Buried In Blue

by L G Rollins

  In the space of only a few minutes, Elise’s world had quite forcefully been flipped on it’s head.

  Elise grabbed hold of the top-most blanket. The bed had been made with precision. By Nathaniel no doubt. Was he safe? Bleeding out somewhere? Elise ripped the blanket off, wishing her fears could be unmade as easily, and wrapped it around Melissa. Together, they silently sat on the bed.

  Elise only had one objective: no one could be allowed to hurt Melissa. She may not be able to stop the mutiny, but so long as Melissa was not in the werewolves’ hands they had a fighting chance.

  omething in the hallway beyond the dining room exploded. The sound was deafening and the force rocked Nathaniel and the single werewolf standing guard over him.

  Nathaniel had no idea what could have caused such a force, but he didn’t waste time figuring it out. He kicked the werewolf’s legs out from under him, and the man fell back, hitting his head against one of the long tables. Nathaniel leapt forward. Lifting the man by his collar, he punched him across the jaw.

  The man’s eyes rolled toward the back of his head and he went limp.

  Nathaniel dropped the man, who hit heavily against a chair as he collapsed to the floor.

  Where was Melissa? Elise? Had William been successful in subduing Rowley? Nathaniel glanced around the door frame, down the hallway.

  Antsy stood, screaming with the palms of his hands pressed against his face. Whatever had exploded, this is where it had happened. White steam filled the hallway and Nathaniel could feel the heat radiating from the source.

  In two long strides he was behind Antsy. A well placed blow and the man crumbled. His face and forearms were burned, but not severely. He could place Antsy in the nearest bedchamber, but there was no way to lock him in there. So the act would be pointless.

  Walking toward the hatch in the floor, Nathaniel was careful his own footfalls made no noise. Voices floated up to him. Most of the hub-bub of before had quieted.

  Pearl was saying something, and a man responded. Wimple’s unmistakable voice came next—swearing like the sailor she was. Nathaniel laid on his stomach and scooted over the opening. Slowly, he dropped his head, just far enough for the entire control room to come into view.

  His crews’ hands were tied together. Pearl stood not too far from them talking with another werewolf. He couldn’t see Melissa among the others. He couldn’t see Elise either. Where were they? He could, however, see both Mary and Rowley. His second-in-command’s face was bloody and a dark patch spread across his thigh.

  “He said putting them in the jail cells could be ironic and fitting,” the other werewolf said to Pearl. “I tend to agree.”

  “Fitting?” Wimple thundered, and then she was off on another string of curses.

  Pearl didn’t respond to Wimple, but kept her back toward the seawoman. “Just see to it that he remembers his promise not to hurt anyone. I’m going to go look for the doctor and that little girl.”

  The blood flowed out of Nathaniel’s head and he pushed himself back away from the hatch, lest he topple through. They didn’t have Melissa or Elise. He sat up and ran a hand down his face. Relief pressed against him like prickling, cold water splashed across his neck and back.

  If Elise and Melissa had not yet been found, would they stay safe long enough for him to retake his submarine? There was a chance he could sneak down when Pearl and the other werewolves were distracted and untie his crew.

  They wouldn’t stand a chance, though, without weapons. The key to the armory was in his room. He prayed fervently that Melissa had remembered the things he’d told her, and that she, too, was safely locked in his room.

  When he first bought the Gearhound, he’d had his bedchamber door replaced. It was an eccentric precaution, but he was nothing if not cautious. Gads, thank the gears above he had been.

  Nathaniel stood and moved down the bedchamber hallway. The steam was mostly gone, but heat still filled the space. Burn marks marred the walls.

  Pain seared against his shoulder. He clamped his jaw shut and hissed, spinning around. The man who’d guarded him in the kitchen was back up and though he swayed from side to side, judging by the way he held the large butcher knife in his fist, the man knew plenty well how to fight.

  Nathaniel reached for his own shoulder and felt a long cut. Blood warmed his fingertips. The cut wasn’t deep, but still stung like the devil. Nathaniel lunged toward the attacker, placing his uninjured shoulder into the man’s stomach.

  The man tripped over the unconscious form of Antsy and hit the ground.

