Children Of Fiends: Book 2 of the Of Sudden Origin saga

by C. Chase Harwood

  Timbs nodded. “Didn’t know about Australia and the islands.”

  “So where are you from?” asked Mr. Kile. “Why the war paint, as it were?”

  Timbs smiled. “We are Shoremen. The nation of The Shore. The Delmarva Peninsula to you. We like it that way.”

  Palmer and Kile shared a look. Palmer looked back at Timbs, “But you’re American, right?”

  Timbs smiled, tipped his hat and climbed aboard the tender. “Until we meet again.” The battery powered engine caught to life and Timbs threw off the dock line pulling away.

  In the conning tower of the Delfshaven, Dean, Sanders, Blakely, Eliza and Hernandez, having agreed to not let the twins scan the man’s brain for fear of sending the wrong message, had observed the whole exchange through the linkup in their helmets,.

  “The Shore?” asked Hernandez.

  Dean, watching the receding tender said, “The bulk of what was Delaware, some of Maryland and Virginia. An island mostly. Chesapeake on one side and the Atlantic on the other.”

  Wen said, “It seems like they’re pretty well set up. Followed us all the way. Those spider drones. How come we haven’t heard about them?”

  “Kept to themselves for sure,” said Sanders. “Huge fail on the Navy’s part.”

  “It would explain the recent rash of piracy,” said Dean. “Guess they’re feeling their oats.”

  Hernandez said, “Huge fail. How we missed an entire surviving colony of Americans just to the south of us is beyond me.”

  “Everybody is on Virtutrips,” said Wen. “A decade of hiding out in an alternate reality. I mean look at us? We are the first real expedition beyond the Terminus.”

  Hernandez said, “Here is how I see it. Those people. The Shoremen. Whatever their mission, it has been and remains generally hostile to us. I am sure that they have every intention of trying to take this ship and kill all of us. We must make it our mission to do that to them instead. Besides, the destroyer is a huge prize. That ship alone makes this trip worthwhile.”

  Eliza looked at Dean to see if he agreed. Dean kept a poker face on while appearing to mull. She said to Hernandez. “You don’t know that for sure. We can’t just murder those people.”

  Dean said, “Then we need to make use of Hansel and Gretel. They will need to watch that ship carefully and as the opportunity arises, find out what their intentions are.”

  “What if the opportunity doesn’t arise?” asked Eliza.

  “It will. They have to physically interact with us to set up the tow.” He turned to Sanders. “In the meantime, we get busy cutting a hole in the rear decking and welding up a steering rig to the rudder.”

  “Aye, Cap.”

  Dean looked at the rest of them. “Okay. You’ve all got things to do.”

  Everyone filed out. Eliza hung back a bit. She hesitated at the door and took off her helmet. Dean looked at her expectantly, a little surprised. She asked, “How are you?”

  He felt the lump creep back into his throat and had to clear it before he spoke. “I’m… okay. You?”

  “Angry at myself.”

  Dean waited for more but she wasn’t giving it. He asked, “That it?”

  “For now.” She started to exit and then paused again, locking her eyes with his. “I’m sorry.” To his discomfort he could feel himself getting aroused. She looked away. “I’ll see you later.” She let the door shut. The room felt very silent. For the first time in a very long time, Dean felt alone and he sighed at the sudden inability to be happy in his own skin. He needed to get out of this suddenly stuffy, musty smelling room. As he reached for the door, he saw motion on the crane. With remarkable speed and agility, the drone suddenly scurried down the superstructure of the huge machine, hit the ground without making a noise and shot across the dock. Timbs was making a beeline back to the dock. Dean stepped out and ran to the bow.

  Green saw him and spoke into his mic, “Green, Sir. Saw the pucks go below with Ms. Sherr.”

  “We’re leaving the pucks out of it for now. Meet me at the bow.”

  Green caught up with Dean in time to see the tender pulling away; the spider drone hunkered down on its stern. The sergeant nodded at the pucks stepping onto the deck saying, “Shame not to let them scan that guy for info.”

  “When the timing is right, Sergeant.”

  Eliza joined the pucks at the rail and watched as the tender moved out of sight behind the jumble of other boats in the harbor.

