No Man's Island
Date: 2017-11-12 08:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Horror; Zombies
Description: The last fight is here! Team Grendel and the crew of the Beowulf III have met their match. A sadistic maniac has them in her clutches and the last MEGA is on the hunt for revenge. It is a race to see which evil destroys Grendel first! Or will the team of misfits, mad scientists, and ex-Navy SEALs finally prevail and be allowed a chance to live out their lives in peace? Probably not… The mystery is over! The enemies have surfaced! Now all Team Grendel and the crew of the Beowulf III have to do is survive one last conflict! Get ready for the sixth and final installment in the MEGA series!
Publisher: SEVERED Press

MEGA 6

No Man’s Island

Jake Bible

Copyright 2017 by Jake Bible

Chapter One: In The Beginning…

The door opened with a drawn-out creak, the man behind it wary and worried.

“Yes?” the man asked.

“Gene Row?” the visitor asked.

“You have the wrong house,” the man replied.

“We both know that’s not true,” the visitor said.

The man looked the visitor up and down.

“Who are you?”

“My name is unimportant,” the visitor replied. “Truly. What is in a name anyway? So subjective.”

The visitor was tall, over six feet, tan, and dressed in khakis and a polo shirt. He looked like a fit golf pro. Could easily have been a golf pro except there was something about the eyes. The eyes didn’t reflect a personality that played games. Not that type of game, anyway.

“Your name, on the other hand, means a great deal,” the visitor continued. “Are you Gene Row?”

The man did not answer. The visitor sighed and stepped down off the small porch. He looked the two-story colonial house up and down, back and forth.

“You have a nice house here, Gene,” the visitor said, as he continued to study the house. “Very nice house. A little big for you, don’t you think?”

“Who are you?” the man asked. “What do you want?”

The visitor ignored the questions.

“Your wife divorced you two years ago and your kids are gone. Off to college or married. How is Tanya settling in with that construction foreman husband of hers? Any inkling of little ones?”

“I’m calling the police,” the man said as he started to close the door.

“115 Rosewood Avenue,” the visitor said.

The man froze, the door still ajar.

“What…?”

“That’s Tanya’s address, right? 115 Rosewood?” The visitor smiled and pulled a phone from his pocket. He dialed a number, waited, then put it on speaker and held it up. “Have a listen.”

There were voices on the other end. Voices that obviously had no clue they were being listened to. Then a woman laughed and the man at the door cried out.

“Where is she?” the man shouted, his eyes darting back and forth, looking up and down the quiet, suburban street. No one was around. “What have you done with her?”

“Not a thing. Simple listening device. She’s alone with one of her girlfriends. Having a light lunch and gabbing back and forth about the neighbors. Such a nice little life she has.”

The visitor smiled wide. The smile did not reach his eyes.

“I can end that life with a push of a button.”

The man started to open the door wider, hesitated, began to close it, hesitated, then opened it all the way and stepped aside.

“Yes. I’m Gene Row,” the man said, his head hanging low. “Come in. No way to stop you.”

“Oh, there are plenty of ways to stop me,” the visitor said as he took the invitation and walked back up the porch then inside the house. “No one has figured out the ways, but there are plenty. You wouldn’t happen to have some tea, would you? I could go for some tea.”

Gene Row whimpered a little, glanced out into his front lawn, then closed the door with a heavy thud and an even heavier heart.

***

The horse refused to submit. The cowboy refused to quit. The two creatures were in a perpetual stalemate as they staked out their territory in the dusty corral.

“It’s okay, boy. It’s all okay. Breathe easy. Nice and easy.”

The cowboy held the lasso loose at his side. It swung there, back and forth, a mesmerizing metronome made of rope. The horse stamped the ground twice then snorted and shook its head. The cowboy nodded in response.

“I hear ya, boy, I hear ya. But this has gotta be done. The sooner we get to it, the sooner it’ll be over and you and I can become fast friends.”

The metronomic rope continued its mesmerizing movement.

“Damn. I almost fell asleep watching that lasso of yours, Mr. Bergen,” the visitor said as he rested his arms on the corral fence.

The cowboy spun about to face the visitor. The lasso was gone and in its place was a Glock 9mm.

“I was expecting a Colt .45,” the visitor said. “Glock seems out of character for a cowboy. But then you aren’t really a cowboy, now are you, Mr. Bergen?”

“My name is—”

“No,” the visitor said. “Everyone says they aren’t who I think they are. Everyone is lying. How about you do us both a favor and not lie to me? It will make this process that much easier.”

The cowboy clicked the hammer back on the 9mm. His hand was steady, his arm straight, his eye sighted down the barrel of the pistol, dead on the visitor.

“I can count to ten or you can just leave, mister,” the cowboy said. “Either way, I want you gone right the fuck now.”

“Nick, yes? Nicholas Bergen. Special Operations from 1978 through 1999. You are hard to find. Very hard. Some of the others barely hid their tracks, but you, well, you did a fine job. If I wasn’t me, you’d have never been found.”

“I don’t know who you are, mister, so that statement don’t mean much,” the cowboy said.

“Listen to you and your wild west affectation,” the visitor said, chuckling. “You have gone native. How long did it take to slip into this persona? The full ten years? Or did you become this yeehaw overnight? You have the training, so I would say it took you a few weeks of intense study and another week or so to get the accent and patois down just right. Folks know you aren’t from here, but they won’t call you an outsider because you talk and act like them. It is a shame your skills were no longer needed.”

“What’s no longer needed is my ten count,” the cowboy replied.

“Understood,” the visitor acknowledged. “Why give me a chance? Go ahead, Mr. Bergen. Shoot. It’s really in your best interest if you take me out now instead of hearing what I have to offer. I mean, if I can find you, who knows who else is on your trail.”

“No one,” the cowboy said, but his hand shook slightly.

The visitor noticed.

“No one? Really? Come now, Mr. Bergen, you don’t believe that.” The visitor pushed away from the railing and walked around the fence towards the corral gate. “Do you think I came here on my own? Do you think that I’m some random stranger that knows every little detail about your former life and career and I happened to be in the neighborhood? Do you think I haven’t already reported your location just in case you decided to put that pistol to use, which I still believe would be better if it was a Colt revolver. You are not a delusional man, Mr. Bergen. I know that much about you.”

The cowboy cocked his head to the side and narrowed his eyes as the visitor continued his walk to the gate.

“So…now what? You aren’t here to talk.”

“No. No, I’m not here to talk. Not really. But I am here to make you a deal. It’s a fair deal because I am a fair man.”

“Terms?”

“To the point and down to business. I like that about you.”

“Terms!” the cowboy snarled. His hand steadied and he turned his head slightly, his right eye widening as he took aim.

“You left behind a son, his wife, and three grandkids,” the visitor said. The cowboy failed at not looking surprised. “Didn’t know he’d gotten married? No, I suppose if you are to keep this charade up then zero contact is the only plan. I was certainly surprised when your son turned out to be a dead end. Parents are always so sentimental that they slip at some point. A random visit here, a chance encounter there, a quick view through binoculars into the living room while parked down the street in an unassuming car. But, you? Nothing.”

“You hurt him and I will destroy you,” the cowboy said, his voice full of emotion.

“I don’t want to hurt him. I don’t want to hurt any of you. But I have a task to complete and the only way I can complete it is if I do a little hurting. Not much, but enough to get the job done.”

The cowboy and the visitor waited in silence.

Then, “How old are the kids?” the cowboy asked.

“The twins are eight and the youngest was born last year. Such a cute little baby. A girl. The twins are boys.”

“They’re safe?”

“They are. I can guarantee you that much, Mr. Bergen. As long as you do what I say, they will stay safe. They do not have to be players on the board at all.”

“They aren’t players on any board, goddammit!”

“We both know the lie that statement represents. Everyone we touch becomes players. That’s how this business works.”

The cowboy lowered the Glock. “So? What now? You kill me?”

The visitor grinned. “Oh, far from it. In fact, you will probably live a very long life. But that long life will come with a condition.”

The visitor wiped sweat from his brow and looked towards the large ranch house in the distance.

“You wouldn’t happen to have some iced tea, would you? I could certainly go for some iced tea.”

“I might.”

“Excellent. How about we discuss your future over some iced tea?”

***

“Ms. Haskel?”

The woman kept walking, weaving her way through the crowded sidewalk, no indication she heard the name.

“Ms. Haskel? Aubrey Haskel?”

The visitor dressed as a golf pro caught up to the woman dressed in business attire. His hand reached for her left shoulder, but it never made contact. The woman spun about and slammed the palm of her right hand into the visitor’s nose. There was no crunch of bone and cartilage, but the visitor did yelp and grab at his face as the blood began to pour.

The woman spun back around and took off running, her destination the subway entrance and stairs leading down into the subterranean transportation system of the city.

The visitor sighed and followed. He took his time. Eyes darted towards the woman, a few voices called out in protest as she shoved people out of her way, but not one pair of eyes landed on the visitor despite the blood that dripped from his nose, over his lips, and down his chin.

Brakes screeched and echoed off the tile that lined the subway station. The visitor reached the bottom of the stairs and looked left, looked right, then proceeded towards the turnstiles. He inserted a pass and pushed the bar forward, access granted.

There was no sign of the woman. No wake of irritated commuters looking cross and glum to show she had shoved her way this way or that. The visitor sighed and went right. He threaded his way through the bored commuters, ignored the saxophone player that was mangling a version of Kentucky Woman, came to the edge of the subway platform, winked at a kid of about ten, then jumped down onto the tracks, careful to avoid the one that would light him up like a Christmas tree.

There were shouts from the platform, but the visitor ignored those as easily as he’d ignored the barely talented saxophone player. The visitor walked his way into the subway tunnel, his hands in the pockets of his khakis. He had gone maybe a quarter mile when the tunnel was lit up by an oncoming train. The visitor kept walking then casually got to the side of the tracks to let the train pass.

Once the train was gone, the visitor continued his journey through the city’s underground infrastructure. The smell of urine and rat feces was overwhelming. But not too overwhelming that he couldn’t catch the slightest whiff of Clive Christian perfume. The woman was leaving an expensive trail to follow.

Another quarter mile and the visitor paused. There was a dark alcove about five yards ahead. The smell of perfume was much stronger.

“Ms. Haskel? Aubrey, please, I will not harm you,” the visitor called out. “Unless you try to harm me. Would you mind putting that Desert Eagle away? I fear that pulling the trigger will result in both of us losing a good portion of our hearing. I don’t know about you, but I’m already at risk of hearing loss due to years in the field.”

No sound, no acknowledgement, no movement. Nothing.

“Very well. I don’t blame you for being wary. After all, you spent close to six million dollars to make sure no one like me could track you down. You must be wondering what link in the chain broke for me to find you. Let me put your mind at ease then. No one ratted you out. I’m simply that good.”

Still nothing.

“I’m so good that I was able to find where you buried your dog. According to the collar, his name was Virgil. Any particular reason you’d name a dog Virgil? Not your usual canine moniker.”

Again, nothing.

“Okay. The dead dog angle didn’t work. How about the alive brother? The one that is about to graduate from Brown? It would be a shame that after all his hard work on that doctorate degree, he should hit a streak of bad luck. Very bad luck. Luck so bad that not only will he not be granted that PhD, he could end up being accused of plagiarism. I am almost certain the evidence would be so damning that he could never recover.”

A shuffle of a shoe.

“And with his history of depression, well, it would stand to reason that he might crack under that kind of disappointment. And cracking could be lethal for that young man. We both know that is true.”

Another shuffle then the slightest intake of breath.

“Not here to fight, Aubrey. In fact, I’m here for the opposite. I’m not saying this won’t hurt. It will. But if you listen to what I have to say, you get to walk away with your life.”

“Who’s to say you get the same consideration?” the woman asked as she made herself seen, a Desert Eagle pistol gripped in both hands and aimed directly at the visitor’s midsection.

“Put that away and I’ll tell you how I found you and why,” the visitor said. “Keep that hand cannon aimed at me for five seconds more and the hurting will start early. At the risk of sounding chauvinistic, you have beautiful legs. Exceptionally proportioned. They will not be so lovely when I remove your kneecaps.”

“You could never get to me before I gut shoot you,” the woman said. “Do you know what this pistol will do to your body?”

“Yes. I know exactly what it will do,” the visitor said. “Do you know what a pen knife can do to a patella? Slit the skin and slide up under that floating bone. Slice the cartilage in a tight circle and the thing simply slips out. Goodbye kneecap. Hell, goodbye knee.”

“Turn around and leave or I shoot. There won’t be a countdown.”

“Right. Yes. My apologies.”

The visitor snapped his fingers. The woman waited, but nothing happened.

“I think you miscalculated—”

Her eyes rolled up into the back of her head and she crumpled to the ground.

The visitor studied her for a second then picked up the Desert Eagle and tucked it inside his jacket. He then snapped his fingers again and fished out the earplugs he’d been wearing. He shook his head and regarded the unconscious woman.

“I was lying about the kneecaps. I’m not that much of a monster,” the visitor said. “But a price must be paid. So sorry.”

***

The visitor awoke to a very sharp blade pressed to his throat.

“Do I say good morning or good evening? What time is it?” the visitor asked. The blade pressed harder and the visitor felt a trickle of blood work its way down his neck. “I have to be upfront and tell you that I’m married, so this fun knife play isn’t going to go anywhere.”

“I am not playing, assassin,” the woman snarled in the visitor’s ear.

“Assassin? Miss, I’m afraid you have me pegged wrong. I am no assassin. Believe you me, I am hardly the sneak around and strike type. When I strike, you see me coming a mile away. It’s part of my charm.”

“Your charm has come to an end,” the woman hissed.

The visitor smiled in the dark.

“What seems to be the issue, Ms. Paz? Losing motor control? Sudden numbness in your extremities? Possibly some blurred vision with sharp, stabbing pains in the temples?”

The visitor opened his closed palm to show a single needle. Not a hypodermic or sewing needle, but one of the small needles used in acupuncture. He let the needle fall from his palm and onto the hotel carpet. It would be sucked up in some barely functioning vacuum cleaner later that day and be gone forever.

The blade fell away from the visitor’s neck and the owner of the blade followed, collapsing onto the ancient and highly suspect carpet.

“This is not how I wanted our introduction to go, Ms. Paz,” the visitor said as he slid from the bed and went to find his pants.

He retrieved his khakis from one of the chairs in the corner of the hotel room, slipped them on, then turned to regard the woman gasping for breath on the floor. He crossed to her and crouched, resting his forearms on his bent knees.

“Try not to struggle. The more you struggle, the more it will feel like you are suffocating,” the visitor said. “You are not going to die, Ms. Paz. Not tonight, at least. Very slow, even breaths. In, out. In, out. There you go. Continue with that rhythm and you will feel somewhat more comfortable in about five minutes.”

The visitor stood and turned in a circle, his head cocked. He paused when he faced the hotel room door.

“Are you alone? I certainly hope so. I can work with you if you are alone. If you brought an ally then I’m afraid you are no use to me. Take a sharp intake of breath if you are alone.”

The woman took a sharp intake of breath.

“Good. Good,” the visitor responded. “I will have to assume you are telling the truth. Lying means a good deal of pain for you and your ally. You are telling the truth, yes?”

A second sharp intake of breath.

“Excellent. That’s what I like to hear, Ms. Paz. Now, we are going to discuss some important business. Then things might get slightly uncomfortable for you. Painful, to be precise. I do not want to do this, but I have to. It keeps you, as well as myself, alive and well. Understood?”

Sharp intake of breath.

“Wonderful. Simply wonderful. Let’s get started.”

***

The room was pitch black. Not even a hint that an outside world, or even an inside world, existed.

Then the click of a switch and a single bulb above the man strapped to the chair came to life. A weak wattage in normal circumstances, but after the total absence of all light, the bulb might as well have been a massive spotlight.

The man strapped to the chair gasped and squinted at the shape that stood before him.

“You,” the man in the chair snarled. “I should have guessed they’d finally get to you.”

“Tom. Tom, Tom, Tom. Do you think I’m that pliable? Come now,” the visitor said. “You know me better than that.”

“I thought I did. At one time. Now? All I know is you are a stooge and whatever they have offered you will be taken away at some point.”

“Of course it will. They all lie. At no point do I expect them to keep up their end of the deal. Why should they? When I lose my usefulness, they’ll send a squad to kill me and that will be that.”

“You don’t sound too concerned.”

“I’m not. I know they will double-cross me. The trick is to double-cross them first. And to accomplish what I came here to accomplish in the first place. As long as I can get the work done I need to get done then it will all be worth it.”

“Will your daughter’s death be worth it?”

The visitor paused. He placed a finger to his chin and stood there in faux contemplation for a good thirty seconds.

“How should I answer that question?” the visitor mused to himself. “Probably by not answering it.”

“Coward.”

The visitor chuckled and leaned in close, his nose only inches from the man strapped to the chair.

“Oh, Tom. Dr. Tom Thomas. You have no idea how wrong you are. If you had even a clue as to what I am up to, you would never utter that word in my presence again. Trust me.”

“I used to trust you.”

“And you will continue to do so. Once I’ve explained myself. If even after my explanation, you decide that what I have to say is not worth your trouble then you will be free to go. Of course, they’ll track you down within an hour and you’ll be dead on the street or possibly thrown into a dumpster. Whatever they do to you, it will not be pretty.”

“And what are you going to do to me? I have a feeling it won’t be pretty either.”

“No. No, it won’t be. But it will keep you alive. Ready to listen, Tom? My time is limited, so we need to get this show on the road or call it off. Your choice.”

The man strapped to the chair snorted then locked eyes with the visitor.

“My family?”

“Safe. And if you listen and agree to my proposal then they will stay that way.”

“I haven’t seen them in years.”

“They are doing well. I’ll tell you all about them. But, first, you listen. Yes?”

The man strapped to the chair nodded. “Yes.”

“Excellent.”

***

The small cooler was blue and white, just like the dozens of other coolers that dotted the picnic tables around the large park. The visitor set it down on a table that was as far away from occupied tables as he could get. He sat down on the bench seat that was in desperate need of a sanding and staining. Elbows on the table and fingers steepled, the visitor waited.

“What’s this?” a woman asked as she sat down opposite the visitor. “A picnic?”

“Open it, Ms. Horace,” the visitor said.

“Do I dare?’ the woman replied, a sly grin on her face.

The visitor shrugged.

The woman waited, studied the visitor, then reached out and pressed the button that would unlock the lid. She swiveled it down and pulled the cooler closer. Her expression never changed as she regarded the contents.

“Five sets of ears. How lovely. You shouldn’t have,” the woman said and the sly grin disappeared. “No, really, you shouldn’t have. You were tasked with bringing in all five of the defectors. Not pieces of them. And I am assuming these ears belong to the targets.”

“They do and DNA testing will prove that,” the visitor said. “As for the bodies themselves, they are safely tucked away for a rainy day. I am no fool, Ms. Horace. I hand over those bodies and I lose a good deal of leverage.”

“You’ve kept the bodies? How gruesome,” the woman said. “Keeping the bodies was not the deal. I could consider you in breach of contract and have my man take you out right here and now.”

“You could do that,” the visitor agreed. “In fact, I think that’s exactly what you should do.”

“Excuse me?” the woman responded with honest surprise. “You want me to kill you?”

“I want you to try,” the visitor said. “That way we understand each other.”

The woman’s eyes narrowed. She shrugged then gave a thumbs up. Nothing happened.

“If I may?” the visitor asked as he reached his hand inside his light jacket.

“What have you done?” the woman replied.

The visitor withdrew a small walkie-talkie and depressed the button. He gave the woman a huge grin then said into the walkie, “Two to make a point.”

A hunk of the picnic table went flying into the air then a second, showering the woman in sun-faded splinters. She didn’t flinch.

“Ah, I see,” the woman said. “You brought your own man.”

“You could say that, but you’d be wrong,” the visitor said. “Now, can we get down to business or do I need to continue the demonstrations?”

“My man?”

“Subdued, but alive,” the visitor said then hesitated. He put the walkie to his mouth. “He is still alive, yes?”

“Yes,” a woman replied over the walkie.

“Good to hear,” the visitor said and regarded the woman across from him. “She can get a little enthusiastic.”

The woman frowned then nodded and closed the cooler. She stood up, cooler in hand, and glared at the visitor.

“One day this will all come back to haunt you,” the woman said. “But for now, you are in. Full privileges. Do not abuse those privileges. You have done excellent work so far, do not ruin that record.”

“Oh, I plan on expanding upon it. I have great and grand plans for the experimental biology division,” the visitor said. “Did you know that my wife is a leading researcher in cerebral biosciences? She will be an excellent asset to the company.”

“I do not doubt that,” the woman said.

“Goodbye, Ms. Horace,” the visitor said.

“Goodbye, Mr. Ballantine. I look forward to your successes. And your failures.”

The woman walked off and the visitor stayed put. After twenty minutes, a young woman sat down next to him.

“Are you sure about this, Daddy?” the young woman asked.

“No. Not at all. But it is the only shot we have to save you,” the visitor replied.

“You and Mom could die because of this,” the young woman said.

“We all die sometime, my love. We all die sometime.”

The visitor put his arm around the young woman’s shoulders and pulled her close to him.

“But not today.”

“I should have killed her,” the young woman said. “I think I will. Later.”

The visitor closed his eyes and took a slow, deep breath.

“Please do not say such things,” he replied after a few moments.

“I know where she lives,” the young woman said, sounding like she was getting worked up. “They think I’m dead. They think…I…Daddy…?”

The young woman’s eyes slid closed and she slumped against the visitor.

“It’s too late, sweetheart,” the visitor said, a tear in his eye. “Too late. But I will make it right. I’ll even this score.”

Chapter Two: Pullman Heating & Cooling

Darby stood on the deck of the Beowulf III, her eyes locked onto the approaching ship. Barely over five feet tall and 100 pounds soaking wet, she could have been mistaken as a diminutive woman. Anyone that ever made that mistake in perception quickly learned the hard way just how wrong they were.

“This is our ride?” Kinsey Thorne asked. “After everything, we’re back where we started. Caught up with this company that Ballantine works for.”

“At no point would I say that Ballantine works for anyone but himself,” Darby replied.

Kinsey didn’t argue. No one argued with Darby. And being an ex-junkie, Kinsey knew how to read people and dangerous situations. Darby was both at that moment.

“You spoke with Ballantine about what’s wrong with you?” Kinsey asked.

“I did,” Darby replied.

“And?”

“And I am a mess. What was done to me was supposed to be temporary. But, like with all of Ballantine’s plots and plans, that timeframe went sideways.”

“Will you be alright?”

Darby shrugged.

“But you’re stable for now?”

“For now. I will have to make a decision soon. Get rid of the passenger or let it ride and hope it doesn’t kill us.”

“Ballantine is letting you make that choice?” Kinsey asked, surprised. “And Dana is alright with it?”

“It’s not their brain and it is not their body. Both are mine,” Darby said. “Despite the fact they tucked away their daughter’s consciousness inside my head, it is still my head. I think they both know that if they even attempt to wrest personal control over my body from me, they will end up dead.”

“You really are the only person that Ballantine fears,” Kinsey said. “Glad you’re on our side.”

“Me too,” Darby replied.

Kinsey took Darby’s hand and gave it a squeeze. Darby squeezed back before letting go.

“You staying up here?” Kinsey asked. “Kind of a sitting duck.”

“They won’t try anything until they’ve spoken with Ballantine. I may be the only person Ballantine fears, but Ballantine is the person everyone fears. The company will not make the mistake of attacking first without knowing what they are up against.”

“A broken ship and a crew that is about ten steps past the point of cracking,” Kinsey said with a laugh. “That’s what they are up against.”

“They are up against Team Grendel,” Darby said. “They don’t stand a chance.”

Kinsey nodded and gave Darby’s shoulder a pat before she turned and walked to the closest hatch leading below decks.

Darby continued to watch the large ship approach their retrofitted “research vessel.” A tiny voice in the back of her head said that she should be careful. Ballantine and Dana could get desperate, as any parent would when faced with completely losing their child. Darby had to wonder if that little voice wasn’t said child herself. It was hard to know.

“Soon,” Darby whispered then turned and followed Kinsey down inside the ship.

***

“You have got to be shitting me,” Darren Chambers said as he sat at a lab table and faced his best friend, Gunnar Peterson.

Darren was an ex-Navy SEAL and current co-lead of Team Grendel. He looked the part. Tight black tee over a muscled torso with jeans that allowed movement, but also accented the fact that his thighs could break a man’s neck with one flex.

Gunnar, on the other hand, was built like a man that spent all his time inside a lab. He was fit, but not as fit as Darren or any of the members of Team Grendel. However, with the way he was spinning a very sharp scalpel in and around the fingers of his right hand while he and Darren talked, it would have been mortal folly to take the doctor for granted.

“I’m not shitting you,” Gunnar replied to Darren’s exclamation. “That’s what Darby told me. I did a full work up on her yesterday. Once I knew what I was looking for, I easily found it. There is an implant in the lower left quadrant of her cerebellum. The size of a microchip. It is so well hidden that anyone would miss it, no matter what equipment they were using to scan her.”

“And that’s Ballantine’s daughter? On that chip?” Darren asked.

“Yeah. Apparently, she was very similar to Darby in many aspects, so Dana believed storing the girl’s persona on a chip in Darby’s brain would help keep their daughter alive.”

“Why do it? What happened?”

“Insanity,” Gunnar said. “The young woman had been affected by a company program. Her psyche never recovered.”

“That’s fucked up.”

“Yeah. Very fucked up.”

“What’s fucked up?” Max Reynolds asked as he came into the infirmary, a very large rifle resting over his shoulder.

“What isn’t fucked up, dude?” Shane Reynolds said, entering right behind Max, his own large rifle resting in his arms.

The Reynolds brothers were nine months apart and almost looked identical, both with yellow-blond hair, green eyes, and freckles across the nose—classic California surfer boy looks. But there was one easy way to tell the difference between—Max was missing his left ear and had scar tissue running from his scalp, down his neck, and onto his shoulder while Shane had only one eye, his left socket covered over with a black patch adorned with a prominent pot leaf.

“Darby tell you what’s going on with her?” Gunnar asked Max.

“They haven’t been doing much talking,” Shane said before Max could reply. “Jesus, those two are like bunnies hopped up on X. I’m two cabins down from them and even I can hear them going at it all night long.”

“Darby’s appetite for lovin’ may have increased lately,” Max said. “And, yes, she told me what Ballantine finally admitted. You’re right, Ditcher, that is fucked up.”

“Dude, don’t be a dick,” Darren said. “Yes, I left your cousin when she was at an all-time low. Yes, I divorced her when she needed me most. Yes, I was a dick. But that was years ago and me and Kinsey have worked through it. So stop calling me Ditcher, asshole.”

“Can I still call you Ditcher?” Shane asked.

“No, you can’t fucking still call me Ditcher,” Darren snapped. “No one gets to call me Ditcher!”

The Reynolds gave each other a side look, grinned, and said, “Ditcher.”

“I swear to fucking God,” Darren said and bolted up from his stool.

“Knock it off,” Vincent Thorne said as he shoved through the Reynolds brothers and into the infirmary. “Boys, stop being little shits.”

“Sorry, Uncle Vinny,” the brothers replied.

“And you,” Thorne said, pointing at Darren. “Grow some thicker skin and stop taking the bait. As long as you react, they’ll keep fucking with you. So stop fucking reacting!”

Thorne was a grizzled old ex-Navy SEAL commander and the other co-lead of Team Grendel. Kinsey Thorne’s father, the Reynolds’ uncle, and Darren’s former father-in-law, Thorne was older than the rest of the team by many decades. No one was stupid enough to think Thorne’s age diminished his combat or leadership capacity. All faces looked thoroughly chastised and heads nodded in agreement.

“Good,” Thorne said. “Now, what is this bullshit I’m hearing about Darby having some device in her head? Is it explosive? Will I need to worry about her head blowing up while she’s on an op?”

“Explosive? No, nothing like that,” Gunnar replied.

“Then what is it like?” Thorne snapped.

“It’s storage,” Gunnar said. “And I really shouldn’t tell you more. Darby is the one that can fill you in on the details.”

Thorne glared at Gunnar.

“Okay, yeah, well, maybe I can give you the Cliffs Notes,” Gunnar said. He proceeded to give Thorne the highlights of what he knew. “This does shatter doctor-patient confidentiality, but Darby is part of Grendel, so I guess you have a right to know.”

“I have a right to know everything,” Thorne said. “Never forget that.”

“Of course,” Gunnar said.

“Hey, Uncle Vinny, you want to know what I had for breakfast?” Shane asked.

“You want to know what my breakfast looked like after it passed through me?” Max asked.

“I do,” Shane replied. “Was it a cool shape?”

“It was shaped like a snake,” Max said. “A poop snake.”

“Jesus Christ,” Thorne muttered as he closed his eyes and shook his head. “At least I know my sister wasn’t at fault for what is wrong with you two. I blame your father for that. Thorne genes are too solid for the fucking numbnuts idiots you two are.”

“We know you only say that with love in your heart, Uncle Vinny,” Max said.

“So much love,” Shane said.

“Group hug!” Max cried.

The brothers wrapped their arms around their uncle and squeezed.

“Just say the word and I’ll kill them both,” Darren said, barely able to contain his laughter. The look on Thorne’s face was priceless.

“I need everyone in place,” Thorne said. “Now. The other ship is here and the meeting is about to begin. You know what you’re supposed to do, so do it.”

No one moved.

“Fucking get off me!” Thorne shouted.

The Reynolds let go.

“So much love,” Shane said.

“All the love,” Max added.

The brothers backed slowly out of the infirmary. Thorne stood there for a few seconds and gathered himself then turned on his heel and left as well.

“Those two play a dangerous game,” Gunnar said.

“What? Vinny loves them like sons. He acts like he hates the attention, but he doesn’t,” Darren said. “Trust me.”

“If you say so,” Gunnar said. “You better get going. Where’s your station?”

“The bridge with Marty,” Darren said. “Darby is on deck with Ballantine while the brothers are up in the crow’s nest on overwatch. Kinsey is down here as backup when called. Lucy is in the Toyshop with the elves and rest of the crew. If the shit hits the fan, which it will since we’re talking about Ballantine here, then Lucy brings the big guns and we do what Grendel does best.”

“Which is kill everything in sight,” Gunnar said.

“Bingo,” Darren agreed. “And if it comes back, we kill it again.”

***

Captain Marty Lake sat in his captain’s chair, his eyes on the instrument panel in front of him, his feet up on the same panel, as he watched the approaching ship turn broadside to the B3. Any other time, Lake would have been alarmed, but he’d been through so much since Ballantine’s very first proposal so long ago, that flying monkeys could come up out of the other ship’s hatches and Lake wouldn’t be surprised at all.

Shit, he would have been surprised if flying somethings didn’t make an appearance in the next hour or so. They were due for an encounter with flying mutant anythings.

While his thoughts of flying atrocities flitted through his brain, his hand held his weapon of choice: a Desert Eagle heavy-caliber pistol. Lake wasn’t one to mess around, especially as life got increasingly worse and more complicated since Ballantine came into the picture. He almost missed the days of chasing Darren’s white whale. More accurately, Darren’s impossible to be alive, extinct whale.

Except it hadn’t been extinct. It had been one of Ballantine’s projects. Or something like that. Lake couldn’t keep track of Ballantine’s science experiments. Hence the expectation of actual flying monkeys coming from the ship that had finished positioning itself next to the B3.

“What now?” Darren asked as he stepped onto the bridge. “What did Ballantine say to do?”

“He said to sit tight,” Lake said then leaned forward and tapped the fuel gauge. “Not that we can go anywhere. Engines are on empty and the sails are shot after that last storm.”

“Sit tight,” Darren said. “Classic. Yeah, we’ll sit tight while he decides the fate of everyone on board.”

“Darren, he’s been doing that since the first night we met him,” Lake replied. “Hell, he decided our fate when he bought the Hooyah out from under us at the bank auction. We’re his nice little bitches and he knows it.”

“I’m not anyone’s bitch,” Darren said.

Lake raised an eyebrow.

“I’m not,” Darren insisted.

“Two words. Kinsey. Thorne,” Lake replied and held up a hand. “Don’t argue. It’s sad.”

“Fuck you,” Darren snapped.

Lake shrugged.

“Doesn’t matter. None of us are gonna live through this shit anyway,” Lake said. “This time, Ballantine is going to get us killed.”

“Ye of little faith,” Ballantine said as he walked from the inner hatch, through the bridge, and out the side hatch onto the upper deck.

“God, I hate that man,” Lake said and gripped his Desert Eagle tighter.

***

“I swear to everything holy I will kill you if you do not stop whining,” Lucy Durning snapped as she whirled on one of the B3’s techs. “We sit tight and wait to hear from above. If we end up doing nothing then that is a good thing.”

Short, squat, with a thin, black Mohawk that had seen better care and maintenance, Carlos stood at the caged-in counter of the Toyshop, his arms crossed against his flabby chest. He wore a stained T-shirt with a faded TMNT logo on it. The look of disdain and contempt he threw at Lucy would have mentally bitch-slapped anyone.

But Lucy couldn’t give a shit.

“I know we have to wait, but do we have to be so unproductive? I have work to do,” Carlos spat. “Important work that your little brain wouldn’t understand.”

“He’s trying to pirate porn from a satellite,” Ingrid interrupted.

Tall, skinny, long red pigtails that were braided up around the back of her head, Ingrid wore a formerly bright yellow jumpsuit. Not so bright any more. Her eyes were almost white they were so blue. She was nearly as tall as Lucy, but not quite. Ingrid rolled her eyes as Carlos tried to sputter a denial.

“Oh, shut up,” Ingrid said. “You’ve been hunting down that signal for weeks now. You’re like obsessed.”

“Obsessed. Yes,” Moshi agreed. Of Asian descent with thick, short-cropped black hair and a painfully shy demeanor, it was rare for Moshi to chime in. “Freako.”

“You too, Moshi?” Carlos sighed. “I am alone. So alone.”

“Listen up, elves,” Lucy announced. Carlos bristled at the nickname; the woman smiled. “We sit tight and we stay ready. No porn projects, no projects of any kind. We wait for the signal. If we get the signal then you hand me inventions that go boom and bang and I run up top and boom and bang the bad guys.”

Moshi tittered. Ingrid smirked.

“I heard it,” Lucy said. “No, I am not banging the bad guys.”

“You don’t bang guys anyway,” Carlos said. “Maybe you should try. Then you wouldn’t be such a grumpy bitch.”

All eyes turned to Carlos. What had been annoyance quickly became genuine anger.

“What?” Carlos continued, doubling down on his idiocy. A trait he was known for. “Sometimes a chick needs a man to put her in—”

The hit was hard and fast. Right to Carlos’s crotch. He gasped, squeaked, and fell to his knees, hands covering his bruised nuts.

Lucy and Ingrid turned and stared at Moshi with shocked expressions on their faces.

“Dick,” Moshi said to a whimpering Carlos that had moved into the ubiquitous fetal position all men revert to when their privates have been kicked up to their tonsils.

Moshi turned and disappeared into the gear-laden stacks of shelves that filled the Toyshop.

“Damn,” Lucy said.

“About time,” Ingrid said.

The two women watched Carlos for another second then disregarded him. Ingrid went to a shelf and pointed at the three items that sat there.

“This is all we have left,” Ingrid said. “Wave cannon which can produce a sonic blast strong enough to rip skin off a man’s body.” She glanced at Carlos, narrowed her eyes, shook her head, shrugged, and returned her attention to the shelf. “This is a highly unstable new type of grenade. The science is complicated, but it basically explodes then implodes. Weird shit.”

“Why would I want it to implode? A big boom is all we need,” Lucy said.

“Tight spaces. It destroys what you need destroyed then retracts on itself and contains the explosion’s blast radius by consuming its own energy. Again, the science is hard to explain. It’s one of Moshi’s.”

“Science hard to explain,” Moshi said as she briefly appeared, hurrying from one set of shelves to the next.

“And that? A spear? A harpoon?” Lucy asked, pointing to a long, thick rod. “Stun staff?”

“You were closest on the last guess,” Ingrid said. “But more like a lightning rod for the ocean.”

“Let me guess, the science is hard to explain?” Lucy said with a chuckle.

“Kind of. Doesn’t matter,” Ingrid replied and nodded. “What matters is that it can kill anything in the water that generates bioelectricity. Which is pretty much every living thing. Drop this into the water and it locks onto a bioelectric signal. It can lock onto multiple signals if needed, but I haven’t had a chance to test that aspect. For now, it will auto-lock onto the largest signal and send a beacon to that signal.”

“What’s the point of that?” Lucy asked.

“Once the signal is close enough, the rod deploys a stun charge back at the target,” Ingrid explained. “The larger the bioelectric signal, the larger the stun charge. So, if we run into any genetically engineered ocean nightmares, this rod will incapacitate them no matter what.”

“We killed all the giant sharks, Ingrid,” Lucy said.

“Did we? Did Ballantine ever confirm that we did?” Ingrid asked. “Can we believe him even if he says we have?”

“True,” Lucy agreed. “Good idea to make that.”

“It was really all I could make with the supplies we have,” Ingrid said. “We have plenty of parts for repairs on current items and weapons, but new inventions aren’t happening anymore. We’re out of power supplies and new components.”

“I have all the faith in you and Moshi to come up with something fast if we need it,” Lucy said.

“Thank you,” Moshi called from way in the back of the Toyshop.

“Screw…you,” Carlos whispered from the floor.

“You wish, asshole,” Lucy replied.

***

Ballantine’s polo shirt was clean, crisp, and perfectly tailored to his tan, golf pro frame. His khakis were pressed and he wore a new pair of deck shoes he unearthed at the bottom of a locker in his cabin. Finding those deck shoes had been a highlight of his morning.

Seeing the ship settle in next to the B3 was far from a highlight. It was a serious risk. A calculated risk, yes, but a risk nonetheless. Ballantine had finally played all of his cards and everything he had was on the table.

Almost.

“What kind of threat are we looking at?” Thorne asked as he stepped up next to Ballantine.

The two men stood there at the railing for a couple seconds before Thorne cleared his throat and turned to face Ballantine head on.

“Ballantine? What kind of threat are we looking at? What security personnel did they bring?” Thorne asked.

Ballantine sighed, but didn’t look at Thorne.

“If it was me, which it has been in previous encounters, I’d bring all the security, Commander,” Ballantine said. “They know what Grendel is capable of. They know what I am capable of. They would be fools to bring less than a hundred men and women, fully armed and highly trained.”

“A hundred? We can’t defend against that,” Thorne snarled.

“Defend? Vincent, I think you have mistaken our situation for one in which we have control. We do not,” Ballantine responded. “My entire goal now is to keep every man and woman on this ship alive. It has been my goal from day one, despite your thoughts to the contrary. Now, more than ever, I have to deliver on that goal. Or everything I have done for the past decade will have been for nothing. I cannot live with that.”

“What can you live with?” Thorne asked. “How many sacrifices are you willing to make to get yourself clear of your SNAFU?”

“None,” Ballantine said. “I am no longer willing to make sacrifices. Other than perhaps myself.”

“No one believes that,” Darby said. She’d been a silent figure a couple meters down the railing from the two men. She turned and locked eyes with Thorne. “Ballantine will do whatever he can to save his ass.” She tapped her head. “I’m beginning to see that clearer than ever.”

“You are beginning to incorporate memories that are not yours, Darby. Ignore them. They are from a different time,” Ballantine said.

“Ignore them?” Darby laughed. It was a chilling sound despite the warm tropical air they all stood in. “You have no idea how stupid that request is.”

“I have a fairly good idea, actually,” Ballantine said. “I was simply trying to ease your anxiety regarding your mental travails.”

“Mental travails,” Thorne snorted. “Jesus, you have a smug phrase for everything.”

The other ship came to as much of a stop as it could in the open ocean while positioned next to another vessel. Massive ropes were thrown across the gap and deckhands on the B3, not that there were many left considering the brutal existence the entire crew had been put through, grabbed the ropes and secured them. Once that was done, a gangplank was shoved across to connect the two ships.

“I’m counting a dozen heavily armed guards,” Thorne said into the open com.

“Then there are another dozen you can’t see,” Ballantine stated.

“I figured. Been doing this a while, Ballantine,” Thorne replied.

The com crackled. “I have six shooters targeted,” Shane said over the com.

“We,” Max added.

“I assumed the two of you were included in that statement, Mr. Reynolds,” Ballantine said.

“I never assume,” Thorne said. “Keep the intel coming.”

“You sure you don’t want me up there?” Kinsey asked over the com.

“Or me?” Lucy chimed in.

“Should I answer that or you, Vincent?” Ballantine asked.

“It’s Grendel, so I answer,” Thorne snapped. “You just stand there and look casual like you always do, Ballantine.”

“I look casual? Excellent. Then my facade is working,” Ballantine said.

“That made my guts clench,” Max said over the com.

“Same here,” Shane said. “Knowing Ballantine’s casual is a facade is scary. Man, you gotta keep that shit to yourself, Ballantine. Let us believe you have this in hand, dude.”

“Yeah, dude. Never break the illusion,” Max said.

“Boys. Shut. It,” Thorne growled.

“Yes, Uncle Vinny,” the Reynolds replied.

A heavily armed man stepped onto the gangplank and fixed his eyes on Thorne as he walked across. In his mid-forties, at least, the man had that dead-eyed look of a long-time operator. He carried a highly modified M4 in a ready grip across his body while also packing two .45s in hip holsters, several combat knives on his belt and up and down his legs, and a row of grenades across his chest. Plus, the myriad gear that a soldier would carry that was just short of a full kit.

“Here we go,” Ballantine said as he pushed away from the railing and walked to the gangplank to meet the man. “Sterling. It has been a long time.”

“Ballantine,” the man replied. “Too long. I was hoping to have your head mounted over my pool table at least a year ago. But, you always surprise me.”

The man again focused on Thorne.

“Ah, yes, let me make the introductions,” Ballantine said. “Sterling Hill, meet Vincent Thorne.”

“I know all about Vincent Thorne. I’d be a fool not to. One of the best BUD/S commanders in SEAL history,” Sterling said, letting go of the barrel of his M4 to offer his hand.

“I remember you, Hill,” Thorne said. “You graduated BUD/S in ‘97. Spent five years with the teams then took off on your own.”

“Money is better in the private sector,” Sterling said. “And I’m flattered you remember me.”

“Don’t be,” Thorne scoffed. “You were a pain in the ass and always did what suited you best, not the teams.”

“Which is one reason I left.”

“No one was sorry to see you go.”

“This is fun,” Ballantine interrupted. “I knew there was a chance you’d be acquainted, but to have such a tight, emotional bond already? Priceless.”

“Whatever,” Sterling replied. “I’m going to need my men to check your ship over before I let her come aboard.”

“No, I think not,” Ballantine said. “The first meeting is right here on this deck, not below decks. You may secure this area, but you do not step one foot through a hatch until we all come to an understanding.”

“The understanding is it’s over for you, Ballantine,” Sterling said then shook his head. “Fuck, you don’t change.”

“That is what they tell me which is why my parameters for the first meet should not be surprising,” Ballantine said. “Or do we call this off and see who lives through the next few minutes?”

“We’re ready,” Shane said over the com.

“Say the word and we drop those fucks,” Max added.

Thorne grunted, but did not respond. Sterling’s eyes strayed to Thorne.

“Coms? You talking to the one-eyed shooter in the crow’s nest and his idiot brother? We have them covered, trust me,” Sterling said. His eyes finally regarded Darby. “Darby. Good to see you again. I’m hoping we can catch up later.”

“I don’t know who you are,” Darby stated. “But I will soon. It is slowly coming back to me.”

Sterling’s eyes went wide then he began to laugh.

“Oh, it finally happened! The great and powerful Darby has lost her mind! All that Ballantine tinkering has caught up to you!”

He wiped at his eyes and glanced at the other ship.

“She is going to love hearing this.”

Sterling put fingers to mouth and tore the air apart with a deafening whistle. Six guards crossed the gangplank and began to search the upper deck.

“We talk up here first then below,” Sterling said. “Non-negotiable.”

“Everything is negotiable,” Ballantine said.

“Not anymore. Not with the mood she’s in,” Sterling said. “You know that mood, right? The one where people die without warning?”

Ballantine sighed and nodded. “I know that mood too well.” He glanced at Thorne. “She gets that from her mother.”

“Her mother? How well do you know this woman we’re about to meet?” Thorne asked.

“Like blood,” Ballantine said.

“He should,” Sterling said. “She is his daughter after all.”

Chapter Three: Papa, Can You Hear Me Die?

“What the fuck?” Kinsey snapped and turned to face Gunnar. They were both seated in the infirmary. Or Gunnar was. Kinsey had jumped to her feet and threw her hands up into the air. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“I doubt it,” Gunnar said and drew his hand down over his face. “It’s always a family affair with Ballantine.”

“What now?” Dana Ballantine asked as she came into the infirmary. “What has my ex-husband done now?”

“Are you really exes?” Gunnar asked. “Did the divorce happen? That’s a little fuzzy.”

“Shut up, Gun,” Kinsey snarled. She sounded more and more like her father with each passing day stuck on the B3. “Your daughter, Dana? The person that will decide our fate is your fucking daughter? I thought your daughter was dead.”

Dana froze in place. “That son of a bitch…”

She balled her hands up and began to shake.

“THAT SON OF A BITCH!” she roared.

“I’m guessing Ballantine didn’t let you in on the whole plan,” Gunnar said. “Jesus, I need a drink. Sorry, Kins.”

“Don’t be. Everyone deserves a fucking drink after this shitty reveal,” Kinsey said. “I’d join you if I wasn’t a fucking junkie.”

“Shut off your com,” Thorne’s voice barked into the com. “Or shut the fuck up.”

Kinsey pressed her ear.

“My com is off. Now. You. Talk,” Kinsey said, pointing a finger at Dana. “How is your daughter still alive? Isn’t that chip in Darby’s brain supposed to be your daughter or her memories or some fucking thing? Jesus, this is so fucked!”

Dana stumbled her way to a stool and sat down hard.

“You want something to drink?” Gunnar asked. “I mean water, not booze. Pretty sure there’s no booze on the ship left.”

“Water would be good. Thank you,” Dana said.

Gunnar got up to find a glass.

“You’re not talking,” Kinsey said.

“Give me a second, please,” Dana said. “This isn’t easy for me.”

Gunnar returned with the glass of water and Dana drank it down before she started to speak again.

“Biologically speaking, the woman up there is my daughter. But that is about as far as the connection goes,” Dana said. “The person my ex-husband will be speaking to stopped being my real daughter a long, long time ago. My real daughter died. I am not lying when I say that. I tried to bring her back, and physically I did, but she was never the same. The personality that came back with her from death was not my daughter. If you think Ballantine is a monster, wait until you meet Wire.”

“I’m sorry, but did you say Wire?” Gunnar asked.

“Who cares what her name is?” Kinsey snapped.

“I do when the name is Wire. You didn’t really name her that at birth, did you?” Gunnar asked Dana.

“No, that is the name she took for her second life,” Dana answered. “Although what is up there can hardly be considered alive. She is more machine than person.”

“Machine? This just gets more fucked up with every second,” Kinsey said.

“You don’t know the half of it,” Dana said.

“Then finish talking,” Kinsey said. “I thought what was left of your daughter is what’s on that chip that’s messing with Darby’s head.”

“To be honest, this is all theory,” Dana said. “I died too. Not really, as you know, but enough to fool Ballantine, which is quite the trick, let me tell you. But, in order to die, I had to leave the company Ballantine and I worked for and join a different company.”

“Pullman Heating & Cooling,” Kinsey said.

“Yes, them,” Dana said. “What I didn’t know when I disappeared into their shielded and layered world, was that they were run by my former daughter. Everyone knew that the head of the company was someone…different, but no one, except for her trusted circle, ever saw her or dealt with her. I worked for years in ignorance. Then my bliss was shattered and I started to plot my way out.”

“That’s how you ended up with us,” Gunnar said. “You defected to get away from your own daughter?”

“Defected is a strange word for the circumstances, but close,” Dana said. “The company that Ballantine worked for, and used for his own ends, was absorbed into Pullman as soon as he took out Horace, Perry, and Longbottom. Ballantine made it all possible. I kept my head down and stayed out of sight until your Popeye was found. I used him to find the Beowulf III and used that plan to get away from Pullman. It is a million times more complicated than that, but those are the brush strokes.”

“There was a plot to kill Ballantine in there somewhere too,” Kinsey said.

“Well, yes, that is true. If you have the chance to take a man like him out then you do it,” Dana said. “Especially when he wants you dead.”

“You people are certifiable,” Gunnar said.

“Yes, because you are so sane, Gun,” Kinsey said.

“Beside the point,” Gunnar said with a grin. He focused on Dana. “What do you mean she is more machine? How?”

“Technically, our daughter did die,” Dana explained. “There was an…accident. When I revived her, she was different. It took a while to show itself, but her proclivities could not be hidden for long. She had a thirst for death. Ballantine manipulated that to his own ends, but eventually, even he saw he couldn’t control her. Ballantine had foreseen something like that happening, so he’d insisted I make plans.”

“Plans?” Gunnar asked.

“Before she died and was revived, I was able to upload her consciousness into an experimental mainframe. But a human mind cannot survive in a computer matrix. So I began looking for a host.”

“Darby,” Kinsey said.

“Yes. Darby,” Dana replied. “We found her in a very sad state. She was caged and basically feral. No idea who she was. Ballantine saved her and with rehabilitation, she was able to retrieve her memories. While examining her for that, I found that she had an implant that would work perfectly for hosting our daughter’s consciousness.”

“Why would she have an implant?” Gunnar asked.

Dana shrugged. “We never found that out. My guess was it was used to boost her fighting abilities and combat knowledge. It was unlike anything I’d ever seen before.”

“So you data dumped your daughter’s consciousness into the implant and hoped for the best?” Kinsey said. “Jesus Christ. What could go wrong?”

“You’ve seen it,” Dana replied. “Darby held up extremely well for years. I believe it was the trauma and emotional stress of being part of Team Grendel that finally cracked the barrier between the implant and Darby’s own mind.”

“Yeah, the shit we’ve been through will do that,” Kinsey said.

“But Darby doesn’t have any of your daughter’s memories or personality, does she?” Gunnar asked.

“No, she does not,” Dana said.

“What about this Wire chick?” Kinsey asked. “You keep saying former daughter. Even if she has become more machine than person, how isn’t she your daughter for real?”

“Because my daughter died. True brain death. I watched it happen. Whatever I brought back was something else. It was not my little girl,” Dana said and her eyes welled with tears.

Kinsey and Gunnar looked at each other, but didn’t say anything. What was there to say?

***

“Password?” Lucy said, smiling, as the chime rang again.

“I am unfortunately ignorant of the password,” Ronald called through the shielded, and hidden, door to the Toyshop. “Were we given a password?”

Lucy activated the door and stepped back. “Only messing with you, Ronald,” she said. “Come on in. We’re getting settled and ready for the next phase.”

“Excellent,” Ronald said as he ducked his head and entered the Toyshop.

Being a Gigantopithecus, commonly known as a Bigfoot, Ronald’s height was a little inconvenient in the lower decks of the B3. He was loaded down with a good amount of gear and luggage and not looking too pleased about it.

“Where shall I set this?” he asked.

“Ballantine said to pack light,” Carlos said. “That’s not light.”

“It is for all of us,” Ronald said and dropped the gear in front of the counter.

He stepped aside and in came Dr. Lisa Morganton, Dr. Boris Kelnichov, Chief Engineer Morgan “Cougher” Colfer, and Chief Steward/Boatswain/Second Officer, and pretty much every other title on the ship, Trevor “Popeye” De Bruhl.

“Some of them bags is full of snacks and shit,” Popeye barked. “If we’re going to be in here a while, then we need to eat, right? Any of you nerds think of that?”

“Must we use that word?” Ronald asked. “We are all crew of the Beowulf III. No need for pejoratives.”

“Suit yerself, Sasquatch,” Popeye replied. “I get called all kinds of things and never get my hairy panties in a wad.”

