“We kill them before they kill us,” Gunner answered, and pointed at the second torpedo.
Tossing aside the binoculars, she leapt at the weapon and in her sudden panic did everything wrong. She pulled the release rope first, but only remembered to arm the torpedo once it was in the water and zipping back at the oncoming boat. She ran for the stern, jumped over the rail and held on with one hand as she stuck the other as far out as she could.
Her fingers slid down the tube and just managed to catch hold of one of the straps.
“Hurry,” Gunner hissed. The binoculars had thumped against his leg and with a tearing feeling deep inside him, he pushed himself up and was watching behind them. He could see the alarm on the other boat. The captain had not missed Emily dropping the torpedo in the water and was getting his own going.
Emily flicked on the detonator and as she released the gas from the fire extinguisher it buzzed away—two seconds later, the Corsair’s torpedo was in the water and was jetting right for them.
“How do we go faster?” Emily cried. With the wind coming down at them from the northwest, she couldn’t put the Dead Fish before the wind because that would mean heading at an angle even closer to the onrushing torpedo. She tried making little adjustments, but the boat struggled harder in the light winds.
“We might make it,” Gunner said as the two torpedoes passed each other. The Corsair torpedo was slowly eating up the distance. “But it’s going to be close.”
Not a second after he said that, there was a great heavy thump at the bow, nearly knocking Emily off her feet. She stared forward, aghast. All of her maneuverings had put her in the path of a wallowing zombie that weighed half a ton. It was so big and the Dead Fish was still shipping so much water that when it flung up a hand, it easily grabbed the rail, causing the entire ship to slew in the direction of the wind.
Their speed died away. “Steer the torpedo!” Emily cried, tossing the controls to Gunner and racing for the bow. She only slowed to grab the boat hook, which she used to jab down at the raging zombie. It was a stupid, futile gesture and yet in her desperation she managed to spear one of its greyed-over eyes and when it reached for the hook it slid away from the rail and went under the boat.
Emily could hear it as it rumbled beneath the hull and she could feel it when it struck the keel, which projected down from the center of the hull like a fin. She lost all feeling when the zombie got stuck on the keel. The boat shuddered so badly that the mast began to sing a high metallic sound.
“Come on! Let go,” she whined. It wouldn’t. The beast had a hold of the keel and now their speed was half what it had been. Emily looked back in panic as the Corsair torpedo came steadily on. They had maybe two minutes before the zombie beneath the boat would be the least of their worries.
Just like her father would have, Emily made a split decision and acted on it. She vaulted over the bow and plunged into the dark waters with the boathook as her only weapon.
Chapter 17
Bainbridge Island, Washington
“There’s another one!” The crowd on the wall sucked in a collective breath as more Corsair ships appeared in the murk. There had to be six hundred people dangerously crammed along that section of the wall and it wouldn’t take much to send dozens to their death. And yet, no one stirred and no one spoke. They watched the big black ships in endless dread.
“What do you think they want?” The question, spoken in a high carrying voice, shook Deanna Grey from the cipher that had given her the name, Archimedes. She had been the only one not watching. Quickly she hid the paper and straightened up, setting her features so that they radiated calm assurance.
It was hardly how she felt. What do they want? It was an absurd question. The Corsairs were there to take over the island and enslave the population. It was so obvious that it didn’t even need to be stated. What was worse than the question was that no one laughed the young man off the wall for asking it. Instead many of them shrugged, lying to themselves that they didn’t know.
“We’ll find out, don’t worry,” Andrea Clary told the crowd. She had managed to get her initial fear in check and was once again in politician mode. “The council has this under control.” This was the worst lie yet. What possible control did Andrea think they had? Some soaked in the lie gratefully, while others grimaced, their fear turning their features sour, and some looked lost. The overwhelming feeling radiating from the crowd was one of defeat. It was as if a long-expected doom had finally made itself known.
