The Storm (NUMA Files 10)

She glanced at the water in the vial.

“It looks clear,” she said.

She capped the vial and placed it in a stainless steel box with a rubber seal, which she wrenched down tight. She put the towel in a matching container.

Gamay and Paul gazed into the waters down below the way people might look over the edge of a dock. A few feet out the water looked normal. But they’d flown over two miles of discolored ocean since the dolphins scattered. It made no sense.

“They’re not on the surface,” Gamay said, realizing the truth. “We can see them, looking straight down, but at any kind of an angle all we can make out is seawater.”

From the cockpit Marchetti agreed. “They’re floating just below. You’ll have to get a deeper sample. If you want, I can take us right down to the—”

“Let’s not do that,” Leilani said. “Please. What if we hit the water or something goes wrong?”

She was in the main part of the cabin, watching over the side but protected by the wall. She looked rather green.

“I’m pretty sure I can get them from here,” Paul said, being his usual accommodating self.

He laid down flat on the deck, his head and shoulders over the edge. He stretched out, using his long arms to great advantage and dipping a second sample vial in as far as he could.

Marchetti edged closer. Gamay did the same.

Paul pulled the sample out. It also looked clear. He dumped it out and tried to stretch even farther.

Leilani began protesting. “I don’t know about this,” she mumbled, sounding terrified. “Do we really want to bring those things on board?”

Kurt had said she was unstable. Now Gamay saw why. Gung ho to come with them and suddenly filled with fear.

“Somebody’s got to do it,” Gamay said.

“Maybe we could just call the Navy or the Coast Guard or something.”

“Hold my legs down,” Paul asked, “I have to take a deeper sample.”

Gamay crouched down and put her hands on the back of Paul’s legs, pressing down with all her weight. She heard Leilani muttering something and backing farther away as if the bots were going to leap out of the water like a crocodile and snatch Paul up.

Paul extended the pole and stretched as far as he could. He dipped it in maybe seven or eight feet. As he raised it above the surface, Gamay could feel the strain on his body. The sample looked dark.

“I think you got some.”

As Paul started to reel in the pole, Leilani started to tremble. She backed up another step.

“It’s okay,” Marchetti said, trying to comfort her.

Just then a loud bang shook the craft. It tilted to the side, and the back end dropped like a covered wagon that had lost a wheel.

Paul slid, hit the sidewall of the deck and almost went overboard. Gamay slid with him, grabbed his belt and wrapped her arm around a strut protruding from the deck.

Leilani screamed and fell but held on to the door of the cabin while Marchetti clung to the steering console.

“Hang on!” Gamay shouted.

“You hang on,” Paul called back. “I have nothing to grab.”

Another bang, and the airship leveled out, but with the back end down even farther, like a dump truck spilling its contents. Gamay held on with all her might. She was physically strong, but keeping Paul’s six-foot-eight, two-hundred-and-forty-pound body from sliding off the platform and dropping into the water was quickly taking its toll. She felt his belt cutting into her fingers.

Behind her, Leilani and Marchetti were trying to help.

“The balloon,” Leilani shouted, pointing to the sky.