“Oh, yes, this should be loads of fun,” Carlos said and disappeared into the stacks of shelves. “Don’t touch anything!”

“No one wants to touch anything!” Cougher yelled back. “Punk ass bitch…”

“Okay, first order of business is we do not kill each other,” Lucy said then put a hand to her mouth and added sotto voce, “I mean, we do not kill Carlos. No matter how much he deserves it.”

“I can hear you! I have the place wired for sound!” Carlos yelled.

“Can you hear this?” Cougher asked as he stuck his middle finger in the air.

“I can see it! I also have the place wired for video!” Carlos replied.

“You sure we can’t kill him?” Cougher asked.

“We need him,” Ingrid said sadly. “He knows the Toyshop better than anyone.”

“Eh hem,” Moshi said as she scurried from one hidden spot to another.

“Almost anyone,” Ingrid said. “He’ll be more useful alive.”

“Bummer,” Cougher said.

“No shit,” Popeye agreed.

Dr. Morganton remained quiet. She found a seat and sat down heavily.

“Are you alright?” Ingrid asked.

“I am fine,” Dr. Morganton replied.

“You sure? You don’t look fine,” Ingrid said.

“I’m tired, Ingrid. That is all. Just so tired. I want this to be over. Now,” she replied.

“I agree with you there,” Lucy said. “I think we all do. But for now, we have a long road ahead. Ballantine is trusting us to get through this.”

“What exactly are we getting through?” Boris asked. “I am not privy to the plan. There is a plan, yes? One of those brilliant, yet twisted, Ballantine plans? I do hope so as I am quite unsure how else we will survive this ordeal. I mean, whoa, what a nightmare. Have you met Ballantine’s daughter? Or the facsimile that was his daughter? She is something not to be trifled with.”

Everyone stared at Boris. He shrugged.

“No? Alright. Never mind,” he said then looked to Popeye. “Did I hear there are snacks?”

“I should have just died back when I had all those chances,” Popeye muttered. “It’d be better than this Hell.”

***

“Ballantine.”

“Wire.”

“It has been a very long time.”

“It has.”

“You look healthy.”

“As do you. New servos in the shoulders?”

“Yes. Thank you for noticing. Cutting edge tech. Is Carlos still around? He would be very interested in hearing what Pullman Heating & Cooling is accomplishing these days.”

“I believe Dr. Morganton would be more interested. She is our bioalternatives expert, after all.”

“Lisa? You have Lisa onboard? So, she is alive. You sneaky little devil.”

“I didn’t say she was onboard. I said she’d be interested.”

“You also didn’t tell me if Carlos is still around. Is he?”

“Carlos is Carlos.”

“That is not an answer.”

“Yes, actually, it is an answer.”

“Did you just actually me?”

“Did I? Is actuallying someone a thing?”

“When was the last time you were on the internet?”

“Oh, well, it has been some time. You know how it is while running for your life from one nuked island to the next. Just no time to get online and check MySpace.”

“MySpace? Now you’re fucking with me, Ballantine. Even you are not that clueless.”

“You’d be surprised. I mean, look around. I ended up here, in this predicament. Clueless could be my new thing.”

“I highly doubt that. You have this all planned out. Don’t think I’m not prepared. Ballantine doesn’t give up this easily. You called in because you have something up your sleeve. Not that you have sleeves. Have you thought of updating your wardrobe? Polo shirts and khakis really aren’t in style.”

“You are wrong there, Wire. Polo shirts and khakis will always be in style. As long as men like me can tan like this then this outfit will live forever.”

“You do have a remarkable tan. I would expect nothing less considering you have been living at sea for, what? A couple years now?”

“Has it been that long? Time flies when you are having fun.”

“People have died because of your choices, Ballantine. You call that fun?”

“Not for them, no. But I always look on the bright side. Death is everywhere, but when do you get a view like this?”

He spread his arms.

“Paradise.”

“Can we cut the shit and get down to business?” Thorne snapped. “I can’t believe there are two of you.”

“Commander Vincent Thorne,” Wire said, turning her attention away from Ballantine. “Your reputation precedes you. Gruff and to the point.”

Thorne studied Wire. The woman did not hide that she was as much machine as flesh. None of her enhancements were covered in synthetic skin. She wore them like tattoos; badges of honor.

Both arms were conglomerations of gleaming metal parts. Interwoven steel cables that were connected by various junction points, servos, and what looked like hydraulic hinges. Thorne couldn’t be sure. One eye gleamed red while the other appeared normal other than the fact Thorne hadn’t seen it blink once since the woman had stepped onboard the B3. Ears were metal, there were metal cables peeking out from under Wire’s neck skin, and when she shifted, the sound of powerful servos could be heard from under her combat pants.

“You got real guts or plastic tubes in that belly?” Thorne asked. “Real guts might worry me, but plastic I can handle.”

“Cute,” Wire said. “And my internal organs are none of your business. Do not mistake my knowing who you are as acceptance of you being here. Piss me off only once and Sterling here will deal with you.”

“I will,” Sterling said.

“This guy? Not too worried,” Thorne replied. “I know what he is capable of.”

“Is that so?” Wire asked, amused. “Sterling? A demonstration.”

Sterling nodded and walked towards one of the deckhands, a man trying to look as inconspicuous as possible.

“Um, might I request you do not harm any of the crew?” Ballantine said, holding up a hand as if he was in class. “Taking on Team Grendel is one thing, they are professionals like you, but the deckhands are simply laborers that got caught up in all this mess. We haven’t had a chance to drop them at a port.”

“You all are complicit,” Wire said. “Sterling?”

“Hey now!” the deckhand cried, panic filling his voice and eyes. The others around him moved away. Fast. “Leave me alone!”

The deckhand tried to run, but Sterling reached him before he even made it a few steps. Then grab and snap. The man fell to the deck, dead, his neck at an unnatural angle.

“Nice trick,” Darby said. “So?”

“So? He just killed a man for no reason!” Thorne snarled.

“Yes, but we can all do that,” Darby said.

Sterling knelt, grasped the dead man’s skull with his right hand, and squeezed. The skull burst open like a fruit, sending brains and blood splattering everywhere.

“Sterling prefers his enhancements under wraps, so to speak,” Wire stated. “He likes the synthetic skin look. Keeps his abilities stealth.”

“Might we ask what other enhancements he has?” Ballantine said. “For reference sake?”

“Nah, takes the mystery out of life,” Sterling said as he wiped his hand on the deckhand’s clothing then stood and rejoined the group.

“Well, we wouldn’t want to destroy the mystery, now would we,” Ballantine replied.

“Upper decks are clear and secured!” one of the guards said.

“Get the brothers out of the crow’s nest,” Wire ordered. “Thorne? Can you make sure they do not try to resist? I would love to witness their sniper skills at some point, but today is not the day for that. They go easily and they live. Understood?”

Thorne pressed his ear. “Boys? You copy that?”

“Copy,” the Reynolds replied over the com.

“They’ll be good,” Thorne said.

“Are we sure?” Ballantine asked out of the corner of his mouth. “They don’t always follow directions.”

“They’ll be good,” Thorne insisted.

“If you say so,” Ballantine replied and nodded at Wire. “So, would you care to adjourn to the conference room? It’s a tad cooler in there and we can sit comfortably while we discuss terms.”

“Terms?” Wire said and looked about. “What terms are we discussing? You surrendered, Ballantine. It’s over. Now all I have to do is decide who lives, who dies, and what to do with you once I’ve had my…fun.”

“I’m guessing I die,” Darby said.

“Why would you say that?” Wire asked, looking honestly confused. “You’re Darby.”

“She’s finally cracked,” Sterling said. “The Darby you want is broken.”

“Oh, nothing is ever truly broken,” Wire said and flexed her left hand. The metal fingers moved in a slow, easy motion, the sound of the servos a quiet hum carried by the ocean breeze. “I think we can put Darby back together again despite all the king’s horses and all the king’s men’s failures.”

“Am I the king in this?” Ballantine asked. “Or the horses and men?”

“Don’t think too deeply into the metaphor, Ballantine,” Wire said. “I talk nonsense. It’s a habit that has held over from my days as your flesh and blood. Hard to break, no matter how much I try. Your conditioning as a father really did a number on the psyche in this head.”

“He’s certainly the horse’s ass, if nothing else,” Thorne said.

Wire laughed. “Oh, that is so true! Yes, perhaps the metaphor does work.”

“So, the conference room?” Ballantine asked.

“For what?” Wire replied.

“Terms. I did already say that, yes? I am a tad tired, so forgive me if I am repeating myself.”

Wire stared at Ballantine for a long while then nodded to Sterling. “Sweep the conference room. I want it secure and free of boobytraps.”

“Boobytraps? You expect me to pull something so base as that over on you? Wire, dear, please. You insult me. I can assure you that the conference room is simply a conference room.”

“I’ll sweep it,” Sterling said and looked at Darby. “Care to show me where it is?”

Darby looked to Thorne. Thorne nodded.

“Up here,” Darby said and walked towards the stairs that lead up past the bridge and to the conference room doors. “Come on.”

“They are kind of cute together, don’t you think, Ballantine?” Wire asked as Sterling and Darby walked off.

“Oh, Darby is taken,” Ballantine said.

Wire glared. “Please tell me what Dana always feared has not happened.”

“What does that mean?”

“You know what it means?”

“I must admit that I do not.”

“She is talking about you and Darby being romantically involved,” Thorne said.

“Ooo, that made my stomach turn,” Ballantine said. “A bit incestuous, considering. I am offended you would even propose an idea like that.” Ballantine shook his head then stopped. “Wait. Dana always thought I’d try that? Disgusting.”

“If not you, then who is the lucky person?” Wire asked.

“Lucky is not a word I’d use,” Thorne said.

***

“Darby,” Max said.

“Max,” Darby said as they passed each other.

Max and Shane were under guard while Darby was escorted by Sterling. The verbal exchange happened as both of them were passing the open hatch to the bridge.

“Hey,” Darren said. “You guys trading places?”

A guard detached from the group escorting the Reynolds brothers and stepped onto the bridge.

“You do not have permission from the captain to be on the bridge,” Lake said, his Desert Eagle held casually down by his thigh.

Sterling appeared quickly, his hand still gripping Darby’s upper arm, keeping her back.

“You will relinquish your weapons and sit tight,” Sterling ordered. “I’ll be back to speak with both of you after I have conducted some business in the conference room. Try anything and my man is authorized to kill.”

“Good for him,” Darren said. “But we won’t be trying anything. Simply sitting on the bridge, watching all the action happen without us.”

“He sounds bitter because he hasn’t punched anyone in a while,” Lake said. “Personally, I am sick and fucking tired of action. I’m ready to be off this ship for good.”

“That so?” Sterling asked. “Interesting. We’ll talk more, for sure. Until then, my man is in charge of this bridge. You don’t touch a goddamn dial without his permission.”

“The ship is out of fuel, there’s nothing to touch,” Lake said and shrugged. He offered the Desert Eagle to the guard who took it quickly. “You guys have any beer onboard?”

“Marty, come on,” Darren said. “Don’t be pitiful.”

“We have plenty of beer,” Sterling replied, chuckling, then was gone.

“Hear that? Plenty of beer,” Lake said and sighed. “I can hardly wait.”

“How about you shut up while you do?” the guard snarled.

Lake and Darren exchanged looks then relaxed into their seats.

“As you wish, buddy,” Darren said.

Lake pantomimed zipping his lips then stared out at the ocean beyond the two ships.

Chapter Four: Talky Talk Talky Time

Wire took the seat at the head of the conference table. Ballantine began to argue, but changed his mind, nodded politely, and took the seat at the opposite end.

“You want to talk terms, so I will indulge you and listen,” Wire said. “At the very least it will be entertaining to hear what that brain comes up with. Your skills at self-delusion know no equal, so, please Ballantine, begin. I cannot wait.”

“Well, first, since you are disarming everyone, I ask that no one be harmed,” Ballantine said. “Is that request self-delusional?”

“It is surprisingly unselfish of you to think of others that way,” Wire said. “I believe your motto at one time was to let the operators shoot until empty and you’ll sort it out after.”

“That sounds about right,” Thorne said.

Wire smiled at the commander. “It does, doesn’t it?”

“I have grown a lot as a person since you last saw me, Wire,” Ballantine said. “Some might say I have had my eyes opened to the true value of life.”

“I doubt it,” Wire replied.

Her eyes scanned the room.

“Ms. Thorne, Gunnar Peterson, and quite a few others are down below, yes?” Wire asked.

“That’s where I left them,” Ballantine said. “Should they be brought up here too? Might get a little crowded in this room.”

“This is your conference room,” Wire replied. “It appears to be able to handle an entire crew.”

“I do like my rooms big,” Ballantine said. “Why go small?”

“You are frustrating as ever,” Wire said. “Okay, so you want your people to remain unharmed. That is more up to you and them than it is up to me. I have no intention of harming or killing anyone until I know who I am dealing with. If people show worth, then I will keep them. If they are superfluous or present a danger, then they will be dealt with appropriately.”

“Superfluous? That’s a might harsh,” Ballantine said.

“Apple didn’t fall far,” Thorne grumbled.

“Oh, Vincent, as much as I love your Oscar the Grouch impression, could you perhaps refrain from uttering unhelpful comments?” Ballantine said.

“Tight-knit team you have,” Wire said. “What other terms do you have, Ballantine? State them now. We have a timetable to keep.”

“Do we? What timetable is that? Is there a storm coming? Governmental organizations on your tail? Pirates?” Ballantine asked.

“We can handle pirates,” Darby said as she stood between Sterling and a guard.

“That we can, Darby,” Ballantine said. “That we can.”

The room was silent until Wire cleared her throat. “Terms, Ballantine.”

“Oh, yes, well, in addition to no harm coming to the crew, I would appreciate if you let them go at the closest safe port,” Ballantine said. “Your quarrel is with me, not them.”

“My quarrel is with you and everyone associated with you. Your crew, your precious Team Grendel, Dana, and any other associates across the globe that still, for whatever misguided reasons they have, consider you an ally and worth supporting.”

Wire leaned forward and rested her palms flat on the table’s surface.

“This is your time of reckoning,” Wire stated. “The Age of Ballantine is over. Permanently.”

“And that means what?” Thorne asked. Ballantine started to interrupt, but Thorne held up a hand and shot a glare at the man that shut him up instantly. “So, because we’ve been conned into playing Ballantine’s games, what? We deserve to be executed? We deserve the same punishment as this guy?”

Thorne pointed an accusatory finger at Ballantine, but his eyes were on Wire.

“You seem to know Ballantine pretty well, lady. Can you honestly tell me you think we would have joined his insane adventures if we’d known what we were really getting into? No. We would have run the other way.”

“I don’t see you as the type of person that runs from anything, Commander Thorne,” Wire said. “So let me tell you how this will all go down. No more terms, for one. The only terms that matter are mine. And my terms can change depending on my mood. So you will want to keep me in a good mood. Good mood equals good terms.”

“Sound philosophy,” Ballantine said. “So, my sort of daughter, but not really because look at you, what are your terms? What is to become of me and my merry band of oceanic warriors?”

“We transfer everyone to my ship. From there, I will determine my next course of action,” Wire said. “Oh, don’t look so glum, Ballantine. Did you expect me to lay out my master plan right here and now like a shitty B-movie villain?”

“It would have been helpful, yes,” Ballantine said. “But, I see the strategy in keeping your cards close to your chest. I’d do the same.”

“My God you are infuriating,” Wire said. “I’d truly forgotten.”

Thorne snorted.

“Well, if that is all, then I will alert my people to your terms and have them start packing immediately,” Ballantine said as he stood up.

“No. There will be no packing. Are you insane? No, don’t answer that. Of course you are. No packing. And my people are already sweeping the lower decks. They will bring everyone up on top and move them to my ship. Then we leave your ship behind and the next phase, albeit a short one, of your life begins.”

“I can hardly wait,” Ballantine said and clapped his hands together. “We should toast to a new beginning. If you press your hand against that panel there—the one behind you and to the left—you’ll reveal a small fridge filled with champagne. Glasses are somewhere, but I can’t remember which panel.”

“Jesus Christ…” Wire muttered.

***

Five guards burst into the infirmary and Kinsey nearly blew their heads off. But word had come over the com to not resist, so instead of killing the guards, which she felt she could have done easily, she held up her hands, each loosely gripping her .45s.

“Move and we kill you, bitch!” one of the guards yelled.

“She’s obviously surrendering, dickhole,” Gunnar said.

“Gunnar, please,” Dana said, placing a hand on his arm. “Do not get emotional. If everyone remains calm, then we have a better chance of surviving this ordeal.”

“You better listen to the lady,” the guard snapped. “Shut your mouth and do what we tell you and you’ll at least live to see sunlight.”

“Can’t guarantee you’ll live much after that,” a second guard said.

All five guards chuckled as two of them relieved Kinsey of her weapons.

“What’s your name?” the first guard asked Kinsey.

“Kinsey Thorne,” Kinsey replied. “What’s yours?”

The guard ignored her as he pulled a tablet from his belt. He swiped and scrolled then nodded.

“She’s a keeper,” the first guard said. “And you? Gunnar, is it?”

“Dr. Gunnar Peterson,” Gunnar replied.

“Let’s see. Let’s see… Yep. Got you here. You get to live, Doc.”

All eyes focused on Dana.

“Dana Ballantine,” she said and sighed. “I’m fairly certain you’ll find my name at the top of the list.”

“You ain’t wrong there, lady,” the first guard said. He gave the second guard a side look then shrugged as he tilted the tablet for him to see. “You’re reading that, right?”

“I read it loud and clear,” the second guard said as he aimed his M4 at Dana’s head.

“Wait! What the fuck are you—?” Kinsey shouted.

The last of her words were drowned out by the two gunshots. Dana’s head was torn apart and she dropped to the infirmary floor, dead.

Kinsey screamed. Gunnar screamed. The guards began shouting for them to shut up and get on the floor. Gunnar started to lurch towards the guards, but Kinsey grabbed him and threw him down onto the bloody ground. She kept her hands held above her head as she dropped to her knees, tears streaming down her face as Gunnar continued shouting expletives at the guards.

“Gun! Shut up!” Kinsey shouted. “SHUT UP!”

Gunnar quieted down, but was still sobbing hard.

“That’s a good little faggot,” the first guard said. “Nice and quiet now.”

“Oh, that was the wrong thing to say, asshole,” Kinsey snarled as she launched herself onto her feet and at the closest guard.

“Kins! No!” Gunnar cried.

It was too late. Kinsey Thorne was in motion and there was nothing anyone in the infirmary could do to stop her. She proved that quickly as she ducked under the gunfire from the second guard’s M4. Her fist hit him in the crotch and he grunted and doubled over, giving Kinsey the chance to take that M4 from him, spin it around, and shoot the guard directly under his body armor, tearing his belly wide open.

She let the wounded man fall across her shoulders as a shield. Gunfire exploded in the infirmary, most of it hitting the guard’s body. One of the rounds clipped Kinsey in the right calf, but she ignored the pain as she charged the other guards, rushing forward like the man on her shoulder was a tackling dummy.

Hot lead singed her cheek when she threw the body at the guards and faced them full on. She put three rounds in one, two in another then had to dive and roll out of the way as the first guard strafed the room with semi-automatic rifle fire. A round hit the butt of the M4 Kinsey clutched and she lost her grip as the momentum of the bullet, along with the shock from the impact, tore the weapon from her hands.

“Bitch! Fucking bitch!” the first guard yelled as he and the last guard tried to take her out.

Kinsey rolled and dove, jumped and dodged, threw herself behind exam tables and medical equipment. Bullets were flying everywhere, the ricochets as deadly as the first fires. A second round did more than singe her cheek and Kinsey felt the hot blood flowing down her face, neck, and onto her collar, soaking her T-shirt.

“You’re going to get your friends killed!” the first guard shouted. “Surrender now and you might live through this!”

More gunfire as Kinsey threw herself under an exam table and grabbed a stray bone hammer that lay amongst the medical gear that was strewn everywhere. Why Gunnar had a bone hammer out in the first place, Kinsey couldn’t figure out. Not that she gave too much thought to it as she came out from under the table, the hammer swinging straight for the first guard’s kneecap.

The guard dodged and fell back against the other guard. Gunfire stopped, giving Kinsey the split second she needed to launch back to her feet and swing with all of her strength. The first guard ducked in time, but the other guard wasn’t so lucky. He took the full force of the hammer blow to his right cheekbone, shattering his face instantly.

The man screamed and let go of his weapon as he fell to the ground. The M4’s strap was secured around him, so Kinsey shoved the first guard out of the way, giving him a good shot to the nuts while she was in motion, and grabbed the loose carbine. The guard appeared to think about fighting Kinsey off, his hands even began to come away from his brutalized face, but Kinsey sent a head-butt directly into the destroyed cheekbone and the guard began his screaming again.

The two of them hit the floor and Kinsey managed to get the barrel of the M4 twisted and turned around so it impacted with the soft flesh under the guard’s chin. Then Kinsey found the trigger and squeezed. The top of the guard’s head exploded across the floor, a macabre piece of modern art appearing where shiny steel had been only a split second earlier.

Kinsey tried to yank the carbine free, but the strap was still around the dead guard’s body. She reached for his sidearm again, but froze before her hand could undo the clasp and get the pistol free.

“I should end you,” the first guard hissed as he pressed the muzzle of his M4 against the back of Kinsey’s head. “If I didn’t have orders to keep you alive, that’s exactly what I’d do.”

“You sure about that?” Gunnar asked just before burying two scalpels into each of the guard’s temples.

The man gasped and squeezed the trigger, but Kinsey saw that coming and rolled to the side, the burst of gunfire missing her by inches.

“Thanks,” Kinsey said as the guard’s corpse fell to the ground and she scrambled to the M4 he would no longer be needing. “Snag that M4 there and let’s get out of here.”

***

“That’s a lot of gunfire,” Lucy said, glancing at Cougher.

“Yep,” Cougher replied. “Want me to tell Ingrid to turn off the surveillance audio?”

“No,” Lucy replied as she paced back and forth in the Toyshop, only a meter away from the video and audio surveillance station Ingrid had set up so everyone could see what was going on in the rest of the ship.

The B3 was wired from stem to stern with cameras and mics. Ballantine liked it that way, and the man’s paranoia came in handy while the ship was under siege.

“You sure?” Ingrid asked, seated in front of the bank of equipment. She looked over her shoulder at the pacing Lucy. “I can put in earbuds to listen. Might be more relaxing that—”

“What is happening?” Lucy asked and stopped pacing. She leaned over Ingrid and studied the video monitors. “Where’d the gunfire come from?”

“Infirmary,” Ingrid replied.

“That’s where Gunnar, Kinsey, and the Ballantine woman are,” Popeye growled. “Not too big a fan of the Ballantine woman.”

“We know,” Carlos groaned from his seat against the far wall. “You tell us all the time, Popeye.”

“And I’ll keep goddamn telling you!” Popeye snarled.

“No need,” Lucy said as she straightened up. “Dana is dead. Looks like she was shot in the head.”

The Toyshop went quiet.

“Where’s Kinsey and Gunnar?” Lucy asked. “I don’t see them in there.”

“They took down the guards and are on the move,” Ingrid said. She rolled her seat over to a different set of controls. “I’ll go ahead and start locking down hatches to mess up the other guards. I can also steer Kinsey and Gunnar to us or to the specimen bay where they can take the mini-sub. At least a couple of us will get out of here.”

“No,” Lucy said with a heavy sigh. “You know the plan, Ingrid.”

“But, come on,” Ingrid sputtered. “Ballantine couldn’t have foreseen this. Kinsey and Gunnar need our help.”

“You really think Ballantine didn’t see this happening?” Lucy asked. “It’s Kinsey. Someone is getting their ass handed to them if Kinsey is out and about. Why else do you think Ballantine didn’t include her in our group? For whatever reason he has, he wanted her loose and dangerous.”

“But she could get killed,” Ingrid said, although the argument was gone from her voice. “Gunnar too. Dana already died.”

Ingrid gasped.

“You don’t think he knew Dana would get killed and let it happen, do you?”

“You’ve known Ballantine longer than I have,” Lucy replied. “You tell me.”

“Oh, he knew,” Carlos said.

“SHUT UP!” everyone shouted at the man.

“Screw you guys,” Carlos mumbled.

“Lucy is correct,” Ronald chimed in. “We follow Ballantine’s plan. He was very specific when he told us that once the Toyshop doors are sealed, we do not leave here. No matter what might happen.”

“Ballantine is a son of a bitch, but he survives,” Moshi said, making a brief appearance. “Listen.”

Then she was gone.

“We stay put and wait for the signal,” Lucy said.

“What exactly is the signal?” Cougher asked. “The details were sketchy on that.”

“Ballantine said we’d know it when it happened,” Ingrid said.

“What an asshole,” Popeye growled.

***

“Goddammit,” Sterling snarled as voices filled the com in his ear. “We have a problem.”

Wire turned her attention from a grinning Ballantine and stared at her head of security.

“Who?” Wire asked.

“Infirmary, so that would be Kinsey Thorne and Gunnar Peterson,” Sterling said.

“And Dana,” Ballantine added. “I believe Dana was in there as well.”

Wire sneered.

“She still is, but not in the state in which she arrived,” Wire said.

“Is that so?” Ballantine replied, his voice ice cold. “Killing your own mother. How will you sleep at night?”

“Don’t even, Ballantine,” Wire said. “I no more consider her my mother than I consider you my father. She deserved what she got and you know why. Your fate isn’t looking too much better, but we have work to do before you meet your end.”

“Oh, good,” Ballantine said. “A working death. I’ve lived nothing but a working life, so it is fitting to go out industrious.”

“Wire?” Sterling asked. “What’s the call?”

“The call? Find Kinsey Thorne and Gunnar Peterson and bring them up here,” Wire barked and focused on Thorne. “You want to see your daughter live through this? Then I suggest you get her on the com and tell her to knock this shit off and surrender. I’m not giving her another chance.”

“Why do you even want her alive?” Thorne asked. “Or any of us? Seems like a tactical risk to me. We keep breathing means your chances of still breathing lessen with every minute.”

“Um, Vincent, perhaps the wise choice would be to not point out the flaws in our enemies’ plans,” Ballantine said. “I for one applaud Wire’s decision to keep us alive. I think she is making an excellent choice and should be commended.”

Ballantine smiled wide at Wire.

“Who would commend you, by the way? Pullman Heating & Cooling is yours completely, yes? Is there anyone above that can give you a rousing good job?”

“I am autonomous,” Wire stated.

“Well, that’s one way to skirt a direct answer,” Ballantine said.

“Darby will need to be secured,” Sterling said, still gripping the woman’s arm. “I’d rather not leave her in here with you.”

“Then take her onto the outer deck with the Reynolds brothers and deckhands,” Wire said. “Do what you need to do to keep her from causing trouble.”

“Understood,” Sterling said and yanked Darby towards the large sliding doors that led to the upper deck. “Try anything and others die, not just you.”

“Alright,” Darby replied as she was pulled outside into the blazing hot sun.

“Alright that you comply or alright that you are fine with others dying?” Sterling asked as he marched Darby down the stairs to where the others were being guarded as they sat on the deck, hands tied behind backs and ankles secured. “You’re a hard one to read.”

“I’m not a book,” Darby said. “Maybe stop trying to read me.”

“I don’t know what happened to your head, but it wasn’t good,” Sterling said. “Unless you’ve always been this way?”

“Hey! Where are you taking her?” Darren called as they passed the bridge.

Sterling ignored the question and kept moving.

“Hey there, sexy pants,” Max said when Sterling and Darby reached the group. “And you too, Darby.”

“Nice one, man,” Shane said.

“Thanks, dude,” Max replied.

“Dana is dead and Kinsey and Gunnar are loose below decks,” Darby said.

“Oh. Well…shit,” Max replied.

“Sis can take them,” Shane stated.

“Sis? She’s your cousin,” Sterling said, setting Darby down on the opposite of the group from the Reynolds brothers. He watched carefully as a guard bound Darby’s wrists then ankles. “Did I miss something?”

“Only your humanity taking a vacation and not coming back,” Max said.

“Kinsey is like a sister to them so they call her Sis,” Darby said.

“Way to undercut the mystery,” Shane said.

“Darby, I love you, but let’s not give the bad man any more intel, alrighty?” Max said.

“Doesn’t matter,” Darby said. “The bad man is going to die by my hands at some point during the next couple of days. We can tell him everything about us and it won’t make a difference.”

“Am I the only one turned on by that tough talk?” Max asked. “Because if it turned any of you guys on, then back the fuck off. She’s my unstoppable killing machine, thank you very much.”

“My God,” Sterling muttered as he pressed a finger to his com. “Darby is secured with the idiots.”

“He’s talking about us,” Shane said in a loud whisper.

“Nah, he’s only talking about you, bro,” Max said. “You’re just such an idiot that he has to refer to you in the plural form.”

“Permission to shoot one of the Reynolds brothers in the leg?” Sterling asked.

“Permission denied,” Wire replied over the com.

“They really don’t shut up,” Sterling pleaded.

“Go find Kinsey Thorne,” Wire ordered.

“Copy that,” Sterling said then kicked Max in the gut. “Darby gets out of hand in any way, I will slice your belly open and show you your own guts. Understood? Keep her in line.”

“That’s quite the request, buckaroo,” Max coughed. “It’d be easier for me to swim to Florida from here than tell Darby to do anything.”

“I plan on doing nothing,” Darby said. “Go find Kinsey and bring her back alive. I’ll stay put if she comes back breathing.”

“See? Darby is being reasonable. She’s letting you live if you let Kinsey live,” Max said.

“And Gun. Gun needs to come back alive too,” Shane said.

“And Gunnar,” Darby added.

“You all are as fucking nuts as Ballantine,” Sterling said and walked towards the hatch leading to the lower decks. “Kinsey Thorne lives if she surrenders. She puts up a fight and I will take her out.”

“If you’re taking her out, then you should know she enjoys sushi!” Shane called.

“Does she? I thought Sis hated sushi,” Max said.

“Fucking shut up!” Sterling yelled before slamming the hatch closed behind him.

Chapter Five: A Kinsey Thorne In The Side

“Not that way,” Kinsey said as Gunnar started to take the steps up to the next deck. “We’re going deeper.”

“Deeper?” Gunnar asked. “Why? Where to?”

“The why is because all the assholes are up top,” Kinsey said. She paused, ducked her head quickly around the corner and back, nodded to Gunnar, then turned into the next passageway, M4 leading the way. “The where to is the mini-sub. It’s our last chance out of here.”

“Didn’t Ballantine say the new mini-sub is smaller inside than the Wiglaf was?” Gunnar exclaimed.

“Which is why I’m not getting in it,” Kinsey said. “I’m putting you in there so at least one of us survives this bullshit.”

“Kins, I can’t let you do that,” Gunnar said.

“Yeah, like you have much of a choice,” Kinsey replied. “Ballantine screwed us all by surrendering. I’m not letting you die, Gun. If any of us deserve to live, it’s you. ‘Ren and I are operators. We were eventually going to each take a bullet. It was inevitable. But you’re a doctor and scientist. You should die in your sleep or some shit.”

“Kins, we’ve been friends since we were kids,” Gunnar argued. “We grew up together. If you die, I die. I plan on seeing this through to the end with you.”

Kinsey ducked her head around another corner and leapt back as gunfire tore into the metal wall.

“You might get your wish, Gun,” Kinsey said as she took a knee, inched closer to the corner, and waited for the gunfire to stop.

As soon as the shooting ended, Kinsey feigned looking around the corner to get the shooting started once more. She counted off in her head then pivoted on her knee and began firing as the attacking gunfire simultaneously ended.

Two men and a woman screamed as Kinsey ripped them apart at the thighs. They fell to the ground and Kinsey ended them with single shots to their heads. She stood up, her wounded calf protesting, and approached the dead guards.

“Clear,” she called back to Gunnar.

He appeared by her side and shook his head.

“You ever think I’d be able to do that when we were kids?” Kinsey asked, stepping over the corpses.

“Yeah. I did,” Gunnar said. “No offense.”

“None taken,” Kinsey said. “I’m flattered.”

“That’s good,” Gunnar said.

They proceeded down the passageway, down two flights of stairs, and through another four passageways before they reached the hatch that led to the specimen bay passageway. Kinsey paused and eyed the hatch’s wheel.

“How much you want to bet there’s someone waiting for us on the other side?” she asked Gunnar.

“A dollar,” Gunnar said. “And I’m only betting that because why the fuck not.”

“Good attitude,” Kinsey said. She nodded at the wheel. “Give it a spin and a pull. Stay back behind the door while I shoot at whatever is on the other side.”

“Whatever? You expecting a monster?” Gunnar asked as he gripped the wheel.

“I’m ready for anything and everything,” Kinsey said. “Do it, Gun.”

Gunnar spun the wheel, pulled hard, and grimaced as Kinsey stepped forward, her M4 leading the way.

“Huh,” she said. “Nothing.”

“That’s a good thing, right?” Gunnar asked.

“Yeah, it is,” Kinsey said. “About time we caught a break. Come on.”

She hurried into the next passageway and over to the main hatch to the specimen bay. Kinsey flattened herself by the left side of the hatch then quickly peeked through the porthole in the upper middle. She smiled and winked at Gunnar.

“Clear,” she crowed. “You can get off the ship and find help.”

“I, uh…what?” Gunnar asked. “Find help? Kins, I barely know how to operate the mini-sub, let alone know where to go to get help.”

“Do whatever you can to get to a port,” Kinsey said. “The sub should have enough fuel to go for a few hundred miles. At least that’s what the elves said last time I asked about it. Special drives or something. I tuned out after they said it ran and could go a long way.”

“Special drives or something,” Gunnar sighed. “Great. How reassuring.”

“Just shut up and get in there,” Kinsey snapped.

“I’m not going without you,” Gunnar said. “I mean it, Kins. It may be brutally cramped, but we’ll figure out how to fit both of us. I can’t do this on my own. I need you.”

“Jesus Christ, Gun,” Kinsey said and shook her head. “I’m saving your ass.”

“And I’m saving yours,” Gunnar said. “You think they’re going to let you live after you killed all those guards? If you stay, then you are going to die. Come with me so you have a chance. Plus, if you’re free out there, then everyone on this ship has a shot at living. You are scary deadly when determined to save family.”

“Yeah, I can’t argue there,” Kinsey said. “But, you have to listen…”

Kinsey’s eyes went wide as she trailed off.

“What?” Gunnar asked. “What’s wrong?”

“We forgot someone,” Kinsey hissed. “How in all the fucks could we do that?”

“Forgot someone? Who?” Gunnar asked. “Ballantine gave us all assignments. He told everyone where they needed to go, right? Who did he leave off?”

“Someone that isn’t family yet,” Kinsey said.

“Someone that isn’t…” Realization dawned on Gunnar’s face. “Shit.”

***

Nivia sat on her bunk, alone in her cabin, terrified of the sounds she heard coming from the rest of the ship. Gunshots, screaming, boots pounding down passageways. Chaos was noisy and scary as all Hell.

She hadn’t been on the B3 for very long. Only a couple weeks after being rescued from what the crew called “Murder Island.” The name fit since everything on that piece of shit rock only wanted to kill, kill, kill.

She’d been stranded there when her brother had taken their yacht into the deep harbor, thinking the pristine beach and signs of fresh water meant a paradise was at their fingertips. But as she learned the hard way by watching her husband, her brother, and her friends get devoured by mutant beetles, paradise was not only lost, but it had teeth and was very hungry.

Nivia did feel bad that Team Grendel had lost one of their own. Mike Perlman had been his name. He seemed like a nice guy, the brief time she’d spoken with him. It had hit the crew hard and Nivia knew many were still reeling from the shock, especially Dr. Gunnar Peterson. The two men had been lovers and longtime friends.

She’d gotten to know Gunnar fairly well over the weeks. He was a medical doctor and scientist; Nivia was a nurse. They had bonded, slightly, on science and medicine. Especially since Nivia had helped stabilize Vincent Thorne after he’d had a serious cardiac event on the damn island.

Nivia thought she’d proven herself to everyone on the B3. She thought they were going to help her get home, even if that Ballantine guy had said she’d simply be dropped off at the closest secure port. Whatever that meant. Nivia knew that the members of the crew of the B3 were running from something they did or something that was done to them, she wasn’t quite sure, and their flight across the ocean was getting in the way of her getting back to her former life.

Not that she ever could get back to her former life after what she’d gone through. But being a nurse, she’d witnessed countless forms of tragedy and knew other people had survived intense loss and grief. She could too.

But not if she sat on her ass and waited for someone to tell her what was going on. She had a distinct feeling that she’d been forgotten. It was to be expected since every time she ran into Ballantine, he acted as if they’d met for the first time. One of the Reynolds brothers, she couldn’t remember which one, the guy with the eye patch, had said that was Ballantine being Ballantine and he was messing with her so she didn’t try to do anything stupid.

Nivia had no idea what stupid thing she could do in the middle of the goddamn ocean surrounded by killers, misfits, and freaks. She couldn’t even think too hard about the fact there was a real, live Bigfoot onboard.

She stood up, faced the cabin door, took several deep breaths, and decided to leave. Nivia was done being a victim and passenger in her life. She was ready to take back some control and get some damn answers about what was going on and what Ballantine truly had planned for her.

Her hand hesitated as she reached for the cabin door handle. It wasn’t strictly about Ballantine anymore. The ship had been boarded. Or at least sounded like it had been boarded. She’d been exiled to her cabin by Ballantine long before contact was made. As far as she knew, there were armed guards right outside her cabin, waiting to put a bullet between her eyes if she tried to leave.

“Fuck,” she whispered, frustrated by her situation and her own cowardice.

She had survived flesh-eating beetles; she could survive some armed guards. She could do it.

Her hand finished its movement and she opened the door. She froze and listened. Nothing. No sound of movement or that feeling you get when you know someone is close by. Nivia took three steps out into the passageway.

No guards. Bloody bootprints on the floor, but no guards. The revelation was a mixed bag. No way that bloody bootprints could be a good thing. But the prints moved down the center of the passageway and didn’t look like they came close to hesitating by her cabin. Nivia guessed she was still an unknown quantity for whoever boarded the ship.

Nivia looked left, she looked right, she wished she had a weapon, she wished she could click her heels and be transported home. Hell, she wished she could click her heels and be transported to Cleveland or St. Louis or even the middle of Nebraska. Anywhere but the ship.

Right.

Nivia turned right and slowly, cautiously, walked down the passageway. She paused, listened, then turned the corner. Only one more turn, and a very long passageway, and she’d be at the closest set of stairs. Maybe she could sneak up top and take one of the lifeboats. She’d risk being stranded at sea, but she already felt stranded, so emotionally she was prepared.

Nivia reached the next corner. Again, she paused, listened, waited, then proceeded.

She found where all the blood had come from.

The sightless eyes of the guards’ corpses stared up at the halogen lighting that flickered in the passageway, giving everything an even more surreal feel to it than was already there. Nivia slowly picked her path and took careful steps around the corpses. It was like navigating a minefield made of death and offal instead of explosives.

There was a squish and pop and Nivia had to close her eyes and take a couple shallow breaths. No deep breaths since the passageway smelled of voided bowels and emptied bladders. She refused to look down and see what she had stepped on. Intestines would be a good guess, but Nivia didn’t want to confirm what her medical mind was telling her.

She reached the stairs and started to ascend, but a clanging from above changed her mind fast. She spun about, unable to decide which direction to go in. The passageway was too long for her to make it to the end before whoever was coming down the stairs was in sight. There were no cabin doors in the passageway for her to duck into. Nivia was trapped.

But standing there wasn’t an option. She spun about and faced the field of corpses. If she ran as fast as she could, and was careful not to slip, she might make it to the far corner before getting shot. That was the best plan she could come up with.

Nivia ran.

Her eyes were focused on the blood and bodies. She planned out her route and stuck to it as she pushed her legs as fast as they could go while also maintaining a semblance of balance and control.

“Hey!” someone shouted from behind her. “Stop!”

She heard a couple more voices calling into their coms about her sighting. Nivia ignored what they were saying and kept running. She had no other choice.

When she reached the end of the passageway, she pretty much threw herself around the corner. The gunfire started up and bullets pinged and dinged the walls, floor, ceiling. Nivia collapsed onto the floor and curled up in a fetal position, her arms wrapped around her head. She had made it out of direct line of sight, but it would only be a couple of seconds before the guards reached her and put some of those bullets they were recklessly firing around into her.

“Yeah, you’re gonna want to get up.”

Nivia gasped. Had she heard that?

“Nivia? Get your ass up. Now!”

Nivia opened her eyes, moved her arms, and stared up at the frowning face of Kinsey Thorne.

***

“What are you shooting at?” Sterling called into the com as he made his way down yet another set of stairs.” Report!”

“One of the crew,” a guard responded over the com. “A woman. She’s loose and we’re in pursuit.”

“A woman? Kinsey Thorne?” Sterling asked. He reached the bottom of the stairs and sprinted down the passageway. “Be careful when you engage. She is highly trained.”

“No, this wasn’t one of the operators,” the guard replied. “Some civilian.”

“How the hell can you know that?”

“She looked scared as hell and pretty much threw herself around the corner,” the guard responded. “She ran scared as all—”

Gunfire filled Sterling’s com and he winced as the sounds pierced his eardrum.

“Report!” he yelled as he kept running.

“We’ve been engaged! We’ve been engaged!”

“No shit,” Sterling muttered.

With the chaos that erupted within the landscape of the covert underworld, all thanks to Ballantine, Sterling had been forced to recruit guards that were less than ideal candidates. They had the skills he needed them to have, but he preferred to put men and women through their paces so he knew who could stand up to the pressure. There simply hadn’t been enough time. Wire had insisted they pursue Ballantine immediately.

Sterling was going to have to chat with her about the repercussions of that rash decision as he listened to guards die over the com.

“Sterling? Report,” Wire’s voice cut into the com. “Do you have Kinsey Thorne yet?”

“Heading that way now,” Sterling said as he descended more stairs and the sound of gunfire became something tangible ahead, not just an echo in his ear. “I can’t say for sure that she’ll live through this.”

“Understood,” Wire replied. “Do what is needed for us to stay on mission.”

“Roger that,” Sterling said. “I’ll report when I have her in hand or she’s dead.”

“Good.”

Sterling rounded a corner and sprinted to more stairs. The B3 was a never-ending labyrinth of passageways and stairways. He’d spent a good amount of his career, official and unofficial, on ships and he never got used to the claustrophobic feeling that the tight quarters instilled in him.

Down the stairs he went, his mouth gaping as he saw the death and carnage. Bodies filled the passageway. A couple of them were still moving, but only barely.

“Kinsey Thorne!” Sterling called out. “Show yourself, surrender your weapons, and come along quietly, and I’ll make sure none of your friends or family pay for this bullshit!”

Sterling waited, but there was no response. He moved forward, ignoring the wounded guards as he made his way down the passageway. If they survived, they survived. He was on a mission and wasn’t going to be distracted by imbeciles that got themselves shot.

“Kinsey Thorne!” he called out again when he was halfway down the passageway.

Still no response.

Sterling angled his route so he would be against the opposite wall of the corner. He expected the attack any second and he wanted the best angle possible to take out Kinsey when she showed herself.

She never showed herself.

Sterling reached the corner and fired three times as he turned into the next passageway. He was firing at nothing. No sign of Kinsey or anyone else.

“Shit,” he growled as he studied the floor and the multiple sets of bloody bootprints. “At least there’s a trail.”

***

“You two are going,” Kinsey snapped at Gunnar. “Fitting two was going to be tricky, but three isn’t happening, Gun. They aren’t looking for you and I doubt they even know Nivia exists.”

“Seems like no one remembered I existed,” Nivia spat as the three of them hurried back to the specimen bay. “Kinda forgot me, didn’t you?”

“You need to drop that shit,” Kinsey said. “It’s getting old. Dana got a bullet in the head, so you being overlooked is not the worst thing in the world right now, you hear me? Keep bitching and maybe I rethink that little rescue and leave your privileged ass here.”

“Go fuck yourself,” Nivia said.

“Can we not?” Gunnar sighed. “Let’s focus on getting to the sub and off the ship. All three of us.”

“Jesus, Gun, I told you there is no way three people are fitting inside the sub,” Kinsey said.

“Then we don’t all fit inside,” Gunnar said. “Maybe one of us stays on the outside.”

“On the outside? Are you crazy?” Nivia asked. “What am I saying? Of course you are. You’re all crazy.”

“The outside…” Kinsey mused. “That might work. Only if there is a suit and mustache in the specimen bay.”

“Pretty sure Popeye stashed compression suits and mustaches all over the ship,” Gunnar said. “He was pretty fired up about being prepared for when the B3 sank. Popeye didn’t have much confidence in our making it to a port in one piece.”

“God bless that peg-legged, squint-eyed, son of a bitch,” Kinsey said. “Let’s hope you’re right.”

“A mustache? How is that going to help?” Nivia asked.

They reached the last passageway and slid to a halt as they saw the guard standing by the hatch, his focus on the porthole and the specimen bay beyond.

“Fuck,” Kinsey said as she took aim and fired.

The guard’s head exploded and he dropped to the floor. The gunshot echoed down the passageway.

“That’s gonna tell them right where we are if they haven’t guessed yet,” Kinsey said. “We need to double time it now. Move!”

The three of them sprinted the last few meters, dodged the guard’s corpse and the copious amount of blood spilling from his headless body, and reached the specimen bay hatch. Kinsey checked through the porthole again then slung her M4 over her back, spun the wheel on the hatch, and yanked it open.

“I’ll get the sub prepped while you two hunt down a compression suit and mustache for me,” Kinsey said then stabbed a finger under Gunnar’s nose. “No argument. If someone is on the outside, it’s going to be me.”

“Wasn’t going to argue with you on that point,” Gunnar said. “You’re the one trained to handle the pressure of the depths without panicking.”

“What the hell is a mustache?” Nivia asked as they stepped onto the grated catwalk that overlooked the semi-flooded specimen bay where a very, very small sub bobbed up and down in a couple meters of water. “Shit. Are we going in that?”

“Unless you want to stay here,” Kinsey said as she climbed down a short ladder and jumped the space from the narrow metal dock and over to the top of the sub.

“Come on,” Gunnar said, pulling on Nivia’s arm. “Open all these lockers and cabinets. We need to find Kinsey a compression suit and mustache, which is a rebreather, so she can survive when we bail.”

Nivia didn’t argue, and after a moment’s hesitation while she watched Kinsey disappear down inside the sub, she began tearing into lockers, figuring she’d know what a compression suit was when she saw it.

There was a quiet hum and bubbles exploded from the rear of the sub. The bubbles were quickly replaced with a frothy tumult of trapped seawater and Kinsey appeared back on top of the sub.

“It’s fired up and ready to go,” Kinsey said. “How’s it coming with the suit and mustache?”

“Suit!” Gunnar yelled as he turned from an open locker. He hurried to the edge of the catwalk and threw the black rubber suit down to Kinsey. “Still looking for the mustache!”

“Are these mustaches?” Nivia asked as she opened heavy duty case and stared at a row of black, curved bars. She plucked one out and held it up. “This?”

“That’s it!” Gunnar yelled. He rushed over and took it from her. “Thanks.”

He tossed it to Kinsey, who despite the fact she was still slipping into the compression suit, caught it easily. Gunnar motioned for Nivia to follow and climbed down to the metal dock then jumped over to the top of the sub.

“Move ass,” Kinsey growled as Nivia hesitated.

Nivia flipped her off and followed Gunnar.

“Gun, you will have to be careful,” Kinsey said, once finished getting dressed. “This sub wasn’t designed to handle the power source the elves put in it. You’ll rip it apart if you go too fast. Three-quarter speed at the most or none of this is worth it. The sub will tear itself into pieces and we’ll all end up at the bottom of the ocean.”

“That’s good to know,” Gunnar said as he blanched slightly. “No pressure.”

“There’s always pressure,” Kinsey said. “Deal.” She focused on Nivia. “Once you two are sealed inside, you cannot panic. The space is too small for that. You start freaking out and thrashing and you’ll hit something important. Bottom of the ocean.”

“I’m a nurse. I’m not going to panic,” Nivia said.

“Then in you go,” Kinsey said. “Gun, I’m going to flood the specimen bay and open the doors. Then I’ll dive in and grab onto the sub. I set the com in the cockpit to a private channel. I’ll set the mustache to the same channel so we can talk. I’ll let you know when I’m on the surface of the sub and secure. Then we get the fuck out of here.”

“Good plan,” Gunnar said and pointed at the hatch on top of the bobbing sub that Nivia was already climbing through. “I’m probably going to crash this thing and kill us all, you know.”

“Probably,” Kinsey said and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. “Try not to.”

She put the mustache under her nose and the rebreather activated, sending tendrils shooting up into her sinuses then down her trachea. Kinsey gagged a couple times until the mustache adjusted and settled. She gave Gunnar a thumbs up then jumped back to the metal dock so she could start the flooding and purge procedure.

Chapter Six: We Don’t Talk About That

“Huh,” Lake said then looked away from the bridge’s control console as the guard watching him and Darren turned his way.

“Huh, what?” the guard asked.

“What?” Lake replied.

“You said huh,” the guard grumbled. “Why?”

“Oh, nothing,” Lake said.

“It wasn’t nothing,” the guard said as he leveled the M4’s barrel at Lake’s belly.

“Calm down,” Lake said. “I thought I saw a pelican out there. It’s a little far from land, is all. Thought maybe we were getting close to an island.”

“We’re in the middle of nowhere,” the guard said.

“A pelican?” Darren asked. “What species? Could you tell?”

“No,” Lake said. “Not without getting a specimen.”

“You people are probably going to die and you want a specimen of a sea bird?” the guard scoffed. “Morons.”

“A long time ago, we were strictly out here for research and scientific discovery,” Darren said to the guard. “Hard to break the habit.” He cleared his throat and looked at Lake. “A specimen? What kind of specimen?”

“A mini one,” Lake said. “But it looks like it’s getting away.”

“You two need to shut up,” the guard said. “No more talking about this specimen bullshit. Sit there and be quiet.”

“Aye aye,” Lake said and gave the guard a mocking salute.

Lake smiled at the guard until it grew painfully uncomfortable and the guard looked away. Then he caught Darren’s eye and glanced at the control console. Darren’s gaze followed Lake’s and his eyes went wide briefly then returned to a normal, bored state.

The light indicating the specimen bay was being flooded was blinking over and over. Then it went a solid orange, telling both Lake and Darren that the bay doors were opening.

“My guess is that it was a ‘Sey pelican,” Darren said.

“Of the genus Thornicus?” Lake replied.

Darren rolled his eyes.

“That’s the Latin name, yeah?” Lake said, struggling not to smile.

“That’s the Latin name,” Darren agreed. “Could be Gunnarus too, though. One or the other.”

“Or both,” Lake said.

“I said to shut up!” the guard barked. He whipped his M4 around and the butt smashed Lake in the nose.

“Fucker!” Lake cried as he pressed his hands to his face, hoping to staunch the immense flow of blood that was spewing from both nostrils. “You fucking broke my nose!”

The M4 was whipped back around and the barrel was aimed at Darren even though he hadn’t moved a muscle.

“We’ll shut up,” Darren said.

“Like hell we will!” Lake yelled. “This little fuck broke my nose!”

“You want me to shoot it off instead?” the guard said, racking the M4’s slide for effect.

“Marty, chill,” Darren warned. “Let it go and focus on looking for more wildlife. The fauna will tell us a lot about where we stand.”

“You want those to be your last words?” the guard asked.

Darren held up his hands in a placating gesture. Lake mumbled a hundred more curses then nodded and held up his hands, letting the blood flow freely.

“Good,” the guard said. “Say another word and I shoot you where you sit.”

Darren nodded then Lake nodded.

Once the guard had semi-relaxed, Lake and Darren turned their attention to the control console and the specimen bay light that had just turned green.

***

“Shit!” Sterling shouted as he looked through the porthole and into a flooded, and empty of a sub, specimen bay. “Fuck!”

