about them over dinner. But since he’d found the object, he’d be the one to bring it aboard.
He descended the stairs three at a time, startling the waiting scientists. Dr. Dan Mueller, a senior oceanographer on his third voyage with the
“Sorry,” Jason said. “This is a little more exciting than what I’m used to.”
Mueller frowned. “If you’d been hauling trash out of the ocean all day for the past month, you might have a different opinion. Oceanography isn’t as romantic a profession as some people think.”
“I find your enthusiasm refreshing.” Dr. Kim Hale stepped around Mueller and gave Bachman a pat on the shoulder. She motioned to Mueller with her head. “If he had just a fraction of your good nature, my job would be a lot more fun, too.”
Bachman blushed. Hale was pretty, not too much older than him, and had a smile that twisted knots in his stomach. He stammered for a reply. The whine of the Zodiac engine saved him from embarrassing himself.
The Zodiac swung around and pulled up alongside the ship. The prize had been wrapped in a towel and was offered up to Bachman. He took it with a smile and said “thanks.” As the Zodiac buzzed away in search of more treasures, Bachman knelt down, placed the object on the deck, and opened the towel.
“Huh,” Mueller said. “I don’t recognize the species.
“What do you mean?” Bachman asked. “It’s a turtle shell.”
Mueller sighed.
“Look at the peaks,” Hale said. “And the coloration. It looks more like a species of freshwater snapping turtle.”
“Snapping turtle?” Bachman said, screwing up his face. “What’s a snapping turtle doing way the heck out —”
Eight black legs sprung from the sides of the shell.
Before Bachman could shout in surprise, the thing was airborne. He felt something wrap around his waist and squeeze, then three sharp stings in his stomach. His head swirled with confusion and sudden exhaustion. As he fell to the deck, he saw the thing jump on Mueller. A tail wrapped around the man. And then a stinger, like a scorpion’s tail, emerged and jabbed the man three times. As the creature released Mueller and pursued Hale, who’d ran for the stairs, he screamed in agony. He didn’t know how. Or why. But he could feel it. Something was inside him.
Eating.
Growing.
He died ten seconds after they tore out of his stomach, which was long enough to hear Hale, and several others, screaming on the decks above.
ALSO BY JEREMY ROBINSON
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
JEREMY ROBINSON is the author of bestselling thrillers, including
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Copyright
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This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
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ISLAND 731. Copyright © 2013 by Jeremy Robinson. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
Cover design by Ervin Serrano
Cover photographs: symbol by Young Jin Lim;
