The crew woke up slowly the next morning. Tony was the first up, as usual, and made coffee. The smell of coffee carried through the dry air of the ship, and hungover crew members began waking up. Tony poured a mug and took it upstairs to Jess’s room. He knocked on her door and let himself in. She was fast asleep. He closed the door behind him and sat on the edge of her bed. He watched her for a while, and then gently rubbed her back. She opened her eyes and looked at him for a minute as she realized where she was. He held up a mug of coffee.
“I must be narced out,” she said quietly. “I’m dreaming that a handsome sailor brought me fresh coffee in bed.”
“Yup. I’m a figment of your imagination. How’re ya feeling?”
“Better after that coffee. You’re an angel,” she said, sitting up. “This is what I look like every morning—it’s not the bacteria. Scary, huh?”
Tony smiled. “Guess you’re feeling better. You look fine.”
“Actually, I do feel fine. It’s weird.” She reached for the coffee and took that first delicious sip of the day. She closed her eyes and enjoyed it for a moment, then took another sip. “God that’s good, thank you . . .”
“You were saying?”
“Oh,” she smiled. “The coffee made me lose my train of thought. I was saying how surprised I am that I woke up alive. I was pretty sure I was going to end up sick. I can’t understand why he got sick and no one else did. I was with him for hours and hours. How did I escape infection? It’s weird.”
Tony sipped his own coffee. He decided not to comment about Ted. “I’m glad you’re feeling better. I was really worried.”
“You’re sweet. If I’m still alive in twenty-four hours, I’m gonna make out with you again.”
Tony grinned, his teeth big and white against his dark skin. He leaned closer and whispered, “We did more than make out.”
“Shh! It’s a secret!” she whispered. “Now get out of here and let me shower and dress.”
“Don’t want me to wash your back?”
“Talk to me in twenty-four hours,” she said.
“You just want me for my coffee.”
She smiled at him, looking cute with her blonde hair messed all over her face. “Hardly,” she said, patting his leg. “Now get.”
He kissed his fingertips and put them on her forehead, then left. She sipped coffee quietly and smiled under her warm blanket.
***********
Mike arrived in the lab to find Ted busy at work under the microscope. He skipped a greeting and just walked to the refrigerator where his anglerfish dissection was stored. He was going to finish photographing and taking notes on the internal structures of the consumed male imbedded in the female’s skin. Ted said a quiet hello without looking up from the scope.
Theresa walked in and greeted both of them with equally warm “good mornings.”
“Mike, I’d like to go fishing again. Mind if I use the cameras and monitor to find potential targets?” she asked.
“Of course not,” he said, and flipped the switches to turn on the infrared cameras. The cameras scanned the darkness while the computer looking for thermal images to lock in on.
Mike and Theresa froze when the camera locked in on Ian’s body, tangled in a large colony of tube worms on the side of the vent.
The top of the black plastic bags that had been wrapped around him had melted in the seven hundred–degree water and disintegrated, leaving the top half of his body exposed out of the bag much the same way the tube worms were exposed at the tips of their hard exoskeleton tubes.
Theresa screamed and buried her head in Mike’s shoulder. Ted looked up from his microscope and stared at the image on the monitor. There was Ian, feet and body tangled in the colony of worms, wrapped in remnants of sheets, but bare chest and open arms swaying in the invisible current. His mouth was open, almost like a silent scream into the ocean, a large swollen tongue extending into the water. His silvery eyes were open. His arms looked white on the screen, held apart, almost Christ-like in his pose. He swayed back and forth like he was calling for help.
“Oh my God,” said Mike quietly.
Ted walked over to the computer and punched some commands. The monitor went from a live camera shot to a thermal image of Ian. His body heat showed up slightly yellow in a sea of black, but his chest and stomach showed bright reddish-purple.
“It’s the bacteria. The colony is growing inside him and giving off heat. It’s why the camera located him.”
“How do we know he’s dead?” asked Theresa, fighting back tears.
“Jesus Christ—he has to be,” said Mike, mostly to himself.
“Interesting question, really,” said Ted.
Mike’s face grew red in anger. He fought off the urge to smash Ted’s face.
“The bacteria in Ian’s body are thriving, the way they do in a tube worm. And the tube worm hosts live quite well in that manner. I suppose there is the possibility . . .”
“That’s enough!” bellowed Mike. He slapped the button and turned off the monitor. “Goddamn it! What the hell’s wrong with you? He’s not one of your fucking experiments, Ted.”
Ted didn’t speak, but was thinking quite the opposite to himself.
“We’re scientists, Michael. We have to be rational and willing to open our minds to unknown possibilities. Did you notice his skin? His eyes and tongue even?”
Mike made a face. “I was trying not to look,” he spat.
“Well if you had looked, you’d have noticed they looked perfectly healthy. He should have been boiled out there. He should look like a rotten corpse, for God’s sake! But he doesn’t! He looks alive!” This time it was Ted who was shouting. Theresa ran out of the lab. Ted pressed the camera button and the image came back on the screen—a live shot of Ian swaying in the current.
“Look at him, Michael! Look!”
Mike didn’t want to look, but he couldn’t take his eyes away from his friend. Ian was looking just off-camera at some unknown object, his tongue sticking out grotesquely like a large, purplish-red clam foot, his silvery eyes appearing to stare straight ahead. It was horrific looking.
Mike’s eyes welled up. “Ian . . . oh God. What happened to him?” he questioned out loud.
“It’s the bacteria. It’s what I’ve been saying. It’s already protected his skin. For all we know, it could be producing oxygen and energy for metabolism. Even his tongue—look at it! Like the feathery red protrusions of the worms. It may have already morphed into something else. It may be collected oxygen . . .”
“That’s enough, I said! Jesus! Don’t you ever quit? Let the poor guy rest in peace.”
“He may not be resting at all,” said Ted quietly.