He pounded his left fist against the sealed hatch until the pain grew to be too much. He shook it off and continued to stare through the porthole as he calmed down enough to calculate his next step. Sterling’s finger went to his ear.

“Resurrection? This is Hill,” Sterling called into the com. “I want sonar scanning the area for a mini-sub or any type of submersible. Copy?”

“Resurrection here. We copy,” a voice responded. “You let someone slip away, Hill?”

Sterling sighed at the snarky tone of the voice.

“No, Jones, I didn’t let anyone slip away,” Sterling said. “The useless guards we hired because we needed disposable bodies ended up becoming disposable a lot faster than anticipated. They let someone slip away.”

“Passing the blame, are we? Tsk, tsk, Sterling,” the voice said.

“Bite me, Jones,” Sterling snapped. “You should have had eyes on everything. That’s what all that fancy bullshit equipment of yours is for.”

“Need I remind you that I am the XO of the Resurrection, Hill?” Mordecai Jones responded. “I’m your superior officer and you’ll want to treat me as such.”

“Cut the superiority shit, Jones,” Sterling barked as he began backtracking through the ship. “You’re XO because you’re good at staying behind and sitting on your ass. Not because anyone takes you seriously. Wire runs everything and no one believes otherwise, you pompous ass.”

“Guys, knock off the back and forth,” a different voice interrupted. “United front or we could end up losing everything.”

“Sellars? What the hell are you doing on the com?” Sterling barked.

“Yes, Sellars, why are you offering an opinion? No one wants you involved,” Mordecai asked.

“Because every damn time I don’t get involved, one of you gets us into deep shit,” Nigel Sellars replied over the com. “Tanzania, anyone?”

“Cram that fiasco up your ass, Sellars,” Sterling said.

“Yes, I quite agree with Hill,” Mordecai said. “Cram it sideways, if you please.”

“Turn it on me all you want, boys, but Wire values my advice,” Nigel said. “And as long as I have her ear, you might want to start listening to me. Stop fighting and start working.”

“Oh, Sellars,” Mordecai said. “You know I can have a man come down and put an end to you right now, yes? You do know that, right?”

“Try it, Mordecai,” Nigel replied. “Please. We’ll see how that all works out for you.”

“Drop it, Jones,” Sterling said, halfway back to the upper decks of the B3. He ascended a set of stairs and snapped his fingers at three guards. “You three. Go down and sweep the ship from bottom all the way to the top.”

“Only the three of us?” one of the guards asked. “That’s a lot of ship to cover.”

“Then move your asses!” Sterling shouted.

“Excellent management technique,” Mordecai said over the com.

“Don’t start,” Nigel said before Sterling could respond. He cleared his throat. “What exactly are you sweeping the ship for?”

“Kinsey Thorne,” Sterling admitted reluctantly. “She’s evaded capture. We had her and Dr. Peterson in the infirmary, but that went south. She killed the guards when they killed Dana Ballantine.”

“Oh,” Nigel replied. “How is Wire handling the death of her mother?”

“You know Wire,” Sterling replied. “She doesn’t see, or didn’t see, Dana Ballantine as her mother. The execution was one more thing to check off the list.”

“She does have quite the list, doesn’t she?” Mordecai interrupted. “Do we have a departure estimation yet? There might be some weather moving in and I’d prefer to be away before it reaches us.”

“I’ll ask Wire,” Sterling said. “She’s the only one that knows why we’re here in the first place. I wanted to blow the ship from the start.”

“Yes, we know, Hill,” Mordecai scoffed. “You made that abundantly clear during every briefing we’ve had since leaving port.”

“Have you gone to the…what is it called again?” Nigel asked.

“The Toyshop?” Sterling responded. He paused, narrowing his eyes as he stared off into space. “No, I haven’t tried there yet. Jones? Keep scanning the water. I’m going to do one last sweep and check the workshop these dipshits call the Toyshop. If Kinsey Thorne didn’t jump ship, then she is probably hiding in there.”

“You will want to inform Wire of what you are doing,” Nigel said. “Always best to keep the lady in charge happy and up to date.”

“She ain’t gonna be happy, but I’ll tell her,” Sterling said. “Hill out.”

He killed the com, glad to not have to chat with those two anymore. Wire was all that kept them from each other’s throats. It was an uneasy alliance to say the least.

Sterling pulled a tablet from his belt and studied a schematic of the ship.

“Alright. The Toyshop should be this way,” he muttered.

***

“Did she now,” Wire replied as Sterling reported into her ear. “You are sure?”

“Not sure, but close to sure,” Sterling replied over the com. “I’m going to check the Toyshop now. If she’s not there, then I have to assume she and the doctor made it off the ship.”

“I hate assumptions, but that is a safe one to make,” Wire said. “I’d worry she is hiding, but we both know that won’t make much difference. The Beowulf III is not long for this world.”

Wire smiled as Ballantine raised an eyebrow.

“Keep me posted, Sterling,” Wire said. “Next time you report in, it should be with good news. Understood?”

“Loud and clear,” Sterling said and the com went dead.

“How will you destroy my ship?” Ballantine asked Wire. “Explosives in the engine room? Perhaps a torpedo to the hull? Fire raging through the decks? I am intrigued as to what you have planned.”

“C4,” Wire said. “Good, old-fashioned C4.”

“There’s a lot to be said for C4,” Ballantine said. “Not very elegant, but certainly does the trick when the trick needs doing.”

“You said you would transfer us to your ship. That still true?” Thorne asked. “Or are you planning on leaving a couple of us here to die as a signal to the others not to try anything stupid?”

Wire shrugged. “I’d hate to spoil the surprise.”

“I can hear the gears grinding in your brain, Vincent,” Ballantine said before Thorne could respond. “Commander Thorne was probably going to say something along the lines of how much you sound like me. I do not disagree, but I think we both know that any similarity at this point is purely coincidental. You are singularly your own person.”

“Just be straight with me,” Thorne said, ignoring Ballantine. “No one on this ship deserves to be left to burn to death. Not even Ballantine. It’s a horrible way to go.”

“I appreciate the inclusion in your empathy, Vincent,” Ballantine said.

Wire shrugged again. “We’ll see.” She tapped her ear. “Start moving them to the Resurrection. I want everyone on deck over there and secured in the brig ASAP. Then begin evacuating personnel. Sterling? Let me know when you reach the Toyshop. If I’m right, the item is in there. We will need it before we blow this bucket to Hell.”

There were several replies to her requests. Except for Sterling.

“Sterling? Hill? Do you read me?” Wire asked. Static and feedback filled her com. She grimaced and glared at Ballantine. “What have you done?”

“Moi? I’ve been sitting with you this entire time,” Ballantine replied.

“Dammit,” Wire snapped and stood up. She pointed at the guards in the room. “Bring them. We’re getting off this ship now. He’s got something up his short sleeve. I can feel it in my bones.”

“Bones? Don’t you mean titanium rods and pistons?” Ballantine said.

Wire locked eyes with a guard and the butt of an M4 collided with the back of Ballantine’s head.

“Ow,” Ballantine said before slumping across the conference table.

“Now you have to carry him,” Thorne said. “Good one.”

“Oh, you can help with that, Commander Thorne,” Wire said. “You may still be recovering from that cardiac arrest incident of yours, but I think you’re strong enough to manhandle Ballantine from this ship to my ship.”

“The Resurrection? Is that the name?” Thorne asked.

“It is,” Wired answered.

“Subtle.”

“Nothing about me is subtle.” She pointed at Ballantine. “Considering the genetic abomination I come from, that shouldn’t be surprising.”

“It’s not,” Thorne said as he struggled to get Ballantine up out of the chair.

He draped the unconscious man’s arm across his shoulders and grunted as he basically dragged the not-so-small man towards the doors leading out onto the upper deck. Guards followed close behind and Wire watched them go.

Once the conference room was empty, Wire tried the com again.

“Sterling? Dammit, Hill, where are you?”

No answer.

***

“Wire? Do you copy?” Sterling called into the com as he stood in front of a blank wall. A wall where there should have been a door to the Toyshop according to the schematics. “Wire? I’m not reading you. Can you repeat that last communication?”

The static grew worse and Sterling cursed before disconnecting the com. He’d check in shortly. For the moment, though, he needed to figure out why the Toyshop was not where the Toyshop should have been. He knew for a fact that the schematic was correct. He’d paid a fortune to authenticate it. He prided himself on having solid intel before executing an op.

Except, no Toyshop.

“Wrong deck?” he wondered aloud.

A guard standing at the end of the passageway looked Sterling’s way.

“I wasn’t speaking to you,” Sterling said and the guard turned his focus onto anything that wasn’t Sterling Hill.

Sterling grunted and knelt by the bottom of the wall. He searched the seam where wall and floor joined together, but found absolutely nothing there. No hidden catches or signs of a wall sliding to the side to reveal the Toyshop. No signs that anything except for a wall should be there. It was infuriating.

Sterling had had setbacks with ops before, but he’d never completely lost a person or not been able to complete the main objective. That objective being to retrieve a very specific item from the Toyshop before he sent the B3 sinking to the depths of the ocean. His eyes studied the schematic once more before he nearly tossed the tablet down the passageway.

“Fine,” Sterling said. “If they are going to hide the front door, then I’ll simply find the back door. Everything has a back door. Everything.”

“Sir?” the guard at the end of the passageway asked.

“I wasn’t talking to you,” Sterling said.

“No, sir, I was going to offer my help,” the guard said. “When we were sweeping the starboard side of this deck, we noticed a shimmer. Everyone thought it was the lighting, but I think it was something else.”

“A shimmer? How will a shimmer help me?” Sterling responded.

“Sir, from what we have been told, this Ballantine guy likes his experimental tech,” the guard continued, although he looked like he wanted to turn and flee as Sterling glared at him. “We have cloaking and other similar tech on the Resurrection, so I was wondering if maybe they have something like that here.”

Sterling kicked the wall in front of him. “Cloaking tech doesn’t do this. I’d notice a difference in the surface when touching it.” He kicked it again. “No difference. Nothing unusual. It’s a fucking wall.”

“Yes, sir,” the guard said. “But the other wall might not be…?”

Sterling growled and shook his head. “Fine. Show me this other wall.”

The guard nodded and did just that.

***

“He’s gone,” Ingrid said and let out a slow breath. “Phew.”

“We’re completely locked down,” Carlos said. “No caveman idiot like that guy is getting in here. Not while I’m in charge.”

All eyes fell on Carlos. He tried to look tough under the scrutiny, but it only took a couple seconds before he cringed and turned away.

“Someone has to be in charge,” he mumbled.

“Yeah, not you,” Lucy said.

“I’d prefer Boris was in charge over Carlos any day,” Ingrid said.

“Well, thank you, Ingrid. I appreciate your vote of confidence,” Boris said. “But I don’t think leadership is one of my natural skills. However, we should always push ourselves towards new experiences. If all of you would like me to be the leader, then I will gladly step up and take on that challenge.”

“Boris, my friend, I do not believe that is what Ingrid meant by that statement,” Ronald said.

“Oh,” Boris replied. “She was being sarcastic. I get the joke now.”

“No offense, Boris,” Ingrid said.

“What’s going on there?” Lucy asked and pointed to one of the video screens. “He didn’t go away after all. He’s looking for another way in.”

“The back entrance is as secure as the front entrance,” Carlos said smugly.

“Well…” Ingrid said.

“Well, what?” Lucy asked.

“They aren’t getting in here, I’ll say that,” Ingrid said. “But the solid illusion on the rear entrance has been having issues. If they’re persistent, then they may figure out where the opening is. Some well-placed charges and they might be able to breach the Toyshop.”

“They’d blow the whole ship up first,” Carlos said. He walked over and nudged Ingrid to the side, sending the chair she was seated in rolling across the floor and into Ronald’s legs.

“Sorry,” Ingrid said.

“It is not your apology to make,” Ronald said, but to Carlos not Ingrid.

“Whatever,” Carlos said as he typed at a keyboard. “There. See? The explosive force needed to break in here would rip this ship apart. That’s why Ballantine ordered us here. We’re safe even if they find us.”

“And we will blow up the ship anyway ourselves,” Moshi said, popping into the conversation.

Everyone turned to stare at her. A few mouths hung open in confusion and surprise.

“Moshi? What does that mean?” Lucy asked. “Blowing up the ship is not a good idea.”

“It’s the best idea,” Moshi said. “No devices can fall into enemy hands. Ballantine was very clear on that. Very clear.”

“This day gets better every minute,” Carlos said.

***

“Here,” the guard said. “Right here. This is the spot.”

Sterling nodded and studied the wall in front of him. He didn’t see any difference between this wall and the one he’d left.

“It’s another fucking wall,” Sterling said.

“Turn your head like this,” the guard said and gave the wall the side eye. “Peripheral vision seems to work.”

Sterling sighed and turned his head. He looked out of the corner of his eye and gasped. He saw it. The shimmer.

“Nice,” he said. “Good catch. Now…how do we get in there?”

“I don’t know about that, sir,” the guard said. “Maybe if we—”

He stopped speaking as the wall blinked a couple times then was filled with meter high numbers. Numbers that were obviously counting down.

“Five minutes?” Sterling asked. “What the hell happens in five minutes?”

There was a squawk and an ear-piercing burst of feedback.

“Hello? This thing on? Never used the ship-wide PA before,” Carlos’s voice said. “No, shut up, I got this. Okay. Eh hem. Yeah, so we started a countdown. Whoever you are standing there in the passageway, you can report to your boss that we aren’t kidding. You are now looking at about four minutes and thirty seconds before this ship becomes a ball of flame. You’re going to want to evacuate immediately.”

Another burst of feedback and Sterling cringed, bringing his shoulders up to his ears.

“What the fuck?” Sterling growled. “Who is this?”

“That is Carlos,” Wire interrupted over the com. “I know that asshole’s voice anywhere. If he says the ship is going to blow, then the ship is going to blow, Sterling. Have you found Kinsey Thorne yet?”

“No, I haven’t,” Sterling said. “Reports are all decks have been scoured and no sign of her anywhere. She could be inside this damn place with the asshole on the PA.”

“Could be. Doesn’t matter,” Wire replied. “Return to the upper deck. We’re evacuating. I have Ballantine and Team Grendel. That should be enough to get what I want. If not, then Ballantine will watch as I kill each member of his special team. I’ll staple his eyelids open to his forehead. What was that, Ballantine? Jesus, are you awake already? What? No, I won’t use super glue instead. God, I hate you so much.”

“What about the item?” Sterling asked. “I’m down here to find the item.”

“We worry about that later,” Wire said. “Ballantine wouldn’t destroy it. We’ll find it.”

“Hello?” Carlos called over the PA. “Why are you still standing there? This ship is going to blow, dumbass. You should probably run.”

“Go fuck yourself!” Sterling shouted at the wall then nodded at the guard. “Come on. Get above decks so we can get off this shit trap.”

The guard didn’t have to be told twice and took off at a jog down the passageway. Sterling glared at the wall then followed close behind.

***

Ballantine was the last to cross the gangplank. Second to last, since Sterling was right behind him with an augmented hand pressed to the small of Ballantine’s back. He’d been informed that if he tried anything, Sterling would rip his spine out at the base and show it to him before he died. Ballantine had responded that he’d rather not go out that way.

Once Ballantine and Sterling were on the deck of the Resurrection, the gangplank was pulled back and the larger ship began to steam away from the B3.

“Twenty seconds,” a man said as he approached where Wire stood by the ship’s railing. “You may want to take cover, Wire.”

“Thank you, Nigel,” Wire said. “But I am sure I will be fine.”

“Wire. Do not get cocky,” Nigel said.

“Do I need to take cover?” Wire asked, turning to Ballantine.

“Up to you,” Ballantine said as he was shoved towards the spot where what remained of the crew of the Beowulf III stood.

“What are you doing?” Thorne asked.

“What I always do, Vincent,” Ballantine said. “Clip loose threads.”

“We still have people on that ship,” Vincent whispered.

“Do we? Huh. I hope they’ll be alright,” Ballantine whispered back.

“You bastard,” Thorne said.

“Why don’t you two shut up,” Sterling said.

“Don’t tell Uncle Vinny to shut up, man,” Shane said.

“Yeah, no need to be rude, dude,” Max said and laughed. “Rude dude. Rhyme time.”

“It’s always rhyme time,” Shane said. “What else can we rhyme?”

“Boys,” Darby growled. “That man there is going to break your faces with his hands. His enhanced hands. Look at his eyes.”

The Reynolds brothers leaned forward and squinted.

“Are you wearing contacts?” Max asked Sterling.

“Man, you have super hands and shit, but you didn’t get Lasik?” Shane said. “What the fuck, man?”

“Maybe Lasik wasn’t covered in his health plan, but bionic hands were,” Max said.

Sterling began to pull his sidearm, but he was stopped as the air around the retreating Resurrection became thin and unbearably hot.

“What is that?” Sterling asked.

There was a blinding flash and a silence so pure it was as if sound had never existed. Then the Beowulf III was gone. There was a concussion so powerful that the ship everyone stood on was buffeted to the side and tipped dangerously before it righted itself. The air crackled with electricity and where the B3 had been was a black spot of pure darkness.

Then sound returned and dropped everyone to their knees. A couple of guards cried out and clutched at their heads, blood dripping from out of their ears and between their fingers.

A minute, two minutes, three was how much time passed before anyone dared pull their hands away from the sides of their heads.

“That was impressive,” Ballantine said. “Moshi said it would be, but you never know until you see it.”

“You have no shame,” Wire said as she wriggled a metal finger in her right ear. “You will do anything and everything to spite me. No shame at all.”

“Shame is a wasted emotion,” Ballantine said. He cocked his head. “Is it an emotion? Or a feeling?”

“Aren’t they the same?” Max asked.

“That’s some philosophical shit,” Shane added. “Too bad Ronald can’t answer the question.”

“I’ll miss that hairy philosopher,” Max said. “Godspeed, Bigfoot. Godspeed.”

The Reynolds brothers put their hands over their hearts.

“Yes, boys, lovely sentiment,” Ballantine said and copied them, placing a hand over his heart. “Godspeed, Beowulf. Godspeed.”

“He ever tell you what happened to the first Beowulf?” Wire asked.

“We don’t talk about that,” Max said.

“Yeah, lady, show some respect,” Shane said. “We’re mourning here.”

“Assholes,” Wire said and nodded to Sterling. “Take them below decks to the brig. Separate cells for each. I don’t want any collusion.” She focused on Darby who had been quiet through the entire transfer and explosion. “Will you be trouble, Darby? Do I need to have you restrained or sedated? Or can you behave yourself in a cell?”

“Why don’t you find out?” Darby replied.

Wire nodded then punched Darby between the eyes. The small woman dropped to the deck, unconscious.

“Carry her down and have her restrained in her special cell,” Wire ordered. “She isn’t to be let loose until we arrive home. Understood?”

“Understood,” Sterling said as he began barking orders.

Chapter Seven: We All Float Down Here

Kinsey held onto the outer hull of the mini-sub with all her might. Whatever had happened to the B3 had knocked her for a loop even though they’d managed to get at least a full kilometer away. The shock waves that rippled underwater were brutal and Kinsey was only just recovering even after a full two hours.

“Kins? You still okay out there?” Gunnar called over the com.

“Doing fucking great, Gun,” Kinsey replied, the mustache allowing her to communicate without drowning. “I’d rather not be hanging onto the outside of the dick machine, but, hey, other than that…”

“Dick machine?” Gunnar asked.

“Did you get a look at the sub, Gun? It looks like a huge cock,” Kinsey replied. “Huge. Cock. Dick machine.”

“Not sure if Ballantine is going to go for that name,” Gunnar said, chuckling. “He prefers to pull from Anglo-Saxon literature.”

“Ballantine can pull from my asshole, for all I care,” Kinsey said. “No, scrap that. I don’t want Ballantine anywhere near my asshole.”

“Uh, is this how you people handle tragedy?” Nivia interrupted. The com was wide open and on speaker inside the sub. “Your friends and family could be dead back there.”

“Maybe,” Kinsey said. “But probably not. Ballantine wouldn’t let that happen.”

“You put a lot of trust into a man you don’t like,” Nivia said. “Maybe he saved himself and left everyone else to die.”

“Gonna agree with Kinsey on this,” Gunnar said. “Ballantine has something planned. He hasn’t told anyone what it is, but he has something. The guy might be an ass, but he isn’t wasteful. At the very least he’d see the deaths of everyone as a complete waste of resources. For his own survival, it would be better if the crew and Grendel still lived.”

“Yeah, but what if the other people decided to kill everyone?” Nivia asked, her voice close to panic. “What if they’re hunting for us right now?”

“You’re filled with all kinds of fear, ain’t ya?” Kinsey replied. “Take a breath, lady. I know you haven’t been with us for long, but you’re gonna have to trust me when I say that there is no way that my father or cousins would let those people kill the crew. The explosion would have been from two ships, not one, if that was the case. Thornes, and Reynolds, go down fighting.”

“That doesn’t make me feel better,” Nivia said.

“Gun? You got any dope you can give her?” Kinsey asked.

“Should I worry that a person in recovery is suggesting I drug someone simply to make her problems go away?” Gunnar replied.

“You want her to start freaking out inside that tiny sub and sink us all?” Kinsey asked.

“I can still hear you!” Nivia shouted.

“Yeah, I know. Maybe listen to what I’m saying, the actual words coming out of my mouth, and chill the fuck out then. Alright? Okay? Got it?”

“I am not some child! I’m a nurse! I know…how to…deal with… Stress…” Nivia’s voice faded out.

“Thanks, Gun,” Kinsey said. “Glad you were thinking ahead and brought knockout juice.”

Kinsey laughed, but Gunnar didn’t respond.

“Gun? You copy? What’d you give her?”

Still no response.

“Oh, shit,” Kinsey said as the sub continued on.

She listened closely and realized she could just barely hear ambient noise. The beeps of the control systems, the wheezing of strained lungs, the thump of something shifting and falling.

“Fuck me,” Kinsey growled as she started moving about the hull of the sub.

Kinsey inspected every square inch of the machine until she found what she was looking for: a tiny hull breach directly next to the air tanks. Gunnar and Nivia were trapped inside and suffocating because the sub was out of air.

“Don’t freak out like Nivia,” Kinsey told herself. “You can figure this shit out, woman. All you have to do is get them up to the surface.”

Kinsey glanced up and saw what a task that would be. Even if she could get both Gunnar and Nivia out of the sub without it filling with water and sinking fast, the surface was a good fifty meters up. The compression suit that Kinsey wore would allow for a rapid ascent, but even if she got Gunnar and Nivia out of the mini-sub, they would most certainly get the bends and probably die before they even got close to air again.

The only way she figured she could save them was to change the trajectory of the sub itself. The machine was designed to depressurize on the way to the surface. The elves had put some damn fine tech into the sub so that the need to stop every five minutes and wait for pressure to equalize wasn’t necessary.

Kinsey made her way aft. She could simply push up on the directional rudder and that should tilt the sub upwards.

Except the sub didn’t have rudders. It was propelled by a type of propulsion screws that allowed the sub to be streamlined and work without spinning blades coming out of its butt. Which meant that instead of rudders, it had directional thrusters, basically water jets, that controlled the trajectory by pumping water in specific directions.

The elves had said it was more efficient and a faster method of steering than rudders. Kinsey said it was fucking bullshit and how the fuck would she get the sub to aim up?

The reality was Kinsey knew exactly how to get the sub to aim for the surface. She was just dreading the effort it was going to take to make it work. Not that she couldn’t handle strenuous activity underwater while wearing a mustache and compression suit. She’d fought mercenaries and giant sharks under the same conditions.

But fighting was one thing and trying to maneuver a sub was a whole other thing. Kinsey knew she’d be sore in the morning. If there was a morning. She could talk all the confidence she wanted, but the truth was even without the current emergency, all three of them were royally screwed.

Clambering hand over hand to the bow of the sub, Kinsey studied the end until she figured out what to do. There weren’t exactly handholds waiting there for her, but no matter how streamlined the elves wanted their creations to be, the mini-sub had been slapped together fast. She could get purchase for her fingers.

Now, the only issue was whether or not she had the strength to divert the sub from its current path or if the machine’s momentum and pull was too much for her. Only one way to find out.

“Let’s do this, fucker,” Kinsey muttered as she swam down underneath the sub, shoved her fingers into the grooves she’d found, and began kicking as hard and fast as she could with her legs, her body perpendicular with the sub’s body.

Nothing. No movement other than the constant straight-ahead path the sub was already taking.

Kinsey kicked harder and harder. Still nothing.

That was when panic began to seep into her psyche. Gunnar and Nivia were already unconscious. They had minutes, if not seconds, to live. Kinsey did not have the luxury of trial and error. She needed that sub to go up ASAP or she’d only find corpses inside.

A new approach was needed. If she couldn’t push up, then maybe she could push down.

She let go of the sub and watched as it started to pass her by. When the aft end reached her, she grabbed on and clambered up on top of the tail. There weren’t as great of handholds, but Kinsey didn’t need her hands to hang on. She needed her feet to not slip off as she kicked the shit out of the sub.

Kinsey settled her butt on the sub then kicked down, slamming her feet into the tail as hard as she could. A shudder, maybe? Or that could have simply been the rebound from hitting the sub’s hull. She kicked again. And again. Over and over she slammed her feet onto the tail of the sub.

It was several minutes before she realized that she was heading up. It wasn’t a straight shot, but it was enough that the sub would breach the surface of the ocean soon. If it didn’t try to correct its course and head back down.

Kinsey kept at the kicking. Her feet slammed down a good dozen more times before lessening pressure on her body made her glance up. The surface was within reach!

The sub broke free into the open air and Kinsey whooped as she scrambled to get to the hatch. It wasn’t easy now that she was in open air. That damn gravity and momentum combo messed with her equilibrium as she struggled to keep from slipping into the water. Hand over hand she went until she reached the hatch and gave the wheel on top a hard spin.

It was locked tight. Kinsey yanked the mustache from her face and screamed. The scream was ninety percent frustration and worry and ten percent pain as the tendrils were withdrawn from her sinuses way more violently than they were designed to move. She hawked up bloody phlegm and coughed several times before the weight of her failure seeped in.

“Fuck!” she roared.

She was answered by a bellowing horn. A ship’s horn. A really close ship’s horn.

Kinsey turned around and stared at a good-sized ship that was headed right for her.

“Shit,” she muttered as the ship corrected its course and missed hitting her and the sub by only a couple meters.

The wake from the ship caused her to bob up and down violently and she came close to falling into the water. But she held tight and stared up at the upper deck as several faces appeared.

“Kinsey Thorne?” a woman shouted. “Are you Kinsey Thorne of the Beowulf III?”

Caution was her first reaction, but then the thought of Gunnar and Nivia took over.

“Yes!” Kinsey shouted back. “I don’t know who you all are, but I need to get this sub open! My friends are dying inside!”

“Coming down!” the woman yelled.

***

The smell was familiar: medical antiseptic. Gunnar knew that smell anywhere.

So, it wasn’t a total surprise when he opened his eyes and found himself in a hospital bed with a heart monitor beeping along rhythmically next to him. He was surprised that his hands were secured to the bed’s sides by leather straps. That gave him a bit of a fear punch to the belly.

Gunnar tested the straps and sighed with relief. The sigh told him almost as much as his testing of the straps. He had tubes down his throat that were helping him breathe. The straps were there so when he woke up he didn’t try to yank the tubes free and seriously hurt himself. Standard practice for someone that has been unconscious for a while.

But, that didn’t mean he didn’t want to know what the hell was going on. He slapped his hands along the bed sides until he found the ubiquitous row of buttons. Channel up and down. Volume up and down. Light. Nurse.

He thumbed the little nurse icon and waited. He hadn’t heard a chime, but that didn’t mean much. Maybe he was far away from the nurse’s station.

As he waited, he began studying his room. It was a small room, barely enough space for the bed and equipment needed to keep him alive. And the walls looked funky. Metal walls, not plastic sheeting used in most hospitals. Metal was just as easy to clean, even more so since it wasn’t as porous as plastic, but he hadn’t heard of any hospital using metal walls for decades. Many, many decades.

Then a new smell hit him, one that was able to seep past the antiseptic and trigger a hundred thoughts and memories.

He’d been on the B3. He’d escaped with Nivia inside the mini-sub and Kinsey hanging on outside. The B3 blew up. Deliberate or not, Gunnar didn’t know. But he was certain what was left of the B3 was at the bottom of the ocean. He’d been talking to Kinsey over the com when he’d felt lightheaded. He checked the air gauge and saw that the tanks were empty. They should have had plenty of air, but the needle was woefully sunk into the red.

On a ship, or mini-sub, red meant dead.

The smell he picked up under the antiseptic was the smell of the ocean. Seawater mixed with that dank scent that many ships got after years in the water. Not mildew exactly, but close to it. Unbridled damp, would be a term for it. Gunnar smiled at that thought. He’d have to remember it and tell Kinsey.

If Kinsey was still alive. Or Nivia, for that matter.

He thumbed the nurse icon over and over, his ears straining to hear the chime that should have sounded somewhere outside the room he was in. When no one arrived after what he thought had to be a good five minutes, Gunnar began to thrash. He knew he could seriously injury himself because of the tubes down his trachea, but he couldn’t think of anything else to do. So he thrashed.

Gunnar pulled on the straps with all his might as he threw his body left and right, smashing into the railings that kept him secured. He lifted his legs and kicked down as hard as he could, hoping maybe he could break something, anything and get some room to move and maybe get loose of the straps.

All he ended up doing was exhausting himself and causing a good deal of pain for his throat. Gunnar stopped thrashing and tried to yell around the tubes. That hurt even worse and he gave up on that strategy.

Looked like he was forced to wait until whoever had him captive came for a visit.

Then inspiration hit him. There were TV control buttons on the bed. He looked about at the room again and tried to smile, which wasn’t happening due to tubes and tape, when he spotted the small flat panel monitor tucked up into the top corner.

Gunnar thumbed one of the channel buttons and the monitor came on. It wasn’t a TV show he recognized. It didn’t look American at all. Gunnar’s thumb found the up volume button and he pushed it until the monitor’s tiny speakers began to hiss and spit with static. The language spoken was not English, but Spanish. Or sort of. By the looks of the actors, Gunnar wondered if it wasn’t Philippine in origin.

“What the shit is happening in here?” a man asked as the door burst open, its edge just barely clearing the space between the wall and the bed. “What do you think you’re doing, dude?”

The man was in his early to mid-thirties, with bleached hair, a dark black goatee, and dressed in light aqua scrubs. Good shape, but not cut. He had absolutely zero military air about him. Gunnar studied the man as he hurried over and switched off the monitor.

“Jesus, there we go,” the man said as he turned around and glared at Gunnar, his hands on his hips. “Couldn’t hear myself think. You know, if you were trying to get my attention, you could have just pushed the little button there.”

Gunnar glared.

“Oh, shit, is it not working?” the man asked.

Gunnar kept glaring then sighed (or tried to around the tube) and rolled his eyes.

“Right! Hold on,” the man said as he found a pair of gloves and slipped them on. “Gonna take off the tape then pull the tube out. You ever had this done before?”

Gunnar nodded.

“Then you know the drill. Big breath then cough hard as I pull. It’s gonna suck, dude. Gonna suck bad.”

Gunnar knew that. He’d not only been through it before, but he’d had to pull tubes out of many crew members of the B3 plenty of times. The man grabbed the tube, Gunnar took a deep breath, then there was a simultaneous cough and yank.

The tube came free and Gunnar threw up bile onto his chest.

“Let me get that,” the man said as he found a disposable pad and blotted the bile until it was mostly gone. “We’ll get you cleaned up and dressed soon.”

“Where…am…I?” Gunnar croaked.

“Nope. No talking,” the man said. “You should know that. Ease off your throat for at least a couple hours. You want me to give you something so you can sleep? Rest wouldn’t hurt you at all.”

‘No,” Gunnar said. “Answer…my question.”

“Okay. You’re on the Fallback,” the man said. “I’m Jackson. I’m the medic slash nurse of this rust bucket. You’re the only doctor onboard. But, don’t worry, I’m trained out the ass. I probably could pass my boards, but why try when you don’t exactly fit in with society, am I right?”

“I don’t know,” Gunnar said.

“Don’t know what?” Jackson asked.

“If you’re right or not,” Gunnar said.

Jackson laughed. “Dude, you’re funny. Stay put. I’ll be right back with some apple juice and Jell-O. Gotta get your blood sugar up.”

“Kinsey? Where is Kinsey?” Gunnar asked.

“Oh,” Jackson said as his face fell. “The woman you were with?”

“Yes.”

“Listen, dude, I’m sorry to tell you this, but she didn’t make it. Severe hypoxia. Her brain ran out of oxygen. It was a tough choice, but we had to let her die. We don’t have the resources to keep a vegetable alive.”

“Fuck you,” Gunnar snarled, as much as he could snarl. “She was my friend.”

“Whoa, yeah, sorry,” Jackson said as he held up his hands. “I wasn’t being flippant. You gotta understand, we’re ten seconds from running out of everything at any point. Ballantine keeps us on a short leash with supplies. Only thing we do have is a fuck ton of weapons and bullets. Damn, you should see the armory.”

“What did you say?”

“You should see the armory. If you want to know where all the money goes to, it’s everything in that damn room. We could take a small country, if we had enough men to do it.”

“No, not that. Ballantine? You said Ballantine keeps you supplied?”

“Yeah,” Jackson replied, nodding. Then he stopped nodding and looked puzzled. “You have no idea what the Fallback is, do you?”

“No.”

“Shit. Okay. Let me get someone to talk with you. Maybe that other chick you were rescued with can help.”

Gunnar tried to ask what other chick, but Jackson was gone fast. He obviously didn’t want to be the one to inform Gunnar as to why Ballantine was supplying a ship called the Fallback. Not that Gunnar was surprised. Yet another plan of Ballantine’s rearing its ugly head.

Gunnar started to drift off and was almost asleep again when the door opened.

“Hey, Gun,” Kinsey said. “I’m so glad to see you awake.”

Gunnar burst into tears.

He’d been expecting Nivia, not Kinsey. Jackson had the women mixed up. Which meant…

“Nivia?” Gunnar sobbed.

“No,” Kinsey replied, shaking her head. “They tried. Shit, did they try, but she didn’t make it. Her skin was so fucking blue, Gun. You were almost that shade, but not as much.”

Gunnar kept sobbing as Kinsey crossed to the bed and sat down.

“Fucking hell,” she said. “They still have you strapped in. Fucking Jackson. That guy is a little loose in the brainpan, if you get my drift.”

Kinsey undid the straps then leaned forward and gave Gunnar a huge hug. They stayed that way for a while until Gunnar finally ran out of tears.

Chapter Eight: You Gotta Have A Fallback

Captain Aubrey Haskell handled the Fallback, her ship, like she handled everything in life: with her full and complete attention. She’d finally received her orders as to what she and her people were supposed to do. It only took Ballantine several years to get her the message she’d been waiting for since that fateful day in the subway.

The day Ballantine had taken her ears. Not that he’d left her much choice.

And not that she’d been sitting on her ass all those years of pretending to be dead.

Ballantine had made sure she slipped into the nothing, the true nothing, of total anonymity, and she’d used those couple of years to study one thing: captaining a ship. Aubrey had grown up in a Navy family, with boats and ships as much a part of her life as Mom and apple pie. But when she joined the Navy, it was Naval Intelligence then on to the CIA. She’d barely been on a ship of any sort during her service; only the minimum required service needed.

So she threw herself into learning everything she could on how to be an effective maritime leader. That way when the message did come, with coordinates attached that led her halfway across the world, she was more than confident she could handle the assignment.

Then she saw the Fallback and her heart sank.

It was a piece of shit, to be kind.

Ballantine had found a mothballed US Coast Guard cutter that no one would notice was missing. It was an old icebreaker and looked like it had gotten broken itself by a couple of icebergs. The thing was held together with spit and bubblegum.

It took Aubrey close to three years of covert repairs in a South Pacific port that wasn’t even on the United States’ radar. Aubrey doubted anyone in DC even knew the island had a name. But it had a port and that was what mattered.

At 269 feet and over 6,000 tons, the ship could hold two hundred men and women and several more tons of gear and supplies. Once she got it to run.

There had been many scrambled satellite phone conversations with Ballantine where she’d expressed grave doubt that the ship would stay afloat, let alone leave the port in seaworthy condition. It was that bad.

But, Ballantine had insisted she was the person for the job and he had the utmost faith in her abilities. He used that Ballantine tone that was part mocking and part confidence building. It infuriated Aubrey, which upon reflection, was probably Ballantine’s true intent since it ended up kicking her ass into high gear simply so she could prove to the smug bastard that she could do it.

Which, in turn, proved Ballantine right and that pissed her off even more.

So, as she sat in the captain’s chair, with Kinsey Thorne sitting backwards opposite her, arms draped over the back of the communications station seat, Aubrey almost had the urge to shoot Kinsey between the eyes and dump her body simply because the woman had a look on her face like she had everything figured out.

But Kinsey Thorne knew nothing. Not one goddamn thing.

“And that’s that,” Kinsey said. “Gunnar is awake and I know that my father and the rest are alive somewhere. We have to go find them.”

Aubrey scratched at the spot between her eyebrows, an affectation she subconsciously did when she was faced with telling someone something they didn’t want to hear.

“Did you hear me?” Kinsey asked. “We need to track down that ship and find my family.”

“I heard you, Ms. Thorne,” Aubrey said. “And we don’t need to find that ship. I know exactly where it is going. It’ll be to its destination by tomorrow afternoon.”

“Wait, what?” Kinsey said. “You know where it’s going? How?”

“Because part of my mission is to go to that same destination when I get the signal from Ballantine,” Aubrey said and sighed. She scratched between her eyebrows. “And before you ask, I have no idea when I’ll get that signal. Until that time, we sit tight and wait. Those are my orders.”

“Sit tight and wait? Are you fucking joking?” Kinsey snapped. “That crazy bitch is going to kill my family! She’s going to kill Team Grendel!”

“I thought Team Grendel was your family?” Aubrey said. “That’s the impression I got from Ballantine. Except for Lucy Durning, it’s your father, your cousins, and your ex-husband.”

“Bitch, do not play word games with me right now,” Kinsey warned.

A couple heads on the bridge swiveled to look from Kinsey to Aubrey. Aubrey gave the eyes that belonged to the heads, her bridge crew members, a hard stare and they returned to their duties.

“You are a guest on my ship, Ms. Thorne,” Aubrey said calmly. “But don’t push your luck. I’ll fucking gut you and toss you overboard if I have to.”

“No, you won’t,” Kinsey said. “Because you work for Ballantine. That means he has some hold over you and you are here for a reason. Same with me. Right?”

Aubrey shrugged.

“Whatever,” Kinsey said. “You aren’t going to gut me. You also aren’t going to sit here and wait for Ballantine to make up his mind as to what the fuck he’s going to do. That man is ten kinds of fucking crazy and waiting for him to have a rational thought could take centuries. We don’t wait. We go get my family and the crew of the B3 before anything happens to them.”

“Before anything happens…?” Aubrey shook her head and laughed. “Ms. Thorne, whatever is going to happen is happening right now. If you think Ballantine is insane, then you should wait until Wire takes the gloves off. That woman, if you want to call her that, is a maniac. I can guarantee at least half your crew are dead or close to it. She loves to carve people up to make a point. We go waltzing anywhere near her territory without Ballantine’s okay and we risk every person getting their limbs hacked off and fed to them, bite by fucking bite. Are you listening, Ms. Thorne? The straight on approach will be a disaster. Our best bet to get as many people out of there alive is to wait for Ballantine.”

“What if he’s already dead?” Kinsey asked.

“He isn’t,” Aubrey answered confidently. “I know Wire. She’ll leave Ballantine for last. Those two are peas in a mad pod. She won’t kill him right off.”

“She killed her mother,” Kinsey said. “She killed Dana.”

“That’s different,” Aubrey said. “Wire and Dana never really got along, even before Wire became Wire. Then after? Dana is who Wire blames the most. Blamed. Blamed the most. You think Dana faked her death only to get away from Ballantine? She was as much afraid of Wire as anyone else.”

“Yeah, that sucks,” Kinsey said. “But that doesn’t disprove my fear.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Aubrey said. “I’ll give you that. But you have to trust me. I’ve known Ballantine a lot longer than you have. This ship is part of a plan he set in motion years ago. Well before Team Grendel was even a thing.”

“That’s what you say,” Kinsey responded. “I don’t know you, lady. I don’t know a damn thing about you. One moment I’m trying to keep my friends alive and the next your ship is bearing down on me. I get onboard and you start dropping bombs like I’m supposed to know what’s going on. I don’t. At no point did Ballantine clue any of us in on this shit.”

Aubrey grinned.

“What?” Kinsey snapped. “You think this is fucking funny? You won’t think so when I feed you your teeth.”

“Calm down,” Aubrey said, waving off Kinsey’s anger. “I don’t think this is funny. What I do think is you are mistaken regarding Ballantine not cluing anyone in. He clued quite a few people in. He had to in order to keep them safe. Not all of your friends and crew were transferred onto the Resurrection. Quite a few were left on the Beowulf III.”

“What? How many? Who? Ballantine left them to die? That fucker!” Kinsey roared and stood up.

A guard standing by the bridge’s main hatch took a couple steps forward, but Aubrey grunted and he returned to his post.

“Ballantine didn’t leave them to die, Ms. Thorne,” Aubrey responded. “He left them in the safest place on that ship.”

“The ship blew up,” Kinsey snarled. “There was no safe place… That asshole.”

“That right there is a statement I can agree with,” Aubrey said. “Kalis? Turn up the volume.”

“Captain?” a woman said, nodding at Kinsey. “She’s in my seat.”

“Turn up what volume?” Kinsey asked as she got up and moved. “What are we listening to?”

“Your friends arguing,” Aubrey said. “It has been pretty damn amusing. I don’t think any of them know they have their com on and open.”

“On and open? Then Wire could pick it!” Kinsey exclaimed.

“No, the channel is scrambled and unknown,” Aubrey said. “Better chance of winning the lottery than stumbling upon this channel and also having the scrambler code to decipher it.”

“People win lotteries,” Kinsey said.

Aubrey shrugged.

***

“No!” Carlos shouted. “You cannot use an uncontrolled plasma discharge as a propulsion method! That’s insanity!”

“Oh, is it? Is it, Carlos?” Ingrid spat. “What else is there to do? We are trapped in a box. The Toyshop is a floating life raft that—”

“Not floating,” Moshi interrupted. “We are under thirty-seven meters of water.”

“Not sinking either,” Carlos said. “We wait until we are contacted. If we use uncontrolled plasma, then we risk really blowing up, not fake blowing up!”

“If we don’t get moving soon, then when Wire’s people return, which they will, all it’ll take is one sonar sweep and they’ll find us bobbing along down here like sitting ducks!” Ingrid shouted. “We should at least get out of the debris field so we aren’t discovered.”

“Can I ask something?” Lucy said, not waiting for permission. “What were Ballantine’s exact orders?”

“Wait here until we are picked up,” Carlos said. “I spent a lot of time making sure the Toyshop would survive that blast. A lot of time. During all that time, not once, not once, did Ballantine say to me to create a propulsion system. Not once.”

“So, not once?” Lucy mocked.

“Not once,” Carlos replied, missing Lucy’s sarcasm.

“Might I interject?” Ronald asked. He waited.

“Yes, Ronald, please,” Ingrid said when it became apparent he wasn’t going to continue unless invited to.

“Ballantine instructed Carlos to reinforce the Toyshop so it would survive the blast,” Ronald said.

“I already said that,” Carlos snapped.

“Yes, quite,” Ronald responded. He curled his lip so that Carlos got a good look at one of his very long, very sharp canines. “May I continue?”

Carlos nodded and gulped.

“Thank you. Ballantine instructed that the Toyshop be reinforced. He also instructed all of us to seek sanctuary in here so we would not be captured by Wire and her people. But did Ballantine ever say why to any of you? Why we were chosen to remain safe while Team Grendel’s lives were risked by setting them all before Wire? Present company excluded, Lucy.”

“I’m only sort of part of the team,” Lucy said and frowned. “Bullet magnet, remember?”

“That is not scientifically possible,” Boris said. “Most modern bullets are made from—”

“It is a figure of speech, Boris,” Ronald said.

“Yes, well, it is a poor one,” Boris said. “I mean, if you were to refer to the jackets, then perhaps you would have a case. But I cannot see any reason why you attracting jackets would be dangerous. I mean, unless—”

“Boris. Stop,” Ronald said. He cleared his throat and it sounded like thunder. “What I am trying to communicate is that Ballantine is a rather precise person. Most of us cannot see where that precision leads, but the man always has a contingency for any and all variables in his plans. I believe that if he wanted us to move, he would have had Moshi develop a propulsion system for the Toyshop.”

“Yes! That!” Carlos said, stabbing a finger towards Ronald then turning it to Ingrid. “Ha! Harry Henderson agrees with me!”

“I do not get the reference, but I believe it is an insult,” Ronald growled. “Would you like to apologize now? Or must I tear an arm off, Carlos?’

“Sorry,” Carlos said quickly. “Sorry, sorry, sorry. Don’t tear my arm off.”

“So all we do is wait?” Ingrid asked. “Great. All of this tech at our disposal and we sit on our hands doing nothing.”

“Not nothing,” Moshi said as she shuffled by with her arms loaded down with gear. “We make armor. You make weapons. We work. Now.”

“Moshi? What is all that?” Carlos asked. “Hey! Is that the new bendable polymer armor fabric? That is not yours to play with!”

“Ballantine say get ready. I get ready,” Moshi countered and stuck her tongue out at Carlos before disappearing.

“What do you mean, Moshi?” Ingrid called. “Did he tell you to work with the polymer armor specifically?”

“Yes!” Moshi called from the stacks.

“How many suits did he say to make?” Ingrid asked.

“One,” Moshi replied, appearing again. She held up a breastplate. “One prototype for the assembly line.”

Everyone stared at her.

“Hold the hell on,” Carlos finally said. “You have orders from Ballantine? What other orders do you have?”

Moshi pointed at Ingrid then Carlos. “Make weapons. Low energy, big kill weapons.”

“Low energy, big kill?” Carlos responded, his face scrunched up so tight it looked like it would implode upon itself.

“Lasers,” Ingrid said. “Ballantine knows I have a thing for lasers. We have more power packs than we could ever use, but they only work with light-emitting devices. Lasers! Yes!”

“Okay, what else?” Carlos asked.

“Be ready,” Moshi said. “I am ready.”

She disappeared once more.

“Yeah, I’m going to go help,” Ingrid said and quickly followed Moshi into the stacks of shelves.

“I would not be against some intellectual stimulation even if it is outside my area of expertise,” Ronald said, walking after Ingrid. “Perhaps I can be used as a test subject since I am quite resilient against physical attacks.”

“Good call, Ronald,” Ingrid replied as they disappeared.

“Hold on!” Carlos shouted. “What about me? What did he say for me to do?”

There was no answer.

“Moshi! What did Ballantine want from me?”

“Nothing!” Moshi called.

Lucy snickered. Cougher turned and stared at the wall. Popeye began whistling a tuneless song. Dr. Morganton rolled her eyes at Carlos and walked after Ingrid and Ronald while Boris stood there looking like nothing had happened.

“Has anyone thought about lunch?” Boris asked. “Or would it be dinner? Dinner? Yes, I believe it is time for dinner. Is there a clock in here? I left my watch back in my cabin. I could fetch it, but, well, the cabin is gone. So, I suppose I cannot fetch it. How unfortunate. I did like that watch.”

“The whole ship was blown up and you’re worried about a watch? You’re one crazy old man,” Carlos said and stomped off in a huff.

“No need to be ageist,” Boris said and looked at Popeye. “I don’t think that kind of attitude is called for.”

“Nothing about Carlos is called for,” Popeye replied. “The guy is always a dick.”

“You and I are close to the same age yet he never brings that up around you,” Boris said.

“Because if he did I’d crack his skull open under my boot,” Popeye said and thumped his leg. His bioalternative cybernetic leg. “He’s well aware of how much I don’t like him.”

“I, unfortunately, do not have an enhanced appendage,” Boris said. “Perhaps I should perform a show of aggression to assert my dominance? I have observed many species of animal obtain great success with that tactic.”

“Have you?” Popeye asked. “What species we talking about?”

“Oh, well, you know,” Boris said. “Several. I once watched a—”

“Don’t care, Doc,” Popeye said. He looked Boris up and down. “I don’t think showing aggression is going to work when you’re dressed in Bermuda shorts and a bright orange T-shirt that says ‘Orange ya glad to see me?’ You get what I’m saying here?”

“Ah, yes, dress for success,” Boris said and wandered off. “Perhaps I can find a uniform that promotes authority. Or a very large gun. People respond to guns.”

Cougher sighed. “Ballantine is a dick for sticking us in here with these people.”

“These people are part of the crew, Cougher,” Popeye said and nodded. “Unfortunately.”

***

Kinsey looked stunned. Aubrey smiled then motioned for Kalis to cut the sound. The chatter from the Toyshop stopped and Kinsey locked eyes with Aubrey.

“I’m going to need the full story,” Kinsey said.

“Yes, Ms. Thorne, you are,” Aubrey agreed. “Which is what I was going to do before you started losing your shit on me. Will it be too much if I request you shut up and listen from here on out? There is a lot I need to show you and a lot you need to understand before we get to our destination. Ballantine needs you focused on the task at hand. There is a reason you weren’t in the Toyshop nor were you included with the others that were taken onto the Resurrection.”

“Yeah, because I got away and killed some sons of bitches in the process,” Kinsey said. “They weren’t going to take me or Gun. No fucking way.”

“Exactly,” Aubrey said. “Ballantine knew you’d only end up fighting if you were brought up on deck. He was right.”

“I could have been killed doing that fighting,” Kinsey said. “Same with Gun. Shit, Nivia did die.”

“True. Very true. And it sucks that the woman died. Ballantine will hate that it happened.”

“I don’t think he’ll be too broken up over it. He’s pretty fucking used to getting people killed.”

Aubrey eyed Kinsey for a moment.

“What?” Kinsey snapped.

“I don’t think you know who Ballantine is,” Aubrey said. “Yes, the guy has a very flexible outlook on the ethical aspects of killing, but he doesn’t ever want people to die. I’m a perfect example of that.”

“What does that mean?” Kinsey asked.

“Let me show you,” Aubrey said and pushed the hair away from her ears. Or the places on her head where her ears should have been.

“Jesus Christ,” Kinsey said. “How’d that happen?”

“Ballantine cut them off,” Aubrey said.

“He fucking what?” Kinsey exclaimed. “Lady, you are not selling the trust Ballantine shtick.”

“He was supposed to kill me,” Aubrey said. “He was supposed to take me out per his orders from superiors. Kill me and he was included in the inner circle of the company. He would gain access to intel and systems that only a handful of people had access to.”

“You fought him off?” Kinsey asked.

“No, I let him take my ears instead of taking my life,” Aubrey said and let her hair fall back into place. “Ms. Thorne, please listen to me when I say your part in all of this is the last chapter of a story Ballantine has been writing for years and years. I only arrived in the middle. The man has had a hyper-focused plan that he has been executing despite all the hardships he has been through. What I need for you to do is trust that Ballantine knows what’s best for all of us.”

“That’s a pretty damn big fucking ask, lady,” Kinsey said.

“Then how about a smaller one?” Aubrey said. “Trust me. I have been training for this moment for years. This ship is ready to go do what it was designed to do.”

“Which is?”

“Take out Wire and her people. Take over the island she has and establish a new order amongst the covert ops companies and community. Get Ballantine where he needs to be to stop all the madness that has been ripping apart lives for decades.”

“That’s what you’re here to do?” Kinsey laughed. “You and what army?”

Aubrey’s face broke into a true and honest smile.

“I was hoping you’d ask that question,” Aubrey responded. “How about I show you exactly what army.”

