Read Online Invasive by Chuck Wendig - Free Book Online Page B

the boat—is that starboard? she thinks so—they reach the end of the island of Kauai. There stand the swoops of the jagged peaks and cliffs of the Kokee Mountains; Hannah tries to concentrate on them instead of on whatever is going on inside her head. The shape of them callsto mind the teeth in a deer skull grown over with moss—nature reclaiming a creature in death. Death. That puts her right back to it. Obsessing over the future. Over the end of all people and all things.
    Instead, she just closes her eyes.
    It’s a long, choppy ride. Several hours in, her head starts to feel disconnected from her stomach. And closing her eyes isn’t helping.
    When she opens them again, she sees Ray standing over her. “Getting seasick? I can get you a bucket. Anything for a guest of Einar’s.”
    She frowns. “It’s not seasickness.” But she doesn’t owe him an explanation.
    â€œWell, whatever existential dread you’re suffering right now, you don’t have to sit out here. You can go belowdecks. There’s a bar. Some salads, sandwiches, wine, whatever. It’s nice. You should check it out.”
    â€œI’ll stay up here.” She’s not sure why. Is she paralyzed by fear? Or is she trying to face down that fear? She tells herself the latter. “What’s the agenda? When I get to the island.”
    â€œWell. We’ll get you settled in. Get a meal. Give you the tour. Then it’s on you. Poke around. Ask questions. Maybe just leave everyone the fuck alone and go enjoy a little bit of an untouched tropical paradise.”
    â€œOkay,” she says, not sure how else to respond. “Will Einar be there?”
    â€œWill Einar be . . . ? C’mon, no, of course not. He’s one of the busiest guys in the world. He doesn’t have time for . . . this .” Ray stands there, and she feels his impatience and irritation. The man makes these little noises: microsighs, the whisper of his fingertips against each other as he fidgets, a small grunt. Finally he sits next to her. “It’s bullshit, you know.”
    â€œA whole lot of things are bullshit,” she says, seeing in her mind’s eye her mother wincing at the vulgarity. “So I need you to be more specific.”
    â€œYou. This. The reason you’re here.”
    â€œThe murder.”
    â€œIt’s bullshit.”
    â€œMurder is never bullshit.”
    â€œI just mean—ants? Really. You’re saying ants killed this guy and that we were the ones who—”
    She keeps staring out over the ocean. “I’m not saying any of those things. We believe ants were at least in part responsible for the man’s death. We believe those ants were genetically engineered. And the marker genes present in those ants are the same ones present in your mosquitoes.”
    â€œThose mosquitoes have saved lives.”
    â€œI’m sure they have.”
    â€œIf we could bring them to Florida—or even here, Hawaii. Dengue’s bad news. They call it breakbone fever for a reason.” He scowls. “You get this . . . pain behind your eyes, like someone’s got their thumbs back there trying to pop them out of your head like corks. Comes with a fever, headache, chills, sweats. But the hell of it is how your bones hurt. Your arms, your legs. It feels like someone is pulverizing them. Crushing them like big rocks into little gravel.”
    â€œYou’ve had it.”
    â€œDamn right I have. Doing relief work in Haiti a few years ago. We’re trying to do good things. And you’re standing in the way.”
    â€œI’m not standing in anybody’s way. I have a job to do and that job is a fact-finding mission. I’m not an agent, as has been discussed. I’m here just to rule out involvement by Arca—”
    â€œYou’re the enemy is what you are.”
    â€œI’m sorry you feel that way.”
    He shrugs. “Good luck