  Dean let them have their fruitless search as he felt their minds reach out in a general way. His sense of smell was suddenly overwhelming and he felt their desire to help, to be part of the team, their minds concentrating on the fabric of the air. He could smell the slowly corroding metal of the ship, the rot of exposed seaweed on the rocks below, old oil, a musky odor that could only be from himself, and Eliza: the perfume that was her natural scent. A regular sound of the sea was missing and it took a moment for what it was to burble up from his questioning subconscious. He hadn’t noticed it until now. There were no seagulls. No shore birds at all. This was a dead place. There was an unseen reason for the widespread death and they needed to leave. Leave right away. He let out a deep breath and resolved to center himself. An opportunity would arise to interrogate the Shoremen. They needed to get safely away first.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  By Sea

  The Shoremen had maneuvered the Lyndon Johnson so that her stern lay within a spear’s throw of the Delfshaven’s bow. Jamesbonds had cast their docking lines from the Delfshaven to the destroyer’s deck below and it was the spider drone that cleated the thick ropes off to the Lyndon Johnson’s stern. The Shoremen never showed themselves and only spoke through the drone. Dean considered trying to destroy the machine and therefore force the mysterious men to come out into the open, but it would be an obvious antagonism and he deferred to his better judgment, choosing to continue waiting for opportunity. He wasn’t foolish enough to assume that the men in the assault ship felt any differently than he did and he placed a full-time guard of three at the bow with enough firepower to obliterate anything or anybody that tried to come up that steel hawser. He hoped.

  Ensign Palmer took charge of the rig that they’d built to steer the Delfshaven while Dean took his position on the comm. From there he could call out compass points to the men who physically steered but were blind while working at the stern. It was a cumbersome process, but the boat held a fairly straight line behind the destroyer as it pulled away from the dock. It was a breezy day with a cold fifteen-knot wind coming in from the North, reminding everyone that the short summer was rapidly fading away. An hour of slow, respectful maneuvering through heartbreaking wreckage had them southbound in the open sea. The Lyndon Johnson picked up speed and the hawsers drew guitar string tight.

  Brandy St. James was, like most children who are placed in dire conditions, fully adapted to the idea of taking care of herself. She appreciated the attention that she got from the soldier, Corporal Kelly, but the soldier was really too busy to truly tend to her. None of the other adults could spare the time either, and the scientist woman, despite seeming sweet, was one of them: the ones who worked for The Chosen. For that matter, everyone on board seemed to work with The Chosen if not directly for them.

  From the moment that she had been captured by these people she had been trying to find a way to escape, hoping perhaps to meet another settlement, people that were free, persuade them to take her in. Her own family had lived that way. Getting by in Southern Arizona with six other families in a tight cabin and temporary shelters made from piled stones, brush and mud. She had no memories of before, but there had been books and tales told around the evening meal. Her life had been difficult; the weather hard, food often scarce, and there was always fear of a disease that was spoken of only in whispers among the adults. Despite hardship and the loss of the elders to what they all assumed was pneumonia, Brandy had been happy. An only child, her parents saw to it that she would grow
up properly, helping her learn how to help remake the world right. Then the Chosen had come. A nightmare that none among them had imagined. They marched them off to the town where the swimming pools were filled with fish. The town was full of people, living their lives – terrified. Then The Chosen took everyone away again. There was no struggle. The monsters simply took away the mind. And Brandy was alone.

  As she stood behind a door on the top deck level of the Delfshaven looking out the window at the soldiers and one sailor at the bow, a tear formed in the corner of Brandy’s eye. She wiped the offending water with contempt and frustration; the thing blurring her vision. She needed to stay sharp eyed. The pucks had left the bow. She would have to move fast. They wouldn’t expect this of her. She had a good coat, but no gloves and no hat. These people had taken her away before she could gather such things; such things as the picture of her parents, before she was born, sitting on a sofa with lots of other folks; smiling with other family. She missed her picture almost as much as she missed her parents. She blinked away more tears and steeled herself.