Chapter Nine: Right Place, Right Time

Max grunted as he was thrown into the cage. He slid a few feet before colliding with the back bars. The cage was one of many that dotted the wide open deck in the middle of the ship. Above the cages were catwalks where guards patrolled regularly, always at least four on duty at one time, their rifles at the ready in case one of the cages’ occupants got lucky and tried to escape.

“Ow,” Max said as he rolled onto his back and stared up at the bright halogen banks that filled the deck’s ceiling. “No fun, y’all. No fun.”

“What’d they ask you?” Shane asked from two cages over. He was lying on his back as well, but had his eye closed. “They didn’t ask me shit.”

“Me neither, bro,” Max replied. “Beat me for what, an hour? Then let me sit there and bleed for another hour. That’s it.”

“Thirty minutes,” Darby said.

Her cage was unique. It was suspended by a multitude of chains and steel bars above the others. There were several snipers lined up on a second set of catwalks, their weapons pointed at her only.

“No way. It was more than thirty minutes,” Max argued.

“Thirty minutes,” Darby said and turned away from him, her eyes taking in each sniper one by one as she looked up and studied the second tier catwalks. “Gonna kill them soon.”

“Might not want to alert them to that,” Shane said, his eye still closed.

“Won’t matter,” Darby said. “Alert them or not, they’re all are going to die.”

“Shut your mouths!” a guard snapped from the first tier of catwalks. “Keep talking and we start cutting out tongues!”

“Yikes,” Max said. He grunted and rolled over as he tried to get comfortable on the cage floor. He couldn’t make it happen so he gave up after a couple of minutes. “Darby? How are you so chill in that thing up there? Those bars on the bottom must be cutting into your ass something fierce.”

“Something fierce? What are you, Anne of fucking Green Gables?” Shane laughed. “My dick stings something fierce, sir. My farts smell of ostrich eggs something fierce. Oh, my lord, I’m going to stab a bitch something fierce.”

“Boys? Knock it off,” Thorne said from his cage.

There were echoes of the sentiment around the deck as other crew members chimed in.

“I said shut up!” the guard bellowed again and gave a high whistle. All weapons turned on the cages.

“We’ll quiet down,” Thorne said.

“I didn’t say quiet down, I said to shut up!” the guard yelled.

“I can’t guarantee that will happen,” Thorne replied. “Trust me. I’ve tried for decades to get those two to stop talking and nothing has worked.”

“Maybe if they know they’ll die they’ll start listening!” the guard shouted.

“Nope,” Max said.

“Yeah, death threats roll right off us,” Shane added.

“You think you’re the first one to say they’d kill us if we don’t be quiet?” Max laughed. “Bitch, please.”

“Please and thank you, bitch,” Shane said.

“Yes, and thank you, bitch,” Max said.

“Boys,” Thorne hissed.

There was a gunshot and the deck went quiet and still. Then, “You missed, dipshit.”

“Didn’t even come close.”

“Were you actually aiming? Or was that a lame attempt at a warning shot?”

“I think he shot himself.”

“Probably. I’m not hearing his idiot voice shouting at us anymore.”

“Do you think we drove him to suicide?”

“You’re about to drive me to suicide!” Thorne shouted. “Boys! Stop!”

“Jeez, Uncle Vinny, take a chill.”

“And a pill, Uncle Vinny.”

“You want to play?” the guard said as he climbed down from the catwalk and strode towards Shane. “You two think you can be glib and get away with it?”

“Dude, did he just use the word glib?” Shane asked.

“I think he did,” Max responded. “Next he’s going to ask us if we want an egg cream for dessert after we down our bowl of gruel mush stuff.”

“I’m hungry,” Shane said as the guard stood before his cage. “Hey, man, when’s chow time?”

The guard leveled his rifle at Shane and sneered. “I’m going to enjoy this.”

“Hey!” Max yelled. “Dude! Your magazine isn’t even fully seated! I can see space, dude!”

The guard glanced down at his magazine. It was fully seated.

“Whatever, ass—”

He didn’t get to finish as Shane leapt to his feet and reached through the bars, grabbing the barrel of the rifle and yanking it forward then back several times. The butt of the rifle connected with the guard’s face over and over until the man’s eyes rolled up into his head and he fell to the ground.

“Hey, will ya look at that?” Shane said as he eased the rifle through the bars. “I got me a gun.”

Immediately, shouts for him to drop the weapon or die echoed throughout the deck. Every single guard in the space was focused on Shane.

“Setting it down nice and slow,” Shane said as he eased the weapon to the ground. “We were only proving a point.”

“What point were we proving?” Max whispered loudly.

“That dipshits shouldn’t play with guns,” Shane replied with the same loud whisper. “They could get hurt.”

“We were doing them all a service,” Max said in a normal voice.

“Totally,” Shane replied.

Guards swarmed the cages and began shouting at everyone to get down, to freeze, to not move or say anything. There was a lot of yelling and Shane and Max smiled through it all.

Then Shane’s cage was opened and ten guards swarmed him, the butts of their rifles treating him the same way he’d treated their colleague. When they were done, Shane was a moaning, bleeding, barely moving mess on the floor of his cage. The last guard out kicked him so hard that his eye patch went sailing between the bars of the cage. It skidded to a stop a couple meters away, completely out of reach of any of the captives.

“Well, that went brilliantly,” Lake said from his cage at the opposite side of the deck. “Nice one, Reynolds.”

“Thanks,” Shane moaned and raised a thumb.

“My brother lives!’ Max said and pumped his fists in the air. Then the fists turned to middle fingers. “Fuck all of you! Losers!”

“Boys, fucking shut up,” Thorne said. “They still have Darren, okay? Everything you do could reflect on him. You better hope they didn’t kill him because of your stunt.”

“Way to bring down the mood, Uncle Vinny,” Max said.

“Bummer, man,” Shane gasped then passed out.

***

“Darren Chambers,” Wire said as she sat casually in a lounge chair before a tall, wide window; a window on her side only. On the other side was a mirror. And staring into that mirror was a brutalized Darren. “This man has anger issues. You can see it in his eyes. Or eye. Hard to see anything in the one that’s swollen shut. Might lose his vision in that eye completely.”

“He might,” Ballantine said, seated in an identical lounge chair next to Wire. Except his hands were manacled to a long chain that was secured to his similarly manacled ankles. “I am sure that if he were to get proper medical attention in time, though, the eye could be saved.”

“I’m sure of that as well,” Wire agreed. “Too bad that isn’t happening.”

“You’d truly blind a man simply to spite me, Wire?” Ballantine asked. “A little petty, even for you.”

“I will blind, maim, dismember, and whatever else I feel like doing to your friends until I get the information I want, Ballantine,” Wire replied. “Their suffering ends when you cooperate.”

“Everyone on Grendel is an adult,” Ballantine said. “Professionals trained to take the pain. They’ll endure until you kill them. Kill them all and you have no leverage over me. Then what, Wire? You start in on me again? We both know that won’t work. Even with whatever cocktails you’ve been brewing in your mad scientist lab. I do get to see the lab, yes? When we arrive on Carter Island?”

Wire didn’t reply.

“Come now, Wire,” Ballantine continued. “You can tell me where we’re going. Who am I going to blab to? I’m stuck here with you for the rest of the journey, anyway. Is it Carter Island? Is that where you’ve set up your secret lair?”

“Carter Island was its old name,” Wire said after a couple of quiet seconds. “Now it is called No Man’s Island.”

“No Man’s Island? Well, that doesn’t scream of an angry gender-biased chip on your shoulder or anything,” Ballantine said. “This whole crazy thing with you isn’t going to turn into a war of the sexes, is it? I didn’t raise you to be that kind of person.”

“You barely raised me at all,” Wire said. “And the name comes from the fact that this island is outside every single sovereign states’ jurisdiction. There isn’t a government in the world that can lay claim to it. Not that anyone knows where it is. I made sure to have it permanently scraped from all records.”

“That’s not entirely true,” Ballantine said. “I still had records of it.”

“On the Beowulf,” Wire said. “Which is now at the bottom of the sea.”

“Oh, you know me and backing up files,” Ballantine said and pointed his fingers up towards the ceiling. “You ever try scrubbing clouds? Messy business.”

“You sent the coordinates to someone? Who?” Wire asked.

“Are we switching questions?” Ballantine smiled. “Before you wanted to know where the item was. That precious, precious item you need so desperately to make yourself whole again. Oh, my dear, dear Wire, you can never be whole. Never. That ship sailed.”

Ballantine guffawed.

“Ship sailed. I crack myself up.”

Wire pressed a button and a man stepped up close to Darren then slammed his fist into Darren’s nose so hard that sprays of blood shot out in all directions. When the man moved out of the way so Ballantine could see, Darren’s head hung loosely on his neck, his chin resting against his chest as blood poured down onto his lap.

“Answer the question,” Wire said. “Or the next hit kills him.”

“Kill him, or any of my crew, and you will never get the answers you seek, Wire,” Ballantine said. “Make sure they stay safe, and are let go at the appropriate time, and I will tell you everything you want.”

“They can’t ever be let go, Ballantine.”

“Well, shoot, then we’re not going to have many productive conversations, are we?”

“I will kill him and the others, Ballantine.”

“I don’t doubt it.”

“Tell me what I want to know.”

“Tell me something good.”

“…what?”

“You know that soul song,” Ballantine said. “Tell Me Something Good? Great song. Or would it be considered funk? I get funk and soul mixed up sometimes.”

“Kill him,” Wire said.

“Do not kill him,” Ballantine said. “Do not.”

“Then talk,” Wire insisted.

The man that had been beating Darren stepped up to the plate once more. His hands were no longer empty fists. They each held the end of a thin cord.

“Five seconds and Darren Chambers dies,” Wire said. “Five.”

“Wire, you are making a mistake.”

“Four.”

“A very big mistake.”

“Three.”

“What does it matter what I say?”

“Two.”

“Fine. I’ll tell you.” Ballantine looked at Darren and shouted, “Don’t tell me I never did you any favors, Mr. Chambers!”

“He cannot hear you,” Wire said.

“I know. I like to be dramatic,” Ballantine responded.

“Answer the fucking question,” Wire snarled.

“Which one?” Ballantine replied. “I’m not being sarcastic. Which question?”

Wire paused. “Who have you told about the island?”

“A bunch of folks,” Ballantine answered. “But you want specific names. Let’s see…”

Ballantine tried to put a finger to his chin, but the manacles didn’t stretch far enough.

“I told… Haskel.”

“Haskel? Haskel who?” Wire asked.

“Aubrey Haskel,” Ballantine said. “You’ll want to look her up in your database. There’s a record of her there.”

“Who else did you tell? I want all the names. Are they going to the island? Is this why you’re being so smug? Do you think you have a backup plan in place?”

“Think? Oh, Wire, I do have a backup plan in place. I have several backup plans in place. You know how I am with backup plans. I have backups of my backups and then I make backups of those.”

Wire studied him for a minute then began to laugh. Hard. By the time she was done, Darren was moaning and beginning to come to.

“Put him back with the others,” Wire ordered. “We’re done here.”

“Are we?” Ballantine asked. “How nice. Is it time for tea? I could really go for a cup of tea and a cookie. You do have cookies onboard, yes?”

“No tea, no cookies,” Wire said. “We’re done because I figured you out.”

“You did? Bravo. That’s quite the accomplishment. So, what did you figure out about me? I’m dying to hear.”

In the other room, Darren was lifted from his chair and dragged out of sight. Ballantine didn’t even glance that way. He kept his focus on Wire the entire time.

“You don’t have any backup plan at all,” Wire said. “You’re terrified. I have managed the unmanageable. I burned Ballantine. You didn’t tell anyone about my island. You don’t even have the item, do you?”

“Have it? No. You have it,” Ballantine said.

Wire paused and glared then shook her head and her spooky mirth returned.

“Nice try,” she said. “But we’ll revisit the item later. To think, I’ve been chasing a loser all this time. Tracking a man that has been living a lie.”

“You figured out all of that because I boasted about backup plans having backup plans?” Ballantine asked and shook his head. “I laid it on too thick, didn’t I? Darn it. I have to learn to pull back sometimes. It’s just so hard when I am who I am. Confidence begets ego which begets folly. Or something like that. I believe I’m paraphrasing. I saw it in a fortune cookie once.”

Ballantine sighed.

“Were you lying about no tea and cookies?”

“No tea and cookies,” Wire said as she stood up. “Bring in the next one!”

“The next one? Why? I answered your question,” Ballantine said. “And where are you going? You aren’t even going to watch?”

“No, Ballantine, I’m not going to watch,” Wire said. “This is for your eyes only. I could care less.”

Darby was dragged into the room and strapped to the single chair. Her eyes instantly locked with Ballantine’s despite the mirrored glass between them.

“Don’t worry,” Wire said. “They won’t kill her.”

“They…?” Ballantine whispered.

Once Darby was strapped to the chair, four very large, muscular men entered the room. The guards that had brought Darby left.

“This is going to get cringe-worthy,” Wire said and faux shivered. “Don’t close your eyes now. You have to watch it all.”

She left as the fists started flying. Then the blood started flying. On and on it went and not once did Darby’s gaze falter nor did she cry out.

Ballantine watched it all.

***

“How does the radar look?” Wire asked as she stepped onto the Resurrection’s bridge. “Talk to me, Jones.”

Mordecai quickly got out of the captain’s chair and let Wire sit down.

“Radar is clear,” Mordecai said. “No followers.”

“You sure? Have you checked all spectrums? If it is someone coming for Ballantine, then it stands to reason they will have excellent tech. We may not see them,” Wire said.

“I am aware of that and I have instructed the techs to check any and all spectrums,” Mordecai replied. “Even if they have some type of cloaking tech engaged, we will see them. Nothing is invisible.”

“Except our beautiful island,” Wire said. “What’s our ETA?”

“Three hours,” Mordecai answered. “Give or take thirty minutes. We’re skirting a storm system, so if it shifts, we might lose some time.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Wire said. “We’ll be home soon. That’s all that matters.”

“Wire?” Sterling asked as he stepped onto the bridge. “Why are we keeping them alive? One of the Reynolds disarmed a guard and had a rifle in his hands. It would be safer for all of us if we killed the entire crew, especially the less than mighty Team Grendel, and dumped their bodies overboard right here.”

“Yes, it would be safer,” Wire said. “But I want them alive. When I am done with Ballantine, I plan on making him watch the deaths of each of those people down in the hold. He will watch and he will know that they died because of him.”

“Yes, I know that part. You’ve said it a few times,” Sterling said. “But why? Kill them all, even Ballantine, and let’s get back to business.”

“Ballantine is my business!” Wire shouted.

She jumped from the chair and pulled the pistol on her hip. Marching to Sterling, she backed him up until he was forced against the closest wall. He stared at the pistol as it inched closer to his face until the tip of the muzzle was touching his nose. Then it slid to the side and was pressed against his left eye.

“Wire. Come on,” Sterling said. “I’m only looking out for you. For all of us. That’s my job. I’m in charge of security, and right now, having all those people on this ship is not secure.”

“Might have mentioned that before we brought them on board,” Mordecai said.

“Fuck off, Mordecai,” Sterling snapped.

“I have spent most of my adult life waiting for this moment,” Wire said. “And until I get everything I want, they stay alive. You do not kill an asset until it is completely exploited. I do not feel that Grendel has been exploited to its full potential. When I do, then they die. I may even let you kill them, Sterling. Would you like that?”

“I wouldn’t dislike it,” Sterling replied.

“Good. Good,” Wire said. She removed the pistol from his face and holstered it. “Good. Very good.”

“Yeah,” Sterling said as he took a deep breath. “Really goddamn good.”

“Relax,” Wire said. “In fact, go relax with Ballantine. And stop by the mess first. Take him some tea and cookies.”

“Are you joking?” Sterling asked.

“Not at all,” Wire said. “It’s an inside joke. He’ll love it.”

Sterling shook his head and left.

Wire turned to face Mordecai.

“We need to be united,” Wire said. “Every time you two get into a spat, I rethink my hiring choices.”

“He is not easy to work with,” Mordecai responded.

“Oh, and you are such a peach,” Wire said and laughed. “It takes two to bicker like that. Stop antagonizing him. I will hold you to as much blame as him if your little feud gets in the way of any part of my plan.”

Mordecai looked like he was about to argue then thought better of it. He smiled, nodded, and focused on the bridge crew.

“Alert the island that we will be arriving in the next few hours,” Mordecai said. “I want them prepped and ready for the transfer of our…guests.”

“Guests. Perfect,” Wire said. “Let’s hope they enjoy their stay. However short it may be.”

“Yes. Let’s,” Mordecai said.

***

Darren lay gasping at the bottom of his cage. He could hear the words, but couldn’t quite make them out. Not only was one of his eyes swollen shut, but both ears had been boxed repeatedly until the world was simply a hum and buzz of noise. It was impossible for Darren to separate background from conversation directed at him.

After a few minutes, he rolled over and tried to focus on the cage closest to him. He could make out the shape of a person curled into a ball in the center of the cage, but had no idea who it was.

“Hey,” Darren grunted. “Hey. You okay?”

The shape didn’t move. Darren struggled to sit upright.

“Hey! You okay?” Darren asked again.

The shape remained still.

Darren shook his head and winced at the pain the movement caused. From far off, he thought he heard his name being called. Darren swiveled his head on his neck, careful not to turn too fast. The damage to his ears had caused a wave of vertigo even though he was sitting down. A simple glance to the right made him want to vomit.

“Ditcher. Dude, lie down and rest.”

Darren blinked his open eye a few times and saw a Reynolds. He had no idea which one it was, the details of the man’s face alluded him.

“Max?” Darren asked.

“It’s Shane,” Shane replied, his voice sounding like it was a mile off and filtered through ten feet of gauze. “You need to relax and stay still. That eye ain’t looking so hot, man. The more you move, the more you risk losing it. Trust me, you want to keep both eyes. Depth perception is important.”

“Yeah, right, sure,” Darren said as he struggled to get comfortable on the cage floor. “Who is that over there?”

“I… I don’t know his name,” Shane said. “That deckhand that was always whistling Tom Petty songs.”

“Doesn’t narrow it down,” Darren replied. He rested his head on the floor and closed his eye. That made the vertigo worse. He opened his eye and took several deep breaths. “He isn’t moving.”

“He’s dead, man,” Shane said. “They brought him back a while ago. He was breathing then, but that didn’t last long. Man, you shoot people for a living and it never bothers you. But you watch a man’s breathing slow, slow, then completely stop and that sticks.”

“It’s personal,” Max said from his cage. “You’re invested in the death, dude.”

“Invested in the death,” Darren echoed. “Aren’t we all.”

“You’re gonna be alright, Ditcher.”

Darren couldn’t tell if it was Shane or Max that had said those words. He didn’t care.

“Don’t call me Ditcher,” Darren gasped before his strength finally gave out and despite the nausea, his eye closed and he drifted off into unconsciousness.

Chapter Ten: An Army Of One

The Fallback’s main hold had been converted into a barracks. It was that simple.

Kinsey shook her head over and over, a movement she’d been repeating since Aubrey had brought her down to see what the Fallback had in store for Wire’s people and the island they intended to take.

“How many?” Kinsey asked. “A hundred?”

“Give or take, yes,” Aubrey replied. “I believe the last count was ninety-seven.”

Aubrey tapped her ear.

“Nick? What’s the operator count?”

Aubrey stared off into the distance then nodded.

“Thanks, Nick. I’ll bring Ms. Thorne up to see you shortly, if you have time.”

A pause.

“Yes, I think it’s a good idea. She’s as much a part of this as any of us. She’s been with Ballantine for a couple years now. I don’t have a problem trusting her.”

Another pause.

“Noted. You two can hash that out when you meet. I’m staying out of it.”

She pressed her ear and sighed.

“Nicholas Bergen,” she explained to Kinsey. “He’s our strategist. The guy can put together a plan in five minutes that is nearly foolproof. Personally, I think Ballantine should have had him out in the field with you, but Ballantine has his reasons.”

“Is he supposed to be dead too?” Kinsey asked.

“There’s that, yeah,” Aubrey said. “But that wouldn’t matter too much being on the Beowulf III out in the middle of nowhere.”

“We weren’t always in the middle of nowhere,” Kinsey said. “We were legit for a brief time. Then we started getting hunted.”

“Oh, you were always hunted, Ms. Thorne,” Aubrey said. “It was only Ballantine’s charisma and natural BS that kept you from knowing it. The second he hired you all, and put you on that ill-fated Beowulf II, you were on the run from the company.”

“That can’t quite be right,” Kinsey said. “We had those men and that woman show up. What’s their names…? Perry and Longbottom were the guys. And…”

“Horace,” Aubrey said. “Diane Horace. Evil piece of work, that bitch. She signed the order to have me terminated. She also was the one that put Ballantine up to killing all of us in order for him to secure his place at the table. You have no idea how happy I was when I found out she was shark bait.”

Kinsey shivered.

“Don’t miss those days,” Kinsey said. “Running from nightmare island to nightmare island has sucked, but being pursued by a genetically engineered mega shark is just something no one should fucking deal with. That shit is off the charts.”

“How close did you get?” Aubrey asked.

“How close did I get to what?”

“How close did you ever get to one of the sharks? I have to admit, I’m a slightly fascinated by them.”

“The fascination wears off when you stare one dead in the eye,” Kinsey said. “That answers your question right there. Close enough to stare one of them in the eye.”

She shivered again.

“I have a feeling you don’t admit to fear too often,” Aubrey said.

“No,” Kinsey replied curtly.

“Noted,” Aubrey said and pointed towards a set of stairs. “Care to head up and have a chat with Nick? Then I’ll introduce you to Gene, Tom, and Delana.”

“Can I check on Gunnar?” Kinsey asked. “I want to make sure he’s holding up.”

“Dr. Peterson is busy in our infirmary,” Aubrey said. “It is state of the art and I hear he’s getting along fine with Tom.”

“Tom?”

“Dr. Tom Thomas,” Aubrey said and chuckled. “I know. It’s like naming your kid Jack Jackson or something. Anyway, Tom is our resident expert on combat-boosting chemical enhancements. Wire is all about bioalternative cybernetic replacements or improvements. Ballantine loves his chemical cocktails.”

“He does? On the B3, we had Dr. Morganton,” Kinsey said. “Bioalternatives had to be used on a couple of our folks.”

“Morganton, right. No, yeah, she’s great,” Aubrey said. “But what Ballantine really likes are Tom’s serums. They enhance everything from physical performance to intellectual ability. Then they wear off and leave zero trace. Makes it easy for enhanced operators to get through metal detectors and scanners. No tech to set off alarms.”

“Ballantine never mentioned that.”

“He wouldn’t. If he did, then it could set off red flags since the company shifted focus to bioalternatives after Tom’s disappearance. Then once he was killed by Ballantine, the same way I was, the company never even looked back. If serums had started showing up, or were even hinted at, then Ballantine’s plan could unravel quickly.”

“Jesus Christ,” Kinsey muttered. “Ballantine’s brain needs to be studied by science someday. I have no idea how that asshole keeps it all together up there.”

“Who says he does?”

“True.”

“Come on,” Aubrey said when they reached the stairs. “You’ll get a kick out of Nick. He cracks me up.”

***

“A fucking junkie,” Nick said as he leaned on a table set up with a flat screen monitor embedded under what looked like an inch of protective glass. His lack of ears was on open display since he sported a nearly shaved bald head. “That’s what we need. A junkie burnout that didn’t know what a gift she had. You gonna crap out on us too, junkie?”

“Nick, come on…” Aubrey frowned and gave Kinsey an apologetic look.

“No, it’s cool,” Kinsey said. “A couple years ago, I would have handed him his ass for saying that. But now? I’m good. I was a junkie, or still am since that doesn’t really ever go away, but I haven’t used shit in a couple years. Not since Team Grendel was formed.”

“Yes, Team Grendel,” Nick snorted. “There’s a band of misfit losers that has a knack for screwing everything up. You know what? All you had to do was kill some sharks. That’s all. Instead, you brought half the covert community down on your asses. I don’t know why Ballantine didn’t ditch you and start from scratch.”

“Like he did with his first team?” Kinsey asked. “Yeah, I met those assholes. Helped kill those assholes. Ballantine didn’t start over because he found the best fucking team that you can put together outside the US military.”

“Fuck me,” Nick laughed. “You believe your own horse shit? I have thirty operators down in the hold that could replace any one of you. Ballantine didn’t choose you because of your exceptional skills; he chose you because your father was pliable and could put together a team that could be manipulated emotionally. A father and daughter. Two cousins. Your ex-husband. Come on! That’s a recipe for disaster, not for success! Ballantine wanted the emotional upheaval to hide behind. That’s what the man does.”

“This is fun,” Kinsey said to Aubrey. “Thanks for the introduction. When you said I’d get a kick out of this motherfucker, I didn’t think you meant a kick to the gut.” Her focus shifted back to Nick. “Fuck and you, asshole.”

“That so?” Nick snapped. He pushed away from the table, his fists clenching and unclenching. “Call me an asshole again.”

“No problem,” Kinsey said, stepping up to the man.

“Hold on,” Aubrey said.

“I guess you need me to call you asshole again because you had a hard time hearing me last time,” Kinsey said. “No ears can make that a problem.”

Nick took a hard swing with his right hand. Kinsey dodged the attack and managed to block the left jab that was coming for her almost simultaneously. She dropped to a knee and put her fist directly into Nick’s crotch. The man grunted, squawked, and dropped, his hands going to his nuts. He tried to stay on his knees, but he couldn’t and fell onto his side as he moaned.

“I hope his strategy skills are better than his hand-to-hand skills,” Kinsey said as she stood up and glared down at the wheezing Nick. “And a lot better than his interpersonal skills. Shit, asshole, I knew crack whores with better dispositions.”

“I bet…you…did,” Nick moaned. “…bitch…”

Kinsey tensed then relaxed and started laughing.

“Okay, he’s not bad,” she said to Aubrey. “The guy doesn’t quit, does he?”

“No,” Aubrey said as she crouched and helped Nick get slowly to his feet.

He swatted her away after a couple seconds and hobbled over to a chair at the table. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply then opened his eyes and nodded at Kinsey.

“You want to…hear the plan?” he asked.

“You gonna be able to string enough words together to explain it to me?” Kinsey responded.

“Shut the fuck up and sit down,” Nick said.

Kinsey smirked and took a seat. After a minute of silence, Nick stood back up and pointed at the image on the table’s screen.

“That is Wire’s island,” Nick said. “We were able to get a couple of sat photos. It wasn’t easy. She has bribed almost everyone she could to keep her island off satellite surveillance. From what we’ve heard, the guy that managed to get these pics ended up as ground meat and fed to a freelancer’s French bulldogs.”

“Freelancer? You mean hitman?” Kinsey asked.

“Sort of,” Aubrey said. “Freelancers are different. Hitmen are more street level. Freelancers you never know were there.”

“Assassins,” Kinsey said. “Black ops killers. Whatever you want to call them. They murder for money.”

“Don’t we all?” Nick asked and waved off the look Kinsey gave him. “Never mind. That’s a conversation over bourbon. Let’s focus on this. Take a look here.”

Nick pointed at a harbor and zoomed in on the image.

“What we have here is a mined harbor like no other mined harbor on the planet,” Nick said. “Quantum detonators. Have the correct code and you could tap dance with golf cleats on those mines and they wouldn’t think of exploding. Don’t have the codes and you fart at one and it’ll send you and your ship to Valhalla instantly.”

“Valhalla? You aren’t an Anglo-Saxon nut like Ballantine, are you?” Kinsey asked.

“Norse mythology,” Nick said. “By Odin’s beard and all that crap. But it’s only a passing hobby. Not like that weird obsession Ballantine has with all that ancient literature shit.”

“Tell me about it,” Kinsey said. “Hey, sorry for the nut punch.”

“I was starting to like you, but if you’re gonna puss out then fuck you, Thorne,” Nick said. “Never take back a good attack.”

“Fine. I hope it fucking hurt,” Kinsey said.

“It did,” Nick said and refocused on the harbor image. “Back to the mines. Quantum detonators. Crazy shit. No way our ship will get through there without being blown to fucking bits.”

“Then why choose this route?” Kinsey asked. “Can’t you approach from the opposite side of the island?”

“Oh, gee, I never thought of that,” Nick scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Here. Let me show you why that won’t work.”

He zoomed out and spun the image one hundred and eighty degrees. Then he flipped his hand and the island turned on its side, becoming a head-on view instead of an overhead view.

“Nice trick,” Kinsey said.

“See those poles there?” Nick said, zooming in on a set of poles that stood about fifty meters high and were spaced about fifty meters apart. “Nothing gets past those poles. Whether coming from the outside or inside. Nothing gets past them and they ring the entire island.”

“Except for the harbor,” Aubrey said.

“True,” Nick said.

“They look like fence poles,” Kinsey said. “And that looks like fencing. Two rows of it. So…? What do the poles do? What makes them so special?”

“They destroy you,” Nick said. “The fences are electrified on a whole other level. The poles actually draw energy from the Earth’s magnetic field and turn that energy into an electricity that defies AC/DC logic. The fences don’t merely shock; they disintegrate anything that touches them down to the molecular level.”

“Wouldn’t it be sub-molecular level?” Kinsey asked.

“Smart ass,” Nick replied. “Whatever the science is, you die. Everything dies.”

“What is Wire keeping on that island?” Kinsey asked. “You don’t create fencing like that if you’re simply trying to keep folks out. That’s a keep shit in fence system too.”

Aubrey and Nick shared a look.

“What?” Kinsey pressed. “Tell me.”

“The dead,” Nick said. “Thousands of them.”

“The dead?” Kinsey laughed. Neither Aubrey nor Nick joined her. “You’re shitting me? What the fuck does that even mean?”

“Before you start thinking zombies, let me stop you there,” Aubrey said. “Not zombies. This isn’t some Night of the Living Dead scenario. No virus or contagion. If one of them bites you, all that’s going to happen is a lot of pain and blood. You aren’t turning into anything undead.”

“Zombies is probably an accurate description,” Nick said.

“Which is it?” Kinsey asked. “Zombies or not zombies?”

“Zombies in the original Haitian sense,” Nick said. “They are corpses, for sure, but they’re controlled by a central processing unit that is implanted in their brains. The CPU handles all autonomic tasks and also give the things focus. They are mindless killers that roam the island like rotting guard dogs. Hell, I think that crazy woman actually is using dead guard dogs too.”

“Among other creatures that have died on the island or she’s killed and brought back,” Aubrey said. “You shouldn’t be too surprised to find some familiar creatures lurching about. Hopefully, though, you won’t encounter any of them. They are nasty. In this climate, they literally are rotting away as they shamble around. Wire keeps the killing floor going twenty-four seven to replenish them.”

“The killing floor?” Kinsey asked.

“She has her people go out and raid third world coastlines for bodies,” Aubrey said. “She wipes out entire villages and brings back the corpses to use. From what intel we’ve gathered, it sounds like she has an entire refrigerated hangar on that island to keep the bodies that haven’t been adapted yet. It’s messed up.”

“Yeah, it’s all messed up. Which is why we come in knocking at the front door,” Nick said. “With the new armor, our people should be able to slip into the harbor at night and navigate the mines without setting them off.”

“How is that?” Kinsey asked.

“We’ll get to the tech details later,” Aubrey said. “For now, you get the abridged attack plan.”

“Half our people slip through the water, get ashore, and go for the main command center,” Nick said. “We are going to take casualties. That’s a fact.”

“Wish it wasn’t,” Aubrey said.

“We’ve been over this,” Nick grumbled. “I am keeping the death toll to a minimum, but there is no way we can get ashore without taking heat. That Hill guy knows his stuff. If we are one hundred percent lucky, we’ll touch ground without being detected. Odds are slim. That means we’ll take heavy fire as we leave the water and proceed to the command center. No way around it.”

“That why you’re only sending half the men and women?” Kinsey asked.

“That’s part of it, yes,” Nick said. “We also need a good amount of operators onboard the Fallback in case of a counter attack. Like I said, Sterling Hill is good. He could allow our shore forces to get a ways onto the island on purpose then take the Fallback and cut us off from any type of retreat. That’s what I would do. So half of the operators stay to fight him off if he makes that play.”

“Sounds solid,” Kinsey said. “Then what?”

“Then what what?” Nick asked.

“If you get to the command center, then what? What’s the end goal of all of this?” Kinsey said.

“We kill Wire, take over the island, and Ballantine does whatever Ballantine does,” Nick said. “That’s up to that crazy SOB. Our job is to secure the island for him and remove the Wire threat, plus her disgusting security measures. After that, I don’t care. I’m going home to a family that I haven’t seen in over a decade.”

Kinsey nodded then cocked her head. “Wait, what new armor? You mean the stuff the elves were arguing about? On the Toyshop which isn’t here?”

Aubrey and Nick shared a look.

“That’s a wrinkle in the plan,” Aubrey admitted. “One we’re working on right now. I’ll talk to you about it later.”

“Alright…” Kinsey frowned.

“You want to know anything else? Or are you good until we are ready to launch the op?” Nick asked. “Because I have a fuck ton of work to do, if you two don’t mind. I also need to ice my nuts for a while.”

Kinsey smirked.

“Come on, Ms. Thorne. I’ll introduce you to the others,” Aubrey said.

“They as fun as Nick here?” Kinsey said, her smirk widening.

“No one is as fun as me,” Nick said.

***

“Gene Row, good to meet you,” Gene said as he stood up from his console and offered his hand. “Anyone that has survived this long in the company of Ballantine deserves a handshake.”

Kinsey took the hand, gave it a shake, then began studying the room.

The room was small, more of a glorified closet jammed from floor to ceiling, wall to wall, with electronic equipment. Monitors, keyboards, switchboards, a couple of joysticks, something that glowed blue and gave off a faint hum, and more blinking lights than Kinsey could stand. She thought she might develop a migraine like the ones Darren got if she had to stay too long in the cramped space.

“Gene is in charge of systems,” Aubrey stated.

“What systems?” Kinsey asked.

“All of them,” Gene said. “If it is a system, I handle it. In the technological sense. I don’t handle biology like Tom does. Or military strategy like Nick. I certainly do not handle strike ops like Delana.”

“Strike ops?” Kinsey asked.

“You’ll meet Delana shortly,” Aubrey said. “Gene? Can you give Kinsey a quick run through of what you do and what the ship is capable of?”

“You bet,” Gene said happily. “First, you have to understand that while the Fallback doesn’t look like much from the outside, her insides are nothing but state of the art. This ship has next-gen tech that even impresses Ballantine. Not much does that, you know.”

“Yeah, I know,” Kinsey said.

“The ship’s hull is outfitted with a special paint that can keep it off radar,” Gene said. “The paint also allows light refraction, so satellite’s trying to track us are going to see a shiny patch in the middle of a shiny ocean. Unless the satellite is specifically tasked to zoom in on us and study us closely, ninety percent of the passes will result in zero detection.”

“How hard do you think Wire is looking for us?” Kinsey asked.

Gene glanced at Aubrey and shrugged. “No way to know. None of us have reason to suspect that she even knows we’re out here. My feelings are that if she did, she would have tried to take us out by now. Bring the fight to the open sea. I believe Nick feels the same way.”

“Nick doesn’t disagree,” Aubrey said.

“That’s saying a lot,” Kinsey said.

“Ah, you met Nick,” Gene said, laughing. “Yes, he does have some very strong opinions and doesn’t hesitate to voice them.”

“That’s putting it mildly,” Kinsey said. “But we saw eye to eye at the end.”

“She nut punched him,” Aubrey said.

Gene’s eyes widened.

“Not gonna nut punch you,” Kinsey said and smiled. “You seem to be a guy that doesn’t mind talking without trying to prove yourself.”

“Oh, I love to talk,” Gene said. “On many different subjects.”

“Let’s keep it to systems for now,” Aubrey said.

“Right. Yes,” Gene agreed.

He took a breath then dove into explaining to Kinsey the different systems of the ship. From the incredible ship-wide surveillance to the propulsion system that allowed the Fallback to utilize the ocean’s natural rhythms and save fuel. The ship could travel the globe without needing to refuel once. If parameters were optimal. Nominal parameters meant that refueling wasn’t a huge priority, but still needed, if only occasionally.

Gene went over desalination and even waste management. Kinsey learned a lot about the ship’s sewage system. More than she wanted to know, but she hated to interrupt Gene. After the confrontation with Nick, he was refreshing to be around. Reminded Kinsey of dealing with the elves, minus Carlos’s asshole snark. She had a feeling Gene would fit right in with the Ingrid and Moshi.

“How are we coming with our search?” Aubrey asked.

“Ah, yes, that,” Gene said and glanced at Kinsey. “Does she know?”

“Know what?” Kinsey asked.

“That I have sent probes out to locate your former ship’s tech workshop,” Gene said.

“You’re looking for the Toyshop? How?” Kinsey asked. “We’re nowhere near where the B3 went down.”

“See these monitors?” Gene said and pointed at two screens. “This one is an overview of the entire search area, which is quite extensive, by the way. We are leaving no wave unturned. This one is probe to ship feeds. I can dial in a specific probe and see what it sees in real time. Or as close to real time as the transmission allows.”

“Have you found anything yet?” Kinsey asked.

“Not yet, no,” Gene said sadly. “Well, that’s not entirely true…”

He switched his attention to the monitor with the overall view. He zoomed in on a specific area and Aubrey groaned. Kinsey stared at the image until she realized what she was looking at.

“Is that a ship?” Kinsey asked.

“It is,” Gene said. “One of Wire’s. It’s small, maybe only a quarter of the size of the Fallback, but I am getting some no fun energy readings off of it by a couple of my probes in the vicinity. The ship is small, but it probably packs a punch.”

“So we’re in a race to find the Toyshop,” Kinsey said.

A loud beeping emitted from the probe monitor. Gene gasped.

“We got it! We have the Toyshop!” he exclaimed. Then his eyes went to the overview monitor and he groaned. “I think they do too. Crap. They’re changing directions and heading straight for where the signal is coming from.”

“How far away are we?” Aubrey asked as she yanked open the door with one hand and grabbed Kinsey’s arm with the other.

“Maybe an hour? We’re so close,” Gene said. “But they’re closer. They’ll reach the spot in twenty minutes.”

“Engine room? This is Captain Haskel,” Aubrey called into her com. “I want full power. Push those engines into the red. Use the accelerator, if you have to.”

“Accelerator?” Kinsey asked, but Aubrey shook her head and kept talking.

“Good,” Aubrey said. “I’m heading to the bridge now.” She pressed her ear twice. “Kalis? Call the Toyshop. I know, I know, but they’re going to be discovered in about twenty minutes anyway. Tell them that. I want that floating box to have all defenses in place so they can buy us a little time before we get there. Got all that? Good. See ya in a second.”

“What now?” Kinsey asked. “I want to talk to my friends.”

“That’s a good idea,” Aubrey said. “We head to the bridge so you can talk to them then you meet Delana. If we’re going to engage one of Wire’s ships, then we’ll need Delana ready to go. Gene?”

“Yes?” Gene asked, his eyes glued to his monitors.

“Can you jam their communications so they can’t call Wire when we show up? Last thing we need is for our little surprise attack to be blown,” Aubrey said.

“If you can get me within sight of that ship, then I can make sure they can barely communicate standing next to each other, let alone with Wire and her people back on the island,” Gene said, a huge smile spreading across his face. “Not a problem.”

“Perfect,” Aubrey said. “Initiate all of that then transfer your controls to the station on the bridge.”

“This set up really is ideal—”

“Gene? Did I ask for an argument?”

“No, Captain, you did not,” Gene replied. “I’ll transfer controls to my station on the bridge.” He sighed. “Give me a few minutes.”

“Hurry,” Aubrey said. “Come on, Ms. Thorne. The job never slows and it never, ever stops.”

Chapter Eleven: What The Actual Blipping Bleep?

“Uh, what am I seeing?” Lucy asked. “Hey, Ingrid? Moshi?”

“You don’t want to call me?” Carlos asked as he walked up behind Lucy, who was seated in front of the control console for the Toyshop. “I know this better than either of them.”

“Can you interact without being a complete dick?” Lucy asked.

Carlos opened his mouth, closed it, opened it, closed it, then nodded. “Yeah. I can interact without being a complete dick.”

“Great,” Lucy said and pointed at a blip on one of the console’s screens. “Then tell me what that is?”

“That?” Carlos leaned closer and peered at the screen. He started to push Lucy out of the seat then froze. “Uh, may I sit?”

“You just made a wise choice,” Lucy said as she stood up and vacated the seat. “You were about half a second from losing that hand.”

Carlos sat down without comment and studied the blip along with a column of streaming data on the screen next to it. He leaned as far forward as he could, his nose almost touching glass.

“Do you need glasses or something?” Lucy asked.

“If I can’t make comments, then you cannot either,” Carlos snapped then cleared his throat. “I mean, give me some space, please.”

Lucy studied Carlos for a second as the man studied the screens before him.

“Carlos? Are you alright?” Lucy asked.

“Huh? What? Yes. Yes, of course I’m alright. What are you babbling about?” Carlos responded.

“Yeah, you don’t seem alright. You said…please. To me. A stupid shooter. You said please,” Lucy pressed. “That is not very Carlos like.”

“Listen, are you going to stand there and jabber on about stupid shit or are you going to be quiet and let me work?” Carlos asked. “Huh? Which is it?”

“I’ll let you work,” Lucy said.

Carlos grunted and continued to read the data. Then he slowly looked back over his shoulder at Lucy.

“Are you really going to stand there?” he asked.

“I’m being quiet,” Lucy said.

Carlos glared. Lucy glared back. The two stayed that way for several moments before Carlos huffed and returned to the screens.

“Fine,” Lucy said. “I’ll go see how everyone else is doing.”

“You do that,” Carlos grunted as she walked back into the stacks of shelves.

Popeye and Cougher were busy playing a card game. Lucy had no idea what game it was, but she saw Cougher palm and switch a card as she strolled by their spot.

“Where you headed?” Popeye asked, turning to look at Lucy.

“Checking on everyone,” Lucy said. “You may want to pay attention to your game there, Popeye. It’s getting away from you.”

“Hardly,” Popeye replied. “I have a strategy and I stick to it.”

Cougher met Lucy’s eye and gave her a wink and a smile.

“At least you aren’t playing for money,” Lucy said as she continued on.

Two stacks over, Boris was seated on the floor, his hands gesticulating wildly as he told some story to Dr. Morganton who was looking like she was close to snapping or having a stroke.

“Boris, maybe you should let Dr. Morganton get some rest?” Lucy suggested. “You’ve been telling stories for hours now.”

“Oh, no, she loves my stories. Right, Lisa?” Boris replied. He didn’t wait for Dr. Morganton to answer. “Oh, yes, she loves my stories. You know, a lot of my genetic engineering work has roots in bioalternative science. I am not saying that my research was specifically influenced by any one project of Dr. Morganton’s, but I am saying that sometimes I would hear of her breakthroughs and they would inspire me to try something different with my genetic work.”

“I think being inspired is the very definition of influence, Boris,” Dr. Morganton said quietly.

“Dr. Morganton? Lisa? Are you alright?” Lucy asked.

“No, Lucy,” Dr. Morganton answered. “I am not a fan of being trapped inside this space. Claustrophobia isn’t something I have suffered from, but being stranded inside this workshop is beginning to be a little…trying.”

“I understand,” Lucy said, shooting a glance at Boris. “Maybe you want to take a walk with me, Boris? I’m going around and checking on everyone.”

“Oh, no, I’m perfectly fine here chatting with Dr. Morganton,” Boris said.

“I can see that, but how about you walk anyway,” Lucy said. “I’d appreciate it.”

Boris appeared quite confused for a moment then nodded and stood up.

“Oh, my hips are smarting,” Boris said. “Not as young as I once was. Perhaps you and I can speak about bioalternative enhancements for my hips? Make me feel my youth again?”

“I’ll put some thought into that,” Dr. Morganton replied. “You two have fun on your walk.”

As soon as Boris’s back was to her, Dr. Morganton mouthed the words, “Thank you.”

Lucy smiled and gave a quick nod as Boris clapped his hands together and looked one way then the other.

“Not much space to cover,” he said. “Which way?”

“I was going this way,” Lucy said. “See how the two elves are doing with Ronald as they work on that new armor.”

“Ah, yes,” Boris said as Lucy started walking. “I was going to assist in the project, but I am afraid non-organic materials are simply not my interest or expertise. I applaud Ronald for stepping outside his scientific comfort zone, if you will, and exploring new fields and technologies. But, for me, all I need is a double helix, or perhaps a triple helix, if I’m feeling ambitious, and a powerful electron microscope and I am happy as a clam.”

He stopped and grabbed Lucy by the shoulder, bringing her to an instant halt.

“Boris, let go of my arm,” Lucy said.

Boris let go.

“My apologies,” Boris said. “But, I was thinking of the incredible razor clam and mantis shrimp hybrid I once made. Unfortunately, I could not get the new animals to breed and they died out since I simply was not going to keep recreating them in a petri dish, thank you very much. A new species has to be able to procreate and survive on its own or it simply is not worthy of living in this world.”

“I can think of a few people where being able to procreate should disqualify them from living in this world,” Lucy said.

Lucy continued walking and pulled Boris along with her as he was about to launch into his story of the hybrid.

“Hello,” Lucy said as soon as they reached the work station where Moshi and Ronald were working. “How’s it going?”

“Depends,” Ronald said and sighed.

“Oh dear,” Boris said.

“Oh dear, indeed,” Ronald replied. “If you want armor, we have that. Lasers? That did not work out.”

“What happened?” Lucy asked.

Ronald lifted his left arm and showed her his tricep. The hair was mostly singed down to the skin.

“Ouch,” Lucy said.

“Yes. We could not get the power supplies to couple correctly with the prism complex. Moshi is a genius, but even she could not get the components to work together.”

“Sometimes not compatible,” Moshi said and shrugged.

“But you have armor?” Lucy asked. “You have a prototype I can see?”

“Many,” Moshi said and pointed at a stack of black material off to the side of the work station table. “Try one on.”

“Sure,” Lucy said. “You have one in my size?”

She went to the pile and grabbed the top bundle. The armor looked like a bulky version of the compression suits. A single garment like a wet suit, but with considerably thicker material. Each joint was reinforced with triple layers of the same material.

“One size fit all,” Moshi said.

“Okay, if you say so,” Lucy said. “I’m not exactly petite, so I better not get stuck in this shit.”

Lucy stripped down to her underwear, causing Boris to yelp and turn away.

“Do not be so prude, Boris,” Ronald said as he worked at adding a second layer of material to the elbow of a new set of armor. “We all work and live together in tight quarters. Modesty is highly inefficient.”

“You got that right,” Lucy said. “You have no idea how many times I’ve had to drop trou and get down to my civvies in front of a dozen men. You get the job done any way you can.”

Lucy slipped her legs into the suit then pulled it up over her body. At first, it felt like it was going to be too small, but the material stretched to fit her and sealed itself up over her back without need of a zipper. Lucy stretched her arms over her head and the arms adjusted to a perfect fit. Same with the legs when she did a couple of deep knee bends.

“This feels like a second skin,” Lucy said to Moshi. “How does it look?”

“Adjust down there,” Moshi said, turning red as she glanced away from Lucy’s crotch.

“Ah. Got ya,” Lucy said and shifted her pelvis around in a couple of circles. “Better?”

“Yes,” Moshi said and giggled.

Boris looked like he was going to faint.

“Now, what about the head?” Lucy asked. “The armor will be useless if I take a bullet between the eyes.”

“Ingrid,” Moshi said and pointed at the next stack of shelves.

“What?” Ingrid called.

“Coming to you,” Lucy said and headed around the stacks to where Ingrid was working at another work station. “Ah, there we go.”

“I think I got the short straw,” Ingrid said as she finished clipping a wire up inside a matte black helmet. “How many suits do they have done?”

“Eighteen,” Moshi called from her work station.

“Shit,” Ingrid said. “I have three helmets. Not cool, Moshi! Slow down!”

“No,” Moshi said. “You hurry up.”

“Can I try one on?” Lucy asked, nodding at one of the three finished helmets.

“Yeah, sure,” Ingrid said. “Be careful sliding over your ears. The helmets need a tight seal to work with the suit and keep the wearer from being detected. So the helmet’s base gasket is extra thick and may drag on your ears.”

“I’ll be careful,” Ingrid said. “Does it have full com integration?”

“That is something you can test,” Ingrid said. “Let me know.”

Lucy pulled on the helmet. Despite Ingrid’s warning, her ears took a beating. She thought the left one would rip right off before she could get the helmet past it.

“Phew,” she sighed when the helmet sealed itself against the suit’s collar. “Testing com. Can anyone hear me?”

Ingrid gave her a quizzical look and shook her head. The woman’s mouth was moving, but Lucy couldn’t hear a word.

“Dammit,” Lucy said and tapped at where her right ear was then made the universal sign for no go, a horizontal chopping motion with her hand flat and palm down.

Ingrid nodded and grabbed a tiny screwdriver from the work station. She reached up and popped something open on the side of the helmet. Lucy couldn’t see what Ingrid was doing. She could feel it, though, as her head was tugged this way, pushed that way, then given a hard smack.

“How’s that?” Ingrid asked, her voice loud and clear. And in stereo.

“Whoa,” Lucy said. “Nice. It sounds like you’re in here with me. Why the stereo?”

“There are external omnidirectional mics on the helmet,” Ingrid said. “Stereo gives you a sound field so you can hear if something is sneaking up on you. I can dial in the sensitivity so that you hear sounds you normally wouldn’t. Could have its advantages, but also could get loud and distracting.”

“Let’s keep the sound level to human for now,” Lucy said.

She was about to speak again when a distinct shout from the front of the Toyshop got her and Ingrid’s attention.

“That was Carlos,” Ingrid said as she turned and hurried away.

“He was checking on a weird blip I saw,” Lucy called after her.

She struggled to get her helmet off, but Ingrid had already left, so she left it where it was and hurried away through the stacks to the main control console area.

“Is it the blip?” Lucy asked. “What’d you find?”

“As I was about to inform everyone,” Carlos said, looking disdainfully upon the crowd that had him boxed in at the console. “We have received a communication. From Kinsey.”

“Hello?” Kinsey’s voice echoed out of the console’s speakers. “Carlos? Am I on speaker? I need everyone to hear this?”

“Kinsey? Where are you?” Lucy asked. “Who’s with you? Who made it?”

“Lucy? You sound weird. What’s wrong?” Kinsey replied.

“I’m stuck in some elf tech,” Lucy said.

“No explanation needed,” Kinsey said. “But I do need all of you to listen very carefully. In about twenty minutes—” A voice interrupted her. “What? Shit. In about ten minutes, you are going to be discovered by one of Wire’s patrol boats. We are pretty fucking certain that she doesn’t have a capture order in place. She’s going to take the Toyshop, kill all of you, and plunder that place for every ounce of tech she can get her hands on.”

“She wants the item,” Moshi said. “Wire won’t get it.”

Moshi shoved through everyone and disappeared.

“Was that Moshi? Yeah, Wire wants some item,” Kinsey said. “Not sure what. But that doesn’t matter. What matters is I’m with people that are part of all this. Ballantine and his fucking convoluted plans.” Another interruption. “Fuck off, will ya? You haven’t had to live with the guy for that past two years.”

“Kinsey? We’re sitting ducks,” Lucy said. “We don’t have a way to defend ourselves if they do—”

The rest of Lucy’s sentence was drowned out by a loud grinding noise and a high-pitched whine that filled the Toyshop. Everyone slapped their hands to their ears. Lucy didn’t even flinch. Whatever tech Ingrid had put in the helmet’s com system automatically filtered out the worst of the noise.

“What the fuck was that?” Kinsey asked. “You guys still there? Were you attacked?”

“I don’t think so,” Lucy said with honest uncertainty.

“Moshi!” Carlos shouted. He got up and shoved everyone out of his way as he rushed back into the stacks.

“Hold on,” Lucy said.

“Hold on? Lucy, are you fucking kidding me?” Kinsey yelled, her voice causing a brief squeal of feedback in the console speakers. “Lucy!’

