Tales of Downfall and Rebirth

by S. M. Stirling

  He wouldn’t think of that. A stick snapped somewhere behind him, loud despite the constant drip of water. Then a muffled curse. One person for sure, but Dixon would be a fool to send only one person after them.

  Nestling between the brittle evergreen boughs, he hid against the trunk of a sick spruce and peeked out for a count of three before returning to cover. Two men hiked through the undergrowth. Loggers, oil-riggers, fishermen . . . it didn’t really matter what they did before. The result was the same: broad shoulders, toned arms and legs well accustomed to work, and the single-mindedness of a job needing done.

  Talk and trinkets wouldn’t send these two back home. Damn Dixon to hell.

  He shrugged out of his pack and partially buried it under moss and needles carpeting the forest floor. His fingers caught on a branch with the diameter of a rolling pin about the length of his forearm. That and his knife would have to do. His breath squeezed his chest as he waited for the men to pass by. One, two . . . Then he snapped his wrist forward, clobbering the first in the head with the tree branch.

  Not giving himself a moment to hesitate, he tackled the second to the ground. The man’s shoulder dug the air out of his lungs with an agonizing wheeze. Mitch scrambled to his feet, desperately clutching the handle of his knife. Six inches of sharpened steel. He hoped it’d be enough.

  The man who got a face full of spruce groaned and careened toward him. Mitch brandished his knife, but the other man was fearless as he launched toward him and knocked him back against a tree trunk. Pain lanced up Mitch’s spine and sparked behind his eyes. Son of a—

  He still had hold of his knife. Right. He slashed out, catching the man across the shoulder. The man screamed, surprisingly high-pitched, and clutched at the red leaking out.

  Mitch brought the knife handle down on his head, and the man collapsed in a boneless heap. Still bleeding. He would have to do something about that. But first . . .

  He spun around, searching for the second man. He was where Mitch left him, moaning into the spruce needles. He gripped him by the hair and pressed the knife to his throat.

  “You tell Dixon: never again.”

  “Don’t know . . .” he gasped out, “what you’re talking about.”

  Unbelievable. Mitch snarled, tightening his grip on the man’s hair.

  “Dad, he’s telling the truth. Just look at him.”

  Dani. Where’d she come from? Behind him, she held up the wrist of the other attacker. No “H” branding all members of the Cooperative.

  “You sure?”

  She nodded.

  He eased up on the man. Up close, he could see the hollowed cheeks and hungry eyes. Must’ve been driven into the forest to survive. That explained the stink coming off both of them.

  “What do you want from us?”

  “Food, supplies . . . anything. We’re desperate.”

  Dani slowly backed away, coming to a stop next to Eddie.

  Mitch shook his head. “I can’t help you.”

  And he wouldn’t have these two following them back to the Windfall.

  Or worse. “If you have a skill or don’t mind hard labor, I suggest you beg the folks in Homer to take you in.”

  Mitch knocked the man out and pushed off the ground. Blood plummeted from his head, taking whatever adrenaline he had leftover with it. His knife slipped and thudded to the forest floor. Wiping his hands on his pants, he cast about, mind and heart racing.

  “Dad?”

  His gaze snapped to Dani and Eddie, whey-faced and wide-eyed a few yards away.

  He lurched toward them. “It’s . . . okay. Everything’s going to be okay.”

  * * *

  GULF OF ALASKA, SOUTH CENTRAL ALASKA

  NOVEMBER 3, CHANGE YEAR 0/1998 AD

  The cruise ship glimmered on the horizon like a mirage. The Ice King was picture perfect with the distant Wrangell Mountains in the backdrop, looking as though they’d been recently dusted with powdered sugar. Mitch took one last lingering look, then passed the binoculars to Dani. Her brow furrowed as she scanned the ship, the logo CRUISE ALASKA emblazoned on its side. It was smaller than the vessels used by global cruise lines, but it still eclipsed the Windfall.

  Since leaving the Cooperative, they’d come across an abandoned motorboat that had already been cleaned out. A new set of charts, a forgotten packet of boat rations, and the glass of the windshield was all they could scavenge. All in all, rather disappointing. Especially for Eddie, since it was his turn to assist.