  Before the man could drive the blade into him again, Nathaniel rolled away. Pain ricocheted through him as his injured arm impacted the floor. Nathaniel hopped back up to his feet, now several paces further down the hallway. The man, bruised faced and swearing, toppled toward him.

  What could he use to defend himself against a knife? The hallway was devoid of anything other than doorways. He could hardly throw one of those, or hold one up as a shield. Whatever had caused the explosion previously, had left no shrapnel he could throw or use as a weapon.

  The man reared close, raising the knife high. Nathaniel faked a left hook, then swung his right full force. The werewolf saw what he was trying to do, though, and brought the knife down, slashing Nathaniel across his forearm. Sharp biting pain forced Nathaniel to draw in a sharp breath.

  Nathaniel clamped down on the scream in his throat; he couldn’t risk the werewolves below hearing and coming up to investigate. Nathaniel pulled his arm close to his chest as he kicked the man in the shin. It wasn’t a well-aimed kick, but it was enough to convince the werewolf to back up a few steps. Blood stained the sleeve of Nathaniel’s shirt.

  Nathaniel glanced around once more. There had to be something he could use to block the knife. Anything. Metal. Wood. Fabric.

  Fabric would work.

  The werewolf shook his leg, then cautiously began moving back in. Nathaniel pulled his shirt over his head and off. Twirling it between two hands, he twisted it into a rope. Nathaniel leaped forward, catching the knife in the elbow of the bent fabric. With a quick twist, the entire blade was covered. Nathaniel wrenched it toward himself. The man didn’t relinquish his grip, but stumbled forward, toward Nathaniel and Nathaniel’s raised fist.

  The werewolf crumbled. Nathaniel yanked the knife out of the man’s grasp and sprinted down the hallway. Reaching his door, he rapped quietly, leaving a bloody knuckle-print on the metal. At least he had a weapon now. With any luck, he’d not only find the key to the armory still safely inside, he’d find Melissa and Elise inside as well.

  elissa’s head rested heavily against Elise’s lap. The young girl’s hair spilled over her knees as Elise stroked it.

  Elise rested her head back. Melissa lay with room to spread her legs, but it left Elise with her back pressed against the cold, metal wall. Would everything be alright? She had to believe it would be. Expecting the world to fall apart never did anyone any good. Still, Elise was having a hard time even dreaming up what could be considered a good ending to all this.

  A low thump echoed up through the submarine and Melissa flinched. Elise hushed her reassuringly and continued stroking her hair. What was happening out past their locked door? Who had first instigated the mutiny? What was the point?

  Where were those she cared most about—Nathaniel, Lord Chauncey, Pearl, William, Lenton? All her thoughts circled back around to one pivotal mystery. Why? Why attack the crew? Why mutiny at all? What was to be gained?

  A soft tap, rhythmically rapped against the door.

  Melissa sat abruptly. Elise dropped her mouth close to the girl’s ear. “Don’t make a sound. We don’t want anyone knowing we’re in here.” Though she knew anyone with half a sense would be able to guess she and Melissa hid in the one room that was locked shut. However, that didn’t encourage her to make their presence irrevocably known.

  The knock came again. The exact same beat.

  Melissa bolted up. Before Elise could stop the gir
l, Melissa snatched up the gear, snapped it back in place, and pulled the oval door open. Nathaniel slipped in. The white shirt he had been wearing earlier that day was now wadded up in his fist and metal, half covered by the fabric, glinted in the light. Streaks of blood trailed down his bare back.

  The door shut with a clank and Nathaniel pulled the small gear out once more. With a visible sigh of relief, he dropped the wadded shirt, knife and all, slumped to his knees, and drew Melissa into a large hug.

  The girl burst into tears, anew. Rubbing her face against his shoulder, Melissa’s words jumbled. Elise could make out “wouldn’t come” and “scared” and she could guess the rest. Nathaniel rubbed his daughter’s back, whispering soft, calm reassurances.

  Elise felt her own eyes burn and the image of Nathaniel resting with his back against the door, Melissa tucked under one arm, blurred.

