2 Degrees

by Bev Prescott

  At the crest of the rise, Woody peered through the curtain of brush. “There are the containers of rare earths.” She pointed at several large boxcars lined along the sandy shore. “You see anyone?”

  Federico lifted a pair of OALI to his eyes and scanned the harbor. “Nope.” He moved his head. “Wait.” He passed the OALI to Woody. “Looks like a black sea devil headed our way. Just one.”

  Woody looked through the OALI. “Yeah, I see it. Probably a scout making sure all is clear before sending the loading shuttles.” She handed the glasses to Sharon. “Have a look. The black sea devil antennae are above the surface by about five meters.”

  “What kind of vessel is it?” Sharon put the glasses to her eyes. Four hundred meters from shore, a black rod protruded from the water, making its way toward them at a fast clip. She lowered the glasses.

  Federico took the OALI from her and held them to his eyes. “The black sea devil is the Bird of Paradise’s deep-sea shuttle. It’s modeled after a fish called the humpback anglerfish.”

  “Better known as the black sea devil,” Woody added. “When the Bird of Paradise is deep under water, the shuttle can be launched without being crushed by the pressure. She’s essentially a mini-submarine.”

  “A submarine ready to surface.” Federico folded the OALI and tucked it into his breast pocket. “Look.”

  A bulbous black hull broke the surface and propelled toward land. Its protruding antennae rotated back and forth. Stopping at shore near the containers, its hatch yawned wide like a giant mouth. Four armed soldiers exited and fanned out toward the containers.

  “The black sea devil holds more than four people,” Woody whispered. “We can count on at least one staying with the shuttle. We’ll have to take these four out with as little noise as possible.”

  Federico lifted his machete. “We’ll use these and our hands. Remember your jujitsu. The gun is strictly a backup.”

  Sharon pulled her hammer from its baldric with her right hand. Her left gripped the machete. The spectraletto sat snug in the holster at her chest.

  “Let’s spread out between the containers.” Woody got to her feet and crouched. “I’ll go left, Federico take the center, and Sharon you’re on the right. On the count of three.”

  Federico nodded.

  “One,” Woody said. “Two, three. Go.”

  Staying low, Sharon raced toward the containers at her right.

  A soldier halted and looked in her direction.

  She threw herself onto her belly and held her breath.

  He started toward her, searching.

  Be like the snake.

  His footsteps slowed as he neared. Each footfall in the thick vegetation heightened Sharon’s heart rate.

  Her hands were hot and wet inside the mosquito gloves. She squeezed her hammer and exhaled as she exploded upward.

  Throwing his arm in front of his face, the soldier deflected the hammer and lunged.

  His large body slammed onto hers. She stumbled onto her back. The head-net tipped to the side, obstructing her vision. The soldier pinned her beneath him. His breath was hot and rancid.

  He yanked the spectraletto from her holster and tossed it aside. Then tugged away her head-net. “What do we have here?”

  The unobstructed air cooled her face. She grunted and made a futile attempt to fill her lungs. But the soldier’s heft compressed her chest. The hard box inside the pack on her back dug into her spine.

  Straddling her, he squeezed her wrists. “Drop them.”

  She gritted her teeth and held tight to her hammer in one hand, the machete in the other. Think. Taking stock of his weapons, a holstered knife on his belt caught her eye. It was in reach if she could free her hands. But she’d have to aim for a spot on his body not covered in Kevlar. “Fuck you.”

  His thumbs dug into her pressure points. “Drop them!”

  She growled and her hands popped open.

  “Good girl,” he snarled. Pressing his pelvis into her, he put his face close to hers. “Good, good girl.”

  She snapped her forehead into his long, fat nose, feeling a satisfying crunch of fracturing cartilage. Blood splattered her face.

  “Fucking bitch!” Wide-eyed, he grabbed his nose.

  She swiped his knife and sank it deep into his vulnerable right shoulder.

  He rolled off of her and scrambled to his knees. Slobber and blood smeared his face.

  As he reached for his spectraletto, Sharon slammed her right boot between his legs.

  He howled and doubled over, grabbing his crotch. Blood poured from his nose.

  She got to her feet and aimed a punch at his neck. But before she could make contact, he landed a counterpunch hard to her stomach. She gasped and crumpled to her knees.

