Black wind

helicopter to a hover, Dirk and Dahlgren carefully examined the ground surrounding the station for any unusual signs. Dirk eyed the body of Max the husky still lying outside the hut’s door and it brought back to mind the look of pain and horror on the dead men’s faces inside when he and Dahlgren first landed at the station earlier in the day. He carefully shelved his emotions and shifted his mental motor to discovering the source of the deadly toxic breeze.
    Dirk nodded past the windscreen to the right. “The prevailing winds come from the west, so the source would likely have come from farther up the coast. Or possibly from offshore.”
    “Makes sense. The CDC team was camped to the east of here and they obviously caught a less lethal dose of the mystery gas,” Dahlgren replied while peering at the ground through low-power binoculars.
    Dirk applied a gentle force to the cyclic control lever and the helicopter edged forward and away from the yellow structure. For the next hour the two men strained eyeballs searching the grassy island for signs of a natural or man-made origin to the toxin. Dirk traced wide semicircular arcs north and south across the island, expanding their way west until they reached the western coast and returned to the vicinity of the Coast Guard station.
    “Nothing but grass and rocks,” Dahlgren grumbled. “The seals can keep it, as far as I’m concerned.”
    “Speaking of which, take a look down there,” Dirk replied, pointing to a small gravel beach ahead of them.
    A half-dozen brown sea lions lay stretched out on the ground, seemingly enjoying the rays of the late afternoon sun. Dahlgren looked closer his forehead suddenly wrinkling in puzzlement.
    “Geez, they’re not moving. They’ve all bought it, too.”
    “This thing must not have come from Yunaska but from the sea, or the next island over.”
    “Amukta is the next rock pile to the west,” Dahlgren replied, running his finger across a chart of the region.
    Dirk could clearly see the dirty gray outline of the island on the horizon. “Looks to be about twenty miles from here.”
    Eyeing the helicopter’s fuel gauge, he continued, “I think we’ve got time for a quick gander before our fuel runs low. Okay if you miss your pedicure treatment in the ship’s salon?”
    “Sure I’ll just reschedule it with my body wrap tomorrow,” Dahlgren replied.
    “I’ll let Burch know where we’re headed,” Dirk said, dialing up the ship’s radio frequency.
    “Tell him to hold supper in the galley,” Dahlgren added while rubbing his stomach. “I’m working up an appetite taking in all this scenery.”
    As Dirk radioed the survey ship, he guided the Sikorsky toward the island of Amukta, skimming low over the open water. The powerful helicopter, designed for offshore oil transport, flew straight as a rail under Dirk’s firm hand. After cruising steadily for ten minutes, Dahlgren quietly lifted an arm and pointed out the cockpit window to an object on the horizon. It was a white speck, growing larger by the second, until it slowly revealed itself as a large boat complete with trailing wake. Without a word, Dirk applied gentle pressure to his left pedal control until the helicopter eased about on the same line as the boat. Approaching rapidly, they could see it was a steel-hulled fishing trawler, running to the southwest at full bore.
    “Now, there’s a tub calling out for a little spit and polish,” Pitt remarked as he eased off the throttle to match speeds with the boat.
    Though not appearing particularly old, the fishing vessel had obvious signs of hard use over the years. Scrapes, dents, and grease marks abounded both on the hull and throughout the open deck. Its original coating of white paint was worn thin in the spots where rust had not yet declared victory. By outward appearance, she looked as tired as the frayed bald tires hanging over her sides like a string of donuts. Yet like many disheveled-appearing work boats her twin diesel engines were newly rebuilt and pushed the hulk hard through the waves with a barely a wisp of black smoke from the funnel.
    Dirk studied the boat carefully, noting with interest that no flags flew from the mast, which might identify nationality. Both the bow sides and the stern were absent a ship name or home port. As he perused the stern deck, two Asian men in blue jumpsuits stepped into view and peered at the helicopter with looks of angst.
    “Don’t look overly friendly now, do