Lucy followed everyone as they made their way to the very back of the Toyshop. Seated in what looked like a pilot’s chair, but way more high tech, was Moshi. Her hands were on two joysticks and she had a pair of heavy-duty goggles covering her eyes. There was also a bank of screens directly in front of her.

“Ingrid has countermeasures,” Moshi said. “Lucy is on weapons. I am pilot. Patrol boat is going down.”

From far off at the front of the Toyshop, Kinsey was yelling for someone to answer her. No one did as they stood and stared at Moshi.

“Now!” Moshi snapped.

All bodies were in motion instantly. Those not assigned duties scrambled about like chickens with their heads cut off. The two women that were assigned duties took their seats and got to work.

“Uh…” Lucy said as she studied the controls before her.

“Oh, I know these interfaces. Way to go, Moshi! Here, Lucy, let me show you,” Ingrid said. “It’s way simple.”

“I hope so,” Lucy said.

“It is,” Moshi said.

“Moshi? What have you done to the Toyshop?” Carlos yelled. “Where did this come from? Were you hiding these chairs and these controls in those crates where you sit and eat your lunch every day?”

“Go away,” Moshi said.

Carlos started to argue, but Moshi’s goggled head swiveled to stare at him and he flinched then fled. Moshi returned her attention forward.

“Enemy sighted,” Moshi said. “Prepare to engage.”

“Holy shit,” Ingrid said. “Oh, this is so, so scary.”

“Gets the blood pumping, though,” Lucy said and smiled. Even though no one could see her smile inside the helmet. She’d have to figure out how to get it off, but that was for later.

Familiar crosshairs came to life on the controls in front of Lucy and her hidden smile widened.

***

“Sir? We have a lock on where we believe Ballantine’s submergible workshop may be hiding,” a man said as he swiveled in his chair to face the captain of Wire’s patrol boat. “Approximately half a click to the east, sir.”

“Helm, take us there,” the captain said. “We might be able to get what we’re here for and back to the island by morning. If we’re lucky.”

“Should I report back, sir?” the man at the com station asked. “Alert Wire to our success?”

“We aren’t successful yet, moron,” the captain replied. “When we have the tech in hand, and Ballantine’s people are dead, then we report. You want to give an early report to Wire and risk getting our asses handed to us if things go wrong?”

“No, sir. Sorry, sir,” the man replied.

“Good,” the captain snapped. “Weapons? How are we looking? Can we damage the workshop without fully destroying it? We need to scare them up out of it so we aren’t having to cut our way inside. It’d be easier if they surrender.”

“From the specs we were given, yes, I should be able to crack the nut, but not split it open,” the woman at the weapons station responded. “Once seawater starts pouring, they’ll come to the surface and open the door for us. No one wants to be submerged when taking on water. Their instinct to head to the surface will be their death.”

“Really dramatic,” the captain said. “Just say yes next time, dammit.”

“Sir, there is movement in the water,” the first man said. “I believe the workshop is surfacing on its own.”

“Makes our job easier,” the captain replied. “Prepare boarding party. I want a hole in that thing before the hour is up.”

“Sir…”

“Were my orders hard to understand?”

“No, sir, it isn’t that. It’s… Well, sir, the workshop is moving. Towards us.”

“Moving? It isn’t supposed to be mobile. How is it moving?”

“I’m not sure, sir. But it is.”

“Heading right for us?”

“Right for us, sir. And it looks like—Incoming! Sir, they have launched torpedoes!”

“What the fuck do you mean they launched torpedoes? It’s a goddamn box!”

***

“Moshi?” Lucy said as she watched the torpedoes race away from the Toyshop, both heading straight for the incoming ship. “Why didn’t you tell us the Toyshop already had full helm and weapons?”

“Ballantine,” Moshi replied. “Shush. Driving.”

“Technically, it would be piloting since the Toyshop is now a water craft,” Ingrid said. “You pilot water crafts.”

“That’s not shushing,” Moshi said.

“You’ve been listening to Thorne too much,” Lucy said and laughed. “The ship has launched countermeasures. We’re going to lose both torpedoes. Preparing to launch two more then sighting with…what is this exactly?”

“Plasma cannon,” Moshi said. “Makes a big hole. Very big hole. Goes for miles. Don’t miss.”

“Miles? What the hell does that mean?” Lucy exclaimed.

“You miss, plasma keeps going until it dissipates or hits new target,” Moshi said. “Still has bugs to work out.”

Lucy’s hand moved away from the plasma cannon controls. “Let’s put that on the back burner.”

“They’ve launched torpedoes too!” Ingrid cried. “Oh, shit. Oh, shit. Oh, shit!”

“Then launch countermeasures,” Lucy said. “That’s what you’re there for.”

“Launch green button then drive,” Moshi said. “Pilot, I mean. Pilot countermeasure.”

“Pilot what?” Lucy asked. “Never mind. Ingrid? Do what she says.”

“Launching countermeasures,” Ingrid said and pressed the green button. The screen in front of her switched from scanner mode to video feed. “Oh, this is cool.”

“What are you looking at?” Lucy asked.

“Water drone,” Moshi said. “Send it at ship.”

“Fun,” Ingrid said as she took hold of two joysticks and began piloting the water drone straight at the incoming torpedoes. “They’re supposed to lock onto this, right, Moshi?”

“Yes,” Moshi replied.

“Damn,” Lucy said. “You been holding out on us, girl. Next time, let your sisters in on this shit so we can play with it and make it better.”

“Okay,” Moshi said. “I will.”

“Sweet,” Ingrid said.

Ingrid concentrated on the screen in front of her and piloted the drone directly between the two incoming torpedoes.

“They are launching more,” Lucy said. “How many water drones we got?”

“Only one,” Moshi said. “No problem. Push yellow button.”

Ingrid didn’t hesitate. She pushed the yellow button.

The video feed split into four different views.

“Big drone now small drones,” Moshi said.

“Four? How am I supposed to pilot four drones, Moshi?” Ingrid asked.

“Don’t know,” Moshi said. “Figure it out.”

“Yeah, Ingrid, figure it out,” Lucy said with a laugh.

Ingrid figured it out.

She switched back and forth from one drone to the next in a rapid-fire clicking of buttons and a flurry of joystick moves. The first two torpedoes locked onto one of the drones while the next set of torpedoes continued on their path towards the Toyshop.

“Taking the party to you,” Ingrid said as she piloted the drone being followed at the still incoming ship’s hull. The keel could easily be seen by the drone’s video feed and Ingrid aimed directly for it. “Impact in twenty seconds.”

***

“Sir! Two of our torpedoes are coming back at us!”

“What?” the captain yelled. “How the hell is that possible?”

“I don’t know, sir, but scanners show they changed directions about halfway to the target.”

There was a massive explosion in the water a few meters out and the ship shook slightly.

“Enemy torpedoes have been destroyed, sir!”

“Good! How many more incoming?”

“Two more, sir. And I am detecting a power reading from the target. I don’t know the energy signature, sir. It’s a wave line I’m not familiar with.”

“That can’t be good. Not coming from something that has Ballantine behind it.”

“No, sir. I agree with your assessment. Should we disengage, sir?”

“Sure, if you want to be the one that tells Wire we tucked our tail and ran. You want to do that?”

“No, sir, I prefer to keep my genitals intact.”

“Don’t we all. Keep an eye on that power reading and do something about those goddamn torpedoes. Can we disarm from here?”

“Yes, sir. Give me one second.”

***

“And impact!” Ingrid announced. There was no explosion on the video screen as one torpedo connected with the ship’s hull, bouncing off instead of detonating. The second torpedo hit a seam in the ship’s plating and pierced the hull, leaving half of the torpedo sticking out for all to see.

“That’s going to put a wrinkle in their day,” Ingrid said. “Now, what can we do with the two new ones?”

“They destroyed our second set of torpedoes,” Lucy snarled. “Sons of bitches. Switching to this insane plasma cannon. Shooter is gonna shoot.”

Lucy’s station changed as she switched controls over to Moshi’s experimental plasma cannon. Red crosshairs came up and locked onto the ship’s hull. Above water.

“Uh, how am I seeing this?” Lucy asked.

“Micro-periscope,” Moshi said. “Light refracting. No detect.”

“But the cannon is below the surface?” Lucy asked.

“Stop worrying. Fire,” Moshi said.

“If you say so,” Lucy said and double checked her target. “Fire in the hole.”

She squeezed the trigger and a flash appeared on the screen as the Toyshop shook slightly.

“Shit. Thing’s got a kick to it,” Lucy said.

The video screen filled with a red light. There was an even brighter flash then the screen cleared to show the damage done to the ship.

“Holy shit. Give me one of these in a portable form and I swear I will pray at the altar of Moshi forever.”

Moshi giggled.

***

Alarms and klaxons filled the ship’s bridge. Men and women scrambled out of their seats and fled their stations.

“Hold fast!” the captain yelled. “Hold fast, goddammit!”

“Sir, we are taking on water at an alarming rate! We have maybe five minutes before we completely sink!”

“Two more incoming torpedoes, sir! They are both ours and coming straight for us!”

“Disarm them!”

“I can’t, sir! Controls are shot! Everything is shot!”

The man stood up, gave the captain an apologetic look, then ran from the bridge.

The captain slammed his fist down on his chair’s armrest over and over again. Then he slid a panel aside on the armrest and keyed in a specific code.

All alarms and klaxons stopped except for one. Anyone onboard would know exactly what that klaxon meant.

“You get nothing,” the captain said as he stared out into the ocean and at a far-off shape that was slowly coming to the surface.

The captain moved to the helm and altered the ship’s course for a straight on collision with the Toyshop. He pushed the engines into the red. It was a race to get to the Toyshop before the ship self-destructed. The captain had no intention of going down alone.

***

“Not good!” Ingrid cried. “I am picking up a massive energy reading from their engine room as well as from a secondary power source!”

“They’re coming right at us,” Lucy said. “Moshi?”

“Swiss cheese,” Moshi said.

Lucy didn’t need an explanation. She powered up the plasma cannon, locked onto the incoming ship, and fired until the system shut down and wouldn’t let her squeeze the trigger any longer.

Then she leaned back in her seat and watched as the ship quickly sank below the water.

“Swiss cheese,” Lucy said right before the sunken ship self-destructed.

A plume of water shot two hundred meters into the air. A second later, the Toyshop began to rock and bob like it was in the middle of a hurricane.

“Oh…” Ingrid said as she whipped her head to the side and threw up. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and frowned at Moshi then Lucy. “Sorry. Adrenaline is a little high. Makes my tummy ooky.”

“Puke away,” Lucy said. “You earned it.”

“We all earned it,” Moshi said.

Slowly, the Toyshop stopped rocking and Moshi stood up. She stretched then left.

“Okay. Nice fighting with ya,” Lucy said.

The com crackled. “Toyshop? Elves? Are you alright?” Kinsey asked over the com.

“We are five by five, Kins,” Lucy replied. “Enemy threat has been eliminated. And, holy shit, we have some new, fun toys to play with.”

“Eliminated? Damn. Can’t wait to hear the sit rep on that. See you all in about thirty minutes. Sit tight.”

“Sitting tight,” Lucy said then clicked off her com and closed her eyes. She took a deep breath and glanced at Ingrid. “You good?”

“Getting better,” Ingrid said. Then she puked again.

“When you’re done with that, can you help me get this helmet off?”

Ingrid nodded between retches.

Chapter Twelve: Tour Of Doody

“Another island,” Max said as he stood with the rest of Team Grendel and the crew of the B3 on the deck of the Resurrection. “Whee…”

Saying the rest of the team and crew were standing with Max was a stretch. Most were being held by unarmed guards, in case anyone made a move to get the weapons, while heavily armed guards stood a few meters away while being covered by a handful of snipers from above.

Even Max wasn’t exactly standing tall. His face was battered and bruised and he favored his left leg after an enthusiastic torturer decided to play a sweet African rhythm on his kneecap. With one eye swollen shut like Darren, and looking like it may never open, Max tried to focus on the island they were being taken to. He didn’t like what he saw.

“That’s quite the fence,” Max said. “Everyone seeing that? Gotta be, what? Twenty meters tall?”

“It is a dual fence, if you look closely,” Wire said as she walked up to the group, casual as could be. “Two rows with the inner being, uh…electrified.”

“The inner fence is electrified?” Ballantine asked. “Isn’t that interesting.”

“Ask it,” Wire said.

“Ask what?” Ballantine responded. “I have no question to ask.”

“You want to know what I’m keeping contained inside the fence line,” Wire said. “I know you are dying to hear what it is.”

“Nope,” Ballantine said. “I am good. The inner, and outer, workings of your island are your business, Wire. My business is trying to keep my people alive. Unless we are being thrown inside that fence, I don’t see how it’s relevant.”

“I would sure as fuck like to know what’s in there,” Thorne said. “That fence wrap around the entire island?”

“Yes, Commander Thorne, it does,” Wire said. “As our course changes, and angle of entry into the harbor adjusts, you’ll be able to see that there is a narrow corridor leading from the dock to the center of the island. That is the only pathway in. The safe zone, if you will. Stay in that corridor of safety and you will live. Get inside the fence line and you will not.”

“That doesn’t tell me what’s inside there,” Thorne said. “Or is it all for show? An illusion of danger. You Ballantines are good at creating those.”

“Do not lump me in with my used to be daughter,” Ballantine said. “She’s insane. I am simply a little off.”

“Don’t push your luck, Ballantine,” Wire hissed then returned her attention to Thorne. “I am not going to tell you the exact threat, because that would ruin the surprise, but I will say that no one has survived more than twenty-four hours inside the fence line. No one.”

“She’s not fucking with you,” Sterling said as he joined the group. “A couple of my best operators tried to risk it and never came out. And when I say the best, I mean the best. You’re all highly trained, but they were even better. Never heard from them again.”

“Did you go looking?” Thorne asked.

“You’re not listening,” Sterling said, stepping close to Thorne. He put his face about an inch from Thorne’s face and shook his head. “No one survives inside the fence line. I won’t go in there. You could give me a tank and I still wouldn’t go in there. Eventually, they get you.”

“They?” Thorne asked.

Sterling glanced at Wire and she shook her head.

“Just hope you don’t find out,” Sterling said then turned and faced the island. “We are five minutes from docking. As soon as we drop the gangplank, each of you will walk single file onto the dock and wait patiently while we unload the rest of your sad, little party. Then we march our way to those waiting trucks. See the trucks, people? You will climb inside the trucks and then be taken to the BOP.”

“You call it a base of operations?” Thorne asked. “Why?”

“Because calling it Darla seemed weird, Uncle Vinny,” Shane said.

Max snorted. “Good one.”

“You’re wondering why it isn’t a permanent headquarters,” Wire said to Thorne. “It is, but with the constant threat of those fences coming down, we consider ourselves at the ready at all times. So, calling it a BOP forces us to remember to stay sharp and alert.”

“Try not have something so deadly inside a fence line right next to where you live and maybe you can relax a bit,” Shane said. “Just a suggestion.”

“Yes, Mr. Reynolds, I am obviously the type of person that loves to relax a little,” Wire said.

“Totally,” Shane continued. “I’m guessing you’re a chardonnay and Kenny G kind of gal, right? Maybe you get a little freaky now and then, but you prefer it missionary style with only one finger in the butt. Am I right?”

Wire sighed.

Sterling hit Shane just below his empty eye socket, splitting the skin instantly.

“Thank you,” Wire said. “Mr. Reynolds?”

“Ow,” Shane said and was about to try to wipe at the cut, but the sound of weapons shifting made him pause. “No, it’s cool. I don’t mind bleeding profusely.”

“Mr. Reynolds, please never be crude like that again,” Wire said. “Refer to my sexuality in any way from here on out and I will take your other eye. Then your—”

“Nuts and feed them to me,” Shane said. “We’ve heard the sales pitch already. Learn a new line, will ya?”

“Yeah. You stopped being scary a long time ago,” Max said.

Thorne chuckled. “You wanted to keep them alive…”

“Might I interrupt our exceptionally riveting conversation and ask where Darby is?” Ballantine said. “Will she be brought above decks any time soon? We are pulling into the dock now.”

“Darby is her own special case,” Wire said. “She will remain on this ship for the duration of her stay. As much as I trust the security measures we have in place at the BOP, I am not one hundred percent certain they will keep her contained. I am erring on the side of caution and leaving her on the ship, in her cage, and under twenty-four-hour surveillance.”

“Jeez, I’m going to have to up my dating game,” Max said. “She gets used to that kind of special treatment and dinner at Applebee’s ain’t gonna cut it anymore.”

“Dude, we haven’t seen an Applebee’s since you two hooked up,” Shane said.

“One can dream, bro. One can dream.”

“Applebee’s? Really?” Lake said. “You two are so messed up.”

“Hey, don’t lump me in with him. I don’t want to go to Applebee’s,” Shane said. “That’s trash eating. I’m a Beef O’Brady’s kind of guy. Classy.”

“Permission to kill one of the twins?” Sterling asked.

“No,” Wire said. “We get what we need from them first then you can kill one. Maybe both.”

“We’re not twins,” Max said.

“No way I’d share a womb with that guy,” Shane said. “He’s a covers hog.”

“And he mumbles show tunes in his sleep,” Max said.

“I do not,” Shane said and looked at Wire. “Seventies soft rock only. I don’t do show tunes.”

“Oh, I heard some Andrew Lloyd Weber coming from that trap one night,”
Max said.

“Ah, but that’s crossover,” Shane replied. “He did write some hits that made it onto the radio, you know.”

“Boys. Not now,” Thorne said. “We’re docking. I need you two alert so we can kill these fucking assholes when the moment presents itself.”

“Bold statement to make out loud, Commander Thorne,” Wire said. “I do admire you for that.”

“Go fuck yourself, you crazy bitch,” Thorne said. “You admire that?”

***

“The crazy bitch won’t stop pacing,” a guard said from the corner of the catwalk. “It’s like watching a cat at a zoo.”

“That’s not pacing,” a second guard replied. “She can barely stand up straight and she can’t move her feet more than a couple steps before having to turn around. Pacing is from one side of the cage to the other.”

“Quiet,” a third guard said. “You’re getting comfortable. Don’t. Hill and Wire warned us that the second we get comfortable is the second we are dead.”

The two guards went silent.

Darby heard all of that as she moved her two paces, turned, moved two paces, turned, and repeated the motions over and over again, all while her wrists were manacled tight together to a chain that stretched down to her ankles.

Her cage was still suspended above the others, but there was an added bit of security. The bars had been electrified and Darby could hear the hum coming from the metal as the voltage coursed through the cage. The fact she wasn’t electrocuted by the manacles and chains attached to her body, which were in turn attached to the bottom of the cage, told her quite a lot. The major point it told her was that the manacles and chain connected to her were not made of conductive materials. That was a very good thing.

She stopped and studied her wrists. The manacles looked like they were made of some type of steel alloy, but looks were always deceiving. She tried to bring her wrists to her mouth so she could bite down on one of the manacles and test the strength of the material, but she didn’t have enough play in the chains and only ended up tugging on her ankles instead.

“Hey! What are you doing?” a guard yelled.

Darby paused her study of her restraints and turned her head slowly to find the source of the question. Instead of checking the lower catwalk, she studied the upper catwalk and the many, many snipers that had her in their sights. She didn’t expect one of them to have spoken, but she wanted to take the opportunity to do a head recount.

An even dozen. Each with a minimum of a .300 WinMag pressed to their shoulder. She even saw a couple of Barrett .50 cals. One of those rounds would tear a hole as big as a bowling ball through her body at that range.

“Hey!” the guard yelled again. “Head down and eyes on the floor.”

Darby looked away from the snipers and found the source of the voice on the lower catwalk. The man was close to seven feet tall and had to be over three hundred pounds. He stood there with his M4 pointed directly at her but the stock wasn’t seated tight against his shoulder. The man didn’t take her seriously and Darby smiled at that revelation.

“You think this is funny?” the guard asked. “Head down and eyes on the floor!”

Darby kept smiling and she could see the man’s confidence break for half a second before his machismo was able to regroup.

“Sorry,” Darby said and put her head down and cast her eyes to the floor.

A floor that was meters below the bottom of her cage. It would be quite the jump when the time came. But Darby was ready for it. She doubted any of the guards would be ready for it, though, and that caused her to smile again.

***

The trucks bounced on the rutted dirt road that formed a straight line between the rows of fencing. The back flaps of the canvas-covered truck were tied to the sides, so Thorne could get a decent look at the area as they passed it. As decent as staring through clouds of dust could be.

“Don’t bother,” Sterling said, seated across the truck from Thorne. “Getting the lay of the land won’t make a difference in the outcome.”

“It will when we have to leave,” Thorne said, slowly turning his head so he could regard Sterling with the full force of his commander’s gaze. “Which will happen. Sooner or later.”

Sterling laughed and shook his head as he looked down at his boots. He nodded a couple times then looked back up at Thorne.

“You know why we have all of you in the back of this truck together?” Sterling asked. “Instead of splitting you up between the other trucks? Do you know why we didn’t divide and conquer?”

“Because you’re an idiot,” Thorne said.

“If only it was that simple,” Sterling said. “That would make your life easier, wouldn’t it? No, Thorne, it’s not because I’m an idiot. Complete opposite, in fact. I have been studying Team Grendel since you first came on the radar. I have watched your flight across the globe and the battles you’ve waged against some incredible opponents, and I have come to the conclusion that when you are separated as a team, you will do anything to get back together.”

“Are you suggesting we’re a bunch of dysfunctional codependents?” Thorne said and chuckled. “Listen, Hill, that defines the entire military system. We’re all codependents.”

“No, I’m suggesting the opposite of that,” Sterling said. “I’m suggesting that you all are so driven to keep each other safe that if we were to put one of you in another truck, that individual would instantly start plotting how to kill the guards and escape so they could come rescue the rest of you. Keep you all together and it lessens the need to be heroes.”

“Huh,” Thorne replied. “That’s actually…perceptive.”

“You so smart, Sterling,” Max said from his seat. He had his head leaned back against a strut and his eyes were closed. “Except you didn’t take your own advice.”

“Oh, and how is that?” Sterling asked.

“Don’t help the man do his job, Max,” Thorne said.

“I’m not helping him at all,” Max said. “Simple professional courtesy from one operator to another.”

“Professional courtesy,” Shane mumbled from his seat.

“Damn right, bro,” Max said. “Here’s the thing, Sterling Hill. You left Darby alone on that ship. You separated her from us. If your theory about unlocking our motivation is true, then you handed the keys to the deadliest one on our team.”

“I disagree,” Sterling said. “You may think that Darby is part of your team, but she isn’t. Not with the misfires in that brain. She’s been Team Ballantine from the start and will remain that way to the end. If she tries to break out, which is impossible, she will hunt for Ballantine first before she comes looking for her teammates. That I know for a fact.”

“That so?” Max smirked.

“That is so,” Sterling replied.

“Then you don’t know jack shit about who Darby is,” Max said.

“I might say the same for you,” Sterling said. Max started to reply, but Sterling held up a hand and looked out the back of the truck. “Neither of us will convince the other that they are right. What I can convince you of is your absolute zero chance of escaping this island. How about taking a look out the back? Check out who has come to visit the fence line.”

Max kept his eyes closed and shook his head. “Nah. I’ll get the report later.”

“Thorne?” Sterling said. “Care to have a peek at our security system?”

Thorne eyed Sterling for a moment then turned and looked out the back. His eyes narrowed then opened wide then narrowed again.

“What are they?” Thorne asked.

“They are our sentries. Our dead sentries,” Sterling said. “Don’t ask from where or why; finding dead bodies is easy in this world we live in. And if dead bodies can’t be found, then they can be made. I’m very good at doing that.”

“I’m sure you are,” Thorne said.

Between the dust clouds kicked up by the truck, Thorne could see people standing at the fences on both sides of the road. Most of them barely had clothes on and the ones that were dressed, the clothing was in tatters and hung loosely from their swaying forms.

Dead eyes followed the progress of the trucks, mouths wide open to show broken teeth and black, shriveled tongues. Corpse tongues.

“Explain,” Thorne said in his best commander voice.

Sterling laughed. “Yes, sir, right away, sir.”

Sterling pointed at the fences.

“Tech is everything,” Sterling explained. “From my enhanced limbs to basically all of Wire’s body. This island runs on tech that the vast majority of the covert community can’t even comprehend. Those moving corpses out there are the result of a happy accident. Wire needs a very specific item in order to complete her objective in life.”

“Which is?” Thorne asked.

“Being whole again,” Sterling said. “Something I think all of us would like. This job tends to tear you apart, right?”

Thorne didn’t answer.

“Doesn’t matter,” Sterling continued. “In her quest to recreate the item, our people created something else. A way to control and reanimate dead flesh. I won’t bore you with details on the exact mechanism—”

“Too late,” Max said.

“—but I will say that all of those people out there are being directed by some very talented handlers,” Sterling pressed on. “If we want all ten thousand of them to turn left, they turn left. Walk a straight line, they walk a straight line. Otherwise, we let them autonomously roam the island as a deterrent to anyone that might think of taking an unauthorized stroll. Trust me, Thorne, you do not want to be out amongst those former people. They will tear you apart, limb by limb, and keep you alive just long enough so you are forced to watch them eat those limbs. No one has ever escaped this island. No one. And you will not be the first.”

“Darby,” Max said. “You keep forgetting about Darby.”

“No, I don’t,” Sterling said. “Darby is handled.”

“There’s always Ballantine,” Darren muttered from his seat. His lips were still so swollen that the words came out as lisping gasps. But his eye looked better and no longer in danger of popping out of his skull. “You separated him from us. You’re ignoring your own theory.”

“Ballantine? You think that man will risk his life to rescue any of you?” Sterling laughed so hard that he started coughing. He pounded his chest a couple of times and winced. “Oh, wow, Chambers. That head of yours got hit too hard. You’re crazy if you think we consider Ballantine to be part of any of you. Ballantine is a lone wolf and always will be. Don’t bet on that guy lifting a finger to set you free.”

Sterling nodded out the back of the truck.

“Not that there is anywhere to go, if he did decide to become a human being all of a sudden.”

***

“You have really put a lot of work into this island, Wire,” Ballantine said, strapped to a single chair set in the middle of the truck leading the caravan from the dock to the BOP. He was facing backwards and his eyes studied the landscape as it whizzed by. “I have to assume there is a control mechanism in each of those poor souls’ brains? Where is it located? Parietal lobe? Or are you hijacking the cerebellum? My guess is the latter since those folks do not look like they are going to be playing chess anytime soon.”

Ballantine tried to turn his head, but the restraints kept him from swiveling his neck more than a couple inches.

“Must we treat me like a rabid dog?” Ballantine asked. “I’m all Hannibal Lectored up here, Wire. A bit of the overkill, if you ask me. You weren’t that concerned when we were on the dock.”

“I had thirty snipers locked onto you then,” Wire responded from her seat outside Ballantine’s field of vision. “In here, it’s only you and me. I think I made the right call.”

“I’d be flattered, but the straps chafe, so I’m more annoyed, really,” Ballantine said. “Now, about these people at the fences… They are dead, obvious from their appearance, yet they are animated.”

“Reanimated,” Wire said.

“How very Lovecraftian of you,” Ballantine said. “Or would it be Romeroesque? Are they flesh eaters?”

“No more so than a rabid junkyard dog would be,” Wire said. “Do they rip intruders and escapees apart? Yes. Do they try to eat the flesh of those they catch? Yes. But only because that is their programming. I thought I’d give them a theme and what better theme than the walking dead? No need to reinvent the wheel when there is a template already made.”

“Is this a business venture?” Ballantine asked. “Do you plan on recreating this…whatever you call it, for others? What do you charge for such a nightmare?”

“Ballantine, Ballantine, Ballantine,” Wire said. “Not everything in life is about profit.”

“Oh, I don’t think that either,” Ballantine said. “But everything is about leverage. I can think of close to two dozen dictators across this globe that would pay in the millions to have this tech at their disposal. The savings in mass grave digging labor alone would pay for it right there. Use the bodies, not lose the bodies.”

Ballantine laughed and tried to snap his fingers, but his hand was held too close to the arm of the chair he was strapped to.

“That could be your tagline! Use the bodies, not lose the bodies. Or something like that. Needs work, but we can come up with the right phrasing.”

“We? My God, you never quit,” Wire said. “How can you even say the word we?”

“Well, you haven’t killed me and you haven’t killed Team Grendel, so there has to be a reason we’re alive,” Ballantine said. “Other than you wanting the item. I mean, I get the obsession, but you really should know that exploring other life goals might be in your best interest.”

“That item is my life,” Wire said. “Without it, I’m an empty shell of the person I am supposed to be. When we find it, I promise you that…”

Ballantine waited, but she didn’t continue.

“Someone whispering in your ear?” Ballantine asked. “From the dead silence, I have to assume it is bad news. Otherwise, you’d be shouting orders and proving how tough you are. That’s what you like to do, isn’t it? Prove just how tough you are by yelling and killing?”

“Fuck you,” Wire snarled.

“Oh, it’s very bad news,” Ballantine said. “It isn’t Team Grendel, they’re in that truck back behind us a ways. Don’t get me wrong, they will become a problem soon, but for now, they are contained. Let’s see, who isn’t contained?”

“Shut your mouth, Ballantine,” Wire shouted.

“Oh, there’s the volume we were missing,” Ballantine said. “Any way you could put your com on speaker? I would love to hear the carnage that’s happening on that ship right now.”

He didn’t see the hit coming. Probably a good thing. A horrible burst of pain then blackness consumed Ballantine.

***

“She’s there!” a sniper shouted as he switched his target to a shadow that streaked across the upper catwalk. “Keep firing!”

He sent six shots in that direction. Not one connected as far as he could tell. At least, not with his intended target.

“Shit!” he yelled as one of his own tumbled over the catwalk’s railing. “Fuck!”

Before the last word was out of his mouth, he was flying backwards onto his ass. His chest felt tight and he looked down to see a smoking hole in his shirt. His lungs hurt like hell and he slapped at his chest, feeling the slug that impacted with his body armor.

Before he could look up to find the source of the shot, half his head was obliterated. Solid then mist.

There were screams coming from every corner of the ship’s hold. Men and women were scrambling to find cover or hit a target that none of them could lock onto. Gunfire went from professional bursts to panicked strafing. Half the casualties were from friendly fire.

The rest of the casualties were from Darby.

The woman strode long the upper catwalk, a .338 to her shoulder like it was a kid’s .22 small game hunting rifle. She picked off targets one by one, oblivious to the bullets that whizzed by her head and body. Perhaps not quite oblivious. She made very minute adjustments to her stride and posture with every crack of a rifle, avoiding being hit by only microns.

Darby stopped and took a knee as she watched the grenade land a few meters in front of her. She should have taken some kind of cover; grenades and metal catwalks tended to wreak havoc on human beings. But she waited for the detonation, closing her eyes at the last second to avoid flash blindness, then stood up and continued on her killing spree.

She leapt the newly formed gap in the catwalk and landed on the other side without even a hint of instability. That couldn’t be said for the catwalk itself. As she walked on, her borrowed sniper rifle taking down man after man, woman after woman, the end portion of the catwalk behind her bent then plummeted to the level below, crushing half a dozen guards that were trying to lock onto Darby and take her out from below.

“Fucking bitch!” a woman screamed from the corner of the huge space, her back wedged into the tiny area where the walls met. “You can’t dodge bullets forever!”

Darby put a round in the woman’s forehead and didn’t think anything else of the woman as she continued along her path. A bullet winged off the wall and came close to contact with her cheek. Darby paused, swiveled, took aim, and put down the shooter. Then on she went once more, headed for a small hatch that was about five meters away.

When she reached the hatch, she pivoted, studied the hold, and opened fire. Her finger didn’t stop squeezing the trigger until the rifle clicked empty. She ejected the spent magazine, grabbed another from the waistband of her underwear, slapped it home, made sure it was seated, racked the slide, and got back to work. For the next five minutes, she kept firing. A spot on the rifle’s barrel began to glow red. Then the last magazine was empty and Darby took her eye away from the sight to survey her work.

No one was left alive. Dozens of guards and snipers. Every one of them highly armed and more than sufficiently trained to do their jobs, yet not one made it. Darby did a mental twenty count before she stood up, tossed the rifle aside, and grabbed the wheel on the hatch.

It wouldn’t budge. Darby sighed.

She backtracked until she came to the closest body. A quick pat down and she had six grenades in hand. She also obtained a Sig Sauer 9mm pistol, which she put in the waistband of her underwear. It was heavier than the sniper rifle’s magazine had been and began to tug at her underwear. Darby sighed again.

She stripped the corpse of the bloody uniform it wore and slipped that on. The pants were big, the shirt was big, and the body armor would have made her into a matte black Stay Puft Marshmallow Man. She cinched the belt as tight as it would go and tugged on the pants pockets. They’d stay. The shirt was useless, so she ignored it and stayed in her bra only. The armor was a joke and she hadn’t needed it before so why deal with the bulk and weight.

Newly pantsed, Darby filled the cargo pockets with extra magazines for the pistol and strapped a combat knife to her belt then returned to her cache of grenades. She studied the hatch for a moment then returned to the corpse. She dug in the body’s ear and removed a com unit. Bloody and coated in earwax, Darby slid the piece into place and smiled as the entire ship’s panic over her escape filled her ear.

She pressed the unit and said, “She’s down! I repeat, she is down! We need immediate medical attention in here. Jesus fucking Christ, she killed almost everyone. Send the whole medical team! Now!”

Conflicting voices tried to ask her for her guard number while others began ordering that the hatch be opened immediately. Someone in charge made the call finally and Darby waited as she watched the hatch’s wheel begin to spin.

She hefted the pistol then thought better of it and placed it in its holster. She withdrew the combat knife and stepped to the left side of the hatch.

Chapter Thirteen: The Armor Makes The Woman

Kinsey walked among the rows and rows of tables that had replaced the cots in the Fallback’s hold. Men and women were working feverishly to assemble pieces of armor as Ingrid moved around them, giving them instructions and critiquing already completed pieces. Kinsey caught up to Ingrid and frowned.

“Where’s Moshi?” Kinsey asked. “Shouldn’t she be here helping with this?”

“She stayed in the Toyshop,” Ingrid said. “You know Moshi. She can freeze up around one stranger, let alone an entire ship’s worth.”

“And Carlos?” Kinsey asked.

‘The fucker chickened out and stayed in the Toyshop too,” Lucy said as she joined them, tugging at her own armor as she tried to adjust the fit. “Jesus, Ingrid, help a bitch out here, will you?”

“Did it go out of adjustment again?” Ingrid exclaimed. “Take it off, Lucy. Just take it off. We need to find a better fit for you. That prototype’s not going to work.”

Ingrid turned and surveyed the tables. “There. Use that set.”

“Hey!” a woman snapped as Ingrid hurried over and snatched the armor off the table. “What the fuck, lady?”

“Here,” Lucy said as she stripped out of the ill-fitting armor and tossed it to the angry woman. “Try this.”

“Gee, thanks a fucking lot,” the woman said as she caught the armor and glared at it. “We’re about the same size, so why do you think this will fit me when it didn’t fit you?”

“She doesn’t,” Kinsey said to the woman. “But we’re Grendel and take priority. This is our fight.”

“This is everyone’s fight,” Delana Paz said as she stomped up to Lucy and yanked the purloined armor out of her grip. She whirled on Kinsey. “The Teams end now. No more Grendel versus everyone else. If we are going to survive against Wire, we need to be united as one army.”

Lucy looked from Kinsey to Delana and back.

“Sorry,” Kinsey said. “Lucy Durning, this is Delana Paz. She’s the me on the Fallback.”

Delana laughed. “You wish. If I’m anyone, I’m the Darby of the Fallback.”

It was Kinsey’s turn to laugh. Lucy and Ingrid both joined, but shut up quickly as Delana’s glare was turned on them. Kinsey let her laugh peter out then pointed at Delana.

“Delana, I have to assume you’re good, but you are not that good. No one is that good,” Kinsey said. “I’m not that good. So be happy I consider you on par with me. Take the win and move on.”

“We have a problem?” Aubrey asked from a catwalk above everyone. “I’m sensing some friction down there.”

“Always friction when alpha operators face off,” Delana said. “But we’ve got it handled, Captain.”

“I hope so because we are almost within scanning range of Wire’s island,” Aubrey said. “I need all of you up on the bridge now. Time to get the last phase put together. Five minutes.”

“Yes, Captain,” Delana said.

“You want Ingrid too? Or only operators?” Kinsey asked.

“You and Durning,” Aubrey said. “Ingrid stays here and keeps the assembly line marching. We need everyone suited up by the time we reach the island. Otherwise, there’s no point to any of this.”

“What, uh, timeframe are we looking at?” Ingrid asked.

“Two hours,” Aubrey said. Ingrid started to respond, but Aubrey shook her head. “Unless you are going to say that’s not a problem, keep your mouth shut. You have ninety minutes to be finished. And I mean completely finished. Operators go into the water in ninety-five minutes.”

“Uh…okay?” Ingrid replied.

“You got this,” Kinsey said to her.

“You’re the best at this shit,” Lucy added.

“Thanks,” Ingrid said and gulped. “But we don’t have helmets for everyone.” She shrugged then hurried off to help a man struggling with the collar of his suit.

“We good?” Delana asked Kinsey. “We need to be good.”

“We’re good,” Kinsey said. “No more dick measuring, I promise.”

“Unless it’s dicks we want to see,” Delana said and laughed.

“You can count me out there,” Lucy said. “I was off dick before, but I’ve spent two years seeing the Reynolds cocks swinging in the showers. I’ll be avoiding dicks like the plague.”

Kinsey shivered. “They really need to towel up when they get out of the showers, right?”

“No fucking shit,” Lucy said.

Delana smiled and clapped Kinsey then Lucy on the shoulders. “Alright. No dicks. Better that way. Dicks get tripped over.”

“True dat,” Lucy said.

“Come on,” Delana said. “We’ll grab some coffee in the mess before we hit the bridge. We’ll want the jolt.”

“I should check in with the elves in the Toyshop,” Kinsey said. “But I can do that after.”

“If there’s time,” Delana said. “They’re auxiliary support personnel. If they want to hide in that box, then let them. Everyone we’ll need is on the bridge waiting. Best put some hustle in your steps, ladies.”

***

“Did you just call me a chicken shit?” Carlos snapped at Moshi. “Why? Because I can be of more use in here than on that ship? What does that say about you, Moshi? Huh? What does it say about you?”

Moshi set the soldering iron down and lifted the goggles off her face. She turned and glared at Carlos.

“I have work. Real work. Ballantine work. You are hiding like a bitch,” Moshi said. “You want to help? I’ll give you Ballantine work to do.”

“You aren’t the boss of me,” Carlos said. “This is my workshop. I built this. Ballantine put me in charge.”

“That was before,” Moshi said, pulling the goggles back down as she picked up the soldering iron. “This now. You aren’t in charge of anything.”

Carlos sputtered for a couple seconds then stormed off into the stacks. Moshi sighed and got back to work.

A steady beeping sounded from the front of the Toyshop, but Moshi ignored it. She was only a couple steps away from finishing her latest project. Ballantine had been very clear that each one of her projects needed to be done when they saw each other next. He’d been very clear.

A full five minutes of beeping was ignored until Moshi couldn’t take it any longer.

“Carlos,” she hissed. No response. Plenty of beeping.

Moshi finished her project, but didn’t test it, and stood up. She stretched and walked to the front of the Toyshop. Her eyes studied the control console until she found the source. Deep scan alert. Moshi rolled her eyes and sat down before the screen that displayed the flashing blip.

Moshi’s eye rolling stopped when she realized that the blip was similar to the one she’d seen before the Toyshop had been picked up by the Fallback. She dug deeper into the data and recoiled.

“No,” she whispered. “No.”

“No, what?” Carlos asked as he appeared by her side, a huge bowl of ice cream in hand. He had chocolate dripping down his chin. “What are you complaining about?”

“This,” Moshi said. “See? This.”

“What? A deep scan alert? Okay. So what?” Carlos asked. “Could be all kinds of things. Whale. Giant squid. See the data set? It’s saying it is organic in nature. The ping we’re getting back isn’t mechanical. The ocean is home to lots of creatures, Moshi. Big ones. Nothing new there.”

He began to turn away, but Moshi grabbed him by the arm and yanked him back.

“Shit, Moshi!” Carlos snapped as he stared down at the glob of ice cream that missed his mouth and hit the front of his T-shirt. “What the hell?”

“No. Not nothing new,” Moshi said. “Old. Old enemy. Look at data?”

“I don’t have time for this,” Carlos said and yanked his arm free. “I may not have been given an assignment from Ballantine, but my work is just as important as yours. Which you won’t get done if you keep worrying about a school of fish that’s messing with the deep scan.”

“Not a school of fish!” Moshi shouted. “You are so stupid! Look at it!”

“Let me get a napkin first,” Carlos said.

Moshi shot to her feet and slapped Carlos across the face. He recoiled and she followed, slapping him again. Then she wiped the ice cream that got onto her hand onto his shirt.

“Sit down and look,” she snarled so intensely that Carlos choked on his last ice cream bite, swallowed hard, and sat down immediately.

“We, we, uh, we need to talk, yeah, we need to talk about, you know, that temper of yours,” Carlos sputtered as he studied the data once more. “Hold on…”

“Now you see it?”

“I said hold on.”

“No time to hold on,” Moshi said. “I call Kinsey now.”

“Wait a damn minute, will you?” Carlos said. “Sorry. I just need one minute to make sure I’m seeing what you want me to see.”

Moshi crossed her arms and tapped her foot for a full minute. Then she slapped Carlos upside the back of his head. He barely seemed to notice as he turned in his seat and looked up at Moshi

“This is not good, Moshi. How can this be? The last one was nuked. We saw the mushroom cloud. They’re supposed to be gone.”

“This one is not,” Moshi said. “Move. I call Kinsey now. We have problem.”

“No shit,” Carlos said and moved. “A big damn problem.”

***

“The harbor is our only viable point of entry,” Aubrey said as she swiped along a satellite image of Wire’s island. “We believe that her scanners won’t pick us up if we stop here to deploy.”

“That’s a long swim,” Kinsey said as she studied the distance between the point Aubrey indicated and the entrance to the island’s one and only harbor. “That could take an hour or more. Everyone will be exhausted by the time we need to strike.”

“I know, but we have no other choice,” Aubrey said. “Our tech will mask us for a short while, long enough to get all of you to the harbor, but once Wire knows the Fallback is out here, she’ll send everything she has at us. Our hope is she will think the attack is coming, not that it is already in motion. While she comes for the ship, you can rest up. Once she engages with us, we’ll give you the go ahead and you book your asses into that harbor and onto that island.”

“We have a basic idea of where the quantum mines are,” Delana said, taking over as Aubrey stepped back. Red dots appeared on the table’s screen. “Despite the new suits we’ll be wearing, we have to avoid any and all direct contact with the mines. In theory, we can bump them and nothing happens. But that is only if the mines don’t recognize us as enemies. They need to see us as marine life. But they learn. Physical contact is one way they learn. We quickly stop being part of the abundant marine life and start becoming intruders if those mines combine data and put a clear picture together of what we’re trying to accomplish.”

“Tactics not tech,” Lucy said. “Rely on our skills, not our suits.”

“Exactly,” Delana said. “Use your eyes and ears. Stay alert and lead your squads around the mines. Find the widest points and exploit them. Be synchronized in your movements. Look like a school of big fish, not a bunch of operators coming to take the island. Random chaos will get the sensors’ attention and the mines will become alert. We need to avoid that.”

“Kinsey,” Moshi’s voice called over the com. “Kinsey!”

“Moshi? What’s up?” Kinsey replied.

“Something more important than this, Ms. Thorne?” Aubrey asked. “If so, please share.”

“Moshi, I’m in the middle of something here,” Kinsey said. “Let me call you back.”

“No!” Moshi yelled.

Kinsey jolted at the volume and tone in Moshi’s voice. Eyes fell on Kinsey at her sudden movement.

“Okay… What’s going on?” Kinsey asked.

“Shark,” Moshi said.

“I’m sorry…what?” Kinsey asked.

“Ms. Thorne? Either cut the convo or take it outside,” Aubrey said. “I think you know my preference.”

“I’ll be right back,” Kinsey said.

“Seriously?” Delana responded.

“It must be important,” Lucy said. “She’s talking to Moshi and Moshi doesn’t call unless it’s important.”

“Give me a second!” Kinsey snapped at everyone and hurried off the bridge and out onto the walkway directly outside. The evening sun was hot, but there was a nice breeze. “Okay, Moshi, I can pay attention. What the fuck is happening?”

“A shark,” Moshi said. “A big shark.”

“Yeah, you said shark before,” Kinsey said. “Define big. Big like a Great White? Or big like our old friends we put down?”

“We didn’t put down,” Moshi said. “One survived. The big one survived.”

Kinsey stood there and stared out into the open waters that surrounded the ship.

“Kinsey? You hear me?” Moshi called.

“I heard you,” Kinsey said. “I just don’t believe you. That shark died. We made sure it died. We watched it die. We blew it the fuck up, Moshi. Then the whole island got nuked and everything around that island for miles died. If this is one of the mega sharks, then it has to be a new one, right? Right, Moshi? A new one?”

“No,” Moshi stated. “Same shark. I logged bio-signature into Toyshop database. For study later and…just in case.”

“Fuck me,” Kinsey whispered.

“I check the data,” Moshi continued. “Carlos check the data. We double check the data. Same shark. And it is coming our way.”

“Double fuck me,” Kinsey said. She leaned heavily on the railing in front of her, her hands gripping and relaxing, gripping and relaxing, as she continued to stare out at the water. “How soon?”

“Before we reach island,” Moshi said. “It sees us.”

“There is no way to know that,” Kinsey said, but even she didn’t believe her own words.

“It sees us and it is following us,” Moshi said. “The Fallback is not big enough to survive.”

“And we don’t have Grendel on board to stop this thing,” Kinsey said. “What does the Toyshop have? How about those torpedoes you used against Wire’s boat that came for you?”

“One left,” Moshi said. “Plasma cannon might work. But only if perfect shot. Must be perfect. Shark is big, but fast. It will move.”

“Yeah, I fucking know,” Kinsey said. Her hands began to shake and she gripped the railing harder. “Fuck! Now I gotta go back on the bridge and let everyone know that our close to impossible rescue and take down plan is now pretty much gonna get scrapped because somehow a giant fucking mega shark survived explosives and a goddamn fucking nuclear warhead!”

“Sorry,” Moshi said. “That doesn’t sound fun.”

“Ya fucking think?” Kinsey snapped then sighed. “That wasn’t meant at you, Moshi. I’m just scared.”

“Me too,” Moshi said. “I will have Carlos get weapons together. We kill sharks before, we kill shark now. Just won’t be easy.”

“No, it won’t,” Kinsey said. “Do me a favor and send the data to the bridge, will ya? I want everyone to see it for themselves. Lucy will know what’s going on, but the Fallback crew won’t. Any chance you can come up here and help explain it?”

“Oh…”

“Moshi, I need you,” Kinsey insisted. “I’d have you send Carlos, but with his lack of interpersonal skills, he’ll have his throat slit in ten minutes by either Aubrey or Delana. Maybe me too considering the day I’m having.”

“I having bad day too,” Moshi said.

“I know. But, please? Send the data and I’ll get everyone warmed up before you arrive.”

There was a long pause then, “Okay. I will be there soon.”

The com cut off and Kinsey took several deep breaths before turning back to the bridge. She stood straight, squared her shoulders, and marched inside.

“Hope the time was worth it, Ms. Thorne?” Aubrey growled. “We have been busy planning while you were out gossiping.”

“Suck my dick, Captain,” Kinsey said.

“Oh, shit,” Lucy muttered. “I don’t even want to know.”

“Ms. Thorne, I understand that you are used to being able to get away with a cavalier attitude, but this is not the Beowulf III,” Aubrey said. “On the Fallback, we have a chain of command and we stick to it. I am the top of that chain. You are only on the chain because I allow it. Now, from this moment on, if you ever take that tone with me again, I will have you slapped in irons and thrown below decks. I’ll go old school maritime punishment on your ass, if I have to. No more warnings.”

“Oh, goody, no more warnings,” Kinsey said. “That’s good because maybe you’ll shut up and listen to what I have to say.”

Kinsey pointed at the scanner station where a tech suddenly sat up straight. He turned and looked at everyone at the command table, his face pale.

“Maybe ask him what he’s seeing before you get all high and mighty on me, Captain,” Kinsey said. “Dude? Go ahead.”

“I…I, uh, I’m not sure exactly,” the tech said.

“Then you are wasting my time too,” Aubrey said. “We have a very narrow window of success. That window is closing with every comment that doesn’t contribute to the plan.”

“Yes, Captain, but I believe you need to hear what she has to say,” the tech said. “If what I’m reading is true, we have a situation brewing.”

“A situation brewing is one way to put it,” Kinsey said. “Another way to put it is that we’re about to get ass raped by a shark that’s nearly as big as this ship. Is the use of ass rape crude? Yeah, it’s fucking crude. But it is the most accurate description of what will go down if we do not prepare for the fucker that is headed straight for us. That shark will tear us stem to stern. Literally.”

“No,” Lucy said, shaking her head.

“Yes,” Kinsey said. “I’m sorry, Luce, but we didn’t stop it. It took the fucker a while, but it found us.”

Aubrey began to say something, but Delana held up a hand.

“Are you saying that one of Ballantine’s megas is still active?” Delana asked. “I thought you had killed them all.”

“Not just one of the megas,” Kinsey said. “The mega of the megas. This is the bitch that wouldn’t go away. It destroyed everything. Everything. We thought we nuked it, but it must have slipped away somehow.”

“I’m sorry… You nuked it and it’s still active?” Delana said. “Fucking Ballantine.”

“I second that,” Kinsey said. “But blame Ballantine all you want, that isn’t going to get us out of this mess. We need to shift our thinking, people. The strike on the island will have to wait.”

“The strike will not wait,” Aubrey snapped. “Ms. Thorne, I thank you for your input and your concern for this ship, but we have planned for something like this.”

“Captain, I don’t think this is what we planned for,” Delana warned. “We should listen to the ones that have engaged this monster before.”

“If it is the same monster,” Aubrey said. “Survive a nuke? No. I don’t buy it.”

“You don’t have to buy it!” Kinsey yelled. “You don’t have to do anything except pull the bullshit out of your ears and fucking do what I say!”

There was a frightened squeak from the bridge’s main hatch. All eyes turned to see Moshi. The woman shrank back, but Lucy hurried over and basically dragged her all the way onto the bridge.

“Moshi is here to explain it all,” Kinsey said. “If you don’t listen to her, then we’re out. We get in the Toyshop and leave you fucknuts to die. Maybe this ship will occupy the shark long enough for us to get away. Maybe not. But we’re heading for land fast and we’ll fucking deal with those zombie guard things. That’s way better than this fucking shark.”

“Zombie guard things?” Moshi asked. “Oh, yes, better than shark. Yes.”

“Ya hear that? If Moshi would rather step foot on land where dead people are electronically controlled to kill and keep killing, then maybe pay attention for five fucking seconds, okay?” Kinsey snarled. “Can you do that, Captain So Fucking Sure Of Herself?”

“I’ll tell you what I can do, Kinsey Thorne,” Aubrey said. “I can have you thrown in the brig so this insubordinate and chaotic behavior doesn’t spread. Guards!”

“Oh, dear,” Moshi said and managed to slip back off the bridge before the guards could get near her. Disappearing in plain sight was a very Moshi thing to do.

Lucy and Kinsey weren’t so skilled or lucky. The guards came down on them hard. All the two women could do was appear as passive as possible to avoid getting shot. There were suddenly a lot of guns pointed at them and just as many angry, distrustful faces.

Chapter Fourteen: Well, Ain’t That A Pisser

Darby waited for the sun to go down. The pause in action was only about thirty minutes, but those thirty minutes were crucial. That was plenty of time for someone that may have been hidden aboard the Resurrection to come out from their hiding spot and alert Wire and her people on the island proper that things were not as they left them on the ship.

