The trio dashed across the street to the entrance. They were on the Skulls like wolves on deer. Blades flashed and sliced, cutting into the weak points between the Skull’s armor plates. Blood spilled over the concrete and splashed across the Hunters’ feet. They lowered the Skull corpses gently, then Miguel strode toward the edge of the bushes and gave Dom a signal that all was clear.
“You ready?” Dom asked Spencer.
The man’s bottom lip trembled. His gaze was glassy—a harsh reminder of the game Dom played by giving him pain meds. Too much would kill Spencer’s awareness. Too little would mean he would writhe in agony. After the fresh dose of opioids, he seemed slightly out of it.
“Grab an arm,” Dom said to Glenn.
The muscular Hunter nodded. “On it.”
“Jenna, take rear guard.”
“Aye, aye, Captain,” she replied.
The group wound between vehicles and made it to the entrance. They were greeted by the other four, who watched with eyes alert and rifles bristling. A raucous rattle of bones and claws sounded just down the street.
There was a scream, followed by another.
Human screams.
Dom’s attention was piqued at once. He signaled for the others to lay low and looked out from the stairs and bushes. He aimed his rifle in the direction where he’d heard the screaming. A woman and a man had been sneaking toward the Hunters. Only their sneaking had failed and a Skull had caught sight of them. The pair disappeared under a carpet of frenzied, hungry Skulls. A Goliath barreled down the street and crashed into the smaller Skulls. It flung them out of its way despite their protesting howls. With its enormous hooked claws, it tore into the corpses and ripped them apart. It devoured an arm and leg whole.
Dom drew back into their meager shelter. “Miguel, get that damn door open,” he said.
Miguel nodded and started working on the lock. Dom’s heart pounded. The other Hunters’ faces were awash in pallor as Skulls swarmed over vehicles toward the slaughter. Dom wasn’t sure why the people had come out of wherever they’d been hiding. Maybe they were starving. Or maybe they were desperate to escape the city. He guessed they’d seen him and the rest of the Hunters.
They must’ve thought help had arrived.
But they’d made a fatal error.
The tearing of flesh and the howls of Skulls started to dissipate. The creatures dashed along the streets, riled up by the scent of blood and thrill of the hunt. If Miguel didn’t open the door soon, the group would be caught by one of the monsters still seeking fresh meat.
“Almost there,” Miguel said, fiddling with the touchscreen on his prosthetic. The lock clicked, and he swung open the door. The group started to file into the shelter of the underground tunnel.
A growl caused Dom to swivel. A Skull peered around the bushes. Its cracked lips drew back in a snarl, and it pounced. Dom dropped his rifle and dodged. He scrambled to grab the Skull and clamp its snapping jaws shut before the thing howled and called all the other Skulls to their position. Meredith prowled toward them with her blade at the ready. The Skull’s arms whipped wildly, and it kicked at Dom. He was losing his grip as the creature continued to struggle.
There was no easy way for Meredith to strike without risking impaling Dom. Instead of going for his own knife, Dom slammed the creature against the brick wall. He smashed its face into the wall over and over. It squealed, but its cries were muffled. Eventually, its body went still, and Dom lowered it to the steps.
Panting, he followed Meredith into the tunnel. She raised an eyebrow as if to ask if he was okay. He gave her a nod and wiped the sweat from his brow. But once they were underground, his heart began its hammering anew. His crew had frozen in the small hallway branching from the main tiled walkway. Various signs hanging from the ceilings advertised hair salons, convenience stores, cafeterias, and other buildings above. Dom was more interested in the pack of Skulls, almost a dozen deep.
He made a move toward Glenn and Spencer. But before he reached them, a Skull turned. Its bloodshot eyes locked with his. It cocked its head. The spikes lining its spine seemed to vibrate and then stood up straighter. It drew its claws back and let out a shrill cry. Then it charged.