  But an intact cruise ship? The passengers’ clothing alone would keep his family fed for months. And the rest? Mitch forced himself to slow down. One thing at a time.

  Dani bit her lip. “You think anyone’s still alive over there?”

  Mitch shrugged. “One way to find out.”

  As he and Dani rowed over, the Ice King stayed silent, still.

  “Maybe they all got away on the rescue boats,” she whispered.

  “Maybe.”

  They tied off the canoe to a lonely rope ladder hanging over the edge. The last rung was knotted with kelp. Mitch went first. Dani followed him onto the deck.

  He raised a finger to his lips and leaned in. “Keep your knife ready.”

  She nodded and worked the knife out of her leather wrist guard. She’d picked it out herself from their stores. Mitch insisted the kids arm themselves ever since those men nearly got the jump on them. Mitch’s mouth twisted. Never again.

  She tipped her head toward the bridge, a glassed-in area on the upper deck. Mitch gave her a grim nod. They forced open the door that led to the bridge. Empty.

  “Dad, look.” Dani pointed to a dark red stain on the metal floor. “You think it’s blood?”

  “That or rust.” He cast about the bridge and found a poster mapping the emergency exit routes for the ship. Besides the common areas, there were two floors of passenger cabins. “We’ll start at the top and work our way down.”

  Amidships, they found a small dining room that showed signs of a scuffle. The tiny galley and attached pantry were empty.

  “Think someone beat us to it?” Dani asked.

  “That or it was moved to a more secure location on the ship . . . easier to defend that way.”

  They moved on. Past a bar, massage rooms, dormant exercise equipment. Then a corridor of passenger cabins. He opened the door to the first one with the toe of his shoe. He sucked a breath. Dani followed and looked into the cramped room. Two berths, a couple splayed across the floor, their luggage scattered around them. Throats slashed recently enough decay still lingered on the air.

  Mitch moved to the next cabin and the next. “Someone systematically killed all the passengers and secured anything valuable.”

  “You think they’re still here?” Dani asked.

  Mitch lifted a shoulder. “We stay together.” He waited for her nod before moving on.

  Two floors of dead passengers. The main dining room came into view. This time there was no mistaking the old blood that streaked the doors.

  Mitch gritted his teeth and slowly pushed the door open. Silence. He poked his head in and gestured to Dani. Her hand went to her mouth. Corpses everywhere. Broken chair legs, canes with screwdrivers duct-taped to them, oars, pipes, and other large heavy objects perfect for bludgeoning.

  Mitch sketched the room with his fingers. “What passengers weren’t executed in their rooms must have gathered here and fought . . .” He stepped over one body and opened the door to the storage pantry.

  “Food. Prepackaged, nonperishable. Though it looks like it’s been picked over some.”

  He toed open a sack on the floor. Jewelry, watches, money. “This must be what they collected from the cabins. Or some of it at least.”

  Dani’s eyes lingered on the treasure before returning to the corpses scattered around the room. A find like this should have been cau
se for celebration, but like everything, it came with a cost.

  Mitch rubbed his face. “Okay. Here’s what we’re going to do.”

  * * *

  They scavenged. Spices and sheets, canned goods and clothing, medical supplies and machine parts. Hours of trips back to the Windfall, shoulders and backs aching. When Mitch was trying to figure out a way to cram another load on board, Eddie sighed.

  “We can always come back later, you know.” He jerked his thumb at the deck. “As it is, we’ll have to sleep up here.”

  Mitch shook his head. Whatever had transpired on board the Ice King didn’t sit right. Mutiny, infighting . . . the brutality that swept through the mainland in microcosm?

  “If we thought to scavenge a ship like this, you can bet someone else will too.”

  Mitch grimaced and glanced back at the cruise ship. Dani was bringing up another load of suitcases crammed full of hand tools from the engine room.

  “I’ll help Dani with the last load. Why don’t you see if you can catch us some supper in the meantime, all right?”

