The Tide: Breakwater (Tide Series Book 2)

by Melchiorri, Anthony J

  Maybe it was foolish—maybe he had no business studying a subject he hadn’t touched since his undergraduate years. But Glenn picked up one of the books anyway. If he couldn’t battle the Skulls with a rifle, maybe he could do battle with the Oni Agent armed with a pipette and lab coat. He couldn’t help the grin cutting across his face at the ludicrous idea, but at least it kept his mind from dwelling on the mission underway without him.

  ***

  Sunlight glinted off the whitecaps in the choppy waters. The Queen of the Bay was anchored in the middle of the Chesapeake. Around her floated a veritable armada of seacraft, though most paled in size compared to the two-hundred-foot-long dinner cruise ship. Dom had once taken his ex-wife, Bethany, on one of those cruises, though he’d sailed out from Baltimore. It was a romantic way to spend an evening drinking, dancing, and enjoying the sunset while at sea. A far cry from the floating doomsday ship that it was now.

  He crouched over the prow of the Zodiac as it bounced on a wave, his fingers tight around the rope tracing the rubber gunwale. The sun climbed into the sky off their starboard bow. Dom found it hard to believe they had been defending the chopper against the Skull onslaught only hours ago, and now they found themselves embarking on yet another rendezvous with the beasts.

  It had torn him up to say goodbye to his daughters once again, to leave them on the ship while he went off to fight. Especially when Kara was still lying unconscious and injured. But he had no choice. He had a crew to lead and a mission to accomplish.

  Meredith gripped the gunwale beside him. “I won’t lie, I have butterflies in my stomach. Have you ever lost that feeling?”

  “Not quite,” Dom said. “But I think it’s different now. Before, when we were still in the Agency, my nerves would be on fire when I thought I might be in danger. Now my concern is for my crew.”

  Miguel clapped a gloved hand on Dom’s shoulder. “And your concern is appreciated, O Captain, my Captain.”

  “Don’t get poetic on me,” Dom said, bracing himself as they hit a rolling wave.

  “Can’t help it, Chief,” Miguel said. “On a crisp and clear morning like this, I can practically feel Whitman’s ghost in the air.”

  “Did you break into Lauren’s medical supplies and take something you weren’t supposed to?” Dom asked.

  Miguel smirked. “The salty sea air is intoxicating enough for me.”

  “Better take it all in while you can,” Dom said as the Zodiac slowed near the Queen of the Bay. A gaggle of passengers waved at them. Some wore expressions of relief at seeing a paramilitary group. Other faces seemed green with sickness. Even from their vantage point, Dom could tell the refugees had overloaded the ship’s safe capacity. “I have a feeling it’s going to smell a lot worse when we’re aboard.”

  Hector steered the Zodiac aft-ward toward the Queen’s stern. Along the lower deck, empty metal hooks swung behind the ship.

  “Shouldn’t they have lifeboats?” Hector called out over the gurgle of the Zodiac’s motor.

  A man in a white steward’s uniform waved at them from among a crowd of passengers pressing him into the safety rails. Dom threw a mooring line to him, and the man made quick work of knotting the rope around the rails. Renee followed suit from the second Zodiac after Dom’s boat had been secured.

  Dom climbed from the Zodiac onto the deck. The steward shook his hand. “Thank you so much. I’m Jeremy Holtz. The captain’s up in the pilothouse. He’d greet you himself, but as you can see, it’s a bit of a madhouse around here, and he’s a bit indisposed.”

  Voices carried up around them, and Dom struggled to be heard above the din. “No kidding. Has anyone else responded to the SOS?”

  Holtz shook his head. “No.”

  “You said the captain was indisposed. Is he...infected?”

  “I’m no medical expert,” Holtz said. “But he did come in contact with one of those things while we were battening down all the hatches to keep the creatures inside.”

  “Shit,” Dom said. “We heard there are survivors that may still be trapped below deck.”

  “That’s correct, sir.” Holtz hung his head low. “We couldn’t mount any type of rescue effort. The best we could do was get as many passengers as we could above deck and throw any aggressors overboard.”

  Dom gazed at the hanging cables from the painted white steel arms where the ship’s lifeboats should have been. “And what the hell happened to your lifeboats?”