-2-
Medical Bay of the Huntress
Somewhere in the Chesapeake Bay
Dr. Lauren Winters watched the plastic vial roll back and forth along the medical bay’s deck. It went under an exam bed as gentle waves rocked the ship. There was nothing inside. Just a container that had escaped its rightful place tucked away in a drawer. As a clinician and scientist, she valued a clean working space for the health of her patients and the integrity of her experiments. Organization had always been key in the ship’s cramped facilities, and she’d imparted her passion—maybe obsession—for careful organization to her team members Divya Karnik, Peter Mikos, and Sean McConnelly. They’d grown to appreciate or at least tolerate her penchant for ensuring every little thing, from the most important lab sample to a stray paperclip, was properly stored within the infirmary or laboratory.
“Bothers you, doesn’t it?” Peter said, nodding to the rolling vial.
“Sure.” Lauren shrugged. It was a hard gesture to accomplish with her wrists bound tightly together. She was crammed into a corner next to the rest of her team. She nodded toward the patient exam beds. “But not as much as watching them suffer.”
The survivors Dom’s group had found starving and dying in Boston’s Massachusetts General Hospital were in bad shape. The Weavers and their young son, Connor, and a man named Alex Li. These people had barely escaped the Skulls, and Lauren’s team had only just brought them back from the brink of death through diligent medical care and attention. Now they were deteriorating again. Dry, flaky skin awash with red sores. Flesh that hung loose around their bones. Eyes etched with deep, purple circles.
And they weren’t the only ones who needed medical attention.
First Mate Thomas Hampton lay in another bed. Bandages covered his shoulder and thigh. Already they’d soaked through with blood again. The hasty sutures put in place over the bullet wounds weren’t the rushed work of Lauren or her team. Thomas had been trying to flag down the purported US Coast Guard ships and helicopters that had overwhelmed the Huntress. The ships hadn’t radioed, and Kinsey’s men had subverted the Huntress’s comm equipment. But the First Mate hadn’t let that stop him from trying to figure out what the hell was going on.
That determination led to him being mistaken for armed resistance when he had arrived above deck. Thomas had been shot before he could even wave a flag. The Coast Guard had swarmed over the ship before Lauren could do anything about his wound. They’d rounded up everyone and put most of the crew in the overflowing brig. Lauren’s medical team and Chao’s communications team had been held captive in their respective stations in case they were needed.
Two guards watched over the med bay now. Each wore an expression of serious determination. They carried submachine guns and maintained stances that made Lauren feel as if there would be a gun battle any moment. She eyed the one closest to her with a military-issued name tape that said Turner. The man’s eyes surveyed the patients around the bay with a coldness that sent shivers down Lauren’s spine.
Alex groaned and tried to roll to his side. His eyes caught Lauren’s and conveyed a deep pain. It wasn’t solely physical agony; she could see shattered hope there as well. He had been saved once. And Lauren could see the question he wanted to ask: How many times will I be saved before someone lets me die? The mental torture and anguish Lauren imagined those survivors harbored broke her.
“You assholes need to let me help my patients,” Lauren said, trying to stand.
“Lauren,” Divya whispered.
A guard stepped forward and leveled his weapon at her. “Stand down.”
“Fuck that,” Lauren said. “You want to shoot a doctor in cold blood?” She forced herself to her knees.
“I said stand down!” The guard took another step and cocked his g
un back as if he were going to deliver a blow to her face.
Lauren glanced at the name patch on his fatigues. He looked like he was only in his early twenties. Turner seemed a bit too stone-faced for Lauren’s liking. But maybe Smith was still impressionable, still willing to listen to reason. “Smith, these patients need our help! The Coast Guard is sworn to protect people, not to watch them die.”
Smith looked uncertain for a moment before his compatriot stepped in. “I don’t know what you people did. But our orders were to keep you here until we’re told what to do with you. Until we’re told otherwise, you’re not going anywhere.”
“You’re killing them,” Lauren said, her words laced with menace and contempt.
Turner opened his mouth to say something, but Smith held up a hand to silence him. They retreated to their posts near the hatch.