So, Darby occupied her time and used those thirty minutes to make sure no one came out of hiding. She scoured the ship, leaving a trail of blood as she walked the passageways, and hiked up and down stairs. Her instincts told her she had cleared the ship of any threats, but she knew better than to rely simply on instinct.

Yet, when she was about to torch the ship, because that was the only way to make sure, she hesitated. It was that damn instinct again, gnawing at the back of her mind, squirming in her guts, telling her that they may need the Resurrection. They were going to have to get off the island somehow and Darby didn’t exactly see a ton of options sitting in the harbor. The empty harbor.

In the dim light of dusk, Darby walked down the gangplank to the dock, her body loaded down with weapons. She’d returned for the .338 rifle and added an M4. Her belt had two holsters, one holding a .45 and one holding a Desert Eagle. Darby had a sneaking suspicion the Desert Eagle belonged to Lake. She recognized the scratches on the grip from where he always slid it in and out of its shelf on the bridge of the B3.

Darby frowned at the thought of the lost ship. The Beowulfs hadn’t exactly been fun living for her, but each one had been like home. Especially the B3. To her, the B3 represented Max. And Max was everything at that moment because fuck Ballantine and Wire and the mess that family had created. Darby was on a rescue mission and her main goal was rescuing the Thorne extended family. To her, that was everyone except Ballantine.

Yet, Darby knew that if any of them were going to survive the ordeal with Wire, Ballantine would be needed. He had a plan. He always had a plan. And Darby needed to find him so he could complete that plan. Because she knew that’s exactly what he expected her to do. Her brain may have had a few misfires going on, but Ballantine expected that and had calculated for it.

Darby had zero doubt that when she showed up to set him free, it would be at the exact right time. It always was.

She left the dock and walked across a short breadth of sand before she reached the one and only road that led into the center of the island. A road that was lined by an extensive network of fencing. Darby’s eyes studied the fencing as she walked the rutted road deeper into the island.

Darby couldn’t see what was being held back, but she could hear movement. Whatever was in there was sticking to the shadows of the tropical trees and bushes that filled the landscape around her. Darby could feel eyes on her and knew she was being followed.

There were no surveillance cameras in sight, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t being watched. Darby was confident that she was. No point in creating a gauntlet to run if that gauntlet wasn’t monitored.

Her suspicions were confirmed when she heard the engine then saw the headlights approaching. Fast.

Darby took a knee and put the butt of the .338 to her shoulder. The headlights were still a good distance away, but were getting close enough that a solid shooter with an M4 could hit her. If they knew how to shoot in the almost dark while riding in a moving vehicle. Darby knew how to do that, but was glad she had the luxury of stable ground and all the time in the world.

A slow exhale and she squeezed the trigger once then again. Both of the vehicle’s headlights disappeared in an instant. There was the revving of an engine and the squealing of brakes, followed by the shouting of men and women. The light was pretty much gone and the road was nothing but deep blues and black shadows. There was no way to see her targets.

But they made so much damn noise that Darby felt sorry for the fools as she squeezed the trigger again and again and again. The noise of the guards didn’t stop, but it switched from a coordinated hunt to the crying and weeping of wounded. A flash of red hot anger flared in Darby. She was pissed off and disappointed she’d left so many wounded. She really only needed one guard alive.

Darby stood, ejected the magazine from the .338, replaced it with a fresh one, slung the rifle over her back, and withdrew the .45 pistol before she continued on down the road to see what she had to deal with.

Two men and a woman still lived and lay on the dirt road, all three bleeding from severe wounds. The rest of the guards were nothing but corpses cooling in the tropical air as much as corpses could cool in tropical air. Darby focused on the men first.

When she reached the first guard, she knelt down and placed the muzzle of the pistol to the man’s temple.

“Answer my questions and I put you out of your misery,” Darby said.

“Fuck you, cunt,” the guard spat.

Darby squeezed the trigger and a bright spray of blood, brains, and bone exploded onto the road. Darby stood, walked to the second man, knelt, and repeated the motions. The man winced as the hot muzzle of the pistol was pressed into the flesh of his temple.

“I have questions,” Darby said.

“You can go fuck—”

Darby didn’t wait for the man to finish.

The woman stared up with watery eyes filled with nothing but pain and remorse as Darby approached her.

“Why should I help you?” the woman gasped. “You killed them fast for not helping. Seems like the way to go, to me.”

Darby shot her in the left kneecap, obliterating the bone, cartilage, and flesh under the woman’s pants. The woman screamed at the top of her lungs. Darby sighed and planted a boot in the woman’s face to shut her up.

Moaning and dazed, the wounded woman struggled to reach for her destroyed knee, but even that amount of movement caused her to gasp and cry.

“Bitch,” the woman snarled. “Wire will rip you to shreds.”

“No,” Darby stated flatly. “She won’t.”

Darby crouched and placed the muzzle against the woman’s other knee.

“Where did they take Ballantine?” Darby asked. Her voice was calm, even, relaxed. It wasn’t void of emotion completely, but she didn’t sound any more worked up than if she was picking out a flavor of muffin to eat in the morning. “Answer that and you keep one knee.”

“Ballantine who?” the woman responded then spat a thick glob of bloody mucous onto Darby’s cheek. “Bitch.”

Darby wiped the glob off and looked at it for a moment then flicked it into the dirt. She wiped her hand on her pants and nodded at the woman.

“Do I bother with asking a last time?” Darby asked.

The woman started spitting epithets as loud as she could. Darby forced the woman to trade her epithets for screams of even more agony as the woman’s second kneecap went goodbye.

“I ain’t gonna tell you shit!” the woman roared. “Not one goddamn thing!”

Darby stood and took aim, but a noise caught her attention and she lifted the pistol and whipped around, taking aim at the fence line behind her.

People. People stood at the inner fence line watching Darby. They were a good six inches away from the fence itself and that’s when Darby noticed a lower noise. A hum. Electricity. She raised an eyebrow as she stepped close to the outer fence, her eyes studying the people. If she wasn’t Darby, it would have been impossible to make out any details. Twilight was gone and dusk had turned into night.

But she was Darby and had better than normal vision, so she moved even closer and looked the people up and down.

“Who are they?” Darby asked over her shoulder at the groaning woman in the dirt. “Prisoners?”

“I ain’t answering nothing, bitch!” the woman shouted.

Darby rolled her eyes and kept studying the people that stood there and stared. Dressed in rags, most of them looked extremely malnourished. All of them were moving their mouths, their jaws clicking up and down in a slow rhythmic motion.

Chewing. Darby realized they were chewing. Except they didn’t have anything in their mouths. If they did, it would have been falling down onto their chests then the ground. Only very quiet, very slight moans escaped past the people’s lips. Lips that were cracked and broken.

Or not there at all.

Darby took a couple steps back then moved to one of the guard corpses. She frowned then rushed to the truck, looking for something very specific. When she found it, she made sure the dying woman got a good look before Darby put the tool to use.

The machete was wicked sharp and hacked through one of the corpse’s arms with two whacks. Severed arm in hand, Darby hefted the limb, glanced at the woman, then threw the arm over the fence lines like a Hail Mary pass.

The people waiting there, their mouths moving even faster, dove onto the severed arm and began tearing at it. Blood went flying as strips of flesh were torn off and devoured. Then the fighting began as only scraps were left. The people grabbed at each other, their moans considerably louder than before.

Darby smiled.

She returned to the woman that was slowly bleeding out.

“Where is Ballantine?” Darby asked. “I’m being kind and giving you one more chance to answer before I let them out.”

“Let them out?” the woman barked. “You touch that fence and you’ll be nothing but ash in seconds, bitch.”

“I don’t plan on touching it,” Darby said and glanced at the truck. “No need to risk my life.” She patted the guard on her bloody cheek and leaned closer. “Ballantine. Where is he?”

“You open that fence and you doom us all,” the woman said, her pain and agony replaced by sheer terror.

“Ballantine?”

“Fuck off!”

Darby shrugged and walked over to the truck. She hopped in, started it up, cranked the wheel all the way to the left, and put it in drive before hopping out. The truck moved slowly, but that’s all it needed to do. Darby walked back to the woman and glared down at her.

“Ballantine?” Darby asked again.

“No.”

“Then I leave you alive,” Darby said and walked away, putting space between her and where there was about to be a very large hole in the fence.

“Wait!” the woman cried. “Don’t leave me here! Those dead sentries will eat me alive!”

“Yeah. I figured they might.”

“You fucking monster!”

“Ballantine?”

“Jesus fucking Christ…” The woman took a deep breath, whimpered a little, then let the breath out and stared at Darby.

“He’s secured in bunker thirteen.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure!”

“Bunker thirteen hard to get into?”

“It’s the most secure spot on this island.”

“Good call.”

The truck slowly began ripping the fence lines apart. Sparks exploded everywhere and the smell of ozone and burning rubber filled the air. The vehicle ran over a good half-dozen of the dead sentries before it reached a tree and came to a stop, its engine grinding, grinding, then stalling out.

The sentries not run over tried to navigate the mess of fence Darby had created. They weren’t chill anymore. They scrambled to get free and Darby realized that they were going to be fast once they got loose.

“Fucking kill me!” the woman yelled.

“They only attack the living?” Darby asked.

“Yes!”

“Why?”

“I answered your question before! Don’t let them get me!”

“One more question. Why only the living?”

“That’s how they are programmed! The devices in their brains run them and their entire objective is to kill and eat any living thing that breaches the fence line!”

“Devices? They’re tech controlled?”

“Yes!”

“Automated system or are they monitored?”

“Both! But mostly automated! Jesus fuck, lady! Kill me!”

The dead sentries were past the mess of fence and focused on Darby and the wounded woman.

“I don’t think so. You’re more useful to me alive.”

“What? You promised! You fucking promised!”

“I didn’t promise shit,” Darby said with a laugh. “You heard what you wanted to hear.”

Close to twenty of the dead sentries streamed out of the broken fence and headed straight for Darby and the wounded woman. The woman screamed over and over to be killed, but Darby ignored her. Her eyes were on the sentries, studying how they moved, how they interacted with their environment.

How they hunted.

“You’ll be as dead as the rest of us,” the woman said weakly.

“Not hardly,” Darby said.

“What makes you so fucking special?” the woman gasped as she started to cry.

“Because I know who I am now,” Darby said. “I’m Darby.”

With that, Darby melted back into the shadows, leaving the wounded woman as the only focus for the dead sentries. Once the things fell upon the screaming woman, Darby made her move and slipped inside the fence line, careful to avoid the newly arrived sentries that were being lured by the dinner bell.

***

“What happened?” Wire roared. “What do you mean there’s a major breach in the fence line? Both lines? A complete cut through?”

A tech shook as he sat before a video display, his fear stinking up the room. Before he could respond, Wire yanked him out of the way and took his seat. She studied the video display and the bloody scene that unfolded before her eyes.

“Shit,” she growled. “Fucking shit!”

Her fingers clacked at the keyboard and the image began to rewind at high speed. Wire slammed a thumb onto the space bar and the video paused.

“Darby,” Wire said. “Of course it is. Ballantine’s special pet always escapes. Always fucks up my plans. Always comes out on top.”

She hit the space bar again and the video moved forward at normal speed. Darby disappeared from view and no matter which camera Wire toggled to, she couldn’t get the woman back on the screen.

“The cameras are motion sensitive,” the ejected tech said quietly, well out of reach of Wire’s enhanced grip. “The sentries locked onto the screaming…target and the cameras followed their movement.”

“She moves too!” Wire shouted.

“She knows how to move,” Sterling said as he entered the security room. “Darby can confuse some of the best tech developed without a distraction. Our system didn’t stand a chance with all the activity she created.”

“All I’m hearing are excuses,” Wire snarled. “Bullshit excuses.”

“I have the prisoners, with the exception of Ballantine, of course, all lined up outside,” Sterling said. “Maybe you’d like to shift your focus to finding the item? Set a couple examples and see what we can shake loose?”

“What I want is Darby’s head on my desk within the hour,” Wire said. She turned to face Sterling and her eyes bore into him. “Can you make that happen?”

“Within the hour? Probably not,” Sterling said. “But I can have her head to you by dawn. That should be plenty of time to track her down before her skull is cracked open by our sentries. Will that work?”

“You don’t believe she can survive? Even being so very Darby?” Wire sneered.

“Wire, we both know that none of us can survive inside the fences. None of us. She’ll probably get pretty far. A lot farther than anyone else has, but in the end, our sentries will get to her.”

“That means they can get to you, Sterling,” Nigel said as he joined them. “Is there a reason our prisoners are standing in the dark directly outside the main entrance?”

“Because I want them to stand out in the dark directly in front of our main entrance,” Wire snapped. “Do you have a problem with that?”

Nigel and Sterling shared a look.

“What?” Wire shouted.

“I’ll let you field that question,” Sterling said. “I have a team to prep and drones to get up in the air. I’m not hunting Darby blind. And I’m not going inside the fences without knowing exactly where she is. I’ll report in every fifteen minutes.”

“Thanks,” Nigel said sarcastically as Sterling left. He sighed and gave Wire a weak smile. “Have you considered getting some sleep? You have been awake for over twenty-four hours straight. You know how you get when sleep deprived.”

“Oh, yes, I think I’ll take a nap while Darby roams the island free and the item still has not been located!” Wire roared.

She got to her feet and rushed Nigel, her left hand gripping him by the throat as she backed him against the wall. His eyes widened in surprise, but he showed no fear.

“Ma’am?” Nigel gasped. “I should oversee the repair of the fences. Now.”

Wire growled then let go. “Fine. Do that. I’ll go and motivate our guests.”

“A good idea,” Nigel said.

“Get out of my sight,” Wire said.

Nigel gave a quick bow of his head and left the security room fast. The terrified tech scooted his ass into the farthest corner from Wire as he could get. She glared at him then left also.

Wire stomped down the hallway to the command center and burst through the door barking orders. People scrambled around to appease her, but she was gone before anyone could even confirm that the orders were being fulfilled. Wire made her way from the command center and down to a heavily guarded door.

“Open it,” Wire said.

The guards opened the door and moved aside to let her pass. Down a set of stairs and into a dimly lit hallway, Wire growled and muttered to herself the entire time. She walked half a kilometer before she reached a second set of stairs. Up she went and pounded on the thick door that blocked her way.

A bright blue light scanned her then a voice stated, “Password authentication required.”

“Mommy and Daddy should have known better,” Wire said in a crisp, clear tone.

The door clicked open and four guards greeted her before moving out of the way. Down another hallway Wire went before she came to the one and only door. No guards were posted there. All that was before Wire was a black screen in the center of the door.

Wire pressed her right palm against the screen and a green light scanned it. Then she pressed her left palm against the screen and the light was repeated. Finally, she leaned close and opened her eyes wide. A blue light streamed into her eyes then there was a loud klaxon and the door began to slowly open.

“There she is,” Ballantine said from a chair that could only be described as overkill.

His entire body was wrapped in metal straps while his hands were encased in thick gloves which were welded to the chair arms. His feet were encased and welded to the chair’s legs. The only parts of him that could move were his eyes and his mouth. And there was a metal strap hanging loose by his jaw that looked like it could end the mouth’s freedom quickly.

“Time to get to the truth, Ballantine,” Wire said. “We’re taking a trip outside.”

“You sure? I hear there’s a breach in your security,” Ballantine said. “Might get a little…nippy out there.”

He chuckled.

“Get it? Nippy. Like your dead sentries might try for a little biting action.”

“I got it,” Wire said. “How in the hell did you know there was a breach?”

“I can count,” Ballantine said. Wire frowned. “The seconds. I know my Darby. Now is about the time she gets tired of being kept in a cage and decides to come look for me.”

“Maybe she’s looking for her lover,” Wire said. “Maybe Max is her goal.”

“Oh, Max is most certainly her goal,” Ballantine said. “But she’ll need me to free him. I’ll be her first stop.”

“Then perhaps we take care of her second stop,” Wire said.

She moved around Ballantine and pulled a tablet from the back of the chair. With the press of her thumb on the tablet’s screen, the chair hummed to life and began to roll forward.

“How about you visit your friends?” Wire said. “And say goodbye.”

“Well, not liking the sound of that,” Ballantine said as the chair moved towards the door.

***

“It’s getting closer,” Nick said as he shook his head, his eyes barely believing the rapidly moving blip on the screen that was encroaching on them fast. “Goddamn this thing can move.”

“So can we,” Aubrey replied. “Are the men and women ready?”

“They are,” Nick said. “But we should reconsider this plan, Captain. The shark adds a wrinkle into our strategy. Personally, I think we need to focus on taking it out before we focus on an assault on the island.”

“We have someone focusing on taking it out,” Aubrey said. “He assured me he could do the job.”

“Who? Carlos?” Nick laughed. “He’d say anything to save his skin.”

“We have people in the Toyshop watching him,” Aubrey said. “They’ll make sure he stays on task and hunts that shark down. With that plasma cannon and the extra torpedoes we gave him, he’ll be more than capable of turning that monster into chum.”

“It’s survived worse,” Nick said. “I think we’re underestimating the beast.”

“No, we’re not,” Aubrey said. “It’s a beast. An animal. We’re going to have Carlos put it down like one. While he does that, we take the island, and free Ballantine so we can get our lives back, Nick. You want your life back, right?”

“Yeah, I want my life back,” Nick said. “But I have to be alive to do that. I’m not liking our odds.”

“We’ve arrived,” Gene said from his seat. “If we stop here, we can stay off the island’s scanners and still be close enough to swim to the mine filled harbor.”

“Great,” Nick said. “I’ll head to the hold and alert everyone.”

“Do that,” Aubrey said. “And Nick?”

“Yes?”

“No more doubts, alright? This plan has been in place for a long time and I expect all of us to see it through to completion. Understood?”

“Understood,” Nick said. He held up a hand as Aubrey began to speak. “I’ll make sure Delana understands as well. We’re all on board with this, Captain.”

“Good,” Aubrey said.

Nick gave her a quick nod and left the bridge.

He made his way down a set of stairs then a long passageway, on his way to the hold.

“You will die,” a quiet voice said from the open hatch to an unoccupied cabin. “We all die.”

Nick paused and regarded the hatch.

“How about you come out of there, Moshi?” Nick called.

No response.

“I’m not going to grab you or turn you in to Aubrey,” Nick said. “I think she may have gotten a little heavy handed with your group.”

There was a shuffle of feet, but Moshi did not appear.

“Moshi, I promise I will listen,” Nick said. “Something doesn’t sit right with this whole mega shark issue. I think you can help me work it out in my brain.”

“Nothing to work out,” Moshi said as she slowly revealed herself. “Shark will destroy this ship.”

“Maybe, but we have some serious firepower,” Nick said. “Not to mention Carlos is going to use the Toyshop to stop it. He says he can blow a hole in the thing with that plasma cannon.”

“Carlos is an idiot,” Moshi said. “He’ll crash the Toyshop at the bottom of ocean. Because idiot.”

“Yeah, I don’t have much confidence in him, either,” Nick said. “What’s your suggestion?”

“Abandon ship,” Moshi said. “Now.”

“That’s a bit extreme,” Nick said. “With all the operators we have down—”

Moshi had edged closer and Nick never saw the small metal rod she gripped in her hand until it was too late. The rod telescoped out two feet, the thin end stabbing him in the neck with enough voltage to light a small village. Nick dropped hard and Moshi quickly searched him, coming away with a set of keys.

“Sorry,” she said. “But I have to save friends.” She sighed. “And Carlos.”

Chapter Fifteen: Chaos Is Not A Theory

Team Grendel and what was left of the crew of the B3 stood in a line, all facing Wire and her guest. The area they stood in was the size of a large parking lot, covered in gravel, and humid as Hell. No one made eye contact with Wire as she grinned smugly at each person until she’d satisfied some mental checklist that only she knew about.

“Ballantine? Care to pick the first one?” Wire asked as she walked away from her guest, a Desert Eagle in her hand. “Perhaps the former captain of your doomed ship? I hear he is not a Ballantine fan. Perhaps this is an itch I can scratch for you.”

“Despite our differences, I rather like Captain Lake,” Ballantine said. “Move along.”

“Move along? I love how you believe you have free will in this choice,” Wire said. “It is so very cute and so very Ballantine. In control until the very end.”

Wire moved down the line until she stood in front of a shivering man. The man could barely look Wire in the eye.

“Are you sick?” Wire asked him.

“No, ma’am,” the man replied.

“Who is this, Ballantine?” Wire asked.

“One of the deckhands,” Ballantine said. “His name is Arthur. Right? That is your name?”

“Yes, Mr. Ballantine,” Arthur replied.

Wire put the Desert Eagle to Arthur’s forehead.

“Are you a loyal deckhand, Arthur?” Wire asked. “Would you die for Ballantine so he can achieve his goals? Goals, I might add, that only he knows since he is not exactly the sharing type.”

“Leave him alone,” Darren mumbled as he stood on shaky legs between Shane and Thorne. He looked like he’d fall over at any second and either pass out or die. “Whatever point you are trying to make to Ballantine, he’s not getting.”

“I like to think I get everything,” Ballantine said. “But we can never truly be good judges of our own character, can we?”

“I’m not making a point,” Wire said and pulled the trigger. The back of Arthur’s head turned to mist after the heavy caliber bullet tore through his skull. Everyone jumped, but no one yelled or tried to run. “I’m giving Ballantine a demonstration of what will happen to all of you unless he tells me where the item is.”

“You do realize I already told you, right? You had it,” Ballantine said, seeming nonplussed by the murder of the deckhand. “The fact you refuse to face that is not my fault. It is not any of these people’s faults either. I do think you should take a few steps back from this and gain a little perspective, Wire.”

“That so?” Wire asked. She moved to the left and aimed at another deckhand. “This man’s name?”

“Roger? No, no, Rodney,” Ballantine said.

“Richard,” the deckhand said before the back of his head was turned to mist as well.

“You fucking crazy bitch,” Max said quietly. “You like to kill. That’s all this is.”

“I believe you have hit the nail on the less than stable head there, Max,” Ballantine said.

“Wire’s crazy,” Wire said as she moved down the line to Max. “Wire is unstable. Wire is a homicidal maniac. Wire loves to kill, kill, kill.”

“You forgot Wire has serious daddy issues,” Max said. “Like fucking serious, lady. I don’t think they’ve created help that can fix that rotten walnut rattling around in your skull.”

“Oh, Mr. Reynolds, what a shame,” Wire said. “I liked you. What you lack in intelligence you more than make up for in bravado. The world will be a lesser place with you no longer in it. Goodbye.”

Wire spun about, the Desert Eagle flying from her grip and skidding across the gravel. Then the shot was heard and the dozens of guards that had been standing back and watching sprang into action.

Wire grabbed her right shoulder and tried to crane her neck so she could see the damage. No blood because she didn’t have blood in that part of her. A pungent cloud of smoke that smelled of burning plastic and hot metal seeped out from beneath her hand.

“Find her!” Wire shouted then pointed at the line of captives. “And put them in the hole! Throw them in without a ladder! Whoever survives should feel lucky!”

Guards rushed at Team Grendel and the remainder of the B3’s crew. Five of the guards dropped in quick succession, their heads torn to nothing, just before five shots were heard.

“Is that Lucy?” Shane asked as he threw a punch at a guard and knocked the woman to her knees.

He disarmed her, flipping her M4 around so he could put the muzzle between the woman’s eyes. She started to protest, but Shane never gave her the chance. Before her body hit the ground, Shane was already shifting targets and firing.

“Lucy’s good, but not night shooting from what, four or five hundred meters, good,” Max said, having disarmed his own guard. “Duck.”

Shane ducked and Max swung his M4 towards an oncoming group of guards that were only then realizing they should probably open fire. Too late. Max ripped them apart, ejected the magazine, and caught a fresh one that came flying at him. He slapped it home, racked the slide, and opened fire on a second group of guards.

“Thanks, Uncle Vinny,” Shane said as he stood up and caught a magazine that was being thrown his way.

Shane caught another and tucked that into his pants pocket as Thorne came jogging up to him, with Darren and Lake close behind. The last of the deckhands either scattered and ran or fell as they were hit with bullets.

“Tree line,” Thorne said and started moving towards the edge of the wide-open space. “We have to hide.”

“You have to die,” Wire said as she shoved two of her guards out of the way and took aim at Thorne with her newly retrieved Desert Eagle.

Darren tackled Thorne around the waist as the woman fired. The bullet flew harmlessly over the two men. Almost harmlessly. A guard several meters away cried out and fell as most of his spine was obliterated.

Max put two slugs in Wire’s chest, knocking her off her feet and onto the ground. The Desert Eagle went for a second skid ride across the gravel, coming to rest at Lake’s feet.

“Nice,” Lake said as he picked up the pistol.

“The trees,” Thorne gasped as he got to his feet and put his hands on his knees to catch his breath. He extended a hand and helped Darren up. “Thanks.”

“Dude, you’re bleeding,” Shane said as he put three guards down then nodded at Darren’s neck. “You caught a little of that bullet.”

Darren pressed a hand to the wound then checked it. It was coated in blood, but not so much that he looked worried.

“We patch it when we stop,” Darren said. “Right now, we do as Vincent said and get to the trees.”

Five guards fell as they charged the group, their heads popping one after the other just before the gunshots rang out.

“That’s got to be my Darbs,” Max said as he helped a limping deckhand across the gravel.

“Then let’s find her,” Thorne said as he began jogging again, headed straight for the fence line at the edge of the graveled area.

Everyone fell in line behind him, all still firing at anything that moved. With Thorne in the lead, Darren, Lake, Max, Shane, and a couple of deckhands followed closely and headed for the trees. Gravel exploded about two feet in front of Thorne and he skidded to a stop.

“Wrong way,” Thorne said and turned around to face the others.

“How do you know?” Shane asked. “You said to head to the trees.”

Before Thorne could answer, Shane and Max both dropped to their knees and emptied their M4s into a Humvee full of guards that came screaming around the main building, heading straight for them. The guard on top of the Humvee manning the .50 caliber took most of the rounds as both the Reynolds made sure that machine gun couldn’t be put to use.

The Humvee came to a lurching stop as the driver lost his chest and slumped over the wheel. One of the guards that hadn’t been torn apart tried to escape out of a rear door, but Thorne put two in his back and he fell to the ground, a moaning, bloody mess.

“That,” Thorne said and hurried to the vehicle.

“I’m driving!” Shane and Max yelled at the same time.

“I’m driving,” Lake said as he pushed past them and yanked the dead driver from the seat. “You two shoot.”

The Reynolds did just that as they provided cover fire so everyone could pile inside the Humvee. That left zero seats for the Reynolds, but neither complained. Max scrambled up into the .50 cal turret while Shane hopped onto the driver’s side running board and slapped the door frame right by Lake’s head.

“Hit the road, oh captain, my captain!” Shane yelled.

Lake hit the gas, spun the Humvee around, and headed straight for the one and only road. They were gone in a cloud of dust, putting the few guards still living that gave chase in their rearview mirror. Those guards gave up firing and slowed until they stood there helpless in the gravel, the Humvee lost in the night.

Then they slowly turned and regarded the one person that had been left behind.

“I have to assume from the lack of gunfire that this fun little battle is over,” Ballantine said from his chair, unable to turn his head to see the approaching guards. “Did we win? I certainly hope so or those footsteps getting closer are going to be a problem. Hello? Friends or foe, an answer would be appreciated.”

The sound of bullets hitting flesh, then bodies hitting gravel, the gun shots ringing out, was all the response Ballantine got. He waited patiently for several minutes in eerie silence before the silence was broken by the sound of a single set of boots crossing the graveled area to him.

“Guess who.”

“Oh, I hate guessing games,” Ballantine said. “But I’m willing to wager that perhaps a Darby has arrived on the scene.”

“Where’s Wire?” Darby asked as she circled around and faced Ballantine. “I lost sight of her.”

“I never really had sight of her,” Ballantine said, indicating his current predicament. “Not exactly full range of motion for the old peepers here.”

“Why do you talk like that?” Darby muttered in a tone that made it clear the question was rhetorical.

She moved to free Ballantine, but he said, “Oh, let’s not. I’m rigged to blow, Darby. Probably a biometric lock on here that is programmed to only allow Wire to set me free. You’re gonna have to wheel me around until we figure out how to get me out of this contraption.”

“Do I look like your nurse, Ballantine?” Darby asked. “If you say yes, I’ll leave you here.”

“Considering the immense amount of blood and gore you are covered in, from head to toe, I’d be crazy to call you a nurse,” Ballantine said. “A butcher, yes. Nurse, no.”

“I had some fighting to do to get here,” Darby said. She glanced at the single road. “They left before I could warn them.”

“Warn them about what exactly?”

“The dead people. They’re out.”

“Oh? And how did they get out?”

“I drove a truck through the fence.”

“Yes, that will do it. Trucks tend to win in fights against fences.”

“They do,” Darby said.

Someone stirred and Darby put a bullet in the back of the man’s head from twenty meters away.

“What now?” Darby asked.

“You don’t have a plan?” Ballantine replied, smirking.

“Fuck off and answer my question,” Darby snapped.

“We get me to the command center so I can take control of this hellish island,” Ballantine said. “Then we contact the Fallback and get this show on the road.”

“The Fallback?” Darby asked.

“I’ll explain on the way,” Ballantine said. “Third door from the right is the hallway that should lead directly to the command center. We are sure to encounter a lot of resistance. Are you up for more fighting?”

“I’m breathing, so yeah,” Darby said and grabbed the chair. She started pushing and sighed. “You will owe me for this, Ballantine.”

“Oh, Darby, I owe you for so much more than this,” Ballantine said. “And I do plan on repaying you in full. You deserve it.”

***

Kinsey stared in bewilderment as Moshi unlocked the door and opened the brig.

“Big shark,” Moshi said. “Idiots won’t listen.”

“Tell me about it,” Kinsey said. “Where are the others?”

“We get them and leave,” Moshi said.

“Guns?” Lucy asked as the three women hurried away from the brig hatch and towards the closest set of stairs. “We’re going to need guns.”

“Pointless,” Moshi said. “Too many of them to fight. And not enemies.”

Kinsey grabbed Moshi by the shoulder. “They locked us up.”

“They work for Ballantine,” Moshi said as if that was all the explanation needed.

“She has a point,” Lucy said. “The Cult of Ballantine doesn’t leave wiggle room for going off script.”

“We go off script all the time,” Kinsey said. “Which is why we’re alive.”

“And why they die,” Moshi said. “By shark, not by us.”

“Fine,” Kinsey grumbled. “But we need to get all of our people. Where’s the infirmary? Gunnar should be in there.”

“Yes,” Moshi said and nodded. “This way.”

They wound their way through the ship, only once having to take someone out. Kinsey had no idea if the person was an operator or simply part of the ship’s crew, but she didn’t ask. A hard punch to the back of the head and the man dropped. Kinsey dragged him into an unlocked cabin and left him to the brutal headache he’d wake up with.

“They must be getting ready,” Kinsey said. “This place is like a ghost ship.”

“Getting ready for wrong thing,” Moshi said as they rounded a corner and came face to face with Ronald. Or face to chest since Ronald towered over all of them, even Lucy. “Oh. Hello.”

“Hello,” Ronald said and smiled. “Moshi. Kinsey. Lucy. I would expect two of you to be on the bridge and for Moshi to be in the Toyshop with Carlos. But, my expectations are rarely in line with reality. What, may I ask, is happening now?”

“We got our asses locked up,” Kinsey said. “The captain refuses to listen to us about the mega shark headed our way.”

Ronald’s eyes went very wide.

“Oh. Well. That could be a problem for all,” Ronald said after a second of thought. “I assume we are evacuating.”

“We need to get everyone to the Toyshop before that shark hits this ship,” Kinsey said.

“And by everyone, you mean who exactly?” Ronald asked.

“Our people,” Kinsey said. “B3 only. Fallback operators and crew are on their own.”

“That is unfortunate,” Ronald said. “Many will die.”

“Which is what I’ve been fucking telling that bitch sitting in the captain’s chair,” Kinsey said. “She threw me in the brig instead of listening.”

“That is unfortunate, as well,” Ronald said then turned on his heel and motioned for them to follow. “We are in here. I was on my way to the mess to fetch tea and perhaps some cookies, but I believe tea and cookie time is no longer an option.”

“Not for a while,” Kinsey said.

Ronald ducked his head as he stepped through a hatch and into the infirmary. The women followed and were greeted with smiles. Then frowns.

“Shit,” Gunnar said. “I know that face. How deep are we, Kins?”

“Up to our eyeballs,” Kinsey said. “We’re leaving. Now.”

“Oh,” a man said from his stool next to a long counter. “Leaving? The captain has allowed this? We’re in open waters. Where will you go?”

“Kinsey Thorne, meet Dr. Tom Thomas,” Gunnar said. He sighed, shook his head then looked at Tom. “This is going to be awkward.”

“How so?” Tom asked.

“Well, Tom, as much fun as I have had talking with you, we’re going to have to tie you up and gag you now so we can get away clean,” Gunnar replied. “Nothing personal, but I can see by the way Kinsey is glaring at you that this escape isn’t sanctioned by your captain, so that means you’re a liability.”

“You nailed it on the head, Gun,” Kinsey said. “We don’t want to kill you, Dr. Thomas.”

“I don’t want to be killed,” Tom replied. “So, I’ll take the binding and gagging option. Just don’t gag me too tight. I have a sensitive, well, gag reflex. I could vomit and aspirate. That would be an awful way to go.”

“Quite awful,” Boris said from where he was lying down on one of the med tables. “I’ve seen that happen. It is not pretty to watch.”

“Why would you watch that and not help?” Lucy asked then waved a hand. “Never mind. I don’t want to know.”

“Ignorance is sometimes best,” Boris said. “I certainly prefer to be in the dark regarding most goings on. Once you get into business with Ballantine, mental blinders become self-preservation.”

“Where did Dr. Morganton get off to?” Ronald asked.

“Lavatory,” Tom said.

A door in the far corner opened and Dr. Morganton stepped out. She froze in place as everyone turned their attention on her. Her shoulders slumped as she started walking again.

“What now?” she asked.

“Gotta go,” Lucy said. “Mega shark is coming for us.”

“A mega shark? I thought they were all dead,” Dr. Morganton replied.

“One isn’t,” Kinsey said. “The big one.”

“Wonderful,” Dr. Morganton exclaimed. “Of course, Ballantine develops a shark that can’t even be nuked.”

“How big are we talking?” Tom asked. “For reference sake.”

“As big as this ship, pretty much,” Lucy answered.

“Oh,” Tom said. “That is big.”

“Yes. Big shark,” Kinsey snapped. “Time to go.” She turned to Moshi. “Where’s the Toyshop right now?”

“Where we left it,” Moshi said.

“That’s up on deck,” Lucy said. “In plain view of everyone. How are we going to get inside without being shot?”

“Good fucking question,” Kinsey said.

“You all work for Ballantine, yes?” Tom asked.

“Yeah,” Kinsey replied. “Sort of.”

“Sort of works,” Tom said. “I work for Ballantine as well. Everyone on this ship works for Ballantine. We’re on the same side. I am sure we can work this out together.”

“Thrown in brig,” Kinsey said slowly. “Work that out.”

“This isn’t about sides,” Lucy said. “This is about a huge shark that’s about to destroy this ship.”

“Mega shark,” Moshi said. “Eat the ship. All of it.”

“Yes, but—”

“Enough!” Kinsey shouted. She took a deep breath. “Listen. You want to live? You can come with. But that’s it. We’re not here to force people to believe us. Shit, I’m not sure why we’re here. What I am fucking sure of is I want off this ship before the shark hits. The Toyshop isn’t exactly my idea of being safe, but it has armor and capabilities that this ship doesn’t have. That and the shark will be distracted attacking the Fallback, so we should have time to slip away and get to the island. Once I set foot on land then we can talk about sides and who works for who. Until then, we get the fuck out of here. Got it?”

“Got it,” Tom said.

“You coming with?” Gunnar asked.

“Might as well,” Tom said. “I have a job to do when this is all over, so it’s better I stay alive. Also, I like living.”

“Don’t we fucking all,” Kinsey said. “Now, how do we get into the Toyshop without alerting the entire ship?”

A klaxon began to blare and Kinsey rolled her eyes.

“That answers that,” Kinsey said. “We’ll use the chaos of the shark attacking to…” Then her eyes went wide. “Shit! Carlos is in the Toyshop! They’re going to drop him back into the water! We gotta go now!”

“Aren’t we missing someone?” Gunnar asked.

“What? Who?” Kinsey replied.

She did a quick head count and the number did seem off. But who could they be…?

“Goddammit,” Kinsey yelled. “Where is she?”

“Engineering,” Gunnar said. “With Cougher and Popeye.”

Chapter Sixteen: So, You Think You Can Live?

“All systems are a go,” Carlos said into the com. “Please put me in the water before the shark reaches us.”

“I have men coming to join you,” Aubrey said.

“No time,” Carlos barked.

“The shark is exactly five hundred meters dead south,” Gene replied over the com.

“See?” Carlos said.

“It is moving fast. Very fast,” Gene continued. “We have maybe two minutes!”

“Yes, I get how these sharks move,” Carlos replied. “They all move fast. That is why you need to get the Toyshop into the water now. Do I have to say please?”

There was a loud clang and Carlos felt the Toyshop shift.

“Good for you guys,” Carlos said. “You know how to work a crane.”

He shifted uncomfortably in the control station seat. It had been created for Moshi’s smaller frame, not his. He frowned as he tried to get his left butt cheek to shift to the right. Carlos watched the surface of the ocean get closer and closer on the video screen directly in front of him. He’d tried the goggles, but they made him motion sick. There was a loud thunk and the Toyshop was free falling.

“A little warning!” Carlos shouted then let out a little burp. “Amateurs.”

The Toyshop bobbed in the water for a few seconds then slowly began to sink. As soon as it was fully submerged, Carlos engaged the propulsion drives and turned the Toyshop around. He aimed it for the direction of the island, not the direction of the incoming mega shark.

“Carlos? Where are you going?” Aubrey called over the com. “Hey! What do you think you’re doing?”

“Calibrating propulsion and steering systems,” Carlos said as he banked the Toyshop and started to descend. “I need to know the limits of its maneuverability. You haven’t dealt with monsters like this before. I have.”

“You have one minute, Carlos,” Aubrey replied. “One minute. Then I need you and that Toyshop of yours between the Fallback and the shark. We gave you torpedoes and you assured me that your plasma cannon could punch a hole in that beast. Hundreds of people are relying on you. Not to mention your crew mates that are being held prisoner by Wire.”

“Right. Yeah, I know,” Carlos said. He continued to send the Toyshop deeper. “I…know.”

Carlos gulped as he leveled out the Toyshop then pushed the drives to full. The workshop turned vehicle sped away from the Fallback.

“But, you haven’t dealt with monsters like this before,” Carlos repeated. “I have. Sorry, Captain. I’m not dying for Ballantine. I’m not going to commit suicide for a bunch of people that should never have followed that man in the first place.”

“Carlos! What the fuck are you doing?” Aubrey shouted. “Get your fucking ass back here!”

“No,” Carlos said. “I’m going to the island and I’m going to see if I can strike a deal for my survival. That’s all I can do. Did you really think this Toyshop could kill a shark that size? Nothing can, obviously. The thing won’t die!”

“You know who will die? You, asshole, when I catch—”

Carlos killed the com and the only sound in the Toyshop was the far-off hum of the propulsion drives and his own labored breathing. He struggled not to tear up, but failed. Wet, hot tears fell down his cheeks as the enormity of his choice hit him. He’d left hundreds of people to die. He did that.

But, if he’d stayed he would have died too. He told himself that. There was no way a plasma cannon was going to take down that shark. A nuke failed. How could anyone expect him to succeed?

He snorted and wiped at his eyes.

“Their fault,” he said aloud. “It’s their fault, not mine. They are fools. Stupid fools.”

***

“Ingrid!” Kinsey yelled as the group burst into the engine room. “Cougher! Popeye!”

Mechanics, engineers, and techs all stopped what they were doing and stared.

“Keep staring, fucknuts!” Kinsey yelled. “Where’s Ingrid? Ingrid! Cougher! Popeye!”

“Jesus H, Kinsey,” Popeye said as he came out from behind a huge turbine. “What are you bitching about now? You should be locking and loading so we can take out the goddamn shark!”

“We’re not taking out shit, Popeye,” Kinsey said. “We’re getting off this ship. We need to get to the Toyshop before Carlos ditches us.”

“He already has,” Delana said, appearing behind the group with ten operators in tow, each with a lot of firepower in hand. “Your friend Carlos took off with the Toyshop as soon as we put him in the water. He ran like a coward.”

“No shit,” Kinsey said. “If you’d asked me first, I would have told you he’d do that. That’s one giant piece of chickenshit there. He’ll always save his own skin over saving others.”

“That is apparent now,” Delana said.

“So, what? You going to shoot us? Lock us up again?” Kinsey asked. She motioned for the others to get behind her. “You refuse to listen to reason, now you’ll simply murder us to get us to shut up, is that it?”

Delana shook her head then lowered her rifle. “No, Kinsey, I’m not here to murder you or to lock you back up. I’m here to ask for your help so we can save as many people as possible.”

Kinsey blinked. “Say what?”

“I have stayed alive all these years because I have known when to fight and when to flee,” Delana said. “You failed at killing this shark before, even though you all had the experience to do so. Why would we have a better chance?” she grumbled. “Especially when our captain is not listening to reason.”

“You can fucking say that again,” Kinsey said.

“Hey, someone want to tell me what’s going on?” Popeye asked. “We leaving? We staying? We fighting? What’s happening?”

“Kinsey?” Delana asked.

“We’re leaving,” Kinsey said. “Carlos took the Toyshop, so we don’t have mustaches or compression suits. That’s a problem.”

“Mustaches?” Delana asked.

“Specialized rebreathers,” Ingrid said as she finally showed herself. She was covered in grease. “I did see normal rebreathers in a supply room. Along with shark suits. They’re heavy, but maybe if we combine them with—”

She didn’t get to finish as the klaxons were turned up to full blaring volume. The ear-piercing sounds were accompanied by a collision that rocked the entire ship. The groaning of metal and the distinct sound of rivets popping free forced everyone to turn and stare at the far wall of the engine room.

A small trickle of water began to seep through one of the inner hull’s seams.

“Well shit,” Popeye said.

Then the trickle became a flood and the flood became a full deluge as the seam tore open and the ocean began to fill the engine room.

“Go!” Kinsey yelled as another impact shook the ship. “No time for rebreathers or new suits. We get off this ship now!”

“I can get us to the lifeboats,” Delana said as she turned and left, her operators following close behind.

Everyone looked at Kinsey.

“What? You think I have a better idea? Move your fucking asses!” Kinsey shouted.

Everyone, including the Fallback’s engineering crew, moved their fucking asses.

***

“I’m not stopping!” Lake warned everyone as he plowed into the first group of dead sentries that filled the road.

“Thanks for the warning, Marty!” Darren yelled. He was busy handing fresh magazines to everyone in the Humvee that needed them. “You know you have a man on the outside, right?”

“I’m up top now!” Shane yelled as his head appeared through the .50 cal’s turret, right next to his brother’s ass. “I saw what was about to happen!”

“I grabbed him,” Max said, ducking his head down quickly then returning to his job of firing the big machine gun.

The .50 cal drowned out all noise and sound, forcing many of the Humvee’s occupants to clamp their hands over their ears. Then it went silent.

“Out!” Max yelled. “Hand me a rifle!”

One of the deckhands gladly gave up his weapon.

“Thanks, dude,” Max said as he held a hand down. “Ditcher? A couple magazines, if you will.”

“Fuck and you, Max,” Darren said, but handed the Reynolds brother two fresh magazines. “We’re about out, folks. Eight magazines left!”

“Jesus,” Lake snarled as he swerved around six dead sentries that leapt at the Humvee from the side of the road, appearing out of nowhere. “Whatever Darby did to the fence, it’s gotten worse. There are open spots all over.”

“Structural integrity was compromised,” Thorne said as his M4 clicked empty and he held a hand back to Darren. A magazine was slapped into his palm which he in turn slapped into the carbine. “Any other weak spots in the fence became exponentially worse. The whole enclosure will go down soon.”

“That side is holding,” Darren said, nodding at the opposite side of the road and the intact lines of fencing. “At least we only have half the things to deal with.”

“Half is plenty fucked up!” Lake yelled as he swerved to the right then back to the left then to the right again.

One of the deckhands threw up all over the floor of the Humvee.

“Are you kidding me, Kevin?” Lake shouted. “You can keep it down on a fucking ship, but throw up because of some swerving?”

“It’s you’re driving, man,” Shane said, ducking his head inside the Humvee again. “You really need to stick to ships.”

He held out his hand.

“Already?” Darren said.

“I finish fast,” Shane replied. “I’m not proud of it, but at least I always hit the target.”

“If that’s a metaphor, it makes no fucking sense,” Darren snapped as he handed Shane another magazine. “Try to conserve your shots, alright?”

“I’m the shooter I am and there is nothing to be done about it,” Shane said, disappearing up top once more.

A mass of at least twenty dead sentries lurched into the road directly in front of the Humvee and Lake didn’t have time to avoid them. The vehicle plowed straight into the sentries. Lake pressed the gas pedal down to the floor and the Humvee powered through, but it was obvious after a few meters that the bodies had done some serious damage to the Humvee.

Smoke started to billow out from under the snub-nosed hood, followed by a loud grinding and shrieking of metal from the undercarriage.

“Grab what you can and get ready to bail,” Lake said. “This truck is done.”

“How many?” Thorne asked Darren.

“Five,” Darren said as he held up the magazines. “Plus whatever you have for pistols.”

“Pistols are empty,” Thorne said.

“Even my new Desert Eagle,” Lake said.

The grinding got louder and the Humvee shook and shuddered then came to a sudden, jolting halt. Black, acrid smoke filled the inside of the vehicle and everyone began coughing and waving their hands in order to breathe and see.

“Out!” Thorne ordered.

He shoved open his door and opened fire on the encroaching dead sentries. Max and Shane jumped down from the top and joined him. The three men cleared a path so the deckhands, Darren, and Lake could exit the Humvee without getting grabbed and torn apart.

That didn’t last long, though.

From out of the shadows came six dead sentries. They lunged and grabbed one of the deckhands, pulling him back into the shadows. The man’s screams for help were cut off with a wet gurgle.

“We run!” Thorne said.

Those were two words nobody wanted to hear. None of them were in the best physical shape after their encounter with Wire and her people.

The group moved as fast as they could. Most of them limped and hobbled along the dirt road, then fell as one of the many ruts sent them falling to the ground. Wire had designed the island well. There was no way to get down the road fast, whether using a vehicle or legs.

The dead sentries took advantage of the road’s intentional flaws and fell as well. But not to the ground. They fell on the closest person they could grab. A second then third deckhand was lost. They were at a distinct disadvantage since they were unarmed. It made sense to have the operators use the weapons, but that didn’t insulate the deckhands from the threat. It only minimized the amount of dead sentries that got past the gunfire and to the terrified humans.

“Shit!” Darren yelled as a dead sentry grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him backwards.

The thing opened a rotted mouth and showed Darren the six teeth it had left in its head. But six teeth could still do damage. The dead sentry sank its teeth into Darren’s shoulder. Then the back of its head exploded into a mess of stinking brains and clotted blood.

“A little close,” Darren said as he caught Shane’s eye.

“I’m just that good, man,” Shane said as he reached out and pulled Darren along.

The group pushed on, moving forward meter by meter as they shot down as many dead sentries as they could before they ran out of ammunition. That happened a lot sooner than any of them expected. When the last M4 went silent, there was a stunned pause. But the pause only lasted a second before the weapons were spun around and the clubbing began.

Max took the heads off two dead sentries with one swing then took the head off a third as he brought the swing back. The M4 in his grip bent slightly at the stock from the impacts, but it didn’t lessen the empty weapon’s deadly effects.

Shane stopped five dead sentries by charging them barrel first. He pierced their soft bellies and speared the five all in a row before ramming them up against the fence that was still intact. It took five dead sentries out of the equation, but he lost his M4 in the process.

“Here!” Lake shouted as he threw Shane a good-sized branch that had fallen from one of the many trees that filled the area. “Don’t stop swinging!”

Five dead sentries tackled Lake and he screamed as one of them bit into the upper bicep of his left arm. Shane then Darren converged on the group of sentries and yanked them off Lake then bludgeoned each of them until they stopped moving. Lake struggled to his feet on his own, his hand clamped against the wound.

“You okay?” Darren asked just after punching a sentry so hard in the face that his fist slid halfway through the dead man’s skull. He pulled free and flicked gunk from his hand. “Marty? You good?”

“These are tech-made zombies, right?” Lake yelled. “We’re not going to turn into one of them, are we?”

“Fuck, I hope not,” Darren said. “If we do, then let’s make sure the first person we eat is Ballantine.”

“Deal,” Lake said.

“Keep moving!” Thorne yelled from a couple meters ahead. “I can see the harbor!”

That announcement seemed to bolster the group’s resolve and they all doubled their efforts to kill and destroy as many dead sentries as they could. They pressed on, fighting for every inch, every foot, every last step they could in order to get to the harbor and hopefully the safety of the Resurrection. If anyone thought about Darby or Ballantine being left behind, the thoughts were brief.

Except for Max. As the group broke from the tree line and were within sight of the dock, Max slowed and looked back over his shoulder at the way they’d come.

“Come on, baby,” he whispered. “You got this shit.”

Then he joined the others as they moved onto the dock and hurried towards the gangplank of the Resurrection.

The men appearing at the top of the gangplank with M4s aimed down at them instantly took the steam out of the group.

“Going somewhere?” Mordecai asked.

Chapter Seventeen: If Mommy Ain’t Happy Then No One Is Happy!

The slaughter was fast and efficient, over in seconds.

“Clear,” Darby said as she stepped out of the command center and wheeled Ballantine inside. “Where do you want me to put you?”

“That looks like the main console there,” Ballantine said. “Perhaps when you are done wheeling me over, you could see about getting me free without blowing me up? Kinda need to pee.”

“Hold it,” Darby said. “I have your hands free, that’s what matters.”

“Of course,” Ballantine said. “I appreciate the effort that took, but full mobility would be ideal.”

“I had to defuse three sets of explosives to allow you to keep your hands and stay alive,” Darby said. “Do you honestly think we have time to figure out that entire contraption Wire put you in?”

“No, you’re right,” Ballantine agreed. “Free hands are good enough for now. Maybe a pistol close by?”

“You got me close by,” Darby said as she got Ballantine to the control console.

“Yes, I know that, but you have a more important task to take care of than guarding me,” Ballantine said.

“What? You want me to leave you here alone?” Darby asked.

“Want? Hell no,” Ballantine responded. “Need? Unfortunately, yes. Wire will not rest. She won’t go into hiding. She’s working out how to attack us without getting killed. Not an easy thing to accomplish considering our combined skills.”

“You’re strapped to a chair straight out of Mad Max,” Darby said.

“The fact you are able to make pop culture references like that gives some hope that your brain is finally stabilizing,” Ballantine said. “Any chance I’m correct?”

“My mind is clearer, yeah,” Darby said. “Stable? No fucking way.”

“Well, at least your instability is on my side,” Ballantine said as he reached forward and began toggling through screen views and different systems the console controlled. “Oh, will you look at that. Thorne and company have made it to the harbor. And…they’re captured. Again.”

“Is Max alive?” Darby asked, leaning past Ballantine to get a look.

“Hey!” a man shouted from the command center’s doorway.

Darby didn’t even turn. She aimed her pistol behind her and fired. The man screamed then fell to the floor dead with a heavy thunk. Darby ejected the magazine and put in a fresh one.

“Darby, I need you to focus on Wire, not Max,” Ballantine said.

Darby slowly turned her head and stared at Ballantine’s profile.

“But, I am sure you can focus on Wire and think about Max’s wellbeing simultaneously,” he said quickly.

“Yeah, I can,” Darby said and returned her attention to the screens. “Find him, Ballantine. I want confirmation that he is alive and well when I get back.”

“No pressure there,” Ballantine said.

“Plenty of pressure,” Darby said. “Now, where would Wire go? Do we have a schematic of the island available?”