  Holtz’s cheeks flushed red, his eyes narrowing as he turned away, looking toward the choppy waves. “A few of the crew abandoned ship. We loaded up the remaining lifeboats, but the passengers were too panicked, too overwhelmed. A couple of boats are out there.” He pointed toward the orange vessels floating in the distance, closer to the shore. “But the rest took off underloaded. We have no idea where they went.”

  “But you and a few others stayed behind to protect the remaining passengers.”

  Holtz held his head slightly higher and adjusted his white jacket. “Of course. Dinner cruise or not, that’s our duty.”

  “Absolutely.” The winds shifted, and the scent of body odor and sickness drifted over Dom. “We don’t have any time to waste. What’s the best way for us to get below deck?”

  Holtz gestured to a glass door behind them. “We haven’t seen any activity on this deck, so I can let you in through here.”

  “Perfect.” Dom raised his voice. “Hunters, on me!”

  The group, clad in their black tactical vests and body armor, pushed their way through the crowd toward Dom. Lauren, Peter, and Sean continued to lug boxes of medical supplies aboard.

  “How do you want to set up triage?” Dom asked Lauren.

  She pulled back a strand of hair matted by sweat and sea spray. “There’s not enough room down here. How’s the top deck?”

  “Not any better,” Holtz said. “Actually, probably worse up there.”

  “We’ll make do here until you clear the interior lower decks,” Lauren said.

  “You heard her,” Dom said to the Hunters. He motioned for the steward to unlock the door.

  Holtz inserted his key into the door then stopped. He reached into another pocket. “Before I forget, take this. It’ll be more helpful to you than me.”

  Dom took the laminated paper. It was a copy of the deck plans. “Thanks.”

  Nodding, Holtz unlocked the door. Dom and the Hunters rushed in, rifles shouldered. The steward locked the door behind them, shutting out the cacophony of the crowd. Dom took a moment to evaluate his surroundings. An empty buffet bar took up the center of the open room. Chairs lay askew, scattered around dining tables, and white tablecloths and blue napkins were strewn about. The unmistakable scent of decay and death wafted around them, though Dom didn’t see an obvious source.

  “Smells worse in here than above deck,” Meredith said. “Not a good sign, huh?”

  “Not at all,” Dom replied.

  Past the buffet bar, a wide, twisting staircase rose to a second level of the dining area. Expansive windows let sunlight in to illuminate the far wall, which held two doors, presumably leading to the galley. Dom led the group toward the stairs. He scanned the debris with his rifle as they approached, but nothing leapt out at them. When he reached the bottom of the stairs, he held up a fist to signal the rest of the team to stop. He glanced up, but the entrance to the deck above was blocked with a pile of overturned dining tables and chairs. They wouldn’t make it through easily without making a considerable amount of noise and potentially attracting whatever Skulls might be milling about. They needed another route.

  With another quick flick of his hand, he sent Renee and her squad toward the starboard galley door across the room. He led his squad toward the portside door. His fingers on the door handle, Dom waited for his squad to get in position near the entrance. Mirroring his actions, Renee caught his eye, and they both moved to swing the doors open.

  Neither door budged. Locked, Dom figured. So much for a quiet entrance. He reared his
leg back and slammed his boot on the door. The lock broke, and the door thumped against the interior bulkhead. The sound of Renee’s door bursting open followed an instant later. Their two squads filtered in. Without portholes, the only light penetrating the darkness came in from the dining room.

  The Hunters clicked on their barrel-mounted flashlights. Swathes of white light reflected off industrial stainless steel appliances and pans hanging from the ceiling. Broken dishware and cooking utensils littered the floor. A small clatter made Dom swing his barrel toward the noise. His light shone on a large can of beans rolling with the ship’s gentle sway.

  Dom ignored the can and led his squad down one side of the galley, separated from Renee’s squad by a long island of sinks and stovetops. As the squads snuck forward, a thump resounded from the large walk-in refrigerator at the end of the galley. It sounded again. Thump, thump. Muffled cries were audible from within. Dom’s pulse quickened, beating in his ears. He approached the walk-in, treading as lightly as possible. He took a deep breath and signaled Miguel and Hector to take up positions around the door.