  Zipping her parka against the wind and stepping outside, she was surprised at how the breeze got up under her coat. She pushed her arms against her sides to prevent further violation and marched toward the bow. Her mind was clear for the moment. The Chosen did not see her. She dodged back and forth amongst the strapped down wind turbine parts in an effort not to be spotted from the living quarters and control rooms. When she reached the bow, she put on a smile for the guards and an extra highlight for Kelly, who asked, “Brandy, what are you doing up here?”

  “I wanted to see where you were working.” She could hear the lie in the way she said it. She hadn’t had much occasion to lie.

  “I’m afraid it’s not the best place for you. It’s cold and,” Kelly nodded over the bow, “we’re not sure what they may be up to at any given moment.”

  Green smiled at the girl with a mixture of warmth and annoyance. Bill Wall, the sailor who rounded out the watch, ignored her completely, his gaze fully fixed on the destroyer in front of them. Brandy could see that the ocean was moving, and that the wind blew white foam off the tops of the waves, like she’d seen in pictures in books. As she fully took it in, and felt the movement of the ship, which was much greater up here, she began to second-guess herself. Then Wall turned and gave her a disproving look. “Go back inside, girl.”

  She knew how to ignore an adult order. She pretended not to hear. Instead she moved to a place where one of the big ropes was tied and led off through a hole to the destroyer. She peered over the three-foot tall wall that made up the outer edge of the gunwale and looked at where the taut line led down to the ship below. It was so far. Much farther than she had imagined. Kelly broke into her thoughts. “Brandy, do as Mr. Wall says, please. We mustn’t be distracted.”

  Brandy turned to Kelly, smiled and nodded, then turned and with a quick little leap, threw herself over the bow onto the rope below. She slid perhaps ten feet before fear gripped her with crushing force and she latched onto the line, aware only of the rising and falling sea. Her hands spoke of penetrating cold. She heard but didn’t decipher the shouts from above. Imploring hands reached down, Kelly throwing a leg over the bow, considering a climb onto the rope as well. With the fear of being captured outweighing the fear of falling into the freezing sea and being sucked under the boat, Brandy slightly released her grip and slid another ten feet before she was stricken again by the magnitude of what she had done. Tears filled her eyes and she shook them off her head in frustration, blinking them away to focus instead on the fibers that made up the thick line she held to. She heard Kelly now. Demanding that she come back. Explaining to her how to shimmy up the rope, and then in exasperation fully coming over the side to climb onto the rope itself. That’s when the hanger doors on the destroyer opened. In the bay designed to hold a helicopter the hulking form of the spider drone took its place. The thing presented its weapon and Thompson’s voice said, “Halt. Come no further.” Kelly stood as still as she could, her feet on the line, her hands on the ship. Green and Wall took aim at the drone, but it was mostly cast in shadow and upon being aimed at, it stepped further into darkness. Brandy’s grip was losing strength. She slid some more, the rope burning her hands as she gained speed, her legs trembling and burning as well. The ship below got closer and closer. She could see the spider thing pointing its big gun and just as she was about to reach the deck, she lost her hold and fell as heavy bullets filled the air where she had just been, slicing the hawser into strands of popping steel floss. She landed hard on the very back edge of the commando swim platform, just above the propeller churned sea. She felt utter disorientation as her air was knocked clean and her brain and body struggled to restore it. Tunnel vision overtook her while gasping pain filled her chest and shoulders, and the back of her head throbbed where it had hit the deck hardest.

  It was Vicar Wentworth who received the girl from the drone. He was far too fat to hold her, but Deacon Hoeg was at his side and lifted the girl with ease. The vicar offered soothing words as they stepped inside. Brandy looked at the receding drone with dread as its head swiveled to take her in, but felt comfort in the embrace of the man who held her. She had done it. She had escaped. She was with people who were not with The Chosen. Her relief brought new tears to her eyes and she sighed, giving the vicar and the deacon cause to smile warmly with reassurance.

  In the command room, Plimpton and Hanson had watched the clergy collect the girl. Plimpton thought that despite a mask of fear, pain and confusion, she was nevertheless a pretty girl. Beckman, the shift’s driver, shook his head and wondered aloud, “What do you suppose is going on back there to make her want to do that?”

