Shadow Cast: A Brock Finlander Novel (Coastal Adventure Series Book 3)

by E. J. Foster

  “He’s right!” the captain shouted over the conversation, finally coming out of his malaise. “He’s right,” he repeated, softer. “And I’ll do it.”

  My forehead wrinkled and I turned to look at the captain.

  “You’ve got to get off this ship,” I said to him. “Come with us. It’s not safe.”

  “I’m not going anywhere,” the old man said, resigned. “I’ve sailed these waters for over fifty years. I’ve seen it all in my time, but I’ve never lost a ship.” He paused thoughtfully before continuing, “No. A captain must go down with his ship. And that’s what I plan to do. I’ll ignite the ship.”

  Thunder cracked and rumbled outside.

  I recognized the honor in what the captain was offering, even though I didn’t fully understand it. Was it an outdated concept? The captain going down with his ship. I struggled to remember the origins of the tradition but couldn’t find it. The act seemed outmoded in modern times, but still, I saw valor there.

  I offered my hand to the old captain, and he shook it, with no words spoken between us.

  “So, what now?” Jules was impatient.

  “Now, we get to the Jacobs ladder and climb off this ship, the same way we boarded it.” I turned to the captain. “When we’re all clear, the captain will—”

  “I’ll ignite the gas,” the captain said, cutting me off. “When it catches, it should blow the entire ship.”

  My eyes found the floor, understanding the full impact of what he was offering to do, and what he was sacrificing.

  “Jules,” I broke the silence. “Get the captain a mask.” She had already pulled one out of her pack and held it out.

  “No, thank you,” the captain said, shaking his head. “I won’t need that where I’m going. This is my last ride.”

  “You’ll need it to get close to the green gas,” I explained.

  “If it’ll make you feel better,” the captain said. He snatched the mask out of Jules’ hand and put it around his neck but did not affix it over his mouth and nose. “Just in case,” he said, tugging at the elastic bands of the mask. “But I’m sure I won’t need it.”

  I nodded solemnly, and then turned to the others.

  “Katiana, take us to the ladder,” I said. “Jules, Finn and Jessa, follow her. I’ll take up the rear.”

  48

  Staring down over the edge was disorienting. The rope ladder drifted away from the ship as the giant vessel swayed in the wind, extending down into near darkness below.

  I saw the dim outline of my boat in the water, a hundred feet down, as it churned and bucked in the froth.

  I turned back, looking up. One level above, I could see the bridge deck, fully lit behind the panoramic bank of windows as the captain looked on.

  My shirt whipped and fluttered like a flag in the wind. The smell of salt in the air mixed with the rain.

  Squinting out to the horizon, I could just make out the black silhouette of Claw Island in the distance. Home. Relief washed over me at the thought.

  We were just one climb-of-a-ladder away from putting this nightmare behind us for good and resting our heads on our own pillows tonight.

  “What’s the plan?” Jules snapped me out of my train of thought.

  “Right,” I said, gathering myself and refocusing on the task. “I’ll go first. Make sure it’s safe.”

  “No,” Katiana said. “I shall go. You stay here and protect the children.”

  I worked my jaw, letting the thought rattle around my brain for a moment. In my head, and in my heart, I knew Katiana was right. She was also a strong woman, capable of making the climb, that much was obvious.

  After a moment, I spoke again.

  “Okay. Katiana, you lead the way. Then Jules and the kids. I’ll bring up the rear.”

  The wind howled in agreement.

  Before I knew it, Katiana had already climbed over the gunwale and had two feet on the ladder, facing me. Her blue eyes met mine, and we shared a moment, communicating with our eyes. Making a promise.

  We both gave a quick nod, and she began to descend.

  I looked down the gunwale and saw all eight hands over the edge, as Finn, Jessa, and Jules watched with me as Katiana navigated the flimsy ladder.

  The whole ship rocked, throwing Katiana out wide, and when she came crashing back into the steel hull, I heard a banshee cry in the howl of the wind. Katiana's grip on the wet rung had been jarred loose by the impact, and her lost feet flailed as she hung by one arm.