“I am hunting for that right now,” Ballantine said as his fingers moved furiously across a keyboard. “This would be much easier if I had full range of motion.”

“It’d be much easier if you hadn’t gotten us in this shit in the first place,” Darby said.

“Darby? Et tu?” Ballantine replied with a chuckle. “Yes, you have a point. But trust me when I say that in the end, you’ll see exactly what I was working towards.”

“Assuming you live to the end to show me,” Darby said.

“You did not include yourself in that statement,” Ballantine said. “I’m assuming that your assumption is you will most definitely survive. Or are my assumptions, coupled with your assumption, making asses out of you and me?”

Ballantine laughed. Darby shook her head.

“Schematic,” Darby snapped.

“Got it right here,” Ballantine said as larger video screen mounted on the wall above the console came to life. “We are…here.”

A red dot appeared on the facility’s floor plans. Ballantine zoomed out to show the entire island. The keys clacked and clicked and labels for specific regions started appearing in green, superimposed over various structures and areas.

“That right there,” Darby said, pointing to one area that had no labels. There was a structure in place according to the schematic, but the structure had no name. “What it doesn’t tell us is telling us everything.”

“You sounded like me when you said that,” Ballantine responded. “You make me proud.”

“Shove it,” Darby said and pushed away from Ballantine and the control console. “You want a weapon?”

“I do,” Ballantine said. “If you could put one within reach, that would be delightful.”

“Will do,” Darby said.

She moved about the room, removing all the weapons from all the corpses. A couple of rifles and carbines, but mostly pistols and knives, were what she piled on the console next to Ballantine. He scrambled to shut down the systems that she activated as the heavy weapons inadvertently pressed buttons and moved levers.

“A little more careful next time, please,” Ballantine said then glanced at the weapons cache. “Oh, that should be plenty.”

“I’m taking a couple,” Darby said as she studied what was available.

She grabbed up a sleek bullpup and studied it for a second.

“Nice heft and feel,” Darby said. “Short and comfortable. This was a personal weapon.”

She turned to the corpses.

“Thanks,” she said as she ejected the magazine and looked at the cartridges inside. “.45s. Nice. Makes this easy.”

She slung the bullpup over her shoulder and chose two .45 pistols from the pile and four combat knives.

“Four knives?” Ballantine asked.

“In case I have to climb,” Darby said.

“Yes, of course,” Ballantine said, chuckling. “In case you have to climb.”

A shot rang out. One of the knives left Darby’s hand. It found its target, which happened to be the throat of a guard that had appeared at the doorway. The woman fell face first into the command center.

“I’m going to have to lock you in here,” Darby said. “You cool with that?”

“More cool than being shot in the back of the head by any unwanted visitors,” Ballantine said. “Lock away.”

Darby started to move away then she paused and reached out, snapping up something in her hand. She stared at it.

“Whatcha got there?” Ballantine asked.

“Com,” Darby said. She gave Ballantine a questioning look.

“It’s most certainly compromised,” Ballantine said in answer to the look. “Wire will be listening.”

Darby smiled. Ballantine smiled.

Darby put the com in her ear then double-checked the schematic of the island one last time before patting Ballantine on the cheek. Then she ran from the command center. Darby slammed the door and the distinct sound of locks sliding into place echoed in the room. Then there were four shots, a few sparks, and the smell of burning metal and plastic.

“All by myself,” Ballantine half sang.

***

“Get your armor on then move ass to the upper deck!” Kinsey ordered.

No one argued, not even Delana or operators under her command. And there were a lot. The entire contingent of operators that had been recruited to take down Wire were scrambling to get suited up, armed, and out of the hold. The ship rocked hard to starboard and half the operators fell to the floor, sliding sideways to the wall as the ship continued to list dangerously.

It was the fifth time the ship had been knocked sideways. But unlike the other times, the Fallback did not self-correct and return to an upright position. It stayed sideways and the operators had to scramble over and around each other to get back to their dropped suits and equipment that had become entangled with the bolted-down legs of the many tables that had been set up for the assembly-line production of the armor.

“The ship has taken on too much water!” Popeye yelled as he braced himself against one of the exit hatches. “We’re gonna need to get going! Now!”

“I know, Popeye!” Kinsey said as she managed to get to her feet and grab a carbine that had slid against her leg. “Stop yelling that!”

“We’re done here!” Delana announced. “Follow me! We’ll get to the lifeboats then pray to God we can make it to the island!”

Kinsey didn’t respond to that announcement. Delana was echoing her own thoughts.

“This way,” Delana said as she stumbled past Kinsey and climbed her way up the angled floor to the closest hatch.

Kinsey and the B3 crew members followed her with the Fallback operators right behind. The ship rocked hard and began to tilt even more. By the time they reached the hatch, they were climbing at close to an eighty-five-degree angle. Several operators lost their footing and grip and fell down to the opposite wall that had suddenly become a floor.

With a clear understanding of what they were up against, no one stopped their escape to try to rescue the fallen operators despite shouts and pleas for assistance. It would have been a futile effort even if there were those willing to risk almost certain failure to help their comrades. With a sputter and last bright flash, the lights went out, plunging everyone into complete and total darkness.

“Follow my voice!” Delana shouted from the hatch.

She kept shouting, calling to those that were still hanging on, until everyone was out of the hold and into the adjoining passageway. By that time, emergency lights kicked in and those that managed to escape the hold were bathed in a blood-red glow. Delana yelled orders and pointed in the right direction. No one paused, they all ran-stumbled their way along the angled passageway to the first set of stairs.

The stairs were closer to a sideways ladder than actual steps at that angle. Kinsey and the B3 crew were the first up and they paused only long enough for Kinsey to figure out which way to go. Then they were off, half running along the wall, until they found the next set of ladder stairs.

Up and up they went. Before long they made it onto the upper deck.

It was complete chaos. Men and women were strapping themselves to whatever they could, using whatever they could grab. Rope, electrical wiring, belts, straps from life preservers, anything.

“Kins…” Gunnar said. “They aren’t leaving.”

“Where are the lifeboats?” Kinsey yelled as operators poured out behind them and Delana finally appeared. “Hey! What the fuck?”

Delana looked about. There was some lighting from the emergency lights that were working, but other than that, it was close to pitch black up on deck. Even the stars were occluded by a blanket of clouds heavy with tropical rain that was about to come pouring down any minute.

“If there are any left, they’d be there,” Delana said, pointing at the part of the ship that was quickly sliding into the water. “They’re underwater. They’re gone.”

Another impact knocked everyone off their feet. Most had been precariously balanced on the deck to begin with. Those that hadn’t found something to grab went flying down towards the water. Bodies slammed into each other then slammed into equipment and finally the last bit of gunwale that wasn’t submerged. Men and women screamed then went silent as necks snapped and operators and crew became corpses to float in the oncoming water.

“Fuck,” Kinsey said and turned to look at the gunwale behind and above her. “We go this way.”

“And what then?” Delana asked. “We get up over the side and we’ll slide down the hull into the open water. That thing will eat us all.”

“That thing is designed to seek and destroy ships first,” Kinsey said. “Once it accomplishes that, which it’s doing pretty fucking well at, then it starts looking for human snacks. That buys us some time. As long as the ship is still above water, we can put some distance between us and it.”

“We’re gonna want to put distance between us and this ship anyway,” Popeye said. “A sinking ship this size will suck our asses down with it.”

“That,” Kinsey said, pointing at Popeye as she stared at Delana. “Got any more arguments or do you want to listen to the people that have had to do this shit a few times before?”

Kinsey didn’t wait for an answer. She gestured to the B3 crew members then jumped at the gunwale, grabbed ahold, and flipped her legs up over the side. Once settled, she extended a hand and helped Lucy up. Lucy then settled and did the same. The two women managed to get everyone they could up and over the side.

Then they all stared at the black, churning waters below.

“No time to wait,” Kinsey said and let go of the ship.

She slid down the hull and was glad she had on the new armor. Her body caught and scraped along seams and rivets. If she’d only been in pants and a T-shirt, she would have been a shredded, bloody mess by the time she hit the water. And that impact was another reason she was glad to have the armor.

She slammed into the water and the breath was knocked from her lungs, but only for a split second. Kinsey struggled to breathe, caught a long gasp, then began to stroke as hard and fast as her arms could. The first major limitation of the armor presented itself as Kinsey realized her range of motion was compromised around her shoulders. Oh, well, nothing she could do about it except compensate for the setback by kicking her legs harder.

There were plenty of shouts and cries as others hit the water, but Kinsey didn’t look over her shoulder. She continued to swim. Popeye was one hundred percent right that when the ship finally went all the way under, it was gonna suck them all down with it. Seeing who made it to the water without snapping their necks was a pointless exercise. Once safely away, at least from the ship, she could assess who was left.

Personal survival came first and Kinsey had no problem with that.

On she swam, her arms and legs tiring quickly. The past few days hadn’t been exactly restful and the fatigue was catching up to her right when she needed as much energy as she could get. But she didn’t slow down. She pushed her body to its limit then finally rolled over and started to float on her back so she could rest.

Kinsey stared up at the clouds as the rain began. It was a warm rain. It was a heavy rain. Kinsey opened her mouth and let the drops sate some of her thirst.

“We’ll never get a head count in the dark,” Lucy said as she floated up next to Kinsey. “Want me to get a verbal roll call?”

“Yeah,” Kinsey said.

Lucy started yelling names of the B3 crew members. Everyone except for Ronald, Boris, and Dr. Morganton replied.

“Shit,” Kinsey said as Lucy called for Ronald, Boris, and Dr. Morganton again. “Lucy, stop. If they didn’t hear you the first time, then they won’t—”

The water next to the women exploded and a dark shape came up sputtering and growling. Kinsey nearly punched the shape in the face, but realized in what little light there was that she was staring at three faces.

“I found them,” Ronald gasped before vomiting a massive amount of water. “Oh, that feels horrible.”

Boris and Dr. Morganton were turned onto their backs to float once they’d puked up their lungfuls of ocean water.

“We need to strap everyone together,” Lucy said. “Otherwise, we’re going to drift apart in the dark.”

“We do that and we become an easy target for the shark,” Kinsey said. In response, there was an explosion then the deafening sound of tearing metal.

Everyone looked back at the ship and watched it split in two as one end was lifted high into the air. The explosions lasted a few seconds, giving everyone a hard look at the death and carnage that surrounded them.

Corpses everywhere. Corpses that were bleeding and emptying themselves of bodily fluids. Corpses that were acting as beacons of food for the massive shark that none of them had yet to see. Kinsey knew that wouldn’t be for long. There was a giant shark mouth about to start gulping down bodies, alive or dead.

“We swim,” Kinsey said and rolled back to her stomach and started paddling.

“Kins, some of these people are hurt,” Lucy said as the light dimmed then went out, the source submerged. “They can’t swim.”

“Then they don’t live,” Kinsey said. “Gunnar!”

“Here!” Gunnar called back from a few meters to Kinsey’s right.

“Good!” Kinsey said. “Everyone listen up! We keep swimming towards the island and we don’t stop unless we’re dead! That shark is going to catch up with us! That’s a fact! But some of us might make it if we can get close enough to land! If you want to live, you do not stop swimming!”

Kinsey took her own advice and began paddling harder. She aimed her body in the direction of the island. She hoped. That was the major flaw in her orders. She honestly was not sure she was swimming towards the island. Her gut said she was, but for all she knew, she was leading everyone out into the open ocean.

But no one argued with her direction, so she pushed her body to its limits and never stopped moving.

***

Mordecai and the men with him had the advantage. They were heavily armed, had position as they came down the gangplank, and Grendel and the B3 crew were unarmed. Or at least didn’t have ammunition for their firearms.

But Mordecai made a gross miscalculation when he and his people approached Thorne and his people. Mordecai simply forgot who he was dealing with. He’d been so happy to have avoided Darby’s wrath, that the sight of normal people made him beyond cocky. Trouble was, Grendel weren’t normal people.

Knives flashed fast as soon as Mordecai’s team of sailors and deckhands were in striking reach. Blood splattered this way and that, arcing high into the air as arteries were slashed and veins severed.

Gunfire erupted, but Thorne and his people were ready. They moved low and to the side, avoiding the hot slugs that went flying this way and that, and within seconds, they had either subdued or killed every man that had come down the gangplank.

Mordecai Jones lay on the dock, a hand pressed to a wound in his abdomen, and stared up as Thorne stood over him.

“You should have shot us when you had the higher position,” Thorne said. “Maybe Wire told you she wanted us alive, I don’t know, but you screwed up.”

“I’m…seeing that,” Mordecai replied then gasped. He squeezed his eyes shut. “What now?”

Thorne picked up a pistol from the dock and put a bullet between Mordecai’s eyes.

“Not a damn thing you need to worry about,” Thorne said as more gunshots rang out. “We clear?”

“Clear,” Shane called.

“Clear,” Max agreed.

“Clear,” Darren said.

“Well, I caught one,” Lake said.

Everyone looked about until they saw Lake seated on the dock, both hands pressed to his right thigh. He gave them a weak smile and his fear was evident.

“Yeah, I think if I let go I’m going to die,” Lake said.

Thorne pointed at Darren who scrambled to help Lake instantly. Then Thorne pointed at Max and Shane.

“You two up for a sweep?” he asked. He groaned and closed his eyes.

“Are you up for it, Uncle Vinny?” Max asked. “Shane and I can handle the sweep of the ship. Stay here and rest while—”

“Fuck off, Maxwell,” Thorne snarled. “We do not have time for the luxury of me taking a nap.”

“You sure?” Shane asked. “Old people like naps. I don’t have any Jell-O or graham crackers for when you wake up, so it won’t be a proper nap for a man your age. But you understand that our options are sort of limited.”

Thorne stared at Shane. Then he burst out laughing. Max and Shane recoiled.

“Oops,” Max said. “Bro, you triggered the Alzheimer’s.”

“Fuck off,” Thorne said as he wiped at his eyes then nodded at the bodies on the dock. “Pick up some weapons and let’s get…out…of…”

He trailed off as his eyes caught sight of a dim light far on the horizon. The Reynolds brothers followed his gaze and they watched the light until it faded away and was gone.

“Kinsey,” Thorne said.

“You think?” max asked.

“Yes,” Thorne said.

“Let’s sweep this ship,” Shane said. “Ditcher? Lake gonna live?”

“I’ll live, asshead,” Lake snapped. “You just worry about killing all the fucks on that ship so I can get on the bridge and get us off this island.”

“A born leader, that one,” Max said.

“I will follow him to the ends of the earth,” Shane said.

“Shut the fuck up,” Lake replied.

“Come on,” Thorne said. “We sweep and clear then get out in the water and save your cousin.”

“How do you know Sis is out there?” Shane asked.

“Dude,” Max said. “If Uncle Vinny says Sis is out there, then Sis is out there.”

“She’s out there and we’re going to find her,” Thorne snapped. “No room for failure.”

“Hooyah,” Shane and Max said.

Chapter Eighteen: Nut On The Run

Darby had to admire the island that Wire had built for herself. Freedom of movement was seriously restricted due to the way the buildings were laid out and the fences that surrounded everything. The path she took was nothing more than a twisting, turning cattle chute.

Or cattle shoot, considering the murderous nature of Darby’s target.

“Hey, guess what?” Ballantine’s voice asked in her ear. “I can track your movement with that com piece. Isn’t that nice? I don’t feel so alone anymore.”

Darby didn’t respond. She wasn’t about to give her position away by answering Ballantine’s rambling. Plus, she knew the man. He talked to hear his own voice more than to communicate with others.

That thought hit her hard and she almost stopped walking. She knew the man. She did. The Darby of old was resurfacing inside her mind. Thoughts and feelings that had taken an almost permanent vacation came slowly home. There was still that split in her, like she wasn’t quite comfortable in her own skin, but the feeling of the “other” running the psychological show was nowhere near as powerful as it had been only a few days before.

“I am trying to see if I can get a lock on Wire,” Ballantine continued. “The more I play with the console, the more I realize that Wire didn’t exactly reinvent the wheel. This is standard tech used on most of the islands I’ve overseen.”

Darby had to snort at that statement. Ballantine overseeing anything was like letting a toddler be in charge of a litter of puppies.

“I doubt Wire would let herself be tracked on her own island, but you never know,” Ballantine said. “I might be able to trick the system and lock onto her cybernetic anatomy. If I can do that, then she’d pretty much have to strip herself down to her titanium-reinforced bones to hide from me. I’ll keep you posted.”

Darby shook her head as she came to the corner of a building. She gripped the bullpup firmly and counted to three then ducked her head around the corner and brought it back just as fast. There was no gunfire. The corner of the building didn’t explode into splinters of metal and wood. If Wire had seen her, the woman had restrained herself and hadn’t opened fire.

None of which helped Darby in any way, shape, or form. Wire could still be there, waiting. Waiting for Darby to feel confident enough to come around the corner right into a stream of bullets.

Darby ducked her head around and back again.

That time, the corner was torn apart by heavy-caliber bullets and Darby threw herself backwards and to the ground as a good foot of the corner disappeared into nothing. Darby could hear the belt gun whirring and the brass cartridges clinking onto the ground. Then the gunfire stopped and Darby waited.

“You still breathing, bitch?” Wire called. “Or did I finally put down Ballantine’s favorite dog?”

“I heard the gunfire from here,” Ballantine said over the com. “You good?”

“Good,” Darby whispered.

“What did you say?” Wire shouted. “Didn’t catch that! Did you say you give up? That would be the smart thing to do. Give up. Then we can get to what has needed getting to for so many years now.”

Things clicked in Darby’s head.

“She knows,” she whispered.

“She knows what?” Ballantine asked.

Darby stayed silent.

“Oh, you mean she knows that you are the item,” Ballantine said. “Yes, I told her back on the ship when she was having her torture fun. Not in so many words, but my hints were obvious. She didn’t believe me. Then I reiterated that fact early this afternoon. Or evening. Time is flowing by. Hard to keep track. Still didn’t believe. I think she might now.”

“Why?” Darby asked. “Why fucking tell her?”

“I can hear you, Darby!” Wire said. “I figured out you were chatting with Ballantine so I dialed in the com. Hello, Ballantine!”

“Well, hello to you too,” Ballantine responded. “So that everyone is up to speed, I was telling Darby that you are now aware she’s the item. Darby asked why I would do that and I was about to tell her.”

“Yes, I know,” Wire snarled. “I just told you I dialed in the com. I heard all of the last part of your conversation.”

“Lovely!” Ballantine exclaimed. “Then we are on the same page.”

Silence. No one said anything.

“Ballantine,” Wire growled. “Why do you sound fine with the fact that I know that Darby is the item? You realize that for me to get what I want, I’ll have to saw open her skull and slice into her brain to get that chip you had installed.”

“Me installed? What?” Ballantine scoffed. “The chip was there when we found Darby. A feral animal in a cage was what I stumbled upon. So, with help from your late mother, we rebuilt Darby into the woman she is today.”

“What? You never told me that part,” Darby gasped. “I have memories, Ballantine. Memories that are not your daughter’s. Memories that are mine and mine only.”

“Oh, yes, you do,” Ballantine said. “And those are your actual memories. After some searching, and perhaps a little arm twisting then arm breaking followed by arm tearing off, I was able to ascertain where your persona was kept. We uploaded it and waited for your brain to sponge up the memories. It took a few weeks, but it did. That left the chip open for another set of memories. Another personality. You didn’t expect me to walk away from a chance like that, did you?”

“That’s me in there, Darby,” Wire said. “The me before all of…this happened. I want that me back.”

“Good to know you’re embracing your past,” Ballantine said. “But you’ll never get that part of you back, Wire. You’ve gone too far into Cuckootown. Kill Darby, take the chip, upload the memories. Won’t make one ounce of difference to who you are. It won’t save you from the way your mind is degrading. You gave up your humanity, Wire. Looking back on your childhood birthdays won’t get that back for you.”

“Bullshit!” Wire shouted.

Darby leapt to her feet, rounded the corner, and opened fire.

Wire screamed as bullets hit her and she was thrown off her feet and knocked to the ground. Then she was up and running, lost in the ever-present shadows that filled the compound.

“You turned your com on, Wire,” Ballantine said. “I can see you.”

Darby sprinted to where Wire had dropped the belt gun. It was a massive weapon and if it wasn’t for Wire’s enhancements, the woman would have never been able to wield it. Darby stripped it of its ammunition belt and flung the ammo on top of the closest building. Then she took aim with her bullpup and fired, destroying the gun’s trigger mechanism.

“She’s gone dark again,” Ballantine reported. “She turned off her com.”

“I might do the same,” Darby said. “Getting real tired of you narrating my life.”

“But I have such a great voice for narration, don’t you think?” Ballantine said. “I should look into recording audiobooks. It would be nice to have a hobby outside the business.”

“Shut up,” Darby said as she slowly made her way to the next building, ducked and pulled back, then proceeded around the corner.

There was a trail of blood to follow. It was barely perceptible, even with the compound’s lights on, but Darby caught sight of it and traced the trail to the edge of the compound. And the beginning of the fence line.

A fence line that had a hole in it and was obviously no longer electrified.

“I’m going into the bush,” Darby said. “She’s leading me off the compound.”

“Careful,” Ballantine said. “If it was me, I’d lead you to an already pre-planned ambush spot. A spot that has plenty of armaments and excellent cover so even if you do survive the first attack, your counterattack won’t be very effective.”

“Yes, Ballantine, I understand how this all works,” Darby said. “It’s why you kept me around.”

“Darby, I’m offended,” Ballantine said. “I kept you around because of your warmth and kindness. And because you’re really my only friend. I can admit that. I may have burned a few bridges along the way, but you have always been there for me.”

Darby paused at the hole in the fence. “Ballantine?”

“Yes, Darby?”

“We need to find you some new friends,” she said as she slipped through the hole and into the cover of the trees and the pitch blackness that spread away from the lit compound. “Friends that are just as fucked up as you.”

“Oh, I don’t think we’ll ever find anyone like that,” Ballantine said. “Trust me. I’ve looked.”

***

The ship was gone.

The Fallback had sunk and all that was around the group, the group that was desperately swimming in the direction they all hoped was where land would be, was open water. Survivors from the ship had found Kinsey and her group. Their numbers grew from a couple dozen to nearly a hundred.

Kinsey had the distinct feeling that those numbers were going to drop significantly. And soon.

“Kins?” Gunnar asked, his voice weak and exhausted. “We’ve been swimming for almost an hour. I don’t see land.”

“It’s there,” Kinsey said. “I know it’s there. We have to keep going. We’ll find it.”

“Yeah, I don’t know if I can keep going,” Gunnar said. There was the sound of gasping then choking and gagging. “Fuck. I’m not going to be able to keep my head above water much longer, Kins. Neither are the others. Look around. Our numbers are thinning. We’re losing folks to exhaustion.”

“And what do you want me to do about it, Gun?” Kinsey shouted. Or tried to. She was so weak that her voice was only a harsh bark, not the bellowing vocal grenade she’d meant it to be. “What can I do? I don’t have a boat tucked up my twat that I can yank free and hand to everyone.”

“That’s more graphic than I needed to hear,” Lucy said from the other side of Kinsey.

“I’m not asking you to do anything, Kins,” Gunnar said. “Except maybe tell everyone they can stop and rest. Only for a few minutes. We float on our backs and recharge a little. Just a little. Enough so people can keep their heads above water.”

“We stop, we die,” Kinsey stated.

“Kins, I have to agree with Gunnar,” Lucy said. “We have to rest. Yes, sure, that may mean the shark catches us. But Jesus Christ, if that thing wants to eat us all there is nothing we can do to stop it. It’s either still messing with the Fallback underwater, it’s gone, or it’s playing with us.”

“The latter,” Kinsey said. “It’s a Ballantine original. It’s playing with us.”

“What we’re saying is it doesn’t matter if we keep swimming if we’re all going to die anyway,” Gunnar said. “We stop and rest and it gets us. That’s how it goes down. Or we don’t stop and eventually, we all drown from exhaustion. We die or we don’t, Kins.”

“Fucking bunch of quitters,” Kinsey grumbled.

Then she sighed and stopped moving.

“Five minutes,” Kinsey said as loud as she could. “Everyone stop swimming and rest for five minutes. Float on your backs and link arms with someone next to you in case you fall asleep. Try to form a chain so we stay together.”

There were mumbles of thanks to many deities.

Kinsey felt Lucy’s arm lock through hers then Gunnar’s through her other side.

It felt good to rest. Too good. Kinsey was terrified she’d pass out and never wake up again. Or she’d wake up in the belly of a shark and her last thought would be what it would be like to be shark shit.

“Kins?” Lucy asked, bringing Kinsey’s mind away from the many other drifting thoughts that threatened to pull her deep down into sleep. “Kins? Do you see that?”

“I can’t see shit,” Kinsey replied.

“No, look,” Gunnar said.

“Oh, dear,” Ronald said from somewhere in the group. “The waters are stirring.”

“Fuck,” Kinsey said as she got free of Lucy and Gunnar. “Here it comes, people!”

Everyone started to call out to each other. Those with weapons locked and loaded got as set as they could in open water while the rest began their exhausted journey towards the island once more.

“Hold the hell on,” Kinsey said as she stared at where the water was beginning to churn. “Sharks don’t make light.”

“Oh, that’s not true,” Boris said from the darkness. “Some actually have bioluminescent skin. Isn’t that remarkable? They glow in the dark.”

“This is not bioluminescence, Boris,” Ronald said.

The water churned harder and the light grew brighter until somewhere in the dark Moshi cried out, “Toyshop!”

Out of the water burst the Toyshop. It launched a couple feet into the air then settled and bobbed a few seconds before the top hatch opened.

“I can only hold a couple dozen,” Carlos said, a very large weapon held in his arms. He swept it back and forth, the light bouncing off the ocean making him look like some panicked ghoul. “We have to do this in shifts. But hurry your asses! The shark dove deep and will be back soon!”

“Moshi can pilot the Toyshop, so we can kill Carlos, right?” Lucy asked.

Kinsey didn’t respond right away.

“Kins?” Lucy pushed. “I’m not fucking kidding.”

“I know,” Kinsey said. “But let’s tackle his execution after we get everyone safely to shore.”

“Nothing is safe onshore of that island,” Delana said somewhere at the fringe of the group.

“Come on, you idiots!” Carlos yelled. “We don’t have all day! If you want this to—”

Lightning flashed and the water exploded. Carlos screamed as he and the Toyshop were lifted more than a hundred feet into the air. The creature that did the lifting had the Toyshop clamped in its massive jaws. From what little light there was, Kinsey could see huge gouges running the length of the mega shark’s body. She also could see oozing holes and complete hunks missing from the thing.

“Go!” Kinsey yelled. “Swim! Swim! Goddammit, swim!”

No one waited past her first plea. Everyone began paddling as fast as their worn-out limbs would allow. Weapons were dropped and friends and colleagues forgotten. It was every man and woman for themselves as the group surged away from the falling shark as fast as they could.

Carlos was screaming the entire time until the shark fell back in the water and was lost from sight. The wave it created plunged half the group down into the depths, Kinsey included. She rolled with the tumult, her eyes and body desperate to orient so she could get back to the surface.

In the few seconds she was under, Kinsey caught a glimpse of the Toyshop still in the shark’s jaws. The hatch was closed. Either Carlos had gotten back inside and closed it or the impact with the ocean’s surface had forced it shut. One of those options meant they still had a chance if Carlos was conscious and able to fight. The other option meant they had maybe a couple of minutes before the shark realized it couldn’t crush the Toyshop and it turned its attention on the fleeing group.

***

Lake yelled as Darren bumped his leg.

“Fucking Hell, D!” Lake shouted. “Are you trying to start the bleeding all over again?”

“Sorry,” Darren said. “Still shaky on my feet, Marty.”

“Then sit your ass down,” Lake snapped as he sat at the helm on the Resurrection’s bridge, his leg propped up on a stool. “Or, if you won’t sit down, then go help Thorne and the boys. Or get in the way of the couple of deckhands we have left.”

Darren sat down at the navigation station.

“We lost that light,” Darren stated. “You sure this is the direction we’re supposed to go?”

“I made the best guess I have,” Lake said. “We only saw it for a few minutes.”

“A little cloudy out there to navigate by the stars,” Darren said.

“You think?” Lake replied. “I said I made the best guess I could.”

There were several flashes of lightning on the horizon, each illuminating the wide open ocean for a split second.

“There!” Shane yelled as he ran onto the bridge, binoculars in hand. He pointed out the windows at a forty-five-degree angle. “I swear to fucking God I saw something really big come up out of the water then go back in.”

“Max? Do you have confirmation of that sighting?” Darren asked. They’d gotten the Resurrection’s coms to work and each had an earpiece again. “Max?”

“Hold on, Ditcher. Jeez,” Max replied over the com. Darren growled. “Oh, stop bitching. Yes, I think I saw the really big thing Shane saw. Forty-five degrees to port.”

“Forty-five degrees to port,” Lake said as he spun the wheel and pushed the throttle. Lake grumbled. “This thing is a piece of shit. Doesn’t have anywhere near the oomph and maneuverability as the B3.”

“Ballantine was a ship snob,” Darren said. “He liked the best engines. Cougher didn’t exactly fight him on that.”

“Oh, Cougher fought me,” Ballantine’s voice interrupted over the com. “He fought me for better engines. He insisted I had the connections, which he was right, but by that time we were on the run and there was no pulling into port for upgrades.”

Everyone sat there, silent.

“Goddammit,” Lake said. “You fucking asshole.”

“Ballantine?” Darren asked. “Where the hell are you?”

“Where’s Darby?” Max interrupted. “Is she safe?”

“Is Darby ever truly safe, Maxwell?” Ballantine replied. “She is alive, if that helps. But, being Darby, she is taking care of some business that needs taking care of. Speaking of, hold on a moment,”

There was an audible click and brief squelch of static.

“Did he just hang up on us?” Lake asked. “Yes. Of course he did. Asshole.”

“Alright, Darby is still alive, although I believe her situation is about to get…violent,” Ballantine reported when he came back on the com. “She says to give you her love, Maxwell.”

“No, she didn’t,” Max replied.

“No, she didn’t,” Ballantine admitted. “But I thought it would be nice for you to hear. If Darby said such sentiments, then I am sure she would have said—”

“Shut the fuck up, Ballantine,” Thorne said, joining the com conversation. “Give me a sit rep. Where are you and what the hell are you up to?”

Ballantine described the events that lead to him taking the command center.

“I do have some visitors that have recently arrived and would like to get inside, but I believe Wire designed this room to be nearly impregnable,” Ballantine said. “Oh, and will you look at this. I found the security controls for the defensive measures put into the hallway. Anything I need to know from your end before I kill some people?”

“Christ,” Lake muttered.

“We’re heading to rescue whatever survivors we can find,” Darren said. “We thought we saw a ship on the horizon and Vincent is convinced it’s Kinsey.”

“Oh, yes, that would be the Fallback,” Ballantine said. “The big secret part of this grand plan of mine. Always have a fallback, am I right?”

“There are so many reasons I want to shoot you right now,” Thorne said. “But I’ll wait until you least expect it. Right now, tell us everything.”

“Can you hold a minute? My visitors are being very persistent,” Ballantine said. The com went dead once more.

“I say we stone him,” Lake said. “With wrenches. We get the biggest ones we can find and throw them at his head.”

“Back,” Ballantine announced. “Well, there’s certainly a mess in that hallway now. Where were we?”

“Tell us everything,” Thorne demanded.

“Right. Yes. Everything,” Ballantine said. “I can’t tell you everything-everything because, well, that’d take too long. But I’ll fill you in on my… Wait, did you say you are going to rescue Kinsey? Is the ship no longer there?”

“No, Ballantine, it is no longer there,” Lake said. “We’re hoping there are people left, though.”

“Give me a moment,” Ballantine said. “I am dialing in long-range scanners. Can you give me some approximate coordinates?”

Darren gave him the coordinates.

“Almost outside the scan range, but I can give them a boost and…”

Everyone waited.

“Ballantine?” Thorne said.

“Okay, I have some good news and some bad news,” Ballantine said. “Good news is I’m picking up dozens and dozens of shapes that have to be people in the water. Might be at least a hundred.”

“And the bad news?” Thorne asked.

“Can I guess?” Max asked. “Because when there is bad news in the open ocean, it usually means one thing.”

“Shark,” Ballantine said. “The shark. The last mega. It didn’t die, apparently. I’m seeing it loud and clear on the scanner. Too big for it not to be seen.”

“Oh, come on!” Lake yelled.

Chapter Nineteen: Chickens Meet Roost

Darby collided with the tree trunk and all the air came whooshing from her lungs as the weapons she held fell to the ground. She bounced off the tree, landing on her face, and felt her nose crunch and break. None of that slowed her, though. She was back on her feet and dodging the incoming kick that would have crushed her skull into the ground.

“Stay still!” Wire screamed.

The woman was a manic tornado of violence. Darby hadn’t faced anything like her before.

Another kick came at Darby and she jumped back, Wire’s boot clearing her chin by a millimeter. Darby used her momentum to scramble around the tree she’d just been thrown against. Wire’s other foot hit the tree dead on and the sound of cracking wood echoed throughout the woods.

“You’re bleeding out, Wire,” Darby said as she leapt and rolled across the ground. She felt a blade whiz by the back of her neck. It was a feeling she knew well and hard to mistake. “Stop coming at me and we’ll get you some help.”

“You fucking lie more than he does!” Wire roared.

Darby felt pain and cried out as she came up out of the roll. She looked down and wasn’t too surprised to see a knife sticking out of her left shoulder. She pulled it free and slashed at the oncoming Wire.

The woman that was as much machine as flesh bent backwards at the waist, letting the slashing blade fly harmlessly past her chest. Then she was upright in a blink and sending a fist into Darby’s wounded shoulder.

Darby screamed and fell backwards onto her ass. She barely got her arms up to block another of Wire’s kick. Her shoulder protested and the block failed halfway through, allowing Wire’s boot to slip past and stamp down hard Darby’s thigh.

Again, Darby cried out as she felt bone crunch in her thigh. But she used the pain to build her rage and determination. Darby grabbed Wire’s boot and twisted with all her might. Her wounded shoulder didn’t allow much strength to come from her left arm, but her right was thoroughly pissed off enough that Wire’s entire leg twisted counterclockwise.

Wire went with the twist, flipping her body sideways, bringing her other boot around to tag Darby across the right cheek. Darby’s head rocked and she collapsed onto her side. Wire fell face first onto the ground, pushed up, then rolled and spun about to face Darby.

Darby scrambled as best she could to get into a defensive position. She crouched on the ground, her fractured leg screaming at her. It was considerably louder than the other injuries she had, but Darby ignored it. She could give in to the pain and die or use it as her motivation to destroy Wire.

It was an easy choice to make.

With every ounce of rage she could muster, all driven by the excruciating pain in her leg, Darby leapt into the air.

Wire leapt also and the two well-above-average women collided in midair, their hands reaching for each other’s throats. They both hit the mark and cried out in triumph. They both forgot about gravity.

The two connected women came down hard. They slammed into the ground and hands around throats were loosened. They each scrambled to regroup and attack once more, but their offensive attacks were so perfectly timed that they simply kept punching fist into fist.

When they tried simultaneous head-butts, resulting in stunned moans and weak punches, Darby knew she had to switch tactics.

She rolled backwards several meters until she was well out of Wire’s reach.

“HEY!” she roared. “Come and get us!”

“What are you doing?” Wire asked. “Calling my sentries? Oh, Darby, they are already on their way.”

Wire got to her feet and began to pace, her eyes locked onto Darby’s position. She held up her arms and did a quick pirouette.

“Do you think my very own creations will attack me? Have you lost your mind?” Wire said, laughing. It sounded like baby mice being ground into broken glass. “They won’t touch me.”

“You sure about that?” Darby said.

“I have it built into their code,” Wire said. “They recognize me as their master and leave me alone. I can walk amongst them freely without fear.”

“How do they know who you are?” Darby asked.

“I’m a singular entity on this island,” Wire said. “The tech I am made up of gives me a very individual signature. They see that and know I am friend, not foe. It’s all very basic.”

“Basic, indeed,” Ballantine said over the com. “So basic that it’s child play, Wire.”

Wire stopped pacing and cocked her head.

“What do you mean?” she snarled.

The sounds of breaking branches and rustling bushes began to fill the night. Darby glanced around, hoping she could see the dead sentries coming before they were on her. It was still too dark for her to make out the incoming horde. And she had zero doubt it was a horde. They’d been making enough noise to raise the dead if the dead weren’t already technologically risen.

“Wire, Wire, Wire,” Ballantine said. “Have you underestimated me? I thought of all people you would know what I am capable of.”

“Hey,” Darby said. “I have a pretty fucking good idea of what you are capable of.”

“My apologies, Darby,” Ballantine said. “Of course you do.”

“What have you done, Ballantine?” Wire growled. She patted her body down and found a small blade tucked away. She brought it out and held it down at her side. “Ballantine?”

“Hold on. I’m confirming something real quick,” Ballantine said then began to hum.

“You son of a bitch,” Wire said.

“Give up and let us take control of this island and you get to live, Wire,” Darby said.

“Your lies are worth nothing,” Wire said. “You’ll never let me live.”

“Yes, as I thought,” Ballantine said to himself then cleared his throat. “Okay, mortal combatants, here is your situation. I have destroyed the part of the code that controls the dead sentries’ recognition protocol. From now on, they will look at Wire as just another target. Nothing special anymore. Is there anything else I can help you with today?”

“Bullshit,” Wire said, but she did not sound very confident.

The breaking of branches and rustling of bushes got louder and louder until several dead sentries came rushing at both Darby and Wire. Darby was ready and leapt up to grab a low-hanging branch. She screamed as the flesh around her shoulder wound tore then screamed again when she flipped her legs up and wrapped them about the branch. Dead sentries below her clawed at the tree’s trunk, but none of them looked to be in any physical shape to climb after her. If they could even climb.

Darby scrambled onto another branch and then another, putting distance between her and the monsters below. Then she focused on Wire.

Wire shoved three dead sentries away, tore the heads of two more, broke the backs of three others, then punched her fist through the chest of yet one more.

Then she stood still, stared up at Darby, and grinned.

“I win,” she said as she drew the small blade across her own throat.

“What the fuck?” Darby yelled, completely taken off guard by the suicide.

Blood geysered out of Wire’s throat as the woman fell to her knees. She held up her arms as dead sentries pounced on her, her eyes locked with Darby’s.

Then Wire was gone. The life left her eyes and her body fell forward. The dead sentries tore at her until their programming confirmed she was dead. Then, one by one, they turned and joined the dead sentries at the bottom of Darby’s tree. They began pushing against the trunk and the tree swayed.

“Ballantine? Wire is dead. She killed herself,” Darby called. “And I’m going to be stuck here for a while.”

There was no answer.

“Ballantine? Wire is dead. I’m literally up a tree. Do you copy?”

“I copy,” Ballantine said quietly.

“Listen, I’m sorry she died,” Darby said. “She was your daughter even if what she’d become wasn’t any longer the girl you knew. It’s okay to be upset.”

“What? Oh, I’m not upset over that,” Ballantine said. “I came to terms with all this a long time ago.”

“Then what’s with the voice?”

“Yes, well, good news and bad news,” Ballantine replied.

Darby noticed that the dead sentries had stopped pressing against the tree and one by one were wandering off.

“Good news is that you are about to be left alone,” Ballantine continued. “The sentries’ default setting has kicked in with Wire’s death. Apparently, default means to gather at the harbor. I guess that’s because there is only one way on and one way off this island by ship. If anyone is coming, or going, they are about to have company.”

“Bad news?” Darby asked, as she watched the dead sentries walk away to leave her up a tree and alone.

“Apparently Wire’s death triggered a self-destruct,” Ballantine said. “This island is about to be one more mushroom cloud.”

“How much time?”

“No clue. There isn’t a countdown, only a general warning. Nope. Wait. Hold please.”

The com went silent as Darby carefully made her way out of the tree and down to the ground. She hissed as she was forced to put weight on her leg, but she didn’t collapse. It was fractured for sure, but not shattered. Darby found a fallen branch she could use as a crutch and turned in a circle.

The dead sentries had moved in one direction, towards the harbor. Darby turned in the opposite direction, hoping it was where the compound was.

“Okay, so we have medium news,” Ballantine said. “Ninety minutes until detonation.”

“Ninety minutes?” Darby asked as she hobbled along. “That gives anyone escaping a pretty good head start.”

“Well, true, but that’s where the balance of the news comes in,” Ballantine said. “The island’s blast radius will destroy anything within a hundred miles of here. Run all we want, we’re going to feel some heat, Darby. Some very hot—”

“Yes, I get it,” Darby snapped. “We’re about to get nuked even if we can escape. So, how about you stop being cute and get to shutting the fucking self-destruct off?”

“Way ahead of you,” Ballantine said. “I am going to… Well, hello you two. Have you come to help save our collective asses?”

The com went dead.

“Ballantine?” Darby called. “Ballantine!”

***

The shark launched up into the air once more, no Toyshop in its jaws that time. Instead, it scooped up over twenty men and women into its wide-open maw. Screams filled the air. Cries for help were drowned out, literally, as the shark fell back into the ocean.

“Fuck me,” Kinsey mumbled as she stroked, stroked, stroked. “Fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck me.”

Kinsey estimated that ten exhausting minutes went by before the shark attacked again. Instead of a sky launch, it came up even with the water’s surface, mouth open, and inhaled another twenty men and women. They were there, all trying desperately to swim as fast as they could, then they were gone. Swallowed alive as the shark dove once more.

“Two more attacks,” Gunnar said from somewhere off to Kinsey’s right.

Kinsey didn’t have the strength to turn her head to find him. She was afraid her head would go all the way under and that would be that for her.

“Oh, God!” someone screeched when the shark appeared once more.

Others echoed the lament. Then silence.

“We barely have anyone left,” Lucy said from Kinsey’s left. She sputtered and spat water as she spoke. “Kins? The next attack is going to take us. Just stop swimming.”

“Never,” Kinsey said. “Thornes don’t fucking quit.”

“Kinsey, she’s right,” Gunnar said. He sounded like he’d swallowed half the ocean to get those words out. He was coughing and gagging as he continued. “Stop swimming and let’s face this together.”

“I die when I die, not when I stop,” Kinsey replied.

“It’s back!” a man shouted. “What the fuck?”

That got Kinsey to stop. It was a natural reaction when she heard the man’s tone. It wasn’t panic in his voice, but confusion. And…hope?

Kinsey looked back and could barely believe what she was seeing. A beam of light was cutting up through the water and into the air. It shut off then pulsed again. Shut off then pulsed again.

“Plasma cannon!” Moshi yelled from somewhere in the group. “Carlos, shoot the bitch!”

There were cheers as a hunk of shark came flying up out of the water. The hunk was not connected to the shark in any way. It splashed down next to a couple of operators and they grabbed on, using it as a floatation device in order to catch their breath.

Another chunk and another chunk came up to the surface and others grabbed on. The water under Kinsey churned and she felt something large impact with her. Then she was lifted up out of the water as the Toyshop surfaced.

The top hatch opened and a bloody-faced Carlos appeared. The blood wasn’t the only issue with his face. His entire left side drooped and hung slack.

“Nerve damage,” Carlos slurred. “Stop staring.”

“Rafts,” Kinsey shouted at Carlos. “How many rafts do we have in this thing?”

“Rafts?” Carlos replied, looking confused. Or half of him looking confused. “Plenty. They won’t stand a chance against the shark.”

“It’s still alive? Even after you carved it up?” Kinsey asked.

“Oh, it’s still alive,” Carlos said. “It went deep again to lick its wounds.” He held up a hand. “I know sharks don’t have tongues, so don’t bother correcting me.”

“I don’t give a fuck about shark tongues,” Kinsey snapped. “Get below and find as many rafts as you can. We’re going to set them up as decoys as we get the hell out of here.”

“We can’t fit everyone in the Toyshop, Kinsey,” Carlos said.

“Look around, Carlos,” Kinsey said. “We can now. This is all that’s left.”

“Oh,” Carlos said. He nodded then disappeared down the hatch.

Kinsey looked out into the water.

“Everyone on me!” she yelled. “Get inside before it comes back! Moshi? MOSHI!”

“Yes?” Moshi replied.

Kinsey zeroed in on the voice and saw Moshi paddling towards the Toyshop. Everyone was paddling towards the Toyshop.

“Get your ass up and inside,” Kinsey said. “You know this thing better than Carlos. I have him on raft duty. You’re back in the pilot’s seat.”

“Yes, I am,” Moshi said and gave a weak whoop.

***

“There!” Darren yelled as he pointed out the bridge’s windows. “You see them?”

“Yes, Darren. I see them,” Lake growled. “Nothing else out here to fucking look at, is there?”

“You need a vacation, Marty,” Darren replied.

“I hate you and everyone on this ship,” Lake said as he steered the ship towards where the Toyshop bobbed up and down as people scrambled to get on it and in it.

A large spotlight lit up from the deck below and illuminated the whole scene. Lake hit the horn and the night was split open by a thundering honk.

Those that were so panicked that they hadn’t noticed the incoming ship, turned and began shouting and cheering.

Then the Toyshop was launched into the air as the nose of the massive shark collided with it. Lake and Darren gasped. There were more gasps heard over the com.

“That thing will rip this ship apart in seconds,” Lake said.

“I know,” Darren replied. “We have to get them out of the water.”

“Darren, it isn’t going to matter,” Lake said. “We get them onboard and that shark will kill them here instead of there.”

“Hello?” Moshi’s voice called over the com. “Hello? Ship people?”

“Moshi!” Darren yelled. “It’s us! We took the ship and came to get you guys!”

“Oh, thank you for that,” Moshi said. “But shark probably eat you too.”

“See?” Lake said.

“Moshi? Where is the shark? We lost sight of it,” Darren said. He scrambled to bring up the deep scanners. “Oh, shit. I see it. Moshi, are you guys alright? Is the Toyshop intact?”

“Toyshop is intact,” Moshi said. “Shark can’t bite through. But shark can break. Maybe two more bites and Toyshop is a floating cube of metal.”

“Gotcha,” Darren said. “I see you and we’re coming to get you.”

“Okay,” Moshi said. “We all die together.”

“Fuck that shit,” Thorne said as he stepped onto the bridge. He looked about, spotted what he needed, and limped to a station. “Moshi? This is Thorne. Is the Toyshop operational enough that you can get it to our starboard side?”

“I can,” Moshi replied.

“Good,” Thorne said. “Because I activated the weapons system on this ship.”

“That’s what you were doing?” Lake asked.

“Get the Toyshop to the starboard side so I can fire torpedoes at the shark,” Thorne said. “I know the torpedoes probably won’t kill it, but it’ll stall it long enough for us to get away. We might be able to beat it back to the island.”

“I like that plan,” Moshi said. “I am taking us around the ship now.”

“Did you get everyone out of the water?” Darren asked.

“No,” Moshi said. “We tried. No way to get back to surface and save them.”

“Understood,” Darren said.

“I’m getting a lock,” Thorne said. “Firing torpedoes!”

They waited then watched as the water about fifty meters out exploded. Bits of shark and a geyser of blood shot into the air.

“That should buy us some time,” Thorne said as he stood up. “I’m going down to help. This ship doesn’t have a cargo crane large enough to bring the Toyshop aboard. We’ll have to ladder everyone up.” He pointed at the weapons station. “Keep an eye on that fucking shark! Fire more if you have to. We have six torpedoes left.”

“Got it,” Darren said.

Chapter Twenty: Dying On Island Time

Darby heard voices, but didn’t care what they were saying. She rounded the corner and took aim with the suppressed Sig Sauer .45 she’d taken off a stray guard that had wandered into her path as she snuck back onto the compound. The guard wouldn’t miss it anymore. If he missed anything, it was his head and neck being at a non-lethal angle.

Three men stood next to the open command center door and Darby was about to squeeze the trigger when Sterling came walking out, hands up, unarmed.

“Hold there, Darby,” Sterling said. “Same side now.”

“I don’t think so,” Darby said.

“Darby!” Ballantine called from inside the command center. “Please do not kill Mr. Hill! He and Mr. Sellars are assisting me in trying to stop the island’s self-destruct.”

“Can I kill them later?” Darby called, her pistol still aimed at Sterling.

“I’ll let you work that out amongst yourselves,” Ballantine replied. “For now, stand down and let us keep working.”

“You got lucky,” Darby said as she slowly lowered the pistol.

“Well…” Sterling replied. Darby began to lift the pistol again. “Yes, Darby, we got lucky. Can we not do this anymore now, please?”

“For now,” Darby said.

Sterling nodded and walked back into the command center. Darby was right behind. She glared at the three guards.

“What are they for?” she asked.

“To avoid distractions,” Ballantine said. “We do have a sentries-gone-rogue problem as well as an active nuclear device ready to go off in an hour.”

“The sentries are all headed for the harbor,” Darby responded. “Isn’t that what you said?”

“You want to bet your life on that?” Sterling replied as he took a seat next to Ballantine. “Because Wire was insane. I don’t trust any protocol she put in place. I don’t even trust the timeline we’re looking at for this self-destruct. With that woman, she could have made it look like we have ninety minutes when what we have is five.”

Darby shrugged and found a seat to collapse in. She winced as she tried to stretch her fractured leg.

“Hurt?” Sterling asked.

“Go fuck yourself,” Darby replied.

“Oh, that reminds me. I have good news,” Ballantine said. “Our trusty Team Grendel and others have taken control of the Resurrection. They are currently attempting a rescue of everyone else. Isn’t that nice?”

“Attempting?” Darby said.

“Ah, you caught that,” Ballantine said. “Nothing gets past you. Yes, well, there is a tiny shark problem.”

“I doubt it’s tiny,” Darby said.

“No. Not so much,” Ballantine agreed. “Our trusty comrades are working on a plan as we speak. I believe, if the timing is right, they will be able to return to the island in time and get off the ship before the shark can attack again.”

“Get off the ship?” Darby said. “Where off the ship?”

“At the dock, of course,” Ballantine said.

“Great,” Darby said as she struggled up onto her feet. “The dock in the harbor, Ballantine? The harbor that is about to be overrun with rogue sentries?”

“Yes. Huh. That is concerning,” Ballantine said.

Darby pointed at Sterling. “You. Get everyone you have left together. We’re going to the harbor.”

“Why would I do that?” Sterling asked.

“Because if we don’t save my friends, then I have no reason to keep living,” Darby said. “If I have no reason to live, then you sure as fuck have no reason to live. Are we understood?”

“How fatalistic,” Ballantine said. “Go, Mr. Hill. I believe Nigel here is capable of continuing on with me. Saving our comrades will go a long way to us deciding whether or not to keep you alive when this is all over.”

“There are some other factors that will decide that, Ballantine,” Sterling said as he got up. “But we’ll talk about that later.”

He pressed his ear.

“All security personnel on me in the staging area,” Sterling called over the com. “I want full kits and every Humvee we have. We’re on a kill-and-clear mission at the harbor. Targets are the sentries.”

Sterling pressed his ear again and sneered at Darby.

“You gonna make it?” he asked as Darby limped away from her seat.

“I could have both legs broken and I’d still be better at my job than you,” Darby said. “Shut the fuck up and move out.”

***

Everyone was up and out of the Toyshop.

Almost everyone.

“What are they doing?” Thorne snarled as he finished hugging Kinsey. “Moshi! Carlos! Get up here! Now!”

“They aren’t coming, Daddy,” Kinsey said. “They’re staying down there and keeping the shark off us as long as they can.”

“What?” Thorne shouted. “It isn’t going to make any difference!”

“It will, Vincent,” Gunnar said as he slumped against the side of the railing. “All they have to do is give us enough time to get into the harbor and get docked. We evacuate the ship and run for it before the shark arrives. The mines will do the rest.”

“The mines?” Thorne asked.

“There are special mines in the harbor that won’t hurt this ship but will decimate the shark,” Kinsey said. “But we have to have time to dock or the mines will stay inactive. Docking brings them back online and they’ll see the shark as an enemy. Boom.”

