The Ghost Ship (MOSAR Book 3)

by C. R. Turner

  Several hours later, we’ve retraced our steps from the previous day and have the Butcher’s starship in our sights. I scan the surrounding terrain, making sure there’s no one around and that we’re not walking straight into a trap. I slide my Ashra off my back and hold it in my lap as we approach. The starship has a similar look to the Timberwolf, albeit much smaller.

  The Hurricanes pull up behind us and everyone climbs out. Bradley walks to the rear, opens the doors and rummages around in the back before heading our way. Carrying a plastic explosive charge the size of a tissue box, he walks past, Taylor right on his heels with her Ashra shouldered. Everyone watches as Bradley climbs up the landing gear strut, deep inside the undercarriage well of the starship, while Taylor stands guard. A minute later he emerges.

  I sling my Ashra, pull my scarf down around my neck and smirk when Bradley and Taylor return. “Well, that would ruin your day!”

  They both chuckle as they head back to the Hurricanes.

  We continue heading north up a long steep hill, and I smile in awe of how effortlessly Max and Jade take it in their stride. A few minutes later, we crest the hill. The other side leads down into a valley with a small village lying in the centre. I wipe the rain off my Core-link. The hills and valley are well defined on the Timberwolf’s topography scan, which even shows tiny bumps on the terrain that I suspect are houses. Given the steepness of the surrounding hills, there appears to be no choice but to go through the village.

  Hawkins nudges Jade into a walk and I follow. The canines skid in the loose black soil of the steep decline. At times their legs are straight and stiff as we slide, their feet triggering tiny avalanches.

  Hawkins pulls his Ashra off his back and holds it in his lap. I don’t want to terrify the locals with my weapon, but I know my training, so follow suit. The village is like something from an old history book. Smoke rises from chimney stacks on a dozen or so scattered buildings – mostly stone cottages with black shingle roofs, plus a few stores and barns. Timber carts filled with straw stand idle. An old man stands alongside a cart with a pitchfork in hand, soaked clothes clinging to his scrawny body, his eyes throwing daggers. Twenty to thirty townsfolk who were going about their chores a moment ago stop and stare. Max and Jade stare back. I smile at the canine’s comical behaviour. I figure letting my smile out can’t hurt.

  These people are all wearing homemade clothes similar to the type I’d expect to see in my hometown of Bessomi, but poorly made, ill-fitting, patched together from several garments. On the veranda of a storefront with fish hanging from a rack, two kids stand side by side holding hands, one in a grey dress, the other in long grubby pants – brother and sister. They point at us as they smile and whisper to one another. I imagine to survive on this rock, family would be vital. As we reach the edge of the town, I glance back over my shoulder. Most of the townsfolk are still staring at us, and I wonder if they know why we’re here.

  An hour after leaving the village, the terrain has become mountainous again. I spot tyre tracks and point. Hawkins gives me the thumbs up and we follow them – they’re heading in the same direction as the Butcher’s target on my Core-link. The rocky hills are easy going for Max and Jade, but the chewed-out tracks in the loose rock suggest the Butcher’s old four-wheel has found it tough going. Hawkins pulls up.

  Bradley lowers his window, studies the tracks, then reads his Core-link. “Alright, we’ll split up from here. Stiles, take the north-east route around these hills. Hawkins, Stinson, you guys continue up to that peak.”

  Halfway up, I find a small lake and direct Max over to it. Max and Jade lap up the water as Hawkins and I survey the land. I’ve never seen anything like this before – it’s wretched, not a single tree for miles. The only place that comes close is the peaks of the Seration Mountain Range.

  I hold my wrist up and read my Core-link. “We’re about a mile south of the target.”

  “Hawkins, Bradley, contact?”

  “Go ahead, Hawkins.”

  “We’re getting close, sir.”

  “We’re stopping short from the north-west. Are you able to set up an over-watch?” Bradley asks.

  Hawkins looks around. “Yeah.”

  “Alright, let us know when you’re in position.”

  Hawkins signs off. “Pos, sir. Final.”