  A reluctant nod was his only answer. Mitch got in the dinghy and rowed back to the Ice King. He found Dani collapsed on top of a small Rollaboard.

  “How you doing, kiddo?”

  She made a face. “I’m not a kid. I brought all this up by myself. See?”

  A half dozen suitcases surrounded her on the lower deck.

  Mitch grinned. “So you did.” He reached out and helped her stand.

  She groaned and rubbed her back. “Last trip?” He nodded. “Good. But this time I want to enjoy our treasure before we give it all away.”

  “We don’t give it away—”

  She gave him a pointed look. “Or enjoy it either.”

  “We scavenge because we have to. Nothing more.”

  “That’s just it, Dad. We don’t have to. Any of the places we trade with would take us in if we wanted.”

  “No,” Mitch said sharply. “We’ve worked hard to create a life for ourselves.”

  “But what have we really achieved?”

  Cold fury rooted him to the spot. “If this is about what your mother would have—”

  “This isn’t about Mom.” Dani swung out her arms. “I’m just saying it feels like no matter what we do or how hard we do it, we’ll be stuck in this . . . limbo.” She sighed. “We just can’t keep going like this.”

  Mitch swallowed an angry reply. “Look, it’s been a long day for all of us. Once we get all this stuff stowed, we’ll—”

  “Whatever, Dad.”

  That wasn’t fair, but he let her go. She pushed past him and started in on the last load. The dinghy sat dangerously low in the water by the time they got all the luggage in. They’d both be straddling a carry-on for the return trip.

  Eddie’s wolf whistle caught his ear on the breeze. Mitch cast his gaze eastward, along the coast. The details were too shiny to be certain but it looked like a boat . . . He squinted. No. More than one.

  He swore and brought the binoculars up. Dani shielded her eyes and turned in the direction Mitch was looking.

  A cedar dugout canoe, maybe a bit longer than the Windfall, crossed the distance between the cruise ship and a double-masted schooner, complete with a set of sails right out of the age of exploration. Men rowed with deadly precision. Two, fore and aft, brandished bows and quivers full of arrows. War paint covered their faces. What the hell?

  Then he saw the skull of a bear mounted to the boat’s prow.

  Dani’s eyes widened when they landed on the dugout.

  “Dad?” Her voice held childlike fear, and his chest squeezed.

  “Get to the Windfall. Now!”

  He gave the longboat one last look before scrambling down the ladder rungs after Dani. He dropped into the boat and she handed him the oars. Water sloshed in, the cold grounding him as they pushed off the Ice King. Thankfully Eddie had already abandoned his fishing rod and was readying the sails.

  Dani said nothing as he rowed. The breeze picked up, and Mitch gripped the oars tighter, frowning into his white-knuckled strokes. The dinghy slammed up against the hull of the Windfall with a hollow thud.

  Eddie had unfurled the sails and was in the process of tightening the jib.

  “Get the anchor up, Dani,” Mitch called out as she clambered over the railing. He grabbed the first piece of luggage and chucked it on board.

  “Did they see us?” she asked, hunched over the reeling line for the anchor.

  Eddie’s head popped up and nearly caught the boom. “Who are they?”

  Mitch heaved the last piece of luggage and scrambled onto the deck.

  “We aren’t staying to find out.”

  His gaze flew to the Ice King’s deck where he and Dani had been standing only a few minutes ago. He counted ten men already on deck gesturing at them wildly. Had they come upon the cruise ship first? After eliminating the opposition on board, they were probably coming back with reinforcements to pick the ship clean. Damn it.

  Dani returned to his side and helped him hoist the dinghy back on board the Windfall. Seawater leaked across the deck, but they got the awkward thing up and lashed it to the side of the cabin.

  A sharp tung slammed into the hull. Mitch jumped back and smashed against the mast. An arrow vibrated against the fiberglass, black fletching fluttering.

  “High-dah. High-dah.”

  The strange rhythmic chanting sent a cold wash of fear down Mitch’s spine.

  Dani was at his side. “Dad! Are you okay?” She gripped his flannel-clad arms as he regained his footing.