  Jessa yelped in the moment, and Jules sucked in air, gasping.

  My grip was spot welded on the ship as I tried to hold still under the throbbing in my chest.

  Katiana twisted and dangled, and then regained her footing. I began to breathe again.

  I pushed myself back away from the edge, needing a break from the view. I counted to ten, taking deep breaths, trying to calm the pulsing blood in my ears.

  When I opened my eyes again, I was staring at an angel. Katiana.

  She was back at the top of the ladder, right in front of me. For a second, I thought I was hallucinating.

  “I do not think this is an option,” Katiana said, breaking any illusion that she wasn’t real.

  “You can do this, Katiana. Give it another try,” I offered encouragement.

  “You do not understand,” she said. “This is not an option.”

  “If you can just make it to the boat—”

  “There is no boat,” she blurted out. I felt my face fold into confusion, and after a moment, Katiana tried again. “No boat.”

  I leaned out over the edge, squinting down into the blackness at the end of the ladder. No boat. I let my eyes drift outwards from the ship, scanning the bay. That’s when I saw it. A dim white object was drifting away from the giant ship.

  We stepped back in a semicircle, creating a space for Katiana to land on the deck. She threw one leg over the gunwale, and then the other, wincing and sucking in air at the effort.

  “Are you okay?” I asked.

  “My ribs. They might be broken,” she said. I gently placed a hand on her torso, examining for fractures, but felt nothing but the warmth of her body.

  “You took a pretty hard hit,” I said, letting my eyes meet hers. “But I think you’ll be okay.”

  She shook her head, and broke eye contact. She stared beyond me, her long blonde locks waving disagreement.

  “I do not think so,” she said.

  Jules turned to see what Katiana was focused on; the kids turned as well.

  When I looked back to see what had their attention, a commotion in the well-lit bridge deck drew my eye.

  A large black spider struggled to escape the bridge deck, trying to squeeze through the tiny door opening.

  “The captain?” I said out loud.

  “Highly unlikely,” Jessa answered.

  One large black spider leg passed through the small opening, leaving the abdomen, the thorax and seven other legs trapped inside.

  “We need a Plan B and we need it fast,” Jules said.

  A second leg emerged through the door. The spider bucked and rattled the glass, trying to force its way out.

  We needed to run, but where? There was no telling where the other spiders were.

  “Katiana, we need someplace safe. Is there somewhere we can go?”

  A third leg escaped the bridge. The head and thorax were through. Five legs and the abdomen remained trapped inside. The spider fought wildly, frustrated.

  Katiana's eyes went somewhere as she thought. When they came back, she spoke again.

  “Follow me.”

  49

  Katiana sprinted down the length of the ship. The kids and I followed, stumbling like drunkards as the rocking of the ship tossed us side to side.

  Crunching metal and shattering glass erupted from behind me, and I looked back to see the spider ramming against the structure, trying to break free of the bridge deck. The large glass picture window fractured in all directions, as a white patt
ern formed, and began to obstruct the transparency.

  The faster we ran, the more frenzied the beast became. A screech carried with the wind.

  “Where are we going?” I shouted ahead.

  “To the lifeboats,” Katiana cried, her voice trailing off into the wind.

  The green gas oozed out of every crevasse of this ship.

  The crunching metal was back, and this time it ended with an explosion of razor-sharp fragments. The thing had burst through the small aperture, tearing apart the structure, throwing glass shards in all directions.

  I started moving faster. My heart raced. I wasn’t sure if it was from the sprint or the terror.

  Up ahead, there were two large steel structures hanging out over the edge of the ship, like slides at a theme park. At the top of each was an orange lifeboat. The orange vessel was fully enclosed with a porthole window and looked more like a toy submarine than a boat.

  Katiana stopped at the first slide and guided the kids up a metal staircase which led to the first orange lifeboat. The treads clanged under foot.