Lauren slumped. Her mind was still in overdrive. She needed to treat her patients. She needed to develop a defensive mechanism to counteract the acidic spray from Droolers. She needed to figure out why some of the Skulls were turning into Goliaths and determine whether they could stop it. She needed to find a vaccine or a cure that would eliminate the spread of the Oni Agent.
She needed to work.
But the plastic ties cutting into her wrists and the bulldog-faced guards wouldn’t let her. Anger was getting her nowhere. She waited for a few minutes in silence. The guards avoided eye contact with her and the others in the medical bay.
“I’m hungry,” Connor said to his mom.
Tammy Weaver tried to give him a reassuring smile. “It’s okay. Go back to sleep.”
“My tummy and my back hurt,” Connor said.
Lauren glared at Smith as Tammy tried to comfort Connor. The pulsating rhythm of the patients’ EKGs punctuated the uncomfortable silence.
“Look, gentlemen.” Lauren tried a different tack. “I don’t know what your brass thinks we did or didn’t do. But these people are innocent. They’re victims. We rescued them.”
She slowly stood, her expression wide-eyed and pleading. Smith seemed ready to cut her off again, but she continued before he could.
“You can keep the rest of my crew tied up if you want.” She looked at Divya, Peter, and Sean and offered an apologetic frown. “But let me help these people. Thomas needs fresh bandages and better sutures. If you’re trying to protect America, then protect what it stands for. If you still think he’s a criminal, put him up before a judge and jury or court-martial, if that’s what you prefer.” She knew full well courts of law might no longer exist, but she had to try to appeal to these men. “Let me at least keep them alive. Then you and your leaders can decide what to do with them. Don’t let death make the decision for you.”
Connor started to cry. She hated talking like this in front of the young boy, but now was no time to hold anything back. The guards remained steel-faced. Smith whispered to Turner and disappeared through the hatch and into the passageway. Lauren held her tongue, praying this was a good sign. Moments later the man came in with another guard, this one female. The guard stood near the hatch with the two men.
“She’ll take my spot,” Smith said to Turner and then faced Lauren. “Doctor, I will be on your back with a gun the entire time. I’ll fire if you so much as think about doing something funny. And after I shoot you, I’ll shoot the rest of your crew.”
Lauren nodded earnestly. “I understand. And I promise I won’t do anything so foolish.”
Smith yanked her wrists up violently. He cut the plastic ties away and then took a step back to put himself out of arm’s reach. Lauren moved with a deliberate slowness and held her hands up so he could clearly see what she was doing. She didn’t want to make a mistake that endangered her life or the others.
“I’m going to replenish their saline bags and nutrient drips, okay?” she asked.
Smith nodded but tightened his grip around his weapon. “Do what you need to do, but make it fast.”
The gun barrel followed her every move. Lauren walked between cabinets and drawers. After fixing their IV drips, she applied antibiotic gels and healing creams. She performed every task with the knowledge that her life might end at the subtle pull of a trigger any given second. She’d gone out in the field with Dom before, and she’d grown accustomed to working under pressure. But this was different.
Once she’d tended to the Weavers and Alex, she moved to Thomas. The man grimaced in pain. He’d never been given painkillers by the Coast Guard medics. They’d treated him with disdain and malignant neglect as if they’d already condemned him—judge, jury, and executioner.
“You holding up?” Lauren asked.
“No talking!” Smith barked.
Thomas shut his mouth. His face was ghost white, and sweat dripped across his wrinkled forehead, streaming from under his gray hair. He gave her a steely nod and closed his eyes as she peeled back the gauze to examine his wounds. There was an exit wound on his shoulder, signifying there was no bullet lodged in his flesh. It was bloody, but at least the risk of infection would be reduced.
Her investigation showed the bullet in his thigh was still embedded.
“We have to take it out,” Lauren said.
“We don’t have to do anything,” Smith replied, his eyes narrowed. “Patch it up, but no one’s getting surgery.”
Lauren furrowed her brow and pointed at the wound. “It’s shallow. I can remove it without anesthesia. It won’t be pretty, but I can do it.” She would have preferred Peter handle the procedure. The man was a talented surgeon. Surgery wasn’t her forte, but she knew pressing her luck was a bad idea. Anyway, she had something else in mind. “I just need a few supplies.”