“A very big boom,” Ingrid said as she was helped down to the deck by Lucy. “We don’t want to be anywhere near the harbor when that happens. It will not be pretty.”

Thorne looked back down at the Toyshop, but it was gone. A telltale swirl of water was all that was left.

“There’s no other way?” Thorne asked.

“No,” Kinsey said. “Moshi is the best person to pilot the Toyshop. That leaves Carlos to work weapons. They’ll fight the fucking shark until the Toyshop powers down. By then, we should be docked.”

“We had better be docked,” Ingrid said as she lay back on the deck and closed her eyes. “I think I’m done with boats after all this.”

“Same here,” Gunnar said.

“Really?” Kinsey said. “Chicken shits.”

***

The Humvees sped along the rutted road and Darby had to grit her teeth as the bouncing jostled her leg.

“Got some morphine for the pain,” Sterling said from the front passenger seat of the vehicle as he swiveled around to regard Darby. “Take the edge off.”

“Right,” Darby said. “Then you put a round between my eyes. I’ll wait until we’re done then I’ll get patched up. I know a damn fine doctor.”

“Suit yourself,” Sterling said. “Going to be hard to fight with that leg. And your shoulder isn’t looking so great. Any other wounds you’re putting off?”

“Plenty,” Darby said. “But they are my wounds to worry about, not yours.”

Sterling shrugged and looked back out at the road. The Humvee was moving at nearly sixty miles per hour, but no one in the vehicle was even slightly alarmed.

Darby studied the three guards crammed in the rear seat with her then studied the driver. They had the determined look of seasoned vets. When everything was said and done, it wasn’t going to be easy to keep the island. Darby knew her people were at a severe disadvantage.

“I can almost hear your thoughts,” Sterling said without looking back at her. “Don’t over think the situation, Darby. We could all make it out of here alive.”

“If Ballantine gets his job done,” Darby said.

“Yeah. There’s that,” Sterling said.

***

“There!” Carlos yelled from his seat at the weapons console. “Here it comes!”

“I see it,” Moshi replied, calm and cool. “Taking us down.”

“Down? Why would you go down?” Carlos cried. “It’ll swim over us and go for the ship!”

“Sharks attack from below,” Moshi said. “We attack from below. We’re better shark.”

“You’re nuts,” Carlos said as the Toyshop dove down, angling underneath the trajectory of the oncoming mega shark.

Moshi’s eyes were locked onto the screen in front of her. It was split between a view of the water directly ahead of the Toyshop and a view of the shark that was about to go swimming past them. Moshi pulled hard on the controls and brought the Toyshop climbing straight up.

“Shoot now!” Moshi yelled.

Carlos fired the plasma cannon again and again, sending four brilliant bolts tearing through the water and straight at the passing mega shark. The beast was so huge that even if it tried to swerve, there was no way to avoid the plasma.

Yet, it did avoid three of the bolts. The fourth ripped into its side, tearing a four-foot diameter gouge all the way up its body. The shark reacted violently and Moshi didn’t have time to avoid what was coming at them.

“Tail!” she yelled as the screen in front of her was filled with nothing but the grey/blue of shark skin.

The Toyshop rocked then began tumbling end over end through the water. Klaxons blared and Carlos crawled from his seat hand over hand to a different console.

“We have a hull breach!” he shouted. “We have a damn hull breach, Moshi! We should not have a hull breach!”

“Big damn shark,” Moshi said. “It breach what it want to breach.”

“Are you kidding me?” Carlos cried. “Listen, I thought maybe we’d have a chance. I wasn’t exactly agreeing to sacrifice myself for everyone.”

“Then why come back?” Moshi asked.

“What? Well… Because that was the right thing to do.” It sounded like it pained Carlos to admit that.

“Same with sacrifice,” Moshi said. “We won’t make it, Carlos. Get used to idea.”

Moshi regained control of the Toyshop and sent it racing after the shark.

“Sit down and fire,” Moshi said. “We can do this.”

Carlos hesitated then flicked a switch and the emergency klaxons stopped blaring. He took his seat at the weapons console.

“Fire when ready,” Moshi said.

Carlos took aim and fired four more plasma bolts at the shark’s aft end. Three connected that time and the shark rolled in the water then dove, a massive cloud of blood trailing behind it.

Moshi dove as well.

***

The harbor was possibly the most welcome sight Lake had ever seen. Except for the fact that the dock was quickly filling up with people.

“Darren…” Lake muttered.

“I see them,” Darren said and activated his com. “Reynolds? You two see what we’re seeing?”

“Oh, we fucking see them,” Max replied over the com.

“We can drop fifty right now, but that won’t touch the numbers,” Shane added. “What it will do is leave a lot of dead weight on that dock. Docks don’t like dead weight, no matter how well built they are.”

“Where do you want me to park this piece of shit?” Lake asked Darren. He cut the engines to half as he navigated them through the harbor and towards the dock. “Darren?”

“How many people can this ship take on?” Darren asked.

“What? We aren’t picking up more people,” Lake said.

“Yeah, we are,” Darren said. The outside hatch opened and Kinsey rushed inside. “Hey, ‘Sey.”

“‘Ren,” Kinsey said. She hesitated then hurried over and hugged Darren. Hard. Then she pulled back and looked at Lake. “How many people can this ship hold?”

“I was asking the same thing,” Darren said.

“You two are insane,” Lake said and did some quick calculations. He stared out at the horde of dead sentries that not only was filling the dock, but had filled the entire shoreline of the harbor and back into the woods. “It’ll hold half of those. Probably more. Shit, if we don’t care whether or not this ship sinks, we can take them all on.”

Kinsey looked at Darren. He nodded and stood up.

“Do that,” Darren ordered. “Park us at the dock. We’ll get everyone ready then drop the gangplank and let our new passengers aboard.”

“And we’ll go?” Lake asked.

“Over the side,” Darren said.

“Some are wounded and can’t climb down,” Kinsey said. “All of us are exhausted. This won’t be easy, ‘Ren.”

“Never is, ‘Sey,” Darren replied.

“Will you two makeup and get back together already,” Lake snapped. “I am so sick of this soap opera bullshit.”

“Fuck off,” Darren and Kinsey said at the same time.

***

The Humvee caravan made it to within sight of the harbor. They were still about half a mile away, though, the road blocked by dead sentries. The rear rows turned to regard the vehicles. Some hissed then returned to their migration to the harbor while others decided it was time to kill what they could.

“Everyone out!” Sterling ordered. “Set lines and take them down! We’ve trained for this, people!”

“You knew this could happen?” Darby asked then waved off any reply from Sterling. “Wire. Yeah. You knew this could happen.”

The Humvees emptied of men and women and lines were quickly set up at the front of the caravan.

“I want .50 cals to target the fence lines!” Sterling shouted as he got out of the Humvee. He pointed where the fences used to be. They were long-since collapsed and trampled upon. “You see sentries coming and you rip them apart! We cannot afford a side attack! Understood?”

There were shouts of understanding and the racking of weapons.

Darby opened her door and got out, careful not to put too much weight on her leg. She limped to the front of the Humvee and studied the harbor.

“They’re here already,” Darby said. “The shark didn’t get them.”

“Yeah, well, good for them,” Sterling said. “But they aren’t getting off that ship anytime soon. Which means if that shark shows up, and those mines go off, that ship is going down.”

Darby started to reply then closed her mouth. She held out a hand. No one responded.

“Hey!” she snapped at a guard standing close by. “Give me your binoculars!”

The guard looked to Sterling who nodded. The guard handed Darby his binoculars.

She put them to her eyes and gasped.

“What the fuck are they doing?” Darby snarled.

“What?” Sterling asked.

She handed him the binoculars as she activated the com. “Ballantine? Patch me through to the ship.”

“A little busy right now, Darby,” Ballantine replied over the com.

“They have lowered the gangplank and are letting the sentries come aboard,” Darby stated.

“Well, that certainly warrants a conversation,” Ballantine said. “Give me a second.”

“I think I know what they are up to,” Sterling said. “Take a look over there.”

He handed her the binoculars back.

Darby checked where he was pointing, which was farther out in the harbor. Rafts and lifeboats began to appear, floating away from the ship and towards the shoreline. Right at the dead sentries that were lined up in the hundreds.

“We have to clear that for them,” Darby said. “Now.”

Sterling hesitated then nodded.

“New plan, people!” he shouted and pointed at the darkness of the woods next to them. “We’re going in and securing that shoreline! Mount back up!”

Those guards already lined up opened fire, shredding the rows and rows of dead sentries coming at them, giving the caravan some space to move. Then everyone mounted up and the Humvees began turning and heading straight into the woods, their tires crunching over the fallen fences.

***

The last few people were pulled into the final lifeboat and Kinsey shoved away from the ship’s hull. Once out in the harbor far enough that her view wasn’t blocked, she surveyed the shoreline.

“Shit,” she said.

“We’ve got our shooters up in the front rafts,” Gunnar said. “They’ll thin the numbers.”

“I should be up there helping,” Kinsey snapped.

“You think you can really aim straight?” Gunnar asked. “Just be happy you aren’t being chased by a giant shark right now.”

“We are being chased by a giant shark, Gun,” Kinsey said. “The son of a bitch is headed right for this harbor.”

“Oh, yeah, right,” Gunnar said. “Sorry. I’m having a hard time keeping our mortal threats straight. Maybe I should close my eyes and get some sleep. You can wake me if we live.”

“Shut up, asshole,” Kinsey said, kicking him in the shin.

“Ow,” Gunnar replied. Then they both shut up as gunfire erupted from the front rafts.

***

“Bam diggity!” Max yelled as he squeezed the trigger of his rifle over and over from his position in the lead raft. “I count ten down!”

“I’ve already got fifteen,” Shane replied over the com.

“I dropped twenty-five,” Lucy said over the com.

“Twenty-five?” Max scoffed. “You’d have to reload.”

“I did,” Lucy said. “Slackers.”

“Shit, bro, are we losing our touch?” Max asked.

“Our touch is gentle and always hits the mark,” Shane said.

“I don’t know what that means,” Max replied.

“I don’t either,” Shane said. “It’s what popped into my head.”

“I’m going to pop a round into both your heads if you don’t shut up,” Thorne snarled over the com. “Keep firing!”

“We are, Uncle Vinny,” Max replied.

He was right. None of the shooters had stopped firing while they bantered. The only pause in their firing was to eject their spent magazines and slap home fresh ones.

“Thirty-eight,” Lucy announced.

“Dammit!” Shane said.

“I’m calling bullshit,” Max said. “I demand a recount!”

“Yeah, you hop your ass up on shore and do that,” Lucy laughed. “How’s that going to work out for you?”

The shooters did what they did best and kept on shooting.

***

“Hello?” Moshi called into the com.

“You’re a go,” Darren replied. “How you holding up, Moshi?”

“We’re fine,” Moshi said. “But shark is almost to harbor. You off ship?”

“We’re off ship, but not out of the water,” Darren said. “We had to abandon ship due to some issues we’re having with the locals.”

“Oh, yes, right,” Moshi said. “The zombies.”

“Zombies?” Carlos exclaimed. “That’s real?”

Moshi ignored him.

“I may help,” Moshi said. “We can slow shark and maybe slow some of the zombies.”

“Yeah, we’re calling them sentries,” Darren said. “Saying zombies is sort of weird.”

“Yeah, it is,” Carlos muttered.

“Launching mini-EMPS,” Moshi said as she looked over at Carlos.

“What?” he asked.

“Launch the mini-EMPs,” Moshi said.

“That’ll knock out the coms,” Carlos said.

“I heard that,” Darren said. “Do what you have to do. We’ll talk on the other side of this. Thanks, guys.”

“You are welcome,” Moshi said.

“EMPs launched,” Carlos announced.

The Toyshop lurched then Carlos and Moshi were pressed back in their seats.

“Moshi! What are you doing?” Carlos said.

Moshi giggled. “Ramming speed.”

“Did you say ramming speed?” Darren asked.

“Yeah! She said ramming speed!” Carlos cried. “Dammit, Moshi!”

***

“What are those?” Lake asked, seated next to Darren in one of the lifeboats in the middle of the pack. “What did they fire?”

“You’re about to see,” Darren said as he craned his neck to get a view of the dock.

Small missiles rocketed through the air from way out in the ocean. They raced into the harbor, aimed directly over the dock and all the dead sentries that filled it. The gangplank on the ship had become choked and there was no more forward progress. Many of the dead sentries were beginning to turn and push back against the horde, aimed back at something they must have detected.

Darren followed their line of sight and thought he saw headlights. But then the missiles exploded and every single dead sentry on the dock stiffened, shook violently, then dropped. Darren waited for them to get up, but they didn’t.

Three more small rockets shot directly overhead towards the lifeboats and rafts and exploded above the dead sentries on the shoreline. A good third of those dropped as well, but there were still a few hundred pressing towards the water.

The com in Darren’s ear crackled then went completely silent.

“Can we get to the dock now?” someone asked.

“No way,” Darren said. “When the mines go up, that ship is going up too. If we’re anywhere near that dock, we’ll be torn to shreds.”

“Looks like we’re going to be torn to shreds if we land there,” Lake said, indicating the shoreline.

“We do what we have to do,” Darren said.

***

The Toyshop nailed the shark directly in its tail. Then Moshi dove down and came up at its belly while Carlos fired everything.

“Dead,” Carlos said with a whine. “Plasma cannons are burnt out.”

“We hurt it bad,” Moshi said as she steered the Toyshop away from the shark and began to turn around for another run. “It give everyone time.”

The controls began to shake her hands then there was a loud bang and everything froze. Moshi started pressing buttons and tried to get the Toyshop operational, but she gave up after a few seconds.

“Dead too,” she said and relaxed into her seat. She placed her hands behind her head and started humming.

“Are you kidding?” Carlos snapped. “There has to be a way out of this!”

“There is,” Moshi replied. “We die and go to heaven. No sharks in heaven.”

“Arrrgh!” Carlos yelled.

***

The Humvees emptied once more of guards. Darby grunted as she got out and joined Sterling while he barked orders. Line after line of guards set up where the trees ended and the shoreline began.

“Coms are sketchy,” Sterling said. “Those missiles must have only been EMPs, because they sure as shit didn’t blow up the sentries.”

Darby nodded and tried to get her com on. “Ballantine? Can you read me?”

There was a lot of static and only the faintest hint of Ballantine’s voice.

“We’re in the dark,” Sterling said. “We focus on clearing the sentries then we worry about whether Ballantine gets the self-destruct turned off.”

Darby nodded and limped with Sterling to one of the lines. They each took a position and raised their weapons.

“Fire at will!” Sterling bellowed.

The lines opened fire and began ripping the dead sentries apart.

***

“Looks like we’re getting an assist!” Max shouted. There was no response in the com and he sighed.

***

“Aim for there!” Thorne ordered the deckhand that was steering the raft he was in. “See that open space? We put in there!”

The people on the raft started to argue. None of them wanted to get anywhere near the horde of waiting dead sentries.

“Shut the fuck up!” Thorne roared. “We put in there and we end this shit once and for all!”

***

“I should have gone with ‘Ren,” Kinsey said. “I should be with him at the end.”

“But you’re with me,” Gunnar said. “Close second?”

Kinsey grinned at Gunnar. “Never a second, Gun. You’re your own first.”

“I understand the sentiment, so I’ll let the bullshit go,” Gunnar said.

Kinsey focused back on the shoreline and saw, then heard, the gunfire coming from the trees. Then the dead sentry numbers began to thin. She watched one of the rafts head for an opening.

“Go there!” she ordered.

The lifeboat’s direction adjusted and headed straight for the same opening.

***

Thorne’s raft hit the short beach hard and he basically flew out and onto the thin strip of sand, rolling with the momentum and coming up shooting into the dead sentries. He barely heard the shouts from those still in the raft. He did hear the approaching motors and then the accompanying gunfire as Shane, Max, then Lucy joined him.

As one, they stood and walked into the horde, dropping everything in front of them.

Then the distinctive sound of .50 caliber machine guns got their attention.

“DOWN!” Thorne yelled.

The four of them dropped to the ground and covered their heads as the dead sentries all around them were shredded. The gunfire seemed to go on forever. When it finally stopped, the silence was deafening.

“You gonna lie there all night, Commander?” a familiar voice asked.

Thorne uncovered his head and looked up at the smiling face of Darby.

“My Darby!” Max yelled as he got to his feet and lifted Darby into the air in a massive bear hug.

“OW!” Darby snarled and head-butted Max.

He let go and stumbled back.

“What the fuck, Darbs?” he cried.

“Fractured leg, dipshit,” Darby said.

“Oh, shit, sorry,” Max said. “Can I pick you up if I’m careful?”

“Yeah,” Darby said then looked back at Thorne. “Get up. We need to move into the trees before the harbor becomes nothing but fire.”

Thorne nodded, got to his feet, and turned to address those that were on shore and those still unloading as the last of the rafts and the lifeboats jammed up at the water line. People were scrambling over from one watercraft to the next to get onto land.

“Into the trees!” Thorne shouted. “Now!”

No one had to be told twice.

***

The shark entered the harbor at full speed. It crashed through the first set of mines, collided with the second set, and was almost to third when the first set detonated.

A chain reaction of explosions filled the harbor and fire turned water to steam. The same fire turned the shark into ground meat then cooked meat then no meat as the creature was truly, and finally, vaporized.

The last of the mega sharks died on the attack, the way it was designed to go.

***

Those closest to the harbor were knocked off their feet and sent flying back a couple of meters before coming to rest in painful piles. But alive piles. Other than some lost eyebrows and enough bruises to paint the world purple, no one was seriously harmed.

Darby caught Thorne’s eye then glanced at the island guards. Thorne nodded. The look went from one member of Grendel to the next before Darby picked herself up. Everyone was onboard.

“Well, that is that,” Sterling said as he walked up to Darby, his eyes on the ocean water that was covered in flames and a thick film of what used to be shark.

That wasn’t that. The Resurrection went up as well and everyone that had gotten to their feet, dropped quickly as thousands of pieces of shrapnel ripped through the air.

Miraculously, no one caught any of the metal.

Sterling laughed as he extended a hand to Darby. She took it and was pulled to her feet. Then she yanked the pistol free from Sterling’s belt and put it to his forehead.

“We’d never trust each other,” she said as she pulled the trigger.

The back of Sterling’s head exploded out onto the few guards standing behind him. Darby took advantage of their shock and dropped them too. Gunfire once again filled the night. She emptied the pistol, reloaded, and emptied it again before she paused and assessed her situation.

“Down!” Thorne yelled at a group of guards.

The Reynolds brothers, Darren, Lucy, and Kinsey were executing the same orders. Then executing those that did not comply. When it was said and done, only about twenty guards were left alive. They were quickly secured.

“Command center,” Darby said to Thorne and limped her way to the closest Humvee.

“Keep watch,” Thorne ordered the rest of Grendel.

“We got this, Daddy,” Kinsey said. “You finish it.”

***

Darby was leaning heavily on Thorne when they burst into the command center. They’d killed the few guards that Sterling had left behind; that wasn’t much of a problem. But Darby’s leg was throbbing so much she could hear only her heartbeat in her ears.

“I knew you could do it,” Ballantine said as he lounged against the wall, free of his chair. And eating an apple. “I found the mess. Plenty of food for everyone. Are they on their way here?”

Darby stared at Ballantine then looked around. She saw Nigel dead on the ground, most of his head missing.

“I assume you took care of Sterling the same way,” Ballantine said. “Or did you let him live?”

“He’s dead,” Darby said. “Self-destruct?”

“Are you doubting my abilities?” Ballantine replied with a chuckle. “Well, most of the credit goes to Nigel there. He cracked the code and shut off the self-destruct. Then I shut him off.”

Thorne shook his head and set Darby in the closest chair.

“Now what, Ballantine?” Thorne asked. “How do we leave an island with no ship? And where do we go? We’re still wanted.”

“Are we?” Ballantine asked, smirking. “What if I was to tell you that I’ve already made a few calls and settled our records with the authorities on that matter? How’d that sound?”

“We’re not fugitives?” Thorne asked.

“Well, the legalities might take a few days to work through the system,” Ballantine said. “But, no. We’re no longer fugitives. Even better. We now have our very own base of operations to work from. No more living solely on a ship. This island can be our home and we can all do what we do best.”

“No,” Thorne stated.

“I’m sorry. What?” Ballantine replied.

“No. I’m done. My family is done. We’re all done with you, Ballantine. We’re going home.”

“Well, that’s disappointing to hear, but not surprising,” Ballantine said. He clapped his hands together. “I guess I should show you where the airfield is then.”

“The airfield?” Thorne asked.

“You didn’t think I’d bring us all here and not know how to get away if things didn’t exactly go as planned?” Ballantine asked.

“Don’t kill him,” Darby said.

“Not worth it,” Thorne said as he turned and walked out of the command center.

“I’ll be along shortly!” Ballantine called after him. “Gonna finish my apple.”

Chapter Twenty-One: One Year Later

The joint was close to half an inch thick and nearly six inches long.

Shane flicked his lighter, put the flame to the end of the joint, and inhaled deeply. He held the hit then slowly let it out.

“Oh, yeah, that’s good stuff,” Shane said and turned to the man standing next to him. “The price is right. I’d take the whole load.”

“How?” the man asked. “This shit isn’t legit. How can we funnel this much weed into the legal system?”

“I know people,” Shane said. “It’ll take about three months, maybe four, but no more than that. Then every ounce here will be legal to sell. God bless California voters, man. You’re about to be stinking rich.”

Shane took another hit from the joint and grinned.

“And I am too,” he said.

Shane’s phone rang. He let it ring as the man he worked for and the man that sat at the table in front of what was close to sixty pounds of high-grade cannabis began to negotiate price. Shane’s job was not only quality control, but making sure that nothing went wrong during the deal. His earpiece buzzed and he frowned as he exhaled.

The com wasn’t anything close to what Shane had used when working with Grendel. A spiral wire descended from the earpiece and down to a heavy-duty walkie on his belt.

“Go for Cyclops,” Shane said.

“Boss, we have a vehicle approaching from the west access road,” a voice said. “What do you want us to do?”

“Hold on,” Shane said and cleared his throat. “Excuse me, but are we expecting company?”

“No,” the man that had hired Shane said.

“No,” the man sitting across from him echoed.

Shane studied both men then nodded.

“I’ll be right back,” Shane said as he turned and left the warehouse and stepped out into the hot California sun.

There was nothing but wide-open space for miles. Desert everywhere which made it easy to see the plume of dust the approaching vehicle sent high into the air.

Shane’s phone rang again and again he ignored it. He had a job to do.

He began walking towards where five of his men had a nice, secure roadblock set up so no unwanted visitors could come and interrupt the negotiations happening inside the warehouse. Or hijack the very valuable weed. Or the money sitting in the back of the black SUV parked next to the warehouse, surrounded by five more men.

The vehicle was stopped and Shane waited for a report.

His phone rang again the same time a voice said over the com, “Uh, boss? There’s a lady here that says she’s your sister-in-law. What do you want me to do?”

“Hold,” Shane said as he twisted the power off on his walkie then plucked his phone from his belt. The caller was Unknown, but Shane expected that.

“Are you kidding me, bro?” he answered.

“Dude, you gotta learn to set a proper perimeter,” Max said on the other end of the line. “I’ve got half your guys dead to rights. You too, slacker.”

Shane looked down at his chest and could just make out a red dot over his heart. He laughed.

“When’d you get stateside again?” Shane asked.

“Couple days ago,” Max said. “Hey, you want to tell your people to stand down before they annoy Darby?”

“Sister-in-law, bro?”

“Sister-in-law, bro. Darby insisted.”

“Did she?”

“Dude, she did. Said she wanted us locked together for life.”

“Did you shit your pants?”

“Still shitting, bro. Still shitting. But it’s Darby, so what the fuck else am I going to do?”

“Whatever the fuck she tells you to do,” Shane replied, laughing.

“That weed any good?”

“Shit, bro, it’s some of the best. Hoof your ass in here and I’ll let my guys know to send Darby. I can finish up here then we can go get some beers and chat.”

“Yeah. Chatting is a good idea.”

Shane paused as he turned his walkie back on. “Not liking that.”

“Just listen. Don’t judge yet.”

Shane closed his eye and shook his head.

“Whatever. Get your ass over here.”

“Already on the way.”

***

“That?” Lake said as he stared at the ship. “It’s a quarter of the size that we need.”

“But it’s what we can afford,” Darren said as he stood on the dock, his hand gripped in Kinsey’s. “Come on, Marty. We’ll need funds to finance the work too. We can’t spend it all on the ship up front.”

“Gunnar? What do you think?” Kinsey said.

Gunnar, standing on her other side, shook his head.

“It’s a piece of shit,” Gunnar said.

“Never said it wasn’t,” Darren replied. “But we can put the work into it needs.”

“Can you fit the equipment in there?” Kinsey asked, ignoring Darren.

“Yeah,” Gunnar said. “Most of it.”

“Bad idea, D,” Lake said. “Not the right boat. Popeye and Cougher will never agree to work on this hunk of junk. We keep looking.”

He turned to walk away then froze. Kinsey, Darren, and Gunnar frowned then turned as well to see what he was staring at.

“Hi, guys,” Ingrid said, her thumbs hooked into the straps of her overalls as she stood on the dock a few feet away. “How you guys been?”

Kinsey let go of Darren’s hand and rushed forward, wrapping Ingrid in a huge bear hug. Then she pushed away.

“What’s wrong? Who died?” Kinsey asked.

“Just because Ingrid is here, doesn’t mean someone died,” Gunnar said as he took his turn hugging the woman. He pushed back also. “But who did die?”

“No one died, guys,” Ingrid said. “Can’t a girl come see some old friends?”

“Okay, so no one died,” Darren said, hugging her as well. “But you aren’t here on a friendly visit. What’s up?”

“Oh, it’s a friendly visit,” Ingrid said, lying horribly. Everyone frowned at her. “Okay, well, yes, there may be an agenda to the visit. There’s something you need to know.”

“What? What’s happened?” Kinsey asked.

“Nothing bad,” Ingrid said. She glanced around. “I can’t really talk about it here. Can you come with me? We can go have some beers and chat.”

“I don’t drink,” Kinsey said.

“And I don’t drink because Kinsey doesn’t drink,” Darren said. “And because it keeps me from getting angry and picking fights in bars.”

“That has been nice,” Gunnar said.

“You buying?” Lake asked.

“Not me, no,” Ingrid said. “But drinks are on the house.”

“I’m in,” Lake said and flipped off the ship behind. “But not for that piece of crap. New boat, D. New fucking boat.”

***

“Thorne,” Thorne said as he answered his phone. “Who the hell is this and why do you keep calling?”

“Hey, Uncle Vinny,” Max said. “Nice to hear your sweet, soothing voice.”

“Max? What’s wrong?” Thorne asked as he caught sight of the closest exit and pulled off the interstate.

“Nothing’s wrong, Uncle Vinny,” Max said. “Just thought you might want to join me and my new wife for a drink. We’re in town.”

Thorne turned right at the exit’s light then pulled into the first parking lot and glanced in his rearview mirror.

“Are you driving the silver Jeep?” Thorne asked.

“Dammit, Darby!” Max said. “He spotted us!”

There was some mumbling in the background.

“Oh, my bad, she wasn’t trying to hide,” Max said.

“Max, what is going on?” Thorne grumbled.

“Just needing to have a drink,” Max said. “Did you not hear the new bride part? Shane’s gonna be there. Kinsey too. Hell, even Ditcher and Gunnar. A little celebration.”

“Uh huh,” Thorne said. “Where?”

The silver Jeep drove by and Max waved from the passenger seat.

“There happens to be a nice little spot only a couple miles from here,” Max said. “Oh, now I see why Darby wasn’t hiding. She got you to pull off at this exit. Nice work, babe.”

“Max?”

“Yeah, Uncle Vinny?”

“Is Ballantine going to be there?”

“What was that? The reception is breaking up. See ya at the bar! I’ll text the address!”

The phone went dead.

Thorne grumbled and growled until the text chime sounded on his phone. He looked down and glared at the address. Then he put the car back in gear and drove out of the parking lot, the GPS directing him to the bar.

***

“Where is he?” Thorne snapped as he walked into the bar. He didn’t look surprised that there was no bartender or music or signs that the bar was open for business. Especially considering who was walking towards him.

Ballantine held out his arms.

“Vincent!” he said. “You are looking great! A year’s rest has been good for you!”

“A year away from your ass and your bullshit has been good for me,” Thorne said.

“Hey, Daddy,” Kinsey said as she cut Ballantine off and moved in for a hug.

Thorne hugged Kinsey, but his eyes stayed on Ballantine. Then the eyes started studying the room.

Darren was sitting at a table with Lake and Gunnar. Max, Shane, and Darby were at another table. Lucy and Ingrid were at a third table.

“Almost everyone is here,” Thorne said.

“The rest will join us once we’re underway,” Ballantine said.

“Not going anywhere with you,” Thorne said. “Our time together is done, Ballantine. Last time I saw you was supposed to be the last time. Ever.”

“Yes, well, you know how life goes, Vincent,” Ballantine said, finally giving up on the hug he wasn’t going to receive. He returned to his seat at the table with Ingrid and Lucy. “There are always unexpected surprises.”

“All surprises are unexpected,” Darby said. “That’s why they’re surprises.”

“Yes, very true, Darby,” Ballantine said. “And again, thank you for taking time out of your honeymoon to help with this.”

“We said we’d help get everyone together,” Max said. “You haven’t pitched us on the job yet.”

“Can I go ahead and say no?” Gunnar asked, raising his hand.

“You’ll want to listen,” Ingrid said. There was excitement and sadness in her voice. “Trust me.”

Gunnar put his hand down.

“Take a seat, Vincent,” Ballantine said, gesturing to an empty chair next to Shane.

Thorne hesitated then sat down.

“You part of this?” he asked Shane.

“No clue what’s up, Uncle Vinny,” Shane replied.

“Let me change that for you,” Ballantine said as he addressed the group.

He opened a laptop that was on the table and pressed a key. A holographic image came up of what looked like the ocean floor.

“If you look here and here, you will see some very strong currents,” Ballantine said. “These currents sit off the coast of my island.”

“Our island,” Ingrid said. “Everyone’s island.”

“Yes. That,” Ballantine said and nodded at Ingrid. “We’re so communal these days.”

Ballantine pointed at the image and swiped his hand left. The view changed to a different image then pulled out and angled up to reveal a coastline.

“Those currents lead to this area of land here off the coast of Australia,” Ballantine continued. “That is where someone discovered our long lost Toyshop a few months ago.”

“The Toyshop? It wasn’t destroyed?” Gunnar asked.

“Sank, not destroyed,” Ingrid said.

“Sank, not destroyed,” Ballantine echoed. “It wasn’t until a week ago that I was contacted regarding the recovery of the Toyshop. The person that contacted me is in the business and does not have the nicest reputation.”

“So?” Darren asked. “We’re out, Ballantine. We all chose to get out.”

“Not all of us,” Ingrid said.

“Which was your choice,” Darren said. “A not nice person in the business found the Toyshop. What does that have to do with any of us? It’s your problem, Ballantine.”

“That would be true if there weren’t extenuating circumstances,” Ballantine said. “Ingrid?”

“Ballantine, I think I am reading the room,” Thorne said. “There is nothing you can say that will convince any of us to come back and work for you.”

“You are right,” Ballantine said. “That’s why you won’t be listening to my plea.”

Ingrid pulled the laptop to her. She pressed a button and the bar’s speakers came to life.

“Hello? This on? Hello?”

“It’s on, dammit. Just talk. We don’t have much time!”

“I want to make sure it’s on.”

“Dammit, Moshi! I said it’s on!”

“Okay, chill out, asshead.” Moshi cleared her throat. “Okay. Not much time. Bad asshole has us captive. We got lucky and maybe get this message to you. If you hear this, please come get us. We’re not dead.”

“They know that because we’re talking!” Carlos snapped. “Oh, shit. They’re coming. Put it away! Put it away!”

The message ended and Ingrid killed the speakers. Ballantine smiled at the wide eyes and open mouths that faced him.

“As you know, Delana Paz and Tom Thomas survived,” Ballantine said. “I have Delana on this, but Tom is more suited to working with Ronald, Boris, and Dr. Morganton. Delana is good, but she is only one person and the few guards I have hired for island security are neither trained nor physically capable of handling a task this dangerous. But all of you are. Every last one of you.”

Ballantine stood, clapped his hands together, and grinned at the group.

“Who’s up for a little rescue Moshi mission?” Ballantine asked.

“You forgot Carlos,” Ingrid said.

“No, I didn’t,” Ballantine said. “So?”

“Goddammit,” Thorne snarled.

“When do we leave?” Kinsey asked.

No one argued.

“Right away,” Ballantine said. “Oh, and wait until you see the new ship.”

The End

Read on for a free sample of Prehistoric Beasts And Where to Fight Them

Afterword

Before everyone gets excited that there will be more Mega books, please know that this is the definitive final Mega novel. No more giant sharks or giant anything. The Megas are gone.

With that said, it may not be the end for Team Grendel. Time (and sales) willing, your favorite misfits may be retooled and sent out on new missions. Normal missions? Not hardly, but more standard action/adventure thriller than SyFy monster movie of the week.

Not that there won’t be monsters… We’ll see. It all depends if Ballantine lets me hire the team again for some new stories. Fingers crossed, y’all!

If not, then this is a fitting end for these fine folks. I had a blast writing these novels and they turned out the way I’d hoped. I’ve also had a blast communicating with all of the fans and readers over the years. I know you’ve loved Team Grendel and the crew of the Beowulf II and III as much as I have.

So, maybe this is goodbye forever. Maybe not. Either way, what a ride, yeah?

Thanks, y’all!

Jake Bible

Asheville, NC

10/13/2017

Author Bio:

Jake Bible, Bram Stoker Award nominated-novelist, short story writer, independent screenwriter, podcaster, and inventor of the Drabble Novel, has entertained thousands with his horror, sci/fi, thriller, and adventure tales. He reaches audiences of all ages with his uncanny ability to write a wide range of characters and genres.

Jake is the author of the bestselling Z-Burbia series set in Asheville, NC, the bestselling Salvage Merc One, the Apex Trilogy (DEAD MECH, The Americans, Metal and Ash) and the Roak: Galactic Bounty Hunter series for Severed Press. He is also the author of the YA zombie novel, Little Dead Man, the Bram Stoker Award nominated Teen horror novel, Intentional Haunting, the ScareScapes series, and the Reign of Four series for Permuted Press, as well as Stone Cold Bastards and the Black Box, Inc. series for Bell Bridge Books.

Find Jake at jakebible.com. Join him on Twitter @jakebible and find him on Facebook.

IN THE DEPTHS, SOMETHING WAITS …

Acclaimed film director Jake Bentneus pilots a custom submersible to the bottom of Challenger Deep in the Pacific, the deepest point of any ocean of Earth. But something lurks at the hot hydrothermal vents, a creature—a dinosaur—too big to exist.

Gigadon.

It not only exists, but it follows him, hungrily, back to the surface. Later, a barely living Bentneus offers a $1 billion prize to anyone who can find and kill the monster. His best bet is renowned ichthyopaleontologist Sean Muir, who had predicted adapted dinosaurs lived at the bottom of the ocean.

But Muir is in solitary confinement at a maximum security prison for the death of his wife on a dive meant to confirm his theories. That doesn’t matter—Jake Bentneus has the means to get Muir out. He also has the means to put him back in prison forever if he doesn’t kill Gigadon.

With a mind badly warped by a year in solitary confinement, can Muir solve the mystery of his wife’s death while also traveling to the bottom of Challenger Deep to hunt and kill this impossible dinosaur?

If he wants to remain a free man, he’ll have to do both.

He’ll have to learn everything there is to know about

PREHISTORIC BEASTS AND WHERE TO FIGHT THEM

1

One of Katherine Muir’s favorite things about taking a panoramic submersible down was watching the bubbling waterline crawl up the viewing windows, letting her see the old, familiar world get replaced by the new, exciting one under the surface. But that was about the only thing she regretted about the design of her new vehicle, this sleek and solid lozenge built with viewports that were much stronger than those of any panoramic-view vessel, but much smaller, too.

Those bubble subs were wonderful for examining coral reefs, fish, and other sea life. Watching the amazing octopus as it changed its color, pattern, everything to make itself completely invisible to predators. The times she had watched them deploy such camouflage, the only way she even knew they were there was because she followed silently behind them and waited until they felt a threat. Then they slapped themselves against whatever surface was nearby … and disappeared. Truly, studying ocean life in the panoramic submersibles was a joy.

But this new vessel, Deep Thoughts, was made not to explore ocean creatures, but the ocean itself. Katherine and her husband, Sean, had designed the submersible, working hand in glove with some of the most innovative subaquatic transport engineers in the world. It had been a difficult decision whether to create a one-person vessel or one more like the bubble subs, with room for two. She and her husband wrestled with how cool it would be to explore together, but a submersible meant to reach the floor of the benthic depths 20,000 feet below the surface couldn’t be very big. So it came down to either giving up the amount of scientific and observational equipment that would allow a second passenger to ride or giving up the fun of doing it as a couple.

They decided in favor of more science. It was to be a research vessel, after all, funded by a variety of philanthropic and academic sources to expand the frontiers of human knowledge about the still little understood landscape and biome at the bottom of some of the deepest water on the planet. Benthic was as far down as one could go and still investigate “normal” undersea terrain. There were deeper fissures and channels, but the deepest average real estate on Earth was benthic, and scientists still knew near to nothing of what went on in the complete darkness at the bottom of this zone.

This wasn’t an expedition, despite the fact that they had a small documentary and communications ship, The Moaning Mermaid, along with their main launch and support vessel, Sea Legs. This was the second of four tests to make sure the submersible—christened D-Plus by the whole smart-aleck crew (because it was “below C level,” har dee har )—could handle the greater pressure and harsher environment it would encounter the farther it descended.

Katherine took the first test run, this to “just” 5,000 feet. Not terribly deep, but deep enough that a major malfunction would force the crew on Sea Legs to get the winch going and haul her back up by D-Plus’s tether, which also included data lines and fiber optics for communications. At a crisis point, however, the high-tech tether would just be a rope everybody needed to yank on immediately if they wanted to rescue the researcher tasked with making sure everybody got their paychecks.

As expected, however, the first test went off without a hitch, and she and Sean were pleased. Any major hiccups would have been obvious—or at least detectable—at 5,000 feet, so each of the next two tests would be to make sure the things they designed on land worked under the stresses of the deep ocean. Also, going to 10,000 feet exposed the submersible to double the pressure of 5,000 feet, and 20,000 feet would double the pressure again. The second test, with Sean at the controls, would venture almost two miles into the black depths; and the third, this time piloted by Katherine, would dive to 15,000. If D-Plus didn’t exhibit any major issues during the third dive, then the final test would touch down on the seafloor at roughly 20,000 feet and come back up almost immediately. If everything worked the way it had been designed to work—or most everything; no exploration went off perfectly—then the first real mission would spend a few hours at the bottom and see what there was to be seen. Take sediment samples, look at creatures that somehow made a life at four tons of pressure on every square inch, and perform a preplanned battery of observations and measurements. This particular area of the ocean bottom had never been explored, and many in the oceanographic community were watching the Muir mission with great interest.

Katherine took the first dive, and they were supposed to take turns, but somehow her klutz of a husband—they named their boat Sea Legs in honor of his many times he almost fell over on any size of watercraft—had managed to run afoul of a line on board the launch ship and dislocated three fingers on his right hand just that morning as they were setting up the winch for the next test. It was 2016, for the love of God! They weren’t sailing with Blackbeard here—who got caught up in rigging anymore?

Nevertheless, there it was: if a second test was to be performed, it would be Katherine Muir, not Sean, who would take D-Plus down. Piloting the submersible, even a deep-sea vessel going on what was essentially a controlled drop, required both hands and all ten of the pilot’s digits. But they told only their crew chief, Mickey Luch, about the change, since professional mariners, like those who worked the boats while scientists did their science-ing, were still a superstitious lot. Changes in plans made them antsy, to say the least. So she and Mickey just secured her in the sub without any announcement. Once she was in place, he told the crew they were making a switch—never you bunch mind why—and Katherine would be executing Test No. 2.

There was a small murmur of protest—the winch greaser (a job title that always elicited snickers but was quite important) and the camera specialist on deck were especially superstitious and vociferous—but Mickey just helped Katherine into D-Plus, and the assistants got it locked up tight and ready to go. This crew had overseen 10,000-foot dives many times, and that’s why they were hired as a team by the Muirs.

“Let’s move ’er out and get ’er down!” their chief shouted, and the A-frame winch structure slowly stretched its long crane out over the water. With a thumbs-up between Katherine and Mickey, the winch whined and the submersible was lowered into the choppy sea.

This would be a very awkward and dangerous point to stop the operation, so it wasn’t until that moment that Sean Muir stepped out onto the deck, his first three fingers wrapped in a splint. The next test dive wouldn’t be for two days, and he’d work through the pain if necessary—he was no stranger to the sea, and he had “played hurt” through worse than this. The crew was preoccupied with the task at hand, but when they saw the researcher on the deck, they took a moment to bust his balls and laugh at his “horrible” accident.

Some of them weren’t laughing, though. Sean knew that this switch—obviously due to the injury they could see with one glance at his right hand—would initiate rituals of touching wood (where they could find it) and prayers to Saint Michael, not to mention whispered oaths and grumblings about the expedition leader at the mariners’ table come chow time. Slipjack and Toro and Vanessa—the winch team—looked especially upset, although obviously trying to hide it so as not to visibly challenge Sean.

He nodded at all of them and released them to work on the dive. He and Katherine exchanged “See you soon! Love you!” through the interior camera feed and monitor as she was lowered into the water. Once in the water, she started testing instrumentation and such while Sean supervised the support crew on the surface.

The winch would be turning for an hour or so, meaning relatively little to do for the boat crew but help the scientists, if needed. Sean took the opportunity to motion for the three shaken-looking members of the winch crew to join him on the lee side of the huge spool, where it made enough noise to render eavesdropping impossible. When they had assembled, Sean said, “So what’s the rumpus here, guys? I know it’s considered bad luck to change things at the last minute, but —”

“It isn’t superstition, Doctor Muir,” Vanessa said, and just from that Sean knew she was trying not to be a nuisance but truly was upset. After their first meeting, he had asked the solid, sun-leathered woman to call him “Sean,” and she always had. But calling him by his title and surname was like her filing an official complaint. “Last-minute changes mean other last-minute changes, and those make for mistakes. We should’ve put off this dive until you were recovered from … did you break your fingers?”

“No, just dislocated them. Should be fine in a day or two.”

“Well, then, what I’m saying is even more true—we’ve had to wait days before because of rough seas, Sean … Doctor Muir. Why risk everything now? That’s your wife down there! How can you tempt fate with her under the water?”

Sean listened intently and respectfully, and she was right about last-minute changes often leading to mistakes, but the words “tempt fate” told him everything he needed to know about her objection. “Fate is what it is, Van, and by definition, we can’t change it. But you know that Kat and I are equally trained to pilot the sub, and we had equal hands in designing it. Really, it barely counts as a change at all. The weather gives us the chance to do things on schedule—we have to take advantage of that.”

Vanessa didn’t look thrilled with what he said, but she nodded and even gave him an “Aye, sir.” Formal, indeed, but he hoped that its vestigial tone of worry would vanish once plans returned to normal and his wife and he got back into the correct rotation. He didn’t like to “pull rank” or tell hard-working people such as these to fall in line or start swimming home. They were professionals upon whom he relied, and he treated them that way. But they had to respect his decisions, too, and he had decided operating D-Plus without the use of three of his favorite fingers was not going to get this expedition where it needed to go, not on schedule.

“Thank you, Vanessa, that’s all.” He said to Slipjack and Toro, “You guys stay here for a second, okay? I need to check on Kat. On the descent, I mean.”

He rushed over to the video feed and radio comm, swept up the transceiver and pushed the black button with his left hand’s thumb. “How are you doing down there, my dear?”

Katherine’s grin on the video was infectious. “I believe you mean ‘How are you doing down there, Professor Muir?’”

“Of course.”

She laughed. “All is well. We’re at almost 2,500 feet. Everything is humming along just right. The next 7,500 should be a breeze. How’re your poor fingers?”

Sean couldn’t help hoping the others on deck didn’t hear. “Um, they’re great. So, seen any new friends down there?” That was a weird and stupid question, he realized, but he was anxious.

“Well, we’re deep in the dysphotic zone, almost to aphotic, so if anything wants to be seen, it has to make the first move and get in front of my lights. All I have is darkness … as you’d well know if you’d been paying attention. What have you been doing up there while I’m down here? Looking for clues?”

Clues? What the shit? He let out a strained exhalation that sounded more like he was choking on something than laughing. “What are you … clues to what?” he said, looking around like a paranoid wino at the crew on deck, a crew of which every single member spontaneously and assiduously looked anywhere else than at him. At charts, maybe, or out to sea, or just moving their eyes off of him and onto something, anything, else. His heart pounded in his ears.

“No, silly, I mean clues about what be around the thermal vents. About your theory. You know, the whole reason we’re doing this thing?”

The crew members laughed, but not very loudly. More of a smiling and shaking-their-heads kind of reaction. Katherine Muir was a firecracker, as the old sea dogs would say. There were other labels that might fit her, too, but Sean wasn’t about to get into it when they were supposed to be running diagnostics and such on the submersible. Besides, she was right. They were here to gather evidence that would either keep his theories afloat or sink them for good. It was a big leap to make on not much evidence, but if they could confirm it or even just find an indication he was on the right track, it would shake up all of oceanography, marine biology, land-based biology, maybe xenobiology, possibly even evolutionary-development biology. There was a lot at stake, and he couldn’t let worries about rumors and loose talk aboard ship distract him from a career-making discovery.

He took in and let out a long breath, getting his mind back in the game. He depressed the button and said to his wife, “Right, the theory, duh. Sorry. So what do you say to giving us some readings and telling us how our little sinker is doing?”

“Ha! Nice. All right, Sea Legs, as we continue the descent, we are now one hundred percent in the aphotic zone. It’s completely pitch-black outside. Running lighting-system test in three … two …”

Sean remained at the monitor until his wife had thoroughly gone down the checklist, told her “Good job, Kat,” and returned to where the two crewmen were to still be waiting for him.

Except they weren’t.

“Goddamnit— Toro! Slipjack! Get back here now, if you please.”

Slipjack was just around the corner, looking at the video feed where Sean himself had been standing just a moment earlier. Sean caught him in the first glance he took to look for his fugitives, then barked at him to find Toro and for both of them to get back to their earlier place of “conversation.” Less than a minute later, the two crewmen stood before him again, Toro looking a bit sulky and Slipjack just nervous.

“Gentlemen, the decision to have my wife take the second test instead of myself was ours, mine and hers, once we knew what had happened to my hand. I couldn’t do it for now, and she knew it needed to be done, knew the job well enough to take the reins and do it herself. Okay? I understand mariners’ beliefs and superstitions; I’ve spent half my life on boats. So, as far as Kat going in place of me, you know I would never let …” He trailed off as everybody’s attention was drawn to the sound at the winch spool. “What the hell is that?”

A tremendous slow ripping sound erupted from the winch, and all hands close enough could see that it was caused by a stripped length of iron-shrouded tether cable on the giant spool, a length that had apparently taken more abuse than it could bear. Their armored support unwoven, the fiber-optic cables were the only part of the tether holding one end to the next, and when that section moved to the top of the wheel in about fifteen seconds, those thin plastic lines would snap at the first pull of the submersible’s weight.

Sean rushed to the controls and tried to figure out which levers and buttons would stop the spool from letting out the damaged length of cable. But it was hopeless. The half of his life he had spent on boats was as an oceanographer, not the operation of this equipment. “Where the hell are my winch men?” he shouted, hoping one of the other crew members would locate—

“Aw, goddamnit,” Sean moaned when he remembered that his winch crew consisted of Vanessa, Toro, and Slipjack, the last two of whom he had just told not to move from their useless positions behind the winch assembly. Vanessa busted her ass to get at the cable and the winch that was slowly feeding it out, although she plainly had no idea what to do except shut it down. Which she did.

The stripped length stopped two feet from where it would have had to bear the full weight of D-Plus. Vanessa let out a huge breath of relief, and so did Sean.

“Toro, Slipjack,” he was able to say in a normal tone now that the loud winch was stopped, “let’s get to work. And if any of the three of you says ‘I told you so’ to me … well, I know where we keep the harpoons.”

The two men hurried to the spool and immediately saw the issue. As long as they didn’t let any more cable out, it was possible that the line wouldn’t break. It still could, and easily, but it was also possible that it would not, and they had to be grateful for that.

That was the good news.

The bad news was that they couldn’t reverse the winch to haul Kat back up, because in its present position, that would put too much strain on the weak area and snap it like a piece of uncooked spaghetti. They were lucky that Vanessa got the winch stopped in time at all, but the next thing to do—if there was anything to be done—was going to prove much more daunting a task.

There was emergency scuba gear on board D-Plus, but Kat was more than 2,800 feet down. That meant over one thousand pounds of pressure per square inch pressed on the sub. Kat had a wetsuit inside the submersible, but her hatch had all that pressure keeping it closed—and besides, she’d freeze to death even as every atom of air in her body was compressed to the point of complete organ failure. She wasn’t getting out, and even if she could, she would die within 30 seconds.

No one could dive down in scuba gear to rescue her, either, and for the same reasons. Another sub could perhaps couple with D-Plus, but they didn’t have another sub and they were too far out to request one before Kat ran out of oxygen or that cable snapped.

However, there was little risk of crushing: the submersible was rated for the entire 20,000 feet down. And there was a chance the whole works could be attached to a new cable and “carried” back to the surface by another submersible device.

Sea Legs carried an old but trustworthy Johnson Sea Link knockoff that could, in an emergency, possibly go that deep. The JSL was essentially human-shaped, with a clear-mask helmet for the human occupant’s head, and then controlled external arms and hooks that could perhaps slip a sturdier cable (one without any communication lines or fiber optics) onto D-Plus, and haul her up.

The problem—and of course there was a problem—was that the JSL had a crush depth of 3,000 feet. It used to be the vehicle for “deep-sea” exploration, but as exploration technology had improved dramatically since the mid-70s, when the university’s robotic-looking spare submersible JSL was built, the definition of “deep-sea” had also changed, or at least what it meant to science and technology.

Two researchers had touched the bottom of Challenger Deep in 1960, but that was funded by the deep, deep pockets of several sovereign governments and wasn’t intended to do any science; it was a Cold War demonstration by the United States and France, just like the race to land on the moon. The Muir expedition could buy only what they could afford with their academic funding—barely enough for the present mission, let alone getting down to the very bottom of the entire ocean. Besides, there were no hydrothermal vents believed to be that deep, so it wouldn’t have fallen under the mission parameters anyway.

The Muirs’ D-Plus could go to 20,000 feet (theoretically, anyway; that was what they were currently trying to test before committing to using the sub for exploration), and they were extremely lucky to have been able to afford that. Although not lucky enough, apparently, to have anticipated the need for a backup cable system.

“Guys?” Katherine called from the radio. “What’s the holdup? Traffic? Is there too much—?”

Sean swept up the mic. “Kat, we have a situation here.”

“Oh. I do not like situations.”

“We read you at about 2,800 feet, sound about right?”

“You guys are letting out the cable, you tell me,” she said with a laugh. “Yeah, looks like 2,840. The descent felt very smooth until we … well, you stopped. I have hours of air left, and I won’t try to go outside, I promise. Can we start up again? What’s the rumpus, like you always say?”

Sean couldn’t help but look at the spool with its almost bare-naked two-foot-long stretch of cable. “We’re having some trouble with the winch—or the cable—actually, it’s both. The winch can’t move it forward or back without, um, complications.”

“Forward or back? Those are pretty much the only options, right?” A note of concern had entered her voice, the playfulness sounding strained now. “Seriously, talk to me, honey. What’s happening?”

“The cable,” he said. “It’s stripped almost bare in one section.”

“I see. Boy am I really glad that’s impossible. But, