The Gastropoda Imperative, Peter Barns [story books to read txt] 📗

Male toilet - stalls all empty; Female Toilet - ditto; Computer Technician; Canteen; Department of Malacology; Senior Invertebrate Zoologist; Secretary.

All the rooms were ominously quiet and empty. Two to go. Electrical Intake & Ventilation on the left; The Pit on the right.

Conal took the EI&V first, which was also empty. Leaning back against the corridor wall, he wet dry lips and stared at the partially open door in the opposite wall.

He didn’t want to go in there. He knew was waiting inside.

The staff had given the big recycling room the name The Pit because that’s what it resembled. It was dominated by a large, two metre deep hole sunk into the middle of the floor with a knee-high wall surrounding it. Even from where he stood, out in the corridor, Conal could feel the suck of the powerful fans in the ceiling extracting the air from the room.

He’d not been in the Recycling Laboratory since it had been put into operation but knew that even with the big extractor fans going flat out, breathing in the putrid atmosphere without an oxygen mask was almost impossible. He wasn’t looking forward to entering it one little bit.

Next to the extract vent in the ceiling was a chute leading up to the surface. It ended in a circular metal cover, caste into the concrete slab alongside the entrance building. It was here, and on a surprisingly regular basis, that the recyclates made their way into The Pit.

Conal pushed the door back on its hinges, switching on the overhead lighting. As the room was bathed in bright white light, he heard a rustling, slopping sound coming from the pit and hesitated on the threshold.

After castigating himself for being so faint-hearted, he took a deep breath and walked over to the pit, staring down at the gunk that filled it. The surface was still rippling from the movements of the creatures that had dived deep into the glutinous mess when he’d switched the lights on. Turning away in disgust, he grabbed another quick lungful of air from the corridor and squatted down in the corner, sorting through the tangled pile of bones he found there.

“Well that’s solved the problem of where the staff have all disappeared to,” he muttered, eyes beginning to sting at the stench in the room.

Chapter 3

When Drewsbeck arrived at the quay, he pulled into the car park and quickly killed the engine. Getting out of his silver Mercedes, he looked around, worried about leaving his expensive car in such a deserted place.

“It’ll be okay there, guv,” a lanky man shouted from the quayside.

The man was dressed in a pair of dirty orange overalls, bright yellow boots, and a rolled up woollen cap. He smiled broadly and Drewsbeck could see that he had no teeth, making his face look as if it had collapsed in on itself.

“Over here,” the man called, waving a grubby hand. “Your man there said for me to take you across to him. He was lucky he caught me in. I was just on my way out to the pub and all. Great things these mobiles, ain’t they.”

The boatman kept up a steady patter as he helped Drewsbeck step across the gap between the boat and the quayside. Drewsbeck wrinkled his nose at the smell of fish pervading the vessel, surreptitiously wiping his hand down the side of his coat as the boatman let go of it. Making his way to the back of the vessel, he sat on the gunwale and tried to tune out the sound of the seaman’s voice.

The boat’s engine kicked into life with a cough and a burst of black, foul smelling smoke, before settling down to a steady throb. The engine sounded as though it might blow up at any minute, but at least the noise meant he didn’t have to listen to the man’s inane chatter.

The boatman guided the chugging vessel out into the sound, his body swaying with the movement of the waves as he turned the wheel back and forth.

“How long is this going to take?” Drewsbeck shouted above the rattle of the diesel engine.

“‘Bout fifteen minutes or so,” the boatman called back over his shoulder, wiping the spittle from his chin with the back of his hand.

Drewsbeck settled down into a contemplative mood, the throbbing engine and gently rolling waves combining to ease the tensions that had built up in his shoulders on the long, one and a half hour drive from his mansion at Newton Abbot. He smiled, contemplating what would be waiting for him when he got home. Maybe he should get his secretary to book a nice restaurant for later. His wife loved it when he took her somewhere that celebrities went. Pulling out his mobile, Drewsbeck frowned.

Damn it. No signal.

The boat rolled in a big trough and Drewsbeck caught a brief glimpse of the island in the distance. He’d first seen it from the air, when he’d surveyed the island with his architect four years earlier. Looking down on it then, he’d seen that the small crater they had chosen as a building plot on the larger end of the island would save the builders a lot of construction work. As his architect had pointed out, the surrounding, higher rocks would also help keep the elements at bay. Instructing the pilot to put down in the centre of the crater, Drewsbeck had climbed out, his architect close behind him, to inspect the island that he hoped would add a big chunk to his already considerable fortune.

“I think we’ve found it Jimmy,” he’d said, all smiles as he swept his thinning white hair back over his head, breathing in the sea air. “Just listen to those waves. Wonderful.”

“If you can get whoever owns it to sell it to you,” the architect had answered in a dubious tone.

