Ex-Isle by Peter Clines (electronic reader TXT) 📕

round, nonconductive, and slightly magnetic objects, two or three degrees warmer than the water.” He tapped his temple by his eyes. “They looked like tires to me.”

“Where would they get tires in the middle of the ocean?”

“Automobile tires are manufactured worldwide,” Stealth said. “It is not difficult to believe a container ship would have at least one load of custom tires onboard.”

Richard tugged his tie straight. “People?”

Barry plucked a mushroom out of his bowl and swallowed it. “Not sure. A couple hundred? Six, maybe seven hundred, tops. Some of them were down belowdecks, and all the metal and water kind of screws with my vision.”

“Jesus,” said St. George. “Six hundred people just sitting out there.”

“If infected crew or passengers were contained,” Stealth said, “the survivors would be in an extremely safe position. Provided they could balance resources.”

“It looks like the freighter deck was turned into a garden,” said Barry. He used the pen to point at the diagram. “From about here to here.” He drew a dotted rectangle inside the ship’s outline. “Some of the tanker, too.”

“A lot bigger than what we started out with,” St. George said, “and we had five times more people.”

“A garden with soil?” asked Stealth. “It is not a hydroponics farm?”

“Nope,” Barry said. “It looks like they just spread about two feet of dirt across the deck and went at it. I think I saw potatoes and something green. Maybe cucumbers. Or carrots. I didn’t get close enough to be sure.”

St. George looked at Stealth. He knew the shifting surface of her mask well enough to know she was staring at the sketch. “Something wrong with that?”

“As the captain stated, they are in the middle of the ocean,” she said. “Assuming this was a modern container ship in 2009 with standard deck size, where did these people get over fifty-seven thousand cubic feet of soil?”

“Maybe it was in the storage containers, too?” suggested Richard.

“It is unlikely a merchant paid to ship high volumes of soil from Asia to North America,” she said.

“Maybe they stopped at an island?” St. George said.

“The configuration Barry describes would not be mobile.”

“The individual ships would be, though,” said Freedom. “They could’ve sent someone off to get dirt.”

Stealth’s head shifted inside her hood. “Based on these ship descriptions, that would require multiple trips. Such a project would require a great deal of fuel and a sizable workforce.”

“They’ve got people,” said St. George.

“And an oil tanker,” added Richard.

Barry shook his head. “I’m not sure raw crude would work as fuel, even in a diesel engine. I think it’d need some refining.”

“Which would require more work and resources,” said Stealth. “Were you lost?”

“Say what?” Barry asked.

She pushed the diagram aside and drew a line across the map with her finger. “A return flight from Hokkaido should not have taken you anywhere near this area. How did you end up there?”

“Oh,” said Barry. “Well, I was flying back and I realized I’d never seen Easter Island. You know, with the big stone heads.”

“They are called moai,” she said.

“Right. So I headed down that way and looked around, but I couldn’t find it. So I headed back up to come home and that’s when I saw Waterworld.”

Stealth didn’t respond. Her head bowed to the map and diagram again. She crossed her arms.

“Any sign of exes?” asked St. George.

Barry shook his head. “Couldn’t see anything. Like I said, it’s tough seeing all the way into the ships, but the decks didn’t seem to have any defenses set up, and most of the hatches were open.”

“So the island’s clean?”

“As near as I could tell. Also worth mentioning I didn’t see any electricity. No engines, no generators—they’re just drifting out there.”

“How did they react to you?” Stealth asked.

“Actually,” said Barry, “they didn’t. I didn’t see anyone looking right at me. It almost felt like a couple of them were trying not to look at me.”

“Too bright?” asked St. George.

Barry shrugged again. “Beats me.”

“Odd,” said Freedom.

“I know, right?”

They all looked at the map and the diagram.

“So,” said Richard, “the big question. What now?” He looked at St. George.

St. George nodded. “We should head out there,” he said. “Offer assistance or a safe port, I guess. Whatever they might need.”

Freedom cleared his throat. “Should we do this right now? We’re tight on resources as is, and if we need to accelerate the Eden project we’re going to need to focus our efforts there.”

“If we don’t do it soon,” said Barry, “there’s a chance we might not be able to find them again. Not for a while, anyway. The whole thing’s drifting in the currents out there. A month from now it could be almost anywhere in the Pacific.”

“It’s just like contacting Japan,” said St. George. “We need to let them know they’re not alone. Give them some hope.”

“A noble sentiment,” said Stealth, “but also our only possible offer at this time. We have no access to any form of watercraft. For the moment, our ability to offer aid is limited.”

“I can get to a boat with no problem,” St. George pointed out.

“But for a crew and a truck with supplies,” she said, “it would take the better part of two days. That is time and resources we currently do not have.” She waved a hand at the map. “This should be treated like any of our other attempts to make contact with survivors. First we must ascertain if this group is in need of help and if it is willing to accept it.”

“I can fly back out there and talk to them,” said Barry.

“If you’ll forgive me for saying,” Richard said, “when you’re all light and electricity you can be a bit hard to understand. No offense.”

Barry smirked. “None taken.”

“It’s not that far offshore,” said St. George. “I mean, it’s closer than Hawaii. We could both fly out there. Seeing another physical person could be a good thing.”

“I can go physical,” Barry said.

“You can go naked and vulnerable,” Freedom said.

“Hey, some people like that.”

“Richard’s right,” St. George said. “It’s better