  He yanked the knife out of his shoulder and wobbled to his feet. A sinister, bloody smile spread across his face as he stood over her. “I’m going to get a fucking hard-on when I kill you. The kick to the nuts will be worth it, bitch.”

  On a half-full lung of air, Sharon scooted on her elbows into the thick brush. It occurred to her that what lurked in the tall, green, musty weeds was more dangerous than the soldier. She scanned the thick vegetation that concealed her for creepy-crawly things.

  “Where are you?” He stomped after her.

  Shots rang out. The sound came from the opposite direction of the harassing soldier.

  Scanning for a better place to hide, she spotted, at the edge of a pool of black water, a gator. Heavy lids blinked over bulbous eyes with slits staring back at her. Fuck. The alligator watched from three meters away. It rose on stubby legs and slowly tracked toward her. While she watched the oncoming gator, something grabbed her ankle and yanked hard.

  “There you are.” The soldier grinned.

  With the soldier holding her left ankle against his waist, Sharon felt a moment of déjà vu. JJ’s last jujitsu lesson replayed in her head. She lifted her other foot to his waist and pushed against him.

  He laughed and pushed back, bending her knees.

  Perfect. She jerked her right knee toward her shoulders, causing him to stumble forward. Reversing the momentum of her leg, she rammed the bottom of her boot into the middle of his face. Bone crunched.

  His eyelids fluttered and he collapsed, out cold.

  Sharon glanced over her shoulder at the oncoming alligator.

  More spectraletto shots cut the air, but they disappeared harmlessly into the forest canopy.

  She scrambled around the soldier’s limp body and dragged his bloodied torso to point in the direction of the advancing reptile. She inhaled a deep breath to calm her nerves. “Come get lunch, you ugly beast. I’m sure you’re plenty hungry.”

  The alligator snapped forward and Sharon scooted back. It sank its teeth into the soldier’s shoulder that had already been laid open by the knife. It shook him side to side. The strength of the beast made the big man look like a rag doll.

  Pain awakened him. Horror spread across his face and he screamed. He pissed himself.

  So much for a silent operation.

  The soldier flailed against the beast as it twisted its head back and forth. A crunching, ripping sound preceded his arm being torn from the socket. The gator let go of the detached limb and clamped sharp teeth into its prey’s torso, eviscerating and silencing the soldier.

  Sharon turned her eyes from the gore. She listened as the alligator dragged the corpse through brush toward the black pool. She lifted Eve’s scarf to cover her nose to block out the heavy metallic scent of blood and urine.

  Sharon heard Federico yell, “Woody! Watch out.” She got to her feet and saw Woody and Federico standing over the bodies of two soldiers near one of the containers about thirty meters downhill from her. They had no cover from another soldier who was standing between them and his vessel on shore, aiming at them. Sharon searched frantically in the weeds for her spectraletto.

  At last she spotted her weapon.

  Federico put his hands up and side-stepped clo
ser to Woody.

  Carefully, Sharon aimed at the side of the soldier’s head, which momentarily was still as he assessed the situation with Federico and Woody. She fired.

  The soldier was dead before he hit the ground.

  Woody turned and mouthed, thank you.

  Sharon waved an acknowledgment, then located her hammer in the brush. The machete lay nearby. She holstered the spectraletto, picked up her weapons and crouch-walked quickly down the hill, scanning for any other soldiers.

  “Stop!” A man yelled.

  A laser shot zipped an inch from Sharon’s nose. She halted.

  “All three of you.” A soldier wearing sergeant’s insignia covered them with his spectraletto. “Stand right there. Don’t move. Let me see your hands.”

  Sharon recognized him instantly. The sergeant from Boston with black hair, white skin, and a large birthmark on his left cheek, the man who took her wife. Thanks to his badge, now she knew his name too. Sergeant Limmy. Inside, Sharon shook with rage. Outwardly, she kept cool. She lowered her eyes and her weapons, and prayed he hadn’t recognized her too.

  A blunt force hit her in the back. She stumbled forward and spun around.

  A sixth soldier aimed a spectraletto at her chest. His name tag bore the name Rucker. “Drop your weapons.”

  She opened her hands, letting the hammer and machete fall to the ground.

  Rucker yanked the spectraletto from the holster on her chest. “Turn around and go stand next to your friends.” He picked up her hammer and the machete.

  With the spectraletto barrel at her back, she inched to where Woody and Federico stood. She kept her eyes down, avoiding the sergeant’s.

  “Any of you three see Maximilian?” Rucker asked. He held a hand above his head. “Real big guy.”

  Sharon, Federico, and Woody kept silent.

  Rucker pointed his weapon at Woody’s head. “Somebody better fucking answer my question.”

  “He’s dead,” Sharon snapped, and swallowed back the knot of panic in her throat that the soldier might shoot Woody. “An alligator got him.”

  Sergeant Limmy’s mouth twitched and he looked away. “Get them loaded onto the black sea devil.”

  “What about Maximilian?” Rucker lifted his arm toward the hill. “We can’t just leave him up there.”

  “He’s gone. Like these two.” Sergeant Limmy glanced at the two bodies lying at their feet. “The gators can have them too. At least their deaths won’t be in vain.” He placed the machetes and spectralettos that Woody and Federico had carried into a bag. “There’s nothing we can do for them.” He held out the bag. “Put the other weapons in this and let’s go.”

  “That’s fucked up,” Rucker protested.

  “I gave you an order.” Sergeant Limmy looked from the soldier to Sharon and back. “I don’t have time for emotion. We have a job to do. Now, move your ass.”

  Rucker swiveled the spectraletto held by a strap to his back. He yanked Sharon by her jacket collar and slammed her against the container of rare earths.

  Sharon bounced off and fell to her knees.

  “This will not end well for you.” Rucker kicked her in the stomach.

  Sharon grunted at the pain.

  “Is that really necessary?” Woody put an arm under Sharon’s. “It’s okay. Let’s get you up.” She smoothed Sharon’s head.

  Federico helped Woody lift her. “We got you, amiga.”

  Rucker reached for Sharon again.

  “Stop!” Sergeant Limmy pointed his weapon at Rucker’s chest. “If you touch that woman one more time, she’ll be the last woman you touch. Get the weapons loaded and these prisoners on the shuttle.” To Woody, Sharon and Federico, he said, “Hold your hands together.” He reached into his shirt pocket and retrieved barbed wrist-ties. “Help me put these on them.”

  Rucker took one and yanked the pack from Sharon’s back. He smiled and cinched her wrists together.

  She winced as the barbs dug in.

  “I’m hoping the Strelitzia won’t go quite as easy on you as Sergeant Limmy.” He held up her backpack. “Wonder what kind of loot is in here.”

  “Give me the pack.” Sergeant Limmy held out a gloved hand. “Everything in that backpack belongs to the Strelitzia.”

  Sharon’s hope evaporated. But I’ll find a way, Eve.

  Chapter 18

  “This is Black Sea Devil Twelve reporting.” Sergeant Limmy sat rigid in the command seat. Through the cockpit-observation mirror, he eyed Woody, Sharon, and Federico, shackled by their feet to the bench seat behind him.

  Rucker sat next to him in the tight space, swiping commands onto the STELA. As he pecked at the controls, his right arm occasionally brushed the locked handle on the small, round door labeled Emergency Exit Starboard.

  Sharon glowered. If she could free her hands, maybe she could reach one of their spectralettos. She waited for the sergeant to look away before twisting her wrists experimentally. The barbs on the ties carved at her skin. She noticed blood on Woody’s and Federico’s wrists as well. No way.

  “The Strelitzia here.” His electronically manipulated voice oozed through the audio-comm. “What is your report?”

  “We were met by intruders.” Sergeant Limmy spoke in flat precision. “A fight ensued. Four men are dead. Rucker and I survived.”

  “And what of the intruders?” the Strelitzia asked.

  “We found three. We captured them and ensured that the containers are secure.” The sergeant rubbed at a bloodstain on his uniform. “The intruders are aboard Black Sea Devil Twelve.”

  “Good work. Your three prisoners, let me guess.” The electronic voice bore a sinister gleefulness. “A tall, angry woman with a buzz cut. A short, pudgy one in a hijab. And a lanky Argentinian guy.”

