When they got back, the clouds were breaking well. At least they'd have a little light now. Ruth sat back up on the prow, the breeze parting her hair, while Jonas snoozed in the back fishing chair. The boat rocked languidly in the water. The night seemed serene now: the moonlight fluorescing the woods, the crickets and peepers thrumming their drone. Slydes could appreciate none of this, however, not the transcendental type. He clattered belowdecks, snapped on the cabin light, and reached for a beer.
"The fuck…"
He'd nearly slipped on the ice, which was melting on the floor. The beer cooler had been tipped over. The cover to the map box hung open, and he was sure it had been closed earlier. And when he looked at the toolbox, the tools seemed… disarranged.
"Get down here!" he barked.
Jonas and Ruth rushed down.
"What?"
"Which one of you tipped my cooler?" Slydes demanded. "Were ya born in a barn? You knock something over, you pick it back up."
"I don't drink that shit," Ruth said. "I could use a line of coke, though. Or some crystal."
"You were the last one to get a beer, Slydes," Jonas reminded him. The fuckin' thing probably tipped over during the trip."
Slydes gave it some contemplation. He's probably right, but-"The map compartment's hangin' open, too," he added. "I didn't even use a map tonight. And see the toolbox? It's messed up. The rachet's always on top 'cause I use it all the time. I even used it today before we left. Now it's on the bottom.'
"Like someone was looking through it," Ruth presumed.
'Me door to the head's open too," Slydes added. "And I'm positive I closed it and put on the latch."
"Oh, fuck," Ruth groaned. "You guys are scaring me!"
Jonas' eyes were narrowed as he thought back. "I may have pissed after you, Slydes, and I don't remember if I latched the door, and come to think of it, I may have fished around the toolbox for the stub-head screwdriver 'cause I remember wishin' I had one when I was taking the screws out of the insulation panel I hide the weed behind."
"The map compartment could've just fallen open," Ruth said.
"What about the cooler?" Slydes asked.
Jonas laughed. "You're worrying about bullshit, man. A swell probably came through when we were on the island, tipped the fucker over."
Slydes mulled it over. "Yeah, I guess you're right," he finally conceded. He picked some beers off the floor and followed his brother and Ruth topside.
In truth, however, Slydes was right. Someone had rooted through the cabin when they'd been out.
But he was wrong about something else…
The thing that had landed on Ruth's arm earlier wasn't a baby pine snake.
(II)
"I repeat, zero-zero. Three more are on the island. Tho males, one female."
The radio line seemed to stall over the information. "I don't understand this. The island's supposed to be uninhabited."
"It's not now."
"Is the latest group military?"
"Negative, zero-zero. All three are civilians. They're acting discreet, though." Transients, the sergeant guessed. They're up to something. Why would they have Dome to the island at night?
"Be extra cautious." A hesitation. "We can't take chances at this point. If any of them see you, kill them."
"Roger, zero-zero."
"Out."
The sergeant stood in the brambles, thinking. He didn't know if this was good or bad. The more people who came out here, the more test subjects for the specimens, and so far that phase of the operation was working. Each day they were getting a more accurate picture of gestation periods, ovatic dispersal and function, mobility efficiency, etc. This was a lot of effort and expense for a biological feasibility study… but it was working. It was proof that genetically transfected hybrids could be used as weaponry.
So long as we don't get caught out here.
The sergeant didn't particularly like to kill civilians.
The corporal was finishing up with the cameras; they needed to monitor more of the island's outer perimeters.
"All done," the corporal announced.
"Good work."
"What did the major say about the new ones?"
"He didn't like it, and neither do I. All of a sudden this deserted island is getting crowded. And if any of them see us, we're supposed to kill them."
"No problem," the corporal remarked, looking around.
They already knew that the transfected species was perfectly compatible with the environment. He suspected that Research Command had a lot to do with it now. They want to know what it's doing to the civilians.. we've infected-.
They moved back to the head shack area; the door was still open at the first unit, the lights on.
What is she doing in there? the sergeant thought.
"How come you went on the boat that docked earlier?" the corporal asked.
"Just a quick check for weapons, and I disabled their emergency radio."
Then the lights went off at the first head shack.
The corporal pressed up against a tree. "Look. There she is again…"
They could just see her in the moonlight. The woman with the frizzy short dark hair came back out and closed the door.
"She's finally going back to the campsite. Now we can get a look in there and see what she was doing all this time."
The corporal's face shield turned. "Hey, Sarge, she doesn't look too bad, you know?"
What is WRONG with him? "None of that."
"Why? The major just said we can kill them."
"With discretion, and only if we're seen. You'd fuck an animal if you had to. You know what happens if you get written up."
"You'd write me up for that?"
The sergeant just looked at him.
No sense of duty, he thought.
When the woman disappeared down the trail, he was about to proceed toward the head shack, but the corporal grabbed his arm.
"Wait, Sarge. Look. They're back again."
They pulled back behind the trees. It was the three that had arrived tonight. They'd staked this area out earlier but then left. What are they up to?
They were loitering at the farthest head shack, then…
They opened the door and light bloomed.
The lights were already on in there. The sergeant mulled the fact over, and couldn't imagine why.
Then the three civilians went inside and closed the door behind them.
"This is getting pretty interesting," the sergeant commented.
"I really like the girl-"
*Shut up."
I'd really like to know what they're doing in there, the sergeant wondered. He had a feeling this was going to be a long night.
(III)
"There's my babies," Jonas said. There was pride in his voice. They all looked up at the twenty-foot-tall marijuana plants growing out of their urns.
All three of them squinted in the long room's strange, silverish glow. Sheets of aluminum foil lined all four walls. Stranger was the incessant drone, like a bubbling hum, from the airstones and their small aerator pumps connected to each.
"I love these rooms," Ruth said, stepping forward toward the erect, green-spiky rows. "The sound, and the silver light. It's like mellow acid."
Slydes rolled his eyes. "Our little hippie."
"Look at 'em." Jonas grinned upward. "They're busting twenty feet, I'll bet. They don't even get that big in nature, under the best circumstances."
Forty such plants filled the former missile silo, and they had forty more in the next head shack, too. "I'm getting nine, ten ounces of the highest THC content pot per plant, every three months. Average asshole only pulls two to four."
"Look at the flowers!" Ruth celebrated. "They're beautiful!"
"Yeah, baby, they sure are. And they're big. The bigger, the better. There's more THC in my pot than anyone's.'
"Quit bragging and let's get on with it," Slydes complained. He was tired, and they'd missed high tide going out. Which means we gotta stay on this island till tomorrow night… The skinny bitch in the first head shack had stayed there for another fucking hour. They hadn't counted on that. Shit, it's past one o'clock now…