  I follow Hawkins up the south face of the hilly peak as it continues to climb for several hundred feet. When we reach the top, there’s a good flat area where we can set up camp if need be, and the view couldn’t be better. It’s still drizzling as the wind howls between the craggy peak. Hawkins and I dismount and cautiously approach the north face of the hilly peak until we can see down into the next valley. There’s a large dilapidated stone building with arches and spires in the centre of the valley. It’s not a house, but I don’t think it’s a place of worship either. The old Union four-wheel drive is parked out front, and the Butcher is unloading gear. Hawkins pulls his rifle off his back and starts setting up. He unfolds the bipod on the forestock of his rifle and places it on the ground, then lies on his stomach and scrunches up his face as he stares through the scope. “We’re in position,” he calls over the Core-link.

  Bradley returns the call. “We’re about two miles to the north-west of the target.”

  Hawkins swivels his rifle. “Gotcha.”

  I sit and rest my back against a rock, reading my Core-link to confirm the Butcher’s location. There’s one red crosshairs on the screen – the Butcher, and one greyed-out that’s flashing – his four-wheel drive. The topography accurately reflects the depression in the hills where the old stone building is. The red crosshairs turns grey and flashes.

  I blink and zoom in. “Hawk.”

  Hawkins rolls over on his side and eyes me.

  I get up and run over. “The primary target just turned grey.”

  Hawkins studies his own Core-link. “Hell!”

  “I don’t understand. It hasn’t been eighteen hours. Shouldn’t the tag last longer than that?”

  Hawkins makes the call. “Bradley.”

  “Yeah, we see it.”

  Still baffled, I ask, “What does it mean?”

  “Hawkins, keep over-watch. Everybody else move in,” Bradley orders.

  I run to Max and climb on while he’s still lying. Max leaps to his feet, and I rib him into a run. The two Hurricanes barrel down the northern hills. Max and I charge down the hill, leaping over huge boulders and skidding in the loose rock. When it flattens out, I rib Max again and he takes off at breakneck speed, his paws tearing up the loose, gravelly soil.

  We cross the open ground in no time at all, Max skidding to a halt in front of the old building. I leap off and pull my Ashra off my back, set it to stun and shoulder my weapon. My heart’s pounding and my breathing’s rapid. The building’s a picture of darkness: dark grey – nearly black – stone walls, black roof, a solid timber door – black. I hear the Hurricanes crunching in the loose soil as they pull up, and seconds later Bradley and Kelly reach my position. Assured that a striker force prime and striker scout are backing me up, I reach for the front door. Bradley pats me on the shoulder, and I pull on the wrought-iron handle. The door creaks open. A vein in my forehead throbs. We storm the building.

  I breathe in musty air as I stare down my Ashra’s sights. The room is scattered with furniture that looks hundreds of years old. Landscapes of this horrible place hang on the walls. We scan the building room by room, but quickly discern that the Butcher’s gone. How could he have escaped? I half lower my Ashra as the rest of SF Mustang enters.

  Bradley shakes his head in disbelief. “Okay … how is that possible?”

  I read my Core-link. With hours till the G-ray Tag is supposed to wear off, I stare at Kelly, then Bradley. “There must be an escape tunnel. He must have gone underground.”

  As they continue to search, I head for the door. Maybe the Butcher will pop up outside somewhere.

  I press the button on one of my Core-links earpieces. “Hawkins,
he’s given us the slip. There has to be an escape tunnel. I’m going to start a search of the immediate area.”

  “I’ve got you covered,” Hawkins replies.

  “Stinson, be careful,” Bradley orders.

  “Pos, sir. Will do.”

  I mount Max and head out a couple hundred feet, then start circling the building. If there is a tunnel, I can’t imagine it being very long in this hard rock. I clasp my Ashra tight, my nerves on edge. Hawkins’ giant rifle will do me little good if the Butcher gets in close. I unclip my thigh holster so my knife’s ready to go.

  When I make it back to the start, I increase my radius several hundred feet and continue. I run larger and larger sweeps for over an hour but find nothing. Half a mile from the stone building, there appears to be a cave at the foot of more hills to the east. I head over for a closer look.

  Max looks in the same direction as me, his ears pricked. The wind howls around the jagged rocks causing the drizzle to swirl chaotically.

  “Stinson, Bradley, contact?” I wait for a response.

  “Bradley, go ahead.”