  He reached out toward her and wordlessly waved his fingers, motioning her forward. She took a small step and knelt beside him. The space between them buzzed with heat. His hand cupped her cheek. The touch both warmed her and eased the panic bubbling in her stomach. She leaned into his hand. It felt like coming home, comforting and peaceful.

  He ran a finger across her cheek bone, brushing away the tears.

  “Are you alright?” His voice was soft and full of sincere concern.

  She bit down on her lip, perhaps that would hide its tremor. Elise tried to nod—she hadn’t been hurt—but her head wouldn’t cooperate. In the end, it was a mix of a shake and a nod and a few more silent tears. There were people out there who were fighting and hurting. People on both sides of the altercation that she cared deeply for. Test subjects or not, several had become friends. Crewmembers, too, were much more than just faces and titles now.

  “Why?” was all she said.

  He shook his head. “I don’t know.”

  Elise shut her eyes and drew in a deep breath. It wasn’t time to fall to pieces. It was time they do something. “What do we do now?”

  Nathaniel stood, scooping Melissa into his arms and carried her to the bed. Laying her down, he tucked the blanket gently around her. “You stay here and rest, dearest. Papa needs to speak with Elise.”

  The little girl turned over and obediently shut her eyes, curled up close to the bedchamber wall.

  Gears above, she was staring at his unclothed chest—each muscle was clearly defined. Elise forced her eyes away. Almost before tingles erupted down her arms and finger tips at the sight. Almost before she felt the nearly irresistible pull to ask him to hold her again. Almost.

  Nathaniel moved over to the armoire built into the wall. He pulled out a clean shirt and tugged it up his uninjured arm. Blood, dry and dark, looked like a long burgundy snake slithering down his back. Elise walked over to him and placed a couple fingers against the cut. Nathaniel stilled at the touch, his shirt only part way up one arm.

  “I need to ascertain how deep the cut is.” The technical jargon flowed from her mouth out of habit. For the first time in her life, she wished she was a medical doctor, as everyone always assumed. A medical doctor would know precisely what to do, and if Nathaniel was in any real danger. Elise knew little more than basic first aid, and most of her training focused on werewolf bites and maulings.

  She pressed just to the side of the cut. Fresh blood bubbled up from the center, but not much came out. It seemed the cut was already beginning to seal itself. It couldn’t have been too deep, seeing how he had lifted Melissa without obvious pain. Infection would be the biggest concern, and it didn’t seem deep enough to pose much of a threat even there.

  Taking hold of his shoulders, she spun him around until he faced her. He was so close. His eyes watching her wordlessly. It was growing hard to stay focused on in injuries. She wanted his arms around her. Wanted him to hold her close. Maybe kiss her.

  Breathe, Elise, she reminded herself. She wrapped her hands around his forearm, lifting it to study the cut there. He stood with his chest only inches from her shoulder. It would take such a small shift in her weight to lean against him.

  “This cut is longer, but not at all deep.” Her own voice was like a thin tether, keeping her grounded in reality. She wasn’t here to be held or kissed. They were facing a crisis, and the more level headed she remained the better.

  “Does it hurt?” she asked. It was about as sensible a question as asking Melissa if she was alright. But she needed to hear her own voice, needed the grounding.

  “Yes,” he responded, casually slipping his shirt on over his shoulders and back. Then he added blithely, “But I’ve never been prone to fits of vapor, so I’m quite certain I’ll survive.”

  Elise clasped her hands together to keep from reaching out, but couldn’t stop the small smile that crossed her lips at his sarcasm. He hadn’t begun buttoning his shirt, and the white fabric framed his muscular chest. Elise’s heart lurched—it was as though she’d taken a step down a flight of stairs only to find the drop further than expected.

  He cupped her face once more, this time with both hands, drawing her gaze back to his. “I am immensely relieved you weren’t hurt.” His eyes were so blue, they reminded her of the ocean when they first dove. During that time where fish swarmed around the Gearhound and light still filtered through the surface. Blue, and deep, and full of adventure. His gaze dropped to her lips, then back up. A zip of pure energy jolted up her spine.

  He dropped his hands and turned toward the small table against the opposite side of the room, buttoning up his shirt. Elise joined him, taking the second chair. With both seats bolted to the floor her only choice was to face him head on.