Deanna did not join Andrea, Wayne and a few others who were trying to calm the crowd. They didn’t need calming. They needed someone to get them angry, to light a fire in them. “But not now,” she whispered, sensing the mood of the crowd and knowing that her lone voice would not be able to sway them, especially when the rest of the council was pandering.
Standing next to her and looking as whipped as the rest was her friend, Veronica. “Could you gather the rest of the council?” Deanna asked her. “We need to meet ASAP.” Even with an impending threat, gathering the council on short notice was like herding cats. Each thought that what they were doing at the moment was the most important thing in the world.
It took roughly an hour and by that time, the sun had set, the outer chamber of the Chinese restaurant was packed with citizens. They continued to arrive in ever-increasing numbers by the minute with each announcing the sighting of yet another Corsair ship.
Wisely, Deanna chose to hold the meeting in the small private room. “The war is on us.” It was a simple statement and strangely it affected Deanna more than any of them. The Black Captain had laughed off her threat. He wasn’t afraid of them and he was right not to be. The spy must have been feeding him info on the sorry state of morale on the island. He had nothing to fear, especially as he had Emily. She could be on any of the boats and what would Deanna do if the first ship to attack had Emily tied at the bow?
Deanna knew she would fold.
That time had not come. The Corsair ships had arrived too soon for any of them to be carrying her daughter. Certainly, a ship could make the voyage from Hoquiam in a day as long as it had perfect winds, and the winds had been far from perfect.
This meant that she still had a chance.
“The facts are obvious,” she stated. “This is the buildup to a full-scale invasion. It will happen sooner rather than later. Wayne, are we prepared?”
He gunned his throat, clearing it loudly like a car revving its engine. He was in full throttle when Andrea broke in. “Hold on. We don’t know what’s going on. They could be here scrounging the city for supplies for all we know. They could be attempting to open up a dialogue. It would be ham-handed to do it like this, but when have Corsairs ever been accused of being smart?” She was clutching at straws with a tight, pert smile on her face.
“And we still have our wall,” Deberha said. “There’s no way they’ll try to attack. We’ll eat them up. Right? That’s what everyone says.”
Then why is everyone so afraid? Deanna thought.
“All true,” Deanna conceded. “They could be here for other reasons besides war, and our wall is considered to be impervious. It’s not, however. The old military technology could bring it down in minutes. We have to be prepared. If they’re here for trading, great. If they’re here for scavenging, that’s not so great since we have claimed the entire city, but it’s something we can deal with. If they’re here for war, we need to meet them head on.”
Unless they have Emily. Then all bets were off. Until then she had to do the right thing.
“Head on?” Jonathan Dunnam asked. He looked like he was made of slowly melting vanilla ice cream. “That’s not possible.” He looked to the others for confirmation.
“It is possible,” Deanna replied. “And it’s necessary. Jillybean has drawn up a number of attack scenarios by the Corsairs. They’re in the folders before you. The first winter attack option calls for a slow death from starvation. As well as we’ve done in cultivating our available la
nd, we do not have much in the way of winter crops and so fifty-two percent of the food we eat in the winter months comes from hunting and fishing. The graph on the second page shows the personal and communal reserves available. Even with a fifteen percent rationing cut in caloric intake, Jillybean estimates that we’ll burn through our reserves by January tenth. The next graph shows a twenty-five percent cut, which is starvation level mind you, and gives us only another month.”
Jonathan raised a hand. “But they really could be here just for scavenging.” He was desperately hoping this was a fact. They all knew who the Corsairs would target for reprisals if the wall ever came down.
Deanna ignored him. “This third chart,” she went on sharply, “shows what happens if we start planting fetticus, which is about the only thing we can grow with a planting that starts tomorrow. As you can see, even a bumper crop won’t do us much good. We’ll be down to about 500 calories a day throughout March and April, and by then, those of us who are still alive will resemble scarecrows. Jillybean has been warning us for years, but we didn’t listen.”
