Invisible Armies

Chapter 40

Danielle has never used a welding torch before, and has only seen it done once before, long ago, in Oakland. Fortunately it isn't complicated. The torch is already connected to a propane tank. She slips the welding goggles on, squeezes the trigger, thumbs the ignition switch, and a long needle of white flame hisses from the torch's nozzle. A rubber band around the trigger ensures it will stay on as long as needed.

No one is waiting for them at the aft door. Not a surprise; the platform is awkwardly narrow. Probably there is someone on top of the ladder in case they try to escape that way. That won't be a problem. No one in their right minds will climb down that ladder, starting about thirty seconds from now. Danielle opens the door, pushes up the welding goggles, and looks out. The oil slick that surrounds the ship extends out for a good hundred feet in every direction, flat as a pancake; the ocean's swells travel only about five feet into its thickness before dissipating. The oil shimmers with fantastic, kaleidoscopic rainbow swirls, unexpectedly beautiful. She feels a faint twinge of guilt at having polluted the sea.

Behind her she hears Laurent's voice: "What in the name of God are you two doing?" She smiles. She has never heard him sound frightened before. She supposes that what she is about to do is crazy, but better that than let him win.

Danielle opens the door, checks the rubber band on the welding torch, lobs it underhand off the ship, and shuts the door immediately.

She expects a massive Hollywood explosion. Instead, through the door's porthole, she sees a mound of flame erupt and spread, until the flames have climbed high and far enough to swallow all her field of vision out to the horizon. It looks as if she has set the entire Pacific Ocean on fire.

"Sweet mother of God," someone says reverentially, in a South African accent.

Keiran enters the hallway. Like her, he wears canvas coveralls and gloves, rubber boots, and a welding mask. "I think you got their attention," he says quietly.

"Did you do it?"

"Yes. Ten thousand SOSes. Bit redundant if you ask me. They'll see this fire from orbit."

Behind them they here Laurent's voice say, sharply, "Immediate evacuation. Get to the chopper. Now."

The whole ship shudders violently, then, sending both Danielle and Keiran hard into the corridor wall, they barely get their hands up to slow the impact. The fire must have entered the still-half-full fuel tanks; in that enclosed space, the conflagration would have been much like an explosion. The ship rights itself – but not completely; it has developed a pronounced list.

"I think it's better we go sooner not later," Danielle says.

"Yeah."

They look at each other. Danielle reaches her gloved left hand out to Keiran's and squeezes it, tightly. Then she takes a deep breath, flings open the door, and steps out into what looks like the fires of Hell.

The actual flames from the burning oil don't quite reach the platform at the base of the ladder, but both the air and the metal – including platform and ladder – are already too hot to breathe, or touch barehanded. She scrambles up the ladder as fast as she can, trying to ignore the brown burn-scars appearing on her gloves, the agonizing protests of her broken finger, or the searing pain where her skin is exposed at wrists and neck. She wants to breathe starting halfway up, her upward exertion seems to have consumed all her oxygen in just a few seconds, but she holds her breath with desperate discipline. The air is both too hot to breathe and too thick with black, acrid smoke. The deafening sound of the flames, all around her, sounds like the roar of an enraged god. She throws herself over the edge, onto the aft deck, and into the door furthest to the right.