  “I have a cave to the east of the building.” I turn my Ashra light on and shine it into the darkness. “Looks like it runs deep underground.”

  “Hold at your position,” Bradley says. “We’re coming to you.”

  I remember hearing stories about the Butcher of Blackrock when I was little. Mostly other kids making up stories, like why the occupants of a house had disappeared: “They were skinned alive by the Butcher of Blackrock, then ground up for dog food”. A distortion no doubt, but I can’t help wondering how much of it’s true. A chill runs through me as the wind hammers my face with freezing drizzle.

  One of the Hurricanes approaches. Bradley, Taylor, Kelly and Scott climb out. Bradley sees the cave, and I dismount.

  “Nice work, Walker.” Bradley pats me on the back as he heads to the cave’s entrance.

  I get Max to lie down, then join the others. Looking back down the hill at the stone building a couple thousand feet away, I can’t imagine the cave would be connected in any way.

  “Alright, lets it do it,” Bradley says, taking the lead.

  Bradley and Kelly move in, then Taylor and me with Scott covering our rear. The craggy cave angles downhill for a few hundred feet. Our lights zoom around the darkness as we try to survey our foreign surroundings. I spot a wide fissure in the rocks and stick my head in. The light only makes it twenty or thirty feet before the smaller cave disappears around a bend.

  “What’ve you got, Stinson?” Taylor asks as she looks over my shoulder.

  “A smaller cave running off … the target could be anywhere. Should we go down there?”

  “We’ll go down to the bend,” Taylor replies, with a flick of her head.

  I climb through the fissure and wait for Taylor. The rocky ground is a nightmare, sharp and uneven rocks nearly twisting our ankles with every step. I shine my light around the bend to find it heads back uphill and narrows.

  “No go.” I try to illuminate Taylor’s face without pointing my Ashra directly at her. “These hills could be filled with caves. How are we supposed to find him if the tag can’t be picked up underground?”

  I can just make out the resignation on Taylor’s face. “We can’t.”

  Taylor and I meet the others back at the main cave.

  “Any luck?” asks Bradley.

  “Neg, sir,” Taylor replies.

  Bradley leads us back up the incline to the cave entrance where Max is patiently waiting. Bradley looks out over the land, drizzle running down his face. He reads his Core-link. “Alright, we’ll head back to the building and give it a few hours. Maybe he’ll raise his ugly head if he thinks we’ve cleared out.”

  When we return to the stone building, Bradley asks Taylor, “Stocky, can you Core-link both R12s to Hawk?” Bradley looks at me and winks.

  I frown, wondering what he’s talking about.

  “Pos, sir,” Taylor replies with a tiny smile as she flicks through the displays on her Core-link wrist device.

  Am I the only one who doesn’t know what they’re talking about? They’re all closed mouthed.

  Suddenly, both Hurricanes engines start simultaneously with no one behind the wheels. A few seconds after that, they drive off, albeit slowly, in the general direction of Hawkins’ over-watch position.

  Bradley has a cheesy grin. “How do you like that?”

  Kelly and I chuckle.

  Once the vehicles are out of sight, we turn and head back to the building where we meet up with the rest of the teams. I lead Max inside and get him to lie down to one side so he’s not in the way. The building is fairly big and is of a strange design. It doesn’t appear to be a house, but I don’t know what else it would be. The timber rafters are a dark brown, almost black, colour and there are wrought-iron candle holders hanging from the roof. Stone corbels and arches support handcrafted timber columns that extend high into spires. Minimal light filters in through the stained-glass windows, making it gloomy. Narrow hallways lead off to even darker rooms.

  This place is going to give my nightmares, nightmares! I find a bedroom and step in for a closer look at a painting that hangs above the bed. Its aged surface is covered in cracks. The subject is gory: four grotesque monsters tearing a naked person to pieces, limb by limb. I assume they’re monsters. Surely such things don’t actually exist.

  “Nice painting,” Kelly says as he walks in behind me.

  I startle, suddenly realising how tightly wound I am.

  Kelly looks up at the painting and makes a noise of disgust. “I wonder if this is the Butcher’s bed.”

  I shrug as my heart rate returns to normal. “Have you seen anything like this before?”