“As true as that is, it doesn’t help us against the Corsairs, now,” Wayne French said. “They are our immediate problem. And starving may be preferable to being slaughtered wholesale. They control the Sound. Do any of your charts take that into consideration? All we have to fight them with are a couple of dozen rinky-dink little fishing boats. How on earth can we meet them head on like this?”
Every head around the table went up and down with exaggerated earnestness as if they were being controlled by an invisible puppeteer. All except for Deanna’s head. Jillybean had thought of this very predicament and as always, she had a solution. “We can win by acting right now, tonight in fact. If we fill our fishing boats with men and supplies, we can occupy the western part of the Sound before they do.”
She got up and went to the map of Bainbridge which had been ignored for the last ten years ever since it had been hung on the wall. She ran her finger along the wonky stretch of water that separated the island from western Washington. In many places the water was no more than three-hundred yards across. “This area is the key to both starving us out and launching attacks. If we work diligently, we can have two-thousand of us there before sunrise.”
“That’s almost all of us!” Andrea cried. “Are we going to just leave the island defenseless?”
“No. We’d have close to three hundred adults left.” All of whom were old, lame or burdened with small children—she made sure to gloss over that! “We’d also have over two hundred children to help out.” As she told them this, the entire council made the same cringing face; even Veronica.
Rosanna Landeros, who had two children, shook her head, her one long eyebrow pointed down into a V. “This has to be a Jillybean idea. It’s, it’s just too crazy to be anyone else’s. You want us to leave children to man the walls, while the rest of us duke it out with the Corsairs in a fight we can’t possibly win. Count me out. I’m a firm no.”
Andrea and Karen Hentz both shook their heads. Deberha looked deep in thought, while Veronica wore a pained expression. She wanted to side with her long-time friend, but she absolutely hated the plan. It was insane. Next to her, Jonathan waited to hear what Wayne French had to say. He was the military leader, after all.
Wayne cleared his throat, sniffed, and made two brief attempts to speak before he finally spoke in a harsh metallic tone, “I’m with the rest. This plan has too many holes. Think about it, if one of their ships gets wind of us while we’re crossing over, we’ll be destroyed. And if we even make it to land, how do you propose we beat the Corsairs? Did Jillybean put that into a chart as well?”
“No. I believe she wanted us to do some of our own thinking. As to how to beat them, that would be your job. 2,000 soldiers who know these lands should be able to beat a bunch of rabble like the Corsairs. How many could they have landed? Three hundred? Four? If we take a chance now, we can win.”
“Winning one battle doesn’t mean we’ll win the war!” Wayne drummed his fingers on the table and then angrily shook his head. “No. I’m a no.”
Jonathan was a no as well. Veronica wouldn’t look at Deanna as she whispered the word.
“I am a no, too,” Deberha said. “Only what happens if I am? Doesn’t that mean something?”
“It means the council has lost confidence in the Governor,” Andrea said. “It means we’ll form a new government around a new governor. One of us will take over until the next election.” Eyes shifted away, all save for Wayne’s. Andrea told him, “No. It’s a bad idea. One shouldn’t be both the military leader and the Governor. If no one else will stand up, I guess I’ll do the…”
Deberha stood up. “I don’t want the job, but I think Deanna is still the best among us. So, I guess I change my vote.”
Veronica stood as well. “I’m changing mine as well.” She tried to give Deanna a smile. Confused was the only way to describe it. “If we’re not going to go with her plan, what do we do?”
“I say we wait,” Andrea answered. “I say we give them until noon tomorrow to tell us their intentions. Then, if they don’t, we send a delegation to make our demands.”
A vote was taken on this. Deanna’s vote made it unanimous. They would wait and do nothing, while the Corsairs took up strategic positions all around them. It was a stupid plan, which meant that Deanna would have to take matters into her own hands while she still could.