  With a steady hand, he slowly peeled the walk-in open so Miguel and Hector could get a better look. The door suddenly burst back, flinging Dom against the galley bulkhead. Screams echoed as something barreled out.

  -15-

  “Hold your fire!” Miguel’s voice rang out.

  Three shapes charged past, but without the aid of light, they tripped and fell over the mess of pots, pans, and dishware piled through the galley.

  Renee lowered her rifle and took out a second flashlight, shining it on the trio. A man, woman, and child backed themselves against the door of a massive oven.

  “It’s okay,” Dom said, holding up a hand.

  Dom pushed himself up from where he’d fallen and steadied himself, one hand gripping a counter. “We’re here to help.”

  The woman shook her head, long locks of hair waving. She shivered, as did the man and child. The cool air escaping the walk-in made Dom wonder if it was cold alone or fright that contributed to their shaking.

  “We’re not going to hurt you,” Miguel said, lowering his weapon.

  “Who–” the man said, his teeth chattering. “Who are you?”

  Dom made quick introductions while he shone the light over each of their faces. Their clothes were dirty, but none seemed hurt or injured. Their eyes were still clear of the bloodshot sclera characteristic of the Oni Agent, and their nails were free from the yellow growths signifying an early infection.

  “Jenna, Andris, escort them outside,” Dom ordered.

  “Aye, aye, Captain.” Jenna shot him a thumbs up, and Andris stepped over a sideways serving cart toward the family.

  “Before you all go,” Dom started, “can you tell me where you saw any of the—” He fumbled for words, unsure if they’d seen Skulls or just people who’d only recently been turned by the Oni agent. “Anyone acting overly aggressive?”

  “You mean the cannibals?” the woman asked.

  “Right,” Dom said. “Anyone like that.”

  She pointed out the exit doors nearest the walk-in refrigerator. “That way, mostly.” She nodded to indicate the doors on the opposite end of the galley that led to the dining room. “We tried to escape, but one of them cornered us down here. We couldn’t get away, so we holed up in there.”

  “Okay, thank you,” Dom said. He scanned the walk-in to ensure no one—or nothing—else lay inside, and then turned back to the family. “Do you know where any other survivors might be?”

  The man shook his head solemnly.

  “Go warm yourselves up outside, away from this place.”

  Jenna and Andris led the family out of the galley and into the dining room.

  “They said they saw one down here,” Meredith said, “but where the hell did it go? I didn’t think Skulls were too bright.”

  The Hunters played their lights around the galley.

  “There,” Hector said. His barrel-mounted flashlight illuminated an open ventilation shaft near the top of one wall. Its grating had fallen to the floor. It was wide enough for a thin individual to slip through. He pointed toward scratches along the metal lip. “Something climbed in.”

  Miguel shone his flashlight into the recesses of the shaft, but the beam of light revealed only the metal ribs of the empty passage. After a little under a minute, Jenna and Andris returned and reported they’d delivered the family safely outside.

  “Time to go up,” Dom said, moving toward the end of the galley. “If Skulls are in the ventilation shafts, keep your eyes open.”

  A set of swinging double doors next to the walk-in each contained a round porthole. Like the galley, the space beyond the doors was bathed in darkness. Dom shone his light through to reveal a black steel staircase going up to the next deck.

  “Ready?” He asked the Hunters.

  They nodded in unison.

  He nudged one of the doors to make sure it was unlocked. It gave way with the gentle push, and Dom shot another quick hand signal. With his shoulder, he leaned into the door and shoved through. He quickly moved to a corner in the stairwell as the others poured out and took up positions.

  Waiting with bated breath, he listened for any growls, cries, or scratching claws, but no sounds gave away the presence of any Skulls. The flashlight beams from the Hunters cast haunting shadows against the bulkhead.

  Dom gestured for Renee to take point.

  She placed a boot on the first step and played the barrel of her gun up, directing the flashlight toward the next deck. “No contacts.” She started up the stairs.

