CHAPTER 3

Retaliation

Avoiding the end of the boathook wielded by Pepijn that narrowly missed striking his head, Guillermo fed out the rope tied around the man’s waist leaning over the side of the ship.

Guillermo rolled his eyes at the boatswain beside him. “The man’s a menace.”

Hans smiled as he leaned over the rail to observe Pepijn, his hands gripping the side against the rolling ship.

In the light of the lantern hanging from the rail, Pepijn picked out his first target, the nearest stalk suckered to the hull, and stretched out the boathook. He slipped the curved piece of metal under the stalk and pulled. The stalk stubbornly refused to release its grip. Not to be outwitted, Pepijn yanked the hook hard. The stalk detached and flopped wildly.

Pepijn’s rejoice at his success was short lived when the stack reattached itself to the ship. Cursing the seaweed, he tried again. The freed stalk again flopped about for a moment before it lunged at the hull and secured itself again. Straightening up, Pepijn turned to the boatswain.

“It’s not working. Every time I pull it free the damn thing reattaches itself.”

Hans, nodded. “I saw.”

Guillermo considered the problem for a few moments and pulled out his knife. “We could try cutting it free. We can tie it to the end of the pole.”

Pepijn grinned. “I like it.”

Hans nodded. “Try it.”

After a few minutes toil they had the knife attached to the handle end of the boathook. Pepijn leaned over and slashed at the obstinate vine. The knife sliced through the stalk without resistance. The severed stem sprayed dark ooze as it waved wildly.

Pepijn turned to Guillermo and the boatswain. “It worked.”

“Carry on and I’ll inform the others of the new technique.”

As Hans walked away, Pepijn chose another stalk and sliced through it. He then moved to the next within reach.

Once the other seven two-man sailor teams positioned around the front half of the ship had attached the knives, they also began slicing through the kelp stalks.

The ripple that ran through the sea weed alerted the green mass to the attack. It retaliated.

When he noticed the flower on one of the leaves below him unfurl its dark purple petals, Pepijn paused his stalk cutting and watched the flower within emerge. It was as strange as the rest of the kelp. It was long and thin, about three-fingers wide, with a dark red back and a white front. Protruding from the top visible half were yellow filaments curved like arms or legs of a centipede, each tipped with a tiny translucent globe.

Pepijn switched his gaze to the cream-colored top of the flower when its tip split into four tendrils that sported similar translucent globes to those on its filaments. Both fascinated and wary of the weird blossom, Pepijn stared at the wavering tendrils when the plant turned towards him. Though he could see no eyes adorning what he thought of as its head, he sensed it could see him and was sizing him up as a suitable meal. A cold chill crept down his backbone when an orifice ringed with teeth opened where the tendrils joined the body.

Pepijn slashed the boathook at the evil bloom when it shot forward, its body extending out from the petals that once concealed it. The flower dodged around the weapon and lunged at one of the hands holding it. Pepijn screamed when teeth entered his flesh. A flash of movement directed his gaze to the side. Two stalks wavered like snakes less than a foot away from him and more were coming. He panicked when the nearest two lunged at him. His struggles to stand straight were hampered by the flower attached to his hand. When one stalk attached itself to his cheek, and the other his wrist, two more spurts of excruciating pain flooded through his system.

He frantically tried tugging his arm free from the flower’s grasp, but like the stalks, it was stuck fast and wasn’t about to let go. Useless to prevent what was happening, Pepijn watched the four head tendrils reach for the back of his hand. Once each touched skin, the globes on their tips melted. As his skin bubbled and peeled, small dark things flowed through the tendrils and into his body, fresh sources of agony to add to his pain-raked body.

He felt hope that he might be saved when the rope around his waist cut into his skin. Guillermo had finally realized something was amiss and was pulling on it. He strained to help, but it was useless. More stalks had attacked themselves or wrapped around his arms and all heaved. Almost caressingly, a stalk slithered around his neck. When the strangling tightness he expected didn’t come, Pepijn knew it was all over for him. There was only one direction he would be heading now, down into the cold sea and the living hell that wouldn’t let him drown. Though something he thought he would never wish for, drowning seemed awfully pleasant way to die now. His eyes flicked to the carnivorous seaweed waiting to receive him.

When the carnivorous plant released its hold, Pepijn shifted his terrified gaze to the four patches of blistered skin on his hand and the bloody red welt in the center. His screams increased when tiny versions of the plant that had sown their seeds inside him, sprouted from his hand and halfway up his arm.

Barely hearing Pepijn’s screams above the plethora of sounds around him, Guillermo pulled on the rope when the attached man began to struggle. Confused as to why he couldn’t pull the man up, he kept a tight grip on the rope as he moved to the rail. He gasped when he saw the stalks attached and wrapped around his friend. He gasped again when he noticed the strange flower looking at him and the blood around its gaping mouth and staining its ring of sharp, hooked teeth.

Guillermo released the rope when it was suddenly dragged through his hand with such force and speed, his skin blistered. Screaming, Pepijn splashed onto the blanket of kelp. Guillermo unhooked the lantern from the rail and aimed it at his friend being carried across the vicious kelp by the stalks. Shocked by what he witnessed, Guillermo turned away when his friend disappeared into the darkness and his screams were carried away by the wind. His gaze around the ship picked out other teams experiencing the kelp’s retaliation. He headed for the nearest to see if he could help.

Standing on the quarterdeck, Fokke had observed the teams failed attempts to rid the ship of the kelp by pulling free the stalks. His disposition improved when knives were brought into play to sever their hold on his ship. Cutting them loose was the solution. Then the carnage began. He stared in disbelief at the kelp attacking the men leaning over the rail. Just when he thought it couldn’t get any worse, stalks shot over the side, latched onto two unfortunate men and yanked them overboard before anyone could react. As quickly as it had started, it was over.

Though he knew he should do something, the incident was so far outside the realm of normality, he was at a loss at what that should be. Instead, he watched the crew draw knives and back away from the rails. Their eyes dancing nervously to every creak or movement.

The boatswain rushing onto the quarterdeck, shook him from his trance. He turned to the ashen faced man and for the first time in the twelve years that he had known his first mate, saw fear in his eyes.

“How many did we lose?” asked Fokke.

“Nine, Sir,” answered Hans. “The kelp’s thicker aft and has climbed higher, it grabbed two of the crew by the rail and dragged them over.”

“Yes, I saw that,” replied Fokke, the scene replaying in his head. “Dead, I suppose.”

Hans nodded. “Even if they’re alive it won’t be for long and we can’t launch a boat in this storm and with…that down there. If they can reach us up here, they’ll have no trouble attacking a boat.”

“What do we do now,” asked Drasbart, as shaken as everyone else onboard who had witnessed the carnage. “If we can’t cut it off, how do we free ourselves from its grasp?”

He received no reply.

“What I find strange, is that all the teams seem to have been attacked at the same time,” said Hans. “It was as if the attack was coordinated.”

With creased brow, the captain looked at Hans. “Are you saying the seaweed is intelligent?”

Hans shrugged. “Maybe? It isn’t normal, I know that. Seaweed doesn’t eat meat or attack men and ships.”

“That’s as maybe, but as we’ve just witnessed, this stuff does.” Fokke stroked his beard, a sure sign he was worried. “That might not be our only problem. Those things on the leaves we thought were seed pods don’t contain seeds, but small creatures, vicious buggers. I caught one and have it sealed in a rum cask in my quarters.”

Hans groaned. “Could this voyage get any worse?”

Glimpsing movement from the corner of his eye, Drasbart turned and gasped at the stalks slithering over the rail. “I think it just has.”