  “Sadly, yes. I’ve seen torture chambers … mass graves … you name it. As a striker scout, I’ve been there and seen it all.”

  I study his face for a moment. He seems so normal, unfazed. “How do you deal with all the darkness?”

  “Compartmentalisation.”

  I raise a corner of my mouth as I think back to Sam’s same answer.

  Kelly adds, “I tell myself that this life isn’t normal, and I won’t allow it to poison me. I put it away in a box and bury it. I recognise it happened, I saw it, but it’s buried now, and I won’t let it ruin my life. I never stop looking forward.”

  “Does it work?” I ask.

  “Mostly,” Kelly says. “Whenever I get the opportunity to help someone, I take it, and take solace in the fact that I’ve made the world a slightly better place. I cherish those moments. Plus, I spend an inordinate amount of time daydreaming about palm trees and white sandy beaches.”

  We share a smile. I hang my head and stare at the horrible black stone floor, trying to take my mind away to somewhere beautiful. I picture returning to Arcadia when all this is over: a white winter on Arcadia, the serenity and peace, the wholeness that I feel when I’m home.

  My mind wanders back to why we’re here and the footage we captured of the Butcher. “Do you know why the Butcher has a gold jaw?”

  Kelly nods. “Yeah. He captured a striker scout, one of the best the Union has ever had. The Butcher underestimated who he was dealing with. They got into a brawl, and the striker scout cracked a steel pipe across the Butcher’s face … took his lower jaw clean off.”

  I squirm. “Awh … damn! I’m surprised the Butcher even survived that.”

  “Yeah. The striker scout wasn’t so lucky though. He was rescued but the injuries he’d already sustained were too severe. He died a few days later of multiple organ failure.”

  I shake my head, beginning to understand the gravity of who we’re hunting.

  Pacing back and forth, after spending the past couple hours holed up in the building, I read my Core-link again.

  “Stinson, stop it,” Bradley orders.

  “Sorry, sir. But eighteen hours have passed since we targeted the Butcher. Even if he surfaces now, we won’t be able to track him. I can’t just
sit here when he could be getting away.”

  “You don’t know that. For all we know, he’s holed up in a cave somewhere waiting us out,” Bradley replies calmly. He checks his Core-link. “Bradley, Hawkins, contact?”

  “Hawkins, go ahead, sir.”

  “Have you seen any movement?”

  “Neg, sir. Only rain, oh, and … more rain, sir.”

  “Stay alert, Hawk,” Bradley replies, light-heartedly.

  All eyes are on Bradley.

  He lifts his Core-link again. “Alright, Taylor. Recall the Hurricanes. We’ll do another sweep of the area, then head back to the Timberwolf, past the tertiary target. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”

  As we file out of the building, I look around one last time, hoping to spot the Butcher. I scan the sky for any sign of Blackrock’s star. Nothing. I don’t think I’ve seen it once since we landed on this hellhole. The overcast sky is darkening. I note the time on my Core-link; it’ll be getting dark in a few hours. We’ll have to hurry to make it back to the Timberwolf before then. As I mount Max, both Hurricanes come into view. It’s a peculiar sight, seeing them both motoring along with no one inside. When they pull up, the teams climb in.

  I head over to Bradley’s Hurricane. “Sir, I was thinking of heading up to Hawkins’ position by travelling through those hills to the east.”

  Bradley looks over my shoulder toward the steep hills. “Yeah, alright. Make sure you maintain a line of sight with Hawkins at all times.”

  “Pos, sir.”

  I turn Max around and look back up the hill toward Hawkins’ over-watch position. He’ll likely have me in his sights. As the Hurricanes do a final sweep north of the building, I head east. The drizzle has stopped, and the clouds have descended, obscuring the mountain tops again. Ghostly wisps of clouds float over the rocky terrain.

  Max runs up a steep embankment. I pull him up once the ground levels out, and we watch the four-wheel drives trundle along in a sweeping pattern in the distance. I turn Max around and head further up through the hills. The terrain’s a mix of large boulders, jagged protrusions and smaller loose rocks – all of them black. One false step here and you could get seriously hurt. There’s a smattering of moss but mostly the area resembles a dead, lifeless world. I can’t believe people live here.