  She opened the hatch door at the rear of the lifeboat, and it hissed, releasing pressure.

  The kids, Jules and Katiana hurried inside. I pulled the door shut behind us and latched it.

  Through the small porthole window in the door were two green eyes staring back at me from the other side of the glass.

  The creature launched up and out of view.

  “Take a seat and buckle up,” Katiana said, giving directions behind me. I turned to see her helping the kids fasten the five-point safety harnesses. Seatbelts on steroids.

  Shuffling and scratching sounds rattled through the roof above us. I couldn’t see the beast––but I could hear it.

  50

  The inside of this boat was laid out like a small school bus, with rows of seats on either side of the center aisle. It was difficult to stand. The nose of this orange submarine was facing down toward the water at a forty-five-degree angle, and gravity pulled me toward the bow. It felt like being at the top of a roller coaster, waiting for the fall.

  I peered through one of the tiny side windows; I had view of the other empty lifeboat mounted atop its emergency slide, like a competitor at the start of a race.

  The rear door of the other boat had been left hanging open.

  “Brock, buckle yourself in,” Katiana said as she sat in the front seat. She pumped a lever in her right hand, up and down.

  The clicking of footsteps on the roof intensified for a moment and then stopped, when the spider launched itself back to the ship deck. A flying black mass of movement silhouetted against the moonlit clouds.

  I took a seat and buckled in, keeping my eyes on the thing. It was moving toward the other lifeboat. What was this thing doing?

  Katiana continued pumping the hydraulic release lever with ferocity.

  “Did I ever tell you that I can’t swim?” Jessa asked Finn.

  Those were the last words I heard before the back of my seat crashed into me as we rapidly accelerated. The drop was almost sixty feet straight down to the water. I hadn’t felt thrust like that since my time as a pilot, flying fighter jets for the Navy.

  My stomach dropped out when we hit freefall. The weightlessness would have been a liberating sensation, except for the fact that we were headed for hard impact with the Chesapeake Bay. There was also something about being chased by alien spiders that took the magic out of the moment.

  My chest was thrown hard into my restraint, and the friction burns seared my skin. My head bucked forward from the impact, and then snapped back when the instantaneous deceleration ended. We were underwater, completely submerged for a few seconds before the entire craft broke the surface and popped back out of the water.

  The kids cheered like we had just finished the final hill on the flume ride at the amusement park.

  I looked out the small window, back up at the ship we had just escaped, and couldn’t believe how far we had fallen.

  Then, I saw movement. A black shadow worked busily at the other orange lifeboat, which was perched atop its slide far above us, prepared for a ride. The empty boat sagged under its own weight, as if it was fully loaded. Green gas emanated from every part of the ship.

  What is that thing doing?

  “Is everyone okay?” I asked.

  “I am okay,” Katiana responded.

  “I’m fine,” Finn said.

  “A-okay,” Jules said, giving a thumbs up.

  “I’m okay, Mr. Finlander,” Jessa said.

  “Under your seats, you will find a life vest,” Katiana said.

  “Put ‘em on,” I said.

  “Spider alert,” Jules said as she looked out the tiny window, eyes upward.

  “I know. I saw it, too. I don’t know what it's trying to do,” I said.

  Before I could finish my thought, I was distracted by an orange shape falling out of the sky. The other lifeboat was falling and headed straight for us. Was that thing attacking us? Suddenly, I understood. These things are smart. And vindictive.

  “Brace yourselves!”

  A tsunami hit us broadside when the boat landed in the water. The entire craft bucked and rocked, and then cracked open as the empty boat hit us, dead on. The impact fractured our hull. A symphony of crunching fiberglass arose, punctuated by the creak of straining steel that sang a funeral dirge.

  Our lifeboat had become a death boat. I stared out into the open night, as waves of icy water crashed into us, rinsing the inside of our lifeboat and dousing us with a deluge of saltwater.

  The blackness of the night was accentuated by the interior lights of our boat. The well-lit rows of seats were a tableau in the darkness as water rushed in to sink us.