She returned to the medicine cabinet. Her gun-toting shadow never strayed far as she snagged fresh sutures and surgical tools. She made a show of reaching for an empty spot in a cabinet.
“Damn,” she said, then rubbed her temple.
“What?” Smith asked.
“We’re out of clean gauze.”
“I find that hard to believe. A ship like this runs out of gauze? What are you playing at?”
“No, I mean, we just don’t have any here.” Lauren placed the tools in a metal tray and brought them to Thomas’s bedside. “We’ve got plenty of gauze stored in our supplies, but that’s in the cargo bay.”
The guard eyed the cabinet, then Lauren. She prepared several arguments in case he insisted he could go find the gauze for her.
“Then let’s go get it,” Smith said.
She stopped short of audibly sighing in relief. It wasn’t that she planned to do anything rash, but she wanted to see firsthand the current situation of the ship. Smith led her into the passageway and then prodded her through the corridor with the muzzle at her back. The hatch to the electronics workshop was open.
She stole a quick peek inside. Chao and Samantha were both tied to a post in the corner. Samantha had a black eye, and her knuckles were bleeding. Lauren stifled her grin. The comm specialist hadn’t given up without a fight. Samantha looked through the hatch and caught Lauren’s eye. Samantha gave her a furtive wink, which Lauren returned before being urged on by Smith.
These people might already think the Huntress was theirs and that the battle was won. But it wasn’t over. Not by a long shot. Just like Samantha, Lauren wouldn’t give up. They’d find a way to regain control of the Huntress. That shared wink had been enough to remind her that the whole crew would do anything in their power to get these invaders off their ship.
“Come on,” Smith said. “I want to get this over with.”
“Oh, of course,” Lauren said as she ducked through the hatch to the cargo bay. “It won’t take too long.”
And it won’t be too long before we take our ship back.
***
Kara Holland watched Adam Galloway hunch over the comm equipment he’d taken from the Huntress. There was a myriad of small electronic bits and pieces she didn’t quite recognize laid out across the counter of the gift shop at Mt. Vernon. She wan
ted to learn everything she could about the equipment but didn’t want to bother the comm specialist now. He seemed to be hyper-focused on the task. While he worked, she could at least make herself useful. An open door in the gift shop led to the site’s restaurant.
There, red-and-white wallpaper lined the gloomy room. Sunlight filtered in between the heavy canvas curtains and illuminated dust motes floating in the air.
“Looking for some grub?” Navid Ghasemi asked, his shirt pulled over his nose. He and Adam had helped them escape from the Huntress when it was taken. Now all they had to do was wait for her dad’s team to arrive. But first, they needed to eat.
Kara pinched her nostrils closed. “Smells awful.”
“No kidding.”
Kara’s little sister, Sadie, came out from the kitchen holding a plastic bag filled with brown liquid and the remains of what used to be some kind of fruit or vegetable. Maggie followed, tail wagging and tongue lolling as if the odor was the best thing she’d ever experienced.
“What do you think this is?” Sadie asked. “Isn’t it gross?”
“Yeah, so why are you carrying it?”
“Looking for the good food. Navid said we should get all the rotten stuff and throw it away.”
“Not just throw it away, but bury it,” Navid added. “You can practically smell this restaurant from all over the estate.”
“Doesn’t sound like a terrible idea,” Kara said. “I’ll help.”
She regretted those words as she helped Navid and Sadie fill trash bags full of meat and fruits with green and black stuff growing all over them. A dense fog of buzzing flies droned around the shelves and refrigerators, and squirming white maggots poked out of the slabs of uncooked poultry and beef. She swore one of the steaks almost ran away when she reached for it.
“Maggie, get out of there!” Sadie yelled. The dog backed from a drawer filled with mold-covered bread.
“Got to dig past the dirt to get to the diamonds,” Navid quipped.
The Tide: Deadrise Page 2