealing that the dig was in jest. “That was for making me sit up.”

Joliet was still fuming when she looked at Hawkins and saw his smile. He tried to erase it, but failed. He sensed her frustration with Bray extend to him.

“Have either of you seen Kam?” she asked.

Bray answered quickly. “I didn’t think he was your ty—”

“Bray,” Hawkins warned. Continuing the roast of Joliet might help the man keep his supper down, but it wouldn’t end well—for either man, it seemed. “Not since we left the lab. He looked a little green. Probably in his quarters trying to forget what the inside of a loggerhead looks like.”

“Well, he’s not.”

Kam, like the three of them, was nonessential to the ship. As a technology intern, his official duties included software updates and hardware fixes, but since the systems on the Magellan were fairly new and up-to-date, Kam most often found himself cleaning, or fetching coffee. Hawkins wondered if the young man’s performance in the biolab was an attempt to elevate his status, and perhaps be invited to take part in endeavors more rewarding than brewing the perfect cup of Folgers Classic Roast.

“Why are you so worried about him, anyway?” Bray asked. “He’s a big boy.”

“Asks the man hiding in his room with his big, strong Hawkins to take care of him.” She said the last part with a pouty face that made both men grin. “Try to deny it, but you like Kam as much as the rest of us.”

Bray just stared.

“You show him your god-awful magic tricks,” she said. “He’s sat through each and every one of your boring Webcasts. And I know he helped you with the Saran Wrap prank. I caught him in the hallway, keeping watch while you covered the toilet.”

“That little shit,” Hawkins said. He’d been on the receiving end of that prank. He’d gotten Bray back, but now he had to get Kam, and it seemed, Joliet, who’d kept her mouth shut.

“Fine,” Bray said, and then groaned as the ship tilted forward. “I like the twerp, but I’m not his mother. I’m not going to Hulk smash my way through the ship just to find him. Maybe he’s in the head?” Bray asked with a groan. “I might be headed there myself.”

“Checked there, too,” Joliet said.

“There are nearly forty bathrooms on board,” Hawkins noted. “Maybe he wanted privacy?”

Before anyone could answer, the ship listed sharply to the side. Hawkins fell forward, landing on Bray in the lower bunk. Joliet spilled to the floor, sliding until she slammed to a stop against the wall.

As the ship righted itself, Hawkins pulled himself off of Bray. “That’s not good.”

“What the hell happened?” Bray asked.

Joliet pushed herself up, leaning against the wall. “Wave hit the starboard side. The ship must have turned.”

“Aren’t you supposed to steer into the waves?” Bray asked. “Why would Drake let the ocean T-bone us?”

The ship rolled hard again, pushing Hawkins back onto the bed. When it passed, he said, “He wouldn’t.”

Joliet made for the door. “Something’s wrong.”

Hawkins stumbled out of the room behind her.

“Where are you going?” Bray asked.

“The bridge,” Hawkins answered as he moved down the hall.

“Oh, hell,” Bray muttered and gave chase.

Hawkins paused with Joliet at the bottom of the staircase leading up. They hung on to the railings as the floor shook and a loud rumbling echoed through the ship.

Bray stumbled up and took hold of Hawkins’s offered arm. “The hell is that?”

“Waves are breaking against the hull,” Hawkins guessed.

“Doesn’t sound like water,” Bray said.

Joliet started up the stairs. “That’s because it’s not just water. The ocean is full of a million floating projectiles.”

Hawkins realized that they were in a very precarious situation. At two hundred seventy-four feet in length, the Magellan wasn’t a small ship, but the right storm could sink even the largest vessel. Worse, they seemed to be out of control and the ocean was full of debris, some of it rock solid. Rescue in the middle of the Pacific was fairly unlikely on a good day, but surrounded by endless miles of garbage, they’d never be found.

He kept his thoughts to himself as he motioned for Bray to follow Joliet up the stairs. Halfway to the top, the ship shook from a massive impact. A loud bang from the top of the stairwell was followed by a swirling torrent of sea water.