“Okay,” Dirk said, slipping off his tank and weight belt. “Don’t enjoy yourself too much,” he chided, then turned and headed down the beach.

He wasted no time, realizing Trevor was in real danger. Jogging in his dry suit, he crossed the distance to the structure in short order. Summer was right, it was a small fishing hut, used for overnight excursions by members of a local fishing club. A simple log structure, it was smaller than a one-car garage. Dirk noted a fi fty-fi ve-gallon drum and a cord of chopped wood stacked along an exterior wall. He approached the front door and promptly kicked it open, finding a single cot, a wood-burning stove, and a fish smoker. Spotting a box of matches and a small stack of dry wood, he promptly ignited a small fire in the stove, then hustled back down the beach.

Trevor was sitting on a log shirtless as Summer removed his soaking pants. Dirk helped him to his feet, and with Summer on the other side, they half dragged him toward the cabin. As they moved, Dirk and Summer both gazed out at the strait. The white clouds of CO2 were still surging from the water like a volcanic eruption. The vapor had swelled into a towering mass that stretched across the strait, rising over fifty feet into the air. They noted a reddish tinge in the water and saw dozens of dead fish bobbing on the surface.

“It must be the LNG tanker,” Dirk said. “They’re probably pumping it from a terminal on the other side of the island.”

“But why do it in broad daylight?”

“Because they know we’re here,” he said quietly, a touch of anger in his voice.

They reached the cabin and lay Trevor down on the cot. Summer covered him with an old wool blanket while Dirk brought in some of the cut wood from outside. The stove had already started warming the small hut, and Dirk fed more wood on the fire until a small blaze was roaring. He stood to fetch some more wood, when a deep bellow echoed in the distance, reverberating off the island hillsides.

Dirk and Summer rushed outside and looked up the strait in horror. Two miles to the north, a large Alaskan cruise liner was making its way down the passage, heading directly toward the lethal bank of carbon dioxide gas.

Chapter 45

45

THE FRENCH CRUISE LINER DAUPHINE WAS SCHED- uled for a weeklong voyage up the Alaskan coast before returning to its home port of Vancouver. But a major outbreak of gastrointestinal illness had sickened nearly three hundred passengers, forcing the captain to shorten the trip in fear that a large number would require hospitalization.