  He took a hand and gave it a quick squeeze. “Leave it. Get to the—”

  A black arrow speared her upper arm. Her eyes widened in shock, then pain, as Mitch clutched her to him.

  “Shit. Eddie, get the tiller!”

  Mitch helped Dani over to a small bench along the stern. “Dani, I need you to stay here. All right?”

  He ripped off his belt and fastened it diagonally across her chest, holding her injured arm in a sling. “Whatever you do, don’t pull out the arrow.”

  She whimpered but nodded.

  Mitch glanced back at Eddie. “Just going to be me and you, skipper.”

  “Aye, aye, Captain.” Eddie’s face paled as he glanced back at the Ice King.

  Mitch cursed. Whoever the men were, they had brought one of their dugouts around the cruise ship, angling for the Windfall. She’d be able to outrun them eventually, but fully loaded as she was? The telltales streamed out perpendicular to the mast. Good. The wind at least was on their side.

  But they needed all the wind power they could get. “Got to trim the mainsail.”

  With Eddie in the cockpit, Mitch loosened the sail, waited for it to flap, then slowly tightened it so the flapping stopped. Breath gusted out of him as the Windfall slowly picked up speed. Maybe they should have held off on the last load.

  “High-dah. High-dah.”

  The chants floated across the water.

  “Dad . . .” Dani’s pained voice drew his attention to the rear deck.

  A stone’s throw away, the dugout barreled toward them, the rowers straining to keep pace with the chants that corresponded to the strokes of their oars.

  What had they gotten into? He felt for his hunting knife, but it was still attached to his belt holding Dani’s arm in place. No help for it.

  “Eddie, take cover!”

  Mitch crouched below the railing, gripping one of the wooden oars in his hands. In one of the lockers belowdecks blocked by all their treasure, he had four hunting bows and one fiberglass crossbow. But he never thought they’d need them out on the open water. He’d been a fool to think the sea would be theirs alone for so long.

  More arrows sailed toward them, but they hit the water or lodged into the hull of the Windfall. The cedar dugout
edged closer. One of the archers shrugged off his empty quiver. The other shot his last arrow, piercing the mainsail. For a long moment, the arrow stayed put. Then it fell. They couldn’t afford a tear now. If they got away, sure, they could limp to shore with just the jib sheet, but Mitch hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

  The sailcloth started to rip—just a little—but every little bit counted when it came to maximizing the rigging. The dugout pulled alongside the Windfall. The archer positioned in the prow of the dugout suddenly leapt toward them. He slapped against the water, a foot shy of the Windfall. Were they insane?

  Already the dugout was adjusting its heading, closing the distance between the two boats.

  “Eddie, grab an oar. Dani, can you take the tiller?”

  She gave him a pained nod.

  As she stumbled toward the tiller, he tossed the other oar to his son. “Remember your tenth birthday?”

  He and Kathy had thrown him a party at the Chuck E. Cheese’s in Anchorage. Less than six months later, she’d moved to Seattle. Mitch caught Eddie’s eye.

  “Think Whac-A-Mole.”

  One of the rowers stowed his oar and launched himself at the Windfall. He slapped against the hull followed by another thud. At least the dugout could no longer keep pace without two of its rowers. They just needed to hold these two off.

  Mitch brandished his oar with his left hand as he swiped up hooks from the abandoned tackle box with his right. Then he stalked toward the starboard side where one of the men clung to the Windfall like a barnacle.

  A head appeared, saltwater dribbling down the strange man’s chin as he panted. It was like looking into a mirror—brown hair, brown eyes, pale skin—except for the tanned leather jerkin and the dead bird draped over his head like a macabre cowl. Hell, maybe Mitch would have gone native too if it meant he’d survive. But he’d had the Windfall—and it was going to stay his.

  Mitch leveled the oar at the man’s head. “Leave. Now. And maybe you’ll be able to swim back to your ship.”

  It would still be a long shot—hypothermia would get him if exhaustion didn’t.

  The man barred his teeth and hefted a leg over the edge. Mitch supposed he’d do the same thing in the man’s place. Too bad.