UnAlaska

34. Life Boats

The old English couple's lifeboat rocketed above the surface. It splashed back down and then leveled out to float. The stern ex-Navy man unbuckled himself and scanned the boat. Emergency rope lights lined the perimeter of the ceiling and lit the space in a dim glow. One man had been knocked unconscious when his head bounced against the fiberglass wall of the ship. A woman had vomited violently from the lurching and rocking. The smell was starting to permeate the sealed space. It made his eyes water. Everyone was silent. Their eyes slowly tracked him as he got up.

He cleared his throat. "All right, everyone. We made it through the hardest part. We need to get medical attention for him." He gestured at the unconscious man. "But first, let's get everyone to shore. It's not too far now. I'll start the engines."

He walked to the front of the boat. The floor was white fiberglass, and the walkway between rows of harnessed seats was narrow. The boat was rocking violently. He could hear the crash of tall waves outside, and see the squalls washing over the small porthole windows. He steadied himself on the seat backs as he walked, rocking back and forth. He reached the small captain's chair and sat down. The controls were basic. A quick press of the ignition fired the gasoline inboard engine to life. He could hear the whine of the starter and the shudder of the propeller starting. He eased the throttle up. The vibration under their seats grew stronger as the ship started moving forward. He couldn't see much of anything through the tiny plexiglass windshield. It was just the face of the wave in front of him, then a wash of water, then a view of the churning ocean again. But he had a compass, and knew the bearings to land.

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Dmitry walked along the row of lifeboats. He saw two being loaded with panicked passengers. They were huddled against the wind and rain. At one life boat, they were circled in tense conversation with the door propped open. In the other life boat, he saw passengers fastening their harnesses and pulling the door closed.

A moment later, there was a loud clack. A lifeboat lurched forward and began to slide down the rollers, picking up speed into the water. Dmitry was happy. So far, so good.

He reached the next life boat, which was empty. He paused for a moment to look at the control panel. He flipped a cover from the launch button, and pressed it with his thumb. There was a loud crack as the boat was released. For a moment, he watched the empty boat rocket toward the raging surf. Then, he kept walking. He reached the next empty lifeboat and did the same. He figured a few empty ships couldn't hurt.

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Aleksandr reached the small town of Unalaska. He drove the old white van slowly down Broadway Avenue. It wasn't much of a main street. The buildings were low and scattered, and many were surrounded by gravel parking lots. It was deserted and dark. There were only a few street lights, and the rest of the light came from windows.

He saw a small convenience store just off the main street. It was in a long, low, commercial building with a small plate glass window. Perfect. He parked and got out, into the sideways rain. He fished a hand grenade out of his heavy raincoat. He walked a few paces to the window. Inside the shop were rows of chips and candy bars in neat wooden shelves. The lights were still on. He balled his fist around the grenade and used the back side to hammer the glass. Two big blows and it splintered apart. There was no alarm. No flashing strobe or siren. It was a small town. Why would there be?

He backed up to the door of the van. He pulled the pin from the grenade and lobbed it underhanded. It sailed through the broken window. He quickly closed the door of the van, put it in gear, and pulled away. Three seconds later, in his rear view mirror, he saw a bright flash. He heard the deafeningly loud report from the grenade. Fragments of metal and wood flew out of the broken window. A second later, tatters of candy bar wrappers floated down onto the street. Outside the shop, car alarms started to blare. Their flashing lights cast long streaks against the wet roadway.

He continued driving. His tires hissed on the wet pavement and threw small sprays of water. His wipers beat furiously. One wiper was faulty and old. A loose strip of rubber flopped from the end. It left fat streaks of water in a lazy arc on the windshield.

He pulled in front of another long, low, tan building. This one had a sign for a taco stand. His tires crunched on the gravel parking lot. He jumped out of the van and smashed this window. He walked backward and lobbed the second grenade. He threw the van in reverse and backed away quickly. This time, he got to see the blast through his windshield. A flash and a loud bang sounded out. Then, as he reversed, splinters of wood and shards of glass rained down on his roof.

He kept driving. He could hear the sound of sirens starting in the distance. Probably the local police, he thought. Maybe a fire truck. They would be driving to the first explosion, and he had moved on.

A few blocks down, he passed the onion-domed Russian Orthodox church. It was painted white and standing alone. That could be spared, he thought. No harm in leaving a symbol of Russian influence.

He parked in the driveway of a large commercial building. A small lit sign on the cyclone fence read "Unalaska Fish Processing, Inc." He grabbed a small red gas canister from the passenger seat and a pair of bolt cutters. There was a locked gate. The bolt cutters made quick work of the little padlock. He swung the gate open and walked up the rest of the driveway.

There were small exterior lights on the outside of the building. They were sickly yellow sodium lamps that cast thin beams of light. There was a large warehouse looking building in front of him. Further along, there was a tangle of industrial machinery. Dmitry didn't know much about fish, or fish processing for that matter. Maybe they put it in cans. Or maybe it was a giant freezer. It made no difference really.

He smashed the window of the front door with his bolt cutters. The glass had a small wire grid in it, so the pieces stuck together. It took a few blows to loosen everything. Then he snaked his arm inside and pushed the crash bar on the inside of the door. It popped open easily.

He heard the urgent beep of a security system. That was no problem. He would be out in about thirty seconds anyway. He scanned the space. It was empty and dark. The floor was a mouse-gray carpet, and the ceiling was covered in drop tiles. He saw a reception desk. He flipped open the nozzle on his gas can, and doused it in gasoline. The sickly-sweet smell immediately filled his nose.

He walked backward to the entrance, holding the gas can at arm's length. He swept it side to side to splash the heady liquid against the walls and form a dark zigzag across the carpet. A few steps later, he spotted a door to his left. A nondescript tan door with a small sign in red font. It read "Fire Sprinkler Control System." He kicked the door open and turned the large red knob closed. He smashed the electronic control panel next to it with his bolt cutters. The alarm system started to blare. A siren wailed, and small lights on the ceiling started to blink brightly.

Aleksandr walked backward out the door. He paused, propping the door open. He was fishing in his pocket for a book of matches. He stood back, lit a match, and tossed it inside. The gasoline vapor ignited with a dull 'whump,' and the fire was a clear dance of yellow and blue. He let the door swing closed. The fire started to catch the desk and filing cabinets. It burned a brighter, solid yellow. The walls and ceiling began to catch. A choking smoke began to gather. The sprinklers tripped and started to spray.

Alexandr had set a few fires. He knew that most people imagined sprinklers to be full of clear water. In reality, they were full of black sludge. All of the rust and bacteria and gunk in the pipes would settle over the years and turn it into a disgusting tar-like substance. The sprinklers stuttered and sprayed black water all of the interior of the building. Then, they stopped. They had no water supply. He smiled, and turned to climb into his van.