  “That sums them up,” Rucker interrupted. “We also took their weapons and a backpack.”

  “Is it secure?” The Strelitzia bit back.

  “Roger that,” Rucker answered.

  “Keep it that way. I’ll take off the hands of any person who opens that pack before I do. Am I understood?” the Strelitzia asked.

  “I’ll see to it.” Sergeant Limmy fired Rucker an icy look. “The pack and weapons are secured in the shuttle’s lockbox. I have the code.”

  “You’re by the book, Sergeant Limmy,” the Strelitzia said. “I like that. No drama, just the rules. Your orders are to proceed directly to the Bird of Paradise. We’ll surface in thirty minutes. At that time, I’ll order that an army of black sea devils escort the container-carriers to retrieve the rare earths. Inform me immediately upon your arrival.”

  “Yes, sir.” Sergeant Limmy glanced up at the cockpit-observation mirror.

  “Do tell our guests that I look forward to their company.” The Strelitzia sighed. “Over.”

  Sergeant Limmy sketched a command. “Proceeding now. Over and out.” He powered down the audio-comm.

  Rucker twisted in his seat. “You’re that farmer.” He grinned. “The one with the apples. Damn. Catching you will get us a promotion. That’s extra food for me and my family.”

  For the first time since being caught, Sharon noticed the resemblance between Rucker and the man she offered to the monster gator. Same ruddy skin, big nose, round face and wide-set brown eyes. “I’m not a farmer anymore.” She stared past him.

  “Watching the Strelitzia cut you in half will be revenge for you killing my brother and the other three soldiers.”

  Ah, that’s it, brothers.

  “Shut up,” Sergeant Limmy ordered. “Pull yourself together.”

  “An eye for an eye.” Rucker faced forward. “Maybe he’ll let me be the one to do it.”

  “Are you Wilhelmina Woodhouse?” Sergeant Limmy asked.

  “I am.”

  “Well, Dr. Woodhouse.” The sergeant sketched something indecipherable on the STELA. “I’ve been hoping to get the chance to meet you.” He pressed a finger to the sketch.

  Fluid, haunting music of stringed instruments filled the
cockpit.

  Sharon felt Federico’s body tense. She glanced left at him. His expression remained stone cold. She looked right to Woody. Was that a hint of smile?

  “What the fuck is that?” Rucker stared at Sergeant Limmy as if he had eight heads.

  The sergeant lifted his eyes to the mirror and almost imperceptibly nodded.

  “One of my favorites,” Federico said. “It’s the ‘Méditation’ from the Thaïs by Jules Massenet.”

  “It’s on the playlist I made for the day we christened the Bird of Paradise.” Woody nudged Sharon with her elbow.

  “Hey.” Rucker got up. “What the fuck is going on?”

  Sharon wondered the same.

  “Sit down, Rucker,” Sergeant Limmy ordered. “Don’t provoke me.”

  “I’ll sit, once you turn this bullshit music off.” He put his hands to his hips. Swirling tattoos decorated his forearms. “We’re not even supposed to be listening to this crap. Are you out of your mind?”

  Sergeant Limmy released his torso-restraint and exploded out of his seat. He slammed his fist into Rucker’s abdomen.

  Rucker grunted, but pounced in response, shoving the sergeant onto the STELA.

  The shuttle lurched and rolled. The port windows dipped below the foaming waterline.

  “I built this shuttle!” Woody yelled. “If you fools don’t ensure the ballast and trim are maintained, you’ll sink us.”

  Sergeant Limmy pushed Rucker off. He ran a hand through his messed hair, sat, and sketched commands.

  The shuttle righted and surged forward.

  “You’ve been acting fucking weird ever since your wife died.” Rucker flopped into his seat. “You got to get over that shit, man. Don’t think the Colonel isn’t going to hear about this. Maybe you need a little time in the brig to cool your jets.”

  “How?” Sergeant Limmy asked. “How do we keep hurting people?”

  Sharon closed her eyes and bit her lip. She exhaled and focused on the back of Limmy’s head. How dare he ask such a question when he was the one who had taken Eve from her.

  “How?” Rucker mocked. “What a stupid fucking question.”

  Sergeant Limmy scowled at Rucker. “If it’s so stupid, why don’t you answer for me?”