  I looked out to see the black horizon, broken only by the bright lights emanating from inside the other empty lifeboat, which had also been cracked in half, and split open like a coconut. The boat, which had just been used as a projectile against us, was now disabled beyond repair, and bled out a glimmer that caught my eye. Gold sparkled as brick after brick tumbled into the water, each flashing a final shimmer before disappearing into the deep, claimed by the bay. What was I looking at?

  The weight of the ore dragged the craft down with it, to a final resting place. The lights of the boat flickered as they submerged underwater and then extinguished to complete blackness, as if the boat had never existed.

  The water rose up around my ankles. Our boat was sinking fast.

  “Help!” Jessa yelped. I looked around, scanning the interior, but she was nowhere to be seen. The wind howled and repeated the message. “Help,” she screamed again, giving me a second point to home in on. It came from the darkness. Jessa had been thrown into the choppy water; her dim figure flailed.

  “Put on your life jackets, now,” I barked at Finn and Jules. “And swim free of this structure, or it’ll pull you under.”

  I dove in the direction of the flailing teen in the water, trusting that Finn and Jules would follow my direction.

  Ice.

  The shock of the water slowed me momentarily. I tossed in the choppy waves, and then refocused myself. I swam, on memory, in the direction of Jessa, not knowing for sure if I was on target.

  The current was powerful.

  I swam directly into Jessa.

  “I got you,” I said, grabbing her tiny body around the torso. She went limp in my arms, completely out of energy. I couldn’t tell if she was completely unconscious, or worse. Fear raced through my veins. I side-swam back in the direction of the light, dragging Jessa behind me in my other arm, keeping her head above water. The cold of the icy water had subsumed us both and I couldn’t detect warmth from her body, or mine. I swam faster, unsure if I was panicking.

  The light of our boat shrank, the faster I swam. Was it getting farther away?

  Then, the light went out, surrendering to the night.

  51

  I was alone, a man in the darkness with nowhere to swim. Jessa remained motionless in my arms,
although it was difficult to tell in the writhing ocean. Would I be the one to explain to her parents, to deliver the awful news? Hopelessness set in.

  “Finn,” I cried out. “Jules.”

  Would I go home empty handed? Coming here to save Finn, but instead losing everything? The terrifying thoughts flashed through my mind. I was grateful for the pounding whitecaps, forcing me to struggle, to swim. The effort that was required to fight the sea brought momentary respite from the torturous thoughts that attacked my brain.

  “Finn,” I tried again, this time choking on a rogue wave that invaded my open mouth like a firehose.

  I found myself acclimating to the ice-cold water, no longer shivering. It almost felt warm, like indulging in a luxurious bath. I knew what that meant, and it wasn't good, but still, I allowed myself to enjoy the sensation, despite knowing that my body may be succumbing to shock.

  “Finn,” I tried again.

  From behind me, a bark from the darkness shocked me out of the malaise that was setting it. A dog bark. How?

  Adrenaline surged, renewing my strength. And my will. I turned to see a spotlight bobbing in the surf. The bark came again. It was a dog.

  The light in the distance swept back and forth, scanning the surface. A searchlight.

  “Help!” Finn’s voice rose above the wind. He was alive. Relief washed over and through me, strengthening me further. I swam harder, pulling Jessa with me, toward the light.

  The dog barked continuously now. I recognized it. Chum.

  “We’re over here,” Jules yelled, but from where, I couldn’t tell. I only heard voices emerge from the darkness that came from the direction of the searchlight.

  A boat turned on its bright work lights, appearing out of the darkness. I’d recognize it anywhere. The Ring of Life, Katie’s research boat.

  As I got closer, I saw Chum launch over the gunwale of the boat, and into the inky darkness with a splash.

  A moment later, the dog was dragging an orange life vest back into the circle of light surrounding Katie’s boat. Finn. A red mohawk swam right behind them. Jules. There was no sign of Katiana.