  Plimpton had seen the girl’s eyes staring directly into the screen. They were big and brown and moist with emotion. He felt a sharp pain in his mouth as saliva burst forth and he found himself licking his teeth. Hanson caught the movement from the corner of his eye, and thought… No he is not. That’s just silly. His boss was not mad. Then he reconsidered; the girl was rather striking.

  By the time Dean got out to the bow, Thompson, on the destroyer had brought the speed down considerably in order to take the pressure off the remaining towline. Dean’s crew was already prepping another line to be thrown. He spoke from the bow using a hand made hailer to the drone; the thing exposed on the deck, awaiting the new rope. “Is the girl okay?”

  The drone’s speaker crackled for a moment, then Plimpton’s voice filled the void, “Miss St. James is doing fine. Some burns on her hands and bump to the head, but we have access to good first aid here."

  "We can rig a rappelling device and come collect her."

  There was a long pause. Then Plimpton said, "The girl prefers not the company of Devils you travel with. She wishes to stay with us."

  Dean raised an eyebrow and asked, “Can we hear that from her?”

  In the control room of the destroyer, Plimpton smiled at the girl who stood staring at the monitor. Brandy was nearly overwhelmed by the technology around her. She had learned a little of such things from books, but this... It was a cold place, dark, dimly lit by the blues and greens glowing off the machines. Plimpton placed a comforting hand on her shoulder and she shivered briefly from the unexpected contact. His grip remained gentle but suddenly firm across the back of her neck. He handed the mic to her. “Why don’t you tell them, my dear?” Brandy held the mic like it was living thing, away, as though it might bite. Plimpton slowly brought it toward her mouth and helped press her thumb on the actuator. “Just speak while holding this button.”

  Hanson observed it all with growing heat in his face. He stood near the wall; his standard posting, awaiting the whims of the master. He swore to himself that this girl would go unharmed. It was enough that he had been yanked into this misadventure. He couldn’t help but note that the girl was beautiful. Such smooth skin. Such big brown eyes. Cheekbones that had almost fully shed the soft fat of childhood. He sympathized with h
is boss’s proclivity, but he would not allow another... another horror to happen.

  Brandy whispered into the mic, “I want to stay.”

  “You’ll need to speak up, dear,” said Plimpton.

  She said louder, “I’m sorry. I want to stay here.”

  Aboard the Delfshaven, Kelly burst out, "Can't do that!"

  "She's her own person," said Dean.

  "She a child, Cap."

  Eliza came forward with Hansel and Gretel at her side. Dean said, "She doesn't want to come back." He gave the pucks a questioning look.

  Eliza looked at the pucks and asked, "Did you bother the girl?"

  "She spat at us," said Hansel.

  "We did nothing, but she is full of fear," said Gretel. She caught both Dean and Eliza’s looks and followed with, “We left her mind be. Her fear rides on the waves that all of you send.”

  Dean asked, “Why weren’t you here?”

  “We had to pee,” said Hansel.

  “I said one at a time.” Dean glanced at Green.

  Kelly broke in, "We can't just leave her over there.”

  Exasperated, Dean asked, "How do you propose we get her back?"

  Before Kelly could answer, the drone ended the discussion by skittering back into the hanger, the doors closing behind it with heavy clang.

  The voyage proved monotonous and uneventful after that. Both parties kept to themselves. Prudence dictated that they stay away from land until they could angle for the canal. A wide open ocean, only occasionally dappled with icebergs this far south, remained a constant state of gray with little in the way of waves to disturb it. At night it was the same; black replaced gray.

  One morning the crew of the Delfshaven observed tuna on the hunt. A large school had rounded up a smaller school of prey. Like hundreds of missiles falling on a huge swirling ball of a city, the tuna darted about in a lightning fast feeding frenzy. They were accompanied by a screeching mix of competing sea birds that dove in for the shredded scraps of the kill only to in turn be summoned by Hansel and Gretel who drew scores of them to the deck for the sailors to net. Dean observed that it was the first time that his crew and the pucks had worked together. It had happened seamlessly and almost without discussion. It was also a painfully clear example of how very easily the pucks could survive: perfect control over the will of others. For an animal, any animal, to offer itself up as a meal without hesitation was... deeply disturbing.