The five healthy members of the ship’s crew were about to head down too.
Owen stood at the mouth of the freshly opened aft hatch. Bent nails and discarded boards were neatly stacked nearby. The lantern in his left hand glowed uselessly in the sunlight, as the pistol in his right pointed down into the dark expanse below. He risked a quick look forward. “Keep your eyes open and your ears apeak,” he called to Maria, where she knelt among her weaponry. “Our very lives are at stake!”
She looked up at him, put her hands on either side of her head, and extended her index fingers upward.
“She is imitating a bull,” explained Emma, who was standing just behind Owen.
“I thought she was a bullfighter,” he said, confused.
“To the Spanish, it is all one.”
Owen shook his head, baffled.
“Are you two going to stand there out in the open all day?” called Thacher, third in line. After listening to Henry’s explanation of the monster’s exoskeleton, he had replaced the gaff hook he’d carried during their last venture between decks with a hatchet.
“We are not trying to sneak up on the thing,” Owen reminded Thacher. “We want it to come for us.”
He said it bravely enough, but his thoughts were far less bold. “Lord help us all,” he whispered as he turned and headed down the ladder. First in line, he thought. First to die?
But there were no onrushing claws to greet him as he reached the bottom, only ankle-deep water that he found nearly as alarming.
He stepped aside and made way for Emma, then Thacher, Henry, and Aaron.
For a while, they all stood there in the sloshing water and squared-off sunlight.
“It would be better, all things considered, if the creature came to us,” said Owen.
“That is true,” said Henry. “But it is impossible, as yet, to ascertain its manner of predation.”
Owen had no idea what that meant, but as they were in no hurry, he asked this learned boy one last question that had been on his mind. “Why an ant? I mean to say, if this thing is a fungus, and this fungus has attacked Obed Macy, then why is it a monstrous insect we are hunting and not, for example, a boyish mushroom?”
“That is a fine question,” said Henry, raising his voice as he answered. Whatever his answer is, thought Owen, I am glad he understands the dangerous waiting game we are playing. To be heard, to be seen …
“It is a parasite, and I believe the ant is the species it usually targets,” began Henry. “There must be some strong connection between the two. After preying on ants for so long, the fungus seems to have—how do I put this?—taken on their essential characteristics, perhaps?”
“Their essential what?” said Aaron, who had affixed a long iron spike to the end of a mop handle and was now waving the improvised spear toward the darkness.
Henry, who was carrying a thick-handled torch as both a weapon and a source of light, went on. “There is a theory, gaining some ground of late, concerning the transmutation of species over time. Changes with each successive generation—that sort of thing. I do wish the doctor were still with us to explain it better. I do not know enough—and am too scared, at present, to think intelligently.”
Owen snorted and then regretted it instantly. At the very least, he admired the boy’s honesty. And if the botanist’s assistant had been rendered stupid, where did that leave the cabin boy? Still, Owen thought he just might understand something that his scientific crew mate did not.
The realization came to him from an unlikely place: a summer day years before, spent at the beach with his mother. He’d been seven then, or perhaps eight. He could no longer remember his exact age with certainty, but the rest of the details were stamped indelibly into his mind. It was the sort of strong childhood memory that people carry to their graves.
His mother had been wearing a puffy, striped bathing gown that covered her from ankle to neck. He’d been wearing his own two-piece bathing outfit, complete with a navy-blue top and a simple belt to keep his shorts up in the waves. They were kicking about in the warm shallows of low tide when his mother had called out, “Look, look! It is about to happen!”
Owen had rushed over to the stone lip of a little tidal pool and looked where she pointed. What he saw there was a hermit crab, about the size of his thumbnail. He’d seen them many times before, of course, but never before had he seen one naked! The alien-looking little beast had just pulled itself free of its old shell. Owen watched in astonishment as it scampered across the wet stone and into a larger shell it had pulled up nearby. The little crab quickly turned itself around inside its new shell and popped its head and legs back out the front. Without a moment’s hesitation, it walked right off the lip of the tidal pool and plopped down into the shallow sea.
Owen had stared at the abandoned shell. Once the hard back of a crab, it was now just another shell. “It outgrew it, you see,” his mother said. “It could barely fit inside—or pry itself loose—and so it needed to find a larger shell. It needed a new home, just as we shall, when your little brother or sister arrives.”
His mother had straightened up as Owen looked at her belly, bulging out beneath her gown. He’d nodded then, thinking he understood. And he had understood—about the crab, at least. What he didn’t know was that his younger brother, for he would have been a brother, would never arrive. Not really. He would die in the process of being born.
Just as his mother would die in the process of giving birth.
Owen was glad he hadn’t known that then.
He was certain that the same sort of thing was happening here. The creature they were hunting was a parasite. He knew what that meant. He’d had some schooling too, even if most of it was on board this ship. A parasite was an opportunist, a scrounger: a tick growing fat on a dog’s hide.
And this one was a fungus. With no feet of its own, it would rely on some other creature to carry it. And after all those years in the jungle, relying on ants to carry it short distances, it had simply found a better home. It had sought out a bigger home—just as the crab had—one with longer legs to carry it farther.
As his eyes probed the dim belly of the ship, he saw a bit of light from the open grating midway down the passageway. That was the one they were aiming for. He raised the lantern and held it out in front of him as one final thought made his blood run cold. This creature had found not only longer legs to carry it, but tall sails as well. If this horrid species spread, he realized, the Polaris would be the vessel that spread it.
They had to kill the monster before they reached land—and before it killed them.
Owen set his jaw and steadied his hand. “Come out, you fiend!” he called into the dull, wet hollow before him. “Come out and get what’s coming to you!”
There was no response. The only sound was the water sloshing at their feet and the gentle waves slapping against the hull.
“It must know we’re here by now,” said Henry.
“Aye, it knows,” said Owen.
Is it possible that the monster understands it must leave this ship to survive? he wondered. Is the creature blotting out the brain of its human host, or taking it over?
Whatever the case, it was clearly too smart to come charging straight into the wall of weaponry currently deployed against it.
“We’re going to have to go look for it, aren’t we?” said Aaron.
Owen sized up the dim passageway before them. Amid the shadows and flickering firelight, an opening in the bulkhead wall formed a dark square. It was hot, stuffy, and almost unbearably humid between decks, but the opening chilled him like a plunge into icy water. It was a natural bottleneck, an obvious ambush point, and they would have to go through it. He knew the longer they waited, the harder it would be.
“No time like the present,” he said, taking a deep breath. “Remember, if we encounter it amidships, we are to draw it to the grating there.”
“Or it might meet us there, like last time,” offered Emma.
“One can hope,” said
Owen, though he knew it was a strange thing to hope for.
Slowly, they began moving forward; a few of them were looking back as they did so. Their weapons were pointed out in all directions, like the quills of a porcupine. Owen felt the sweat pouring from him in the swampy heat.
“Maybe it really is dead,” ventured Aaron.
Owen only grunted. He had advanced the idea himself, and he really ought to put an end to it now. But that was another bone-deep memory, another one to take to the grave. He remembered his hand shaking with fear as he pulled the trigger and then jerking upward with the blast—it had been so long since he’d fired a pistol! The recoil had been far greater than he recalled. It was true that, when the smoke cleared, the monster was gone. But if they wanted to find the bullet, he felt fairly certain they’d be better off searching the wooden ceiling than the monster’s belly.
“Keep your eyes open,” he growled, as close as he could come to an admission.
“Not about to close ’em now,” grumbled Aaron.
Owen didn’t answer. They had reached the dark gap in the bulkhead. “Ready yourselves,” he said, and then he pushed through with a little hop. Water splashed at his feet and his pulse pounded as he swung the lantern and pistol from side to side. But the passage was narrow here, and the flickering lantern light revealed nothing but dark walls and shut doors.
“All clear,” he said in one long exhale.
As they continued on, the passage opened back up. Once again it stretched the width of the ship. They reached the open grating midship and called up to let Maria know they’d arrived. Weak light filtered in as they passed beneath. A strange mix of light and shadows bewitched Owen’s vision, torchlight behind, lantern light in front, and daylight all around. The shadows danced back and forth, and the light glittered on the water at his feet. Everything seemed to be moving, even the walls.
Owen felt his pulse race again, the drumbeat in his ears drowning out the sound of his companions.
The crew berth was just up ahead, swamped now with sloshing water. Owen realized he’d been holding his breath, anticipating the funk of all that discarded wool and grimy leather awash in filthy brine. Reluctantly, he sucked in a quick breath. But it wasn’t old boots and wet trousers he smelled. Once again, it was something much sweeter.
“Oh no,” he gasped.
“It’s here,” whispered Thacher just behind him.
Panic flooded Owen’s brain and suddenly he couldn’t for the life of him remember why they had wanted to be attacked. He did not want that at all now!
“Where?” whispered Emma.
Owen swung his lantern from side to side in front of them. As the light chased away the shadows, he saw nothing out of the ordinary. Perhaps in the darkness just beyond? He took another breath and his lungs filled with the sweet stench of what he now knew to be a predatory fungus. He wanted to retch.
Then, a sound.
Owen heard a soft scratching directly above him. His first thought was that they had left the hatch open and perhaps the monster had escaped to the deck. But as he looked up, he understood that it hadn’t gone anywhere.
It was directly above them.
The light of both torch and lantern played across its dark red back. Its six barbed legs were spread wide and secured firmly into the wood. And then its head swung around.
All the way around.
It considered them through the eyes of Obed Macy.
Gone was the layer of gelatinous slime that had coated his face before. All that was left was a dewy gloss, like a light sweat.
Several of the crew shouted and screamed at once.
“What is happening?” Maria called down through the grating behind them, but no one answered her.
The group scattered outward in a rough circle, and the creature released its grip and dropped down into their midst. As Owen watched, the thing flipped over in midair. It landed on all six legs with a soft splash and a loud thud. The middle legs, he saw, were now as long as the others. It has grown, he realized. It has matured.
Trembling, Owen struggled to draw back the hammer of his pistol.
The monster rose from its belly and stood on its two hind legs. Its antennas nearly touched the ceiling.
Click. The hammer of the pistol locked into place.
Once again, Obed’s face swung around. His eyes locked onto Owen’s.
“Fire, Owen!” called Thacher, just off to his left, his hatchet raised.
The creature was outlined against the light of Henry’s torch. It had grown tall but thin, with bulbous sections at its chest and hips connected by a thin, almost-dainty waist. And clearly visible behind it were Henry and Aaron, cut off from the others and seemingly paralyzed with fright.
“I can’t risk it!” yelled Owen. He had only one shot and no longer entertained any delusions of accuracy. “Give ground, you two!”
Aaron stood like a statue, his improvised spear held directly out in front of him. Henry’s eyes were as round as silver dollars, and he was waving his torch vaguely in the monster’s direction.
Curse them, thought Owen. Who would have thought those two would need to be told twice to flee?
He raised his trembling gun hand and aimed for the round red ball of the thing’s chest. He reminded himself of the recoil this time. “Exhale and fire,” he whispered, repeating the advice he’d received when he’d first learned to shoot.
But before Owen had even finished the phrase, the creature kicked one of its powerful standing legs forward. A bucket’s worth of filthy salt water splashed across Owen’s face and his chest and, worst of all, his gun.
He pulled the trigger. The hammer fell forward and landed with a solid metallic clack! But there was no spark, no fire. Is the pan wet? Is the powder?
Owen looked quickly down at the pistol and then back up at the creature. It cocked its head to the side and smiled. It was a terrible smile, not because it was monstrous, but because it was still so human.
It didn’t help that Obed’s teeth had turned quite black now.
Owen swallowed hard. He would have to try again, but before he could even get his thumb on the hammer, the creature rushed forward.
On either side of Owen, Thacher and Emma fell back toward their respective walls. Thacher hacked at the air with his hatchet, and Emma lashed out wildly with a knife in each hand now.
One of them made contact. Owen heard a quick sound behind him—tik-taclik!—like metal on bone.
Which one, he couldn’t say, as he was now running headlong back toward the open grating.
The monster ignored the others and whatever minor wound it had sustained and rushed after him, dropping down to four legs to increase its speed. It was pursuing the greatest threat.
“Now, Maria!” Owen shouted as he passed under the grating.
“Watch out!” she called back down.
A moment later, boiling water poured down through the square openings. The wood hissed and steamed were the water hit it. Maria had done her job well and kept the cooking pot at a rolling boil, and now the scalding water slapped down on the back of the charging creature.
It released a muffled cry and lurched to the side, colliding against a thick wooden column with a dull crack.
“I think I got it!” crowed Maria.
Stunned by the collision, the creature rose unsteadily to all six feet. Then it turned its head around to look at its wound. In the streaming sunlight, Owen saw steam rising from the thing’s back. A section just above its waist had turned a bright, cooked-lobster red.
Obed’s face was a twisted mix of pain and anger. As soon as his eyes found the steaming burn wound, the creature flopped over onto its back. There was one last quick hiss as its back landed in the sloshing wastewater.
Owen used the opportunity to edge back around the squirming insectoid and rejoin his mates. He called up to Maria once again. “Get the spear!”
Shimmying on its back like a cat rolling on a rug, the creature opened its eyes wide. It twisted q
uickly to one side, legs scrambling for purchase. Just as it righted itself, there was a flash of metal directly above it.
It leapt toward the darkness beyond the grating.
The point of the spear shot straight down. It missed the creature’s bulbous hindquarters by inches and sunk into the wood with a dull thunk.
The creature landed in the shadows a moment later. From the edge of the light, it peered up toward the grating. Maria’s shape was visible through the openings as she wrestled with the spear, trying to free it from the floor.
“Be careful, Maria!” Emma called up. “It’s watching you.”
The spear came loose with one final tug and Maria began hauling it up. “Where is it?” she called. “I won’t miss this time!”
Meanwhile, Owen and the others had regrouped on the other side of the light. Once again, they faced forward, a solid wall of weaponry. “It is injured,” whispered Owen. “We must charge it.”
Click. The hammer of his pistol locked into place.
Without even looking down, the creature leaned back out of the light, and suddenly it was gone.
“I can’t see it anymore,” said Aaron.
Suddenly, there was a slap of wood and a rush of draining water.
“NOOOO!” bellowed Owen, rushing forward. His lantern was held out at arm’s length and his pistol was held in close to his body. He rushed through the light from the grating.
The others followed, not as a unified wall anymore, but more like a line of ducklings, each one more reluctant than the one before. “Don’t spear me!” Emma called as she passed under her sister’s shadow.
Owen reached the edge of the light and plunged forward into the darkness. It was a huge risk, but if they didn’t stop the monster now, he doubted they ever would.
Thunk!
Owen reached his destination and came to a halt. He held the lantern out and stared at the raised hatch and the heavy wooden door at its center.
Emma arrived, then Thacher, and then Henry and Aaron.
“Did it?” asked Emma.
Owen nodded. “It escaped down into the hold.”
“Should we, uh, go after it?” asked Henry.
Polaris Page 13