The meeting broke up and she allowed Veronica and Deberha to walk her home. “There’s still a spy on the loose,” she told them, cementing the idea in their heads. In truth, there was more than one. She would have to play the part of a spy; she would have to be slick, cunning and stealthy. To that end, she went about her nightly routine without change, even going so far as to get in bed, where she stared at the clock until it was two in the morning.
When the chimes struck for the second time, she slipped out of bed, dressed in the dark, gathered up a small bag that held a flashlight and a variety of tools, and went out into the night. It was crisply cold, and that was good. The real spy, if she was out there, would have gone home hours before.
As likely as that was, Deanna wasn’t taking any chances. She went from shadow to shadow until she arrived at Jillybean’s school. Here, she used even extra caution and was so quiet that not even the imprisoned zombies heard her.
Password: Archimedes. The computer screen blinded her as it woke. Although she was familiar with computer basics, she was unprepared for the massive amount of information stored in this one. Jillybean’s screen was packed with folder after folder, each one headed with something obvious. One read Pancreatic Surgical Procedures, another said Sound Deprivation Experiment 3.0.
“Cracking Chamber Diagrams.” She made a face, wondering if that meant something about torturing a person. It turned out that it involved making gas and kerosene and things like that from crude oil. None mentioned anything like Operation Otter Pop.
At least at first glance, because it turned out there were file folders within file folders. Thousands of them. Each held more files.
“Damn it, Jillybean. You must really hate me.” Deanna started going through the files, one after another, until her eyes were red and she began to yawn three or four times a minute. She wasn’t so much tired as she was bored. Click, click, scan. Click, click, scan. Endlessly. It got so bad that she actually wanted to open a number of files that caught her attention.
Alternative Water Sources seemed like something she should read. Historical Battles: Forest Settings was another. There was no time. She did not like idea of trying to blow up the wall during daytime. It would make blaming the spy difficult.
After two hours, she had only gotten a third of the way through the files and realized she wasn’t going to make it. With her luck, she figured it would be the very last file. “Hmm,” she said, as she clicked on the last file. It opened up to twenty-two others. This time when she said, “Hmm,” it wasn’t nearly so optimistic of a sound.
<
br /> This too was a dead end. She decided to take a different route, pretty sure that computers had functions and processes designed to help a person out. “Ah, a search feature!”
She typed in the ridiculous name and came up empty. Next, she tried each individual word by itself. Operation gave her sixteen files, Otter, only one, and Pop had nothing. Ten minutes later, she sat back in frustration. “Damn it, Jillybean, why’d you have to make this so tough?” It shouldn’t have been this difficult. Jillybean hadn’t given Deanna the password simply so she could learn about cracking chambers and Revolutionary War battles.
“So, the answer is here. I just have to look at this as a riddle or a puzzle. Like the password, she’ll have used something that will catch my eye and not someone else’s.” She scanned the folders on the first screen once more. The answer jumped out at her. On the second to last column was a file that read Surgical Teckniques. For anyone who knew Jillybean, the misspelling was a bit of a jolt. The girl was a perfectionist.
Opening this folder gave her access to thirty-three more. “Ha. Deep Vain Thrombosis? I don’t think so.” She didn’t know what a thrombosis was, but Vain should have been Vein. This folder opened onto forty-one individual files. The fifth one read Possible herbal Remedies. Herbal was the only word on the page that was not capitalized.
Inside was Operation Otter Pop.
It was a simple diagram of the wall, followed by an even simpler set of instructions. Deanna printed them up and then hurried from the school, almost forgetting to lock the door behind her. She then strode to the north part of the wall as the sun began to creep over the eastern mountains.
After only a hundred yards, a distant explosion stopped her. Its echo bounced around the neighborhood as if to make sure that everyone had heard it. Her first thought was a foolish one: Did I do that somehow? It was ludicrous, and yet a shiver racked her. The explosion was too small and too far away to have anything to do with the wall. Ducking her head down, she hurried on as people came out onto their porches and spoke to their neighbors in high, nervous voices.
Generation Z (Book 6): The Queen Unchained Page 20