  The other Hunters lined up behind her, rifles at the ready. They crept up to the next landing. Once there, Dom shone his flashlight through the small porthole in the door. The meager beam reflected off a stainless steel table and whitewashed tile floors. Two sinks and a soda fountain were on a counter that glinted as the light played across it.

  “Looks like a food staging area or something for the mid-deck dining room,” Dom whispered. He rotated the flashlight beam to scan every corner before moving in. “I don’t see—”

  A hand slapped across the glass, its fingers leaving a trail of blood. A croaking, gurgling sound escaped from under the door.

  “What the fuck?” Renee said.

  Meredith readjusted her rifle against her shoulder. “That doesn’t sound like the Skulls I’m used to.”

  “Could be an injured passenger,” Dom said. “Cover me.”

  Dom pushed on the door, but the body the hand belonged to blocked it from opening all the way. He slipped through the crack and aimed his flashlight at the person. The light illuminated her bloodstained face. Her mouth opened and closed, blood bubbling and popping from it as the gargling continued.

  “Holy shit,” Miguel said, sliding in after Dom. Meredith and the other Hunters filled up the rest of the food staging area and secured the next set of doors.

  “The smell...” Jenna gagged.

  Dom knelt next to the woman. He played the light across the rest of her body. What he saw made him stagger. “Fuck.”

  There was hardly anything left below her torso. Her left leg was nothing but ribbons of flesh. Her right leg, apparently still strong enough to stand on, was covered in dried blood and the scratch marks characteristic of a Skull attack. One arm hung limp by her side, chunks of flesh gnawed to the bone. The woman reached out with her one good arm and dragged herself up by lacing her fingers into the door handle. Her body shook with the effort to stand. Her nails, long and talon-like, clicked against the metal, and bone-like spikes burst from her skin near her elbow.

  “She’s a goddamn Skull,” Renee said. She leveled her rifle at the woman’s face.

  Lurching forward, the Skull fell and crashed against the floor. She tried to rise again, lashing out toward Dom. He stepped back and, with one hand, pushed Renee’s barrel down. “No firing. We don’t know what else is out there.”

  Slinging his SCAR-H over his shoulder, he drew a knife from the
sheath strapped to his thigh. He bent next to the woman, and her bloodshot eyes locked with his. He expected to see hate and anger radiating from her pupils, but he instead saw only a sad, desperate hunger. Animalistic instinct, nothing more.

  With a quick flick of his blade, he slit her carotid, and she slumped backward. Blood pumped from the severed artery, spilling across the floor and adding to the already strong ferrous scent and odor of decay permeating the space. Her arm shot out in one final attempt to reach her prey. But Dom merely stepped back again and watched the life flow from the cruel atrocity that had once been a human being.

  “Good lord,” Andris said, his Eastern European accent coming in strong. “Skull or not, how was she even alive?”

  Meredith pointed to the tourniquets near her shredded appendages. “Looks like someone tried to help her after she was attacked.”

  “Man, she wasn’t coming back from that,” Miguel said.

  Dom stepped over the remains of the Skull and held up a fist for silence. "We're moving." He edged across the food staging area toward another set of doors. He nudged one open. The room beyond was bathed in darkness. In an effort to shield themselves from the Skulls, the crew must have dropped the curtains on the windows. Dom mentally commended the crew member who had thought to cut off the Skulls’ line of sight.

  “Flashlights off. NVGs on,” he said in a low voice.

  His vision went dark for a moment until the NVGs clicked into place. The food staging area lit up in a sea of blacks and greens. He glanced at his Hunters, who gazed back at him with their own NVGs secured and IR markers shining. They were all tensed with weapons at the ready. He pointed to Miguel to take point. The Hunter crept up to the door. Dom held up three fingers and counted down.

  When his last finger curled toward his palms, Dom followed Miguel out through the door. The odor of rotten meat mixed with a coppery scent threatened to overwhelm his senses. His pulse throbbed in his ears, and he struggled to make sense of his surroundings. Pools of blood seemed to shimmer through his NVG’s lenses between the scattered remains of what once must've been humans. A man on the floor nearest Dom was now nothing more than a length of vertebrae, a fractured skull, and the torn remains of a tuxedo. A wall of tipped-over tables, broken dishware, and jumbled chairs blocked the path toward a wide dance floor.