  Though Nathaniel’s shirt was fully buttoned, she didn’t miss that he’d left it un-tucked. The long tails hung loose around his hips.

  Nathaniel sat and leaned across the table. “I peeked down into the control room before coming here, looking for you two,” he said in a low voice. “Judging by the way the werewolves were acting, they believe they have command of the submarine.”

  Elise squeezed her eyes tightly closed for a moment. She wouldn’t let the weight of the situation drown her. “We have to do something. We have to rescue them.” But, what would be the cost? She didn’t want to see harm come to Pearl, or Lenton, or any of the test subjects any more than she wanted to see harm come to the crewmembers.

  Nathaniel’s hands wrapped around hers and he drew circles with his thumbs against the back of her hand. “If we’re going to reclaim command of the Gearhound, we’re going to need weapons. The werewolves have my gun, but Lenton claimed Rowley’s was rendered useless during the fight.”

  “And they have access to knives.” She looked pointedly at his injured shoulder.

  “The only knives on board are in the kitchen. None of which would be very effective against a gun. There are twenty-five firearms secured in a gun chest in the armory behind the control room. If I can get down there, and then slip a few to Rowley and the crew, we can easily overpower the werewolves.”

  It sounded straightforward when she thought about it in broad terms. However, images of guns in the hands of those she cared about and aimed at other people she cared just as much for, pushed through the cold logic.

  There was nothing straightforward or sterile about a gunfight. People she loved would be firing bullets at one another in the closed confines of the Gearhound . . . the only result she could visualize was blood all over the copper-colored floor.

  “How do you know,” she asked, trying to wipe away the image of dying men and women, “that the werewolves haven’t already ransacked the armory?”

  “Two reasons. First off, if they did have access to a gun, they wouldn’t have attacked me without one. Second, the same mechanic who designed that”—he pointed to the bedchamber door—“designed the lock on the gun chest.”

  Guns. Locked doors. Mutiny. Elise dropped her head into upturned hands and groaned. “I still can’t believe this is happening. I can’t believe they would turn on you and me and the crew. After all we’
ve gone through together.”

  “They took us all by surprise. The sooner we take control back, the better.” Nathaniel stood and pressed a palm against the wall a meter above the table. A small, square piece of metal popped out and Nathaniel pulled it further out, revealing a hidden drawer. From inside he lifted a long key. And a pistol.

  Nathaniel checked the pistol’s cylinder and from where Elise sat she, too, could see it was fully loaded. Nathaniel pushed the drawer closed. It was amazing, but once shut Elise couldn’t discern the hidden compartment at all.

  “I need to go back out there and get to the gun chest.” Nathaniel sat and pressed the gun into Elise’s hand. It was cold against her palm. Cold and heavy and laced with dread.

  “Shouldn’t you take this gun, then?” Elise asked.

  His mouth was set in a firm line as he slowly shook his head. “What I need, is to know you and Melissa are safe.” He lifted the large skeleton key. “I’m heading directly to the gun chest. I’ll get myself a weapon from there.”

  Elise stared down at the gun. She could do this. She could . . . what? Shoot the pistol? Shoot a friend? Her stomach rolled in a nauseated wave.

  Nathaniel stood. “Lock the door immediately behind me. Open it to no one but me.”

  Elise nodded as Nathaniel moved toward the door. Her gaze dropped to the young girl in the bed. The poor thing was sleeping; all the terror must have worn her out. “You’d better kiss her before you go.”

  Nathaniel spun back toward her, his eyes showing uncertainty.

  Elise nodded toward Melissa. “You’d better kiss her before you go, or else she may wake up while you’re gone and be more upset.”

  Nathaniel stared at Elise, a curious look moving across his face. One she couldn’t decipher. But it made her feel warm and sent tingles across her fingers. His gaze moved to her lips and the tingles in her fingers spread up her arms and into her chest.

  Then, he turned away with a small shake of his head. “You are right.” He knelt down beside his little girl, kissed her forehead, and stroked back several strands of hair that had fallen down Melissa’s face. Softly he whispered to Melissa, telling her of his needing to leave once more.