“Money talks better than words,” he’d retorted with a chuckle. “Or is that louder? Anyway, you just get yourself back to the office and get a team out here pronto. I’ll take care of buying the island. You’ve got nine months to turn this place into a working laboratory. Think you can do it?”

His architect nodded slowly, as though reluctant to commit himself.

The work had been difficult, given the terrain and location, but money was a wonderful motivator. Equipment and materiels were flown in by helicopter, while the builders were lodged out with locals and boated back and forth on a daily basis.

Drewsbeck wanted to keep the real reason for the construction work under wraps, because whoever succeeded in harnessing this particular idea would make themselves a fortune. As usual with his new undertakings, there would be people sniffing around - industrial spies were forever on the prowl - so he spread the rumour that the island was going to be used as a big underground oil storage depot.

“Nearly there, guv.”

The boatman’s shout brought Drewsbeck out of his revelry and he focused on the pier coming up a few metres away. For all his sloppy looks, the boatman was a good seaman, kissing the boat against the tyres hanging from the pier as gently as a mother kissing her baby.

Holding the vessel against the pier with the engine, the boatman shouted for Drewsbeck to jump off, adding: “Do us a favour mate, and drop this here rope over that there bollard when you get ashore.”

Drewsbeck slipped the big loop over a rusty bollard and made his way towards the path leading up to the side of the cliff. Intermittent lampposts cast deep, dark shadows along the pathway and he had to be careful where he stepped. After a ten minute hike, he finally made it to the top and walked out onto the huge concrete slab that was the roof of the laboratory they’d built into the island’s rock.

Drewsbeck could see his PA sitting behind the desk in the entrance building, feet up, crossed at the ankles. He was drinking something from a plastic cup. Pulling his coat closer around his body against the wind as he walked towards the building, Drewsbeck glanced at his watch.

Getting on for ten o’clock, and it looked as though there was a storm brewing. He hoped that the weather held until they had got off the island. It was too dark to fly back in the helicopter now and he didn’t fancy sailing back through a storm with the toothless boatman at the wheel.

Chapter 4

Conal caught sight of Drewsbeck through the glass and swung his feet off the desk. The Old Man looked tired. Worn out in fact. Pressing the door release to let his boss in, Conal stood up.

“Conal,” Drewsbeck said, nodding a greeting.

“Mr. Drewsbeck.” Conal gave his own nod.

“That a coffee you got there?”

“Sure is. Want me to get you a cup? The machine’s just over there.”

“Just need a slurp of yours. If you don’t mind, that is. That was some walk up from the pier.”

Conal held out his plastic cup, noticing the tremor in the Old Man’s hand as he took it.

“So what’s the emergency then?” Drewsbeck said after taking a sip of the hot liquid.

“There’s been an accident.”

“Is everyone okay?”

Conal shook his head. “They’re dead,” he said quietly.

“All of them? Surely not all of them?”

Conal nodded, taking the coffee out of the Old Man’s hand before he spilt it. “Far as I can tell. Given the circumstances, it’s a bit difficult to be sure really.”

“Jesus. What the hell happened?”

“The boatman came over as usual this afternoon at five, to pick up the staff and take them ashore. When he got here, nobody was waiting. Anyway, he hung around for ten minutes or so, then rang up to security from the intercom down at the pier.” Conal stopped a moment, concern wrinkling his forehead. “Do you want to sit down, Mr Drewsbeck?”

Drewsbeck shook his head in irritation.” Just get on with it.”

“So, after he got no response on the intercom, he traipsed up here to take a look around.”

Conal waited for his boss to finish another sip of coffee before continuing, wishing that the man would sit down before he fell down.

“And?”

“Right. So he couldn’t see anyone at the desk and couldn’t get an answer to his buzzing. It wasn’t dark yet, so the lights weren’t on and the place looked deserted to him. The long and short of it is, he thought we’d closed the project down and not bothered to tell him. Apparently he got straight onto HQ and gave them a right mouthful. They tried contacting the island, but couldn’t raise anyone either, so they got through to Security, who eventually contacted me to find out what might be going on.” Reaching over, Conal took a mouthful of coffee himself, swallowing it carefully before continuing: “I couldn’t raise the desk here, or anybody on the satellite phone. It just seemed odd. How could everyone suddenly be out of contact like that. So I jumped in the ‘copter and headed out here to take a look see.”

“And what did you find?” the Old Man asked, his voice hardening.

Conal moved out from behind the desk so his boss could get to the screens.

“The one on the right. The end one,” he said.

Drewsbeck looked at the CCTV screens, slumping down in the seat with a thump as though the breath had been knocked from him.

“Are those what I think they are,” he asked, voice barely audible.

“Afraid so, Mr Drewsbeck.”

“Take me down. I want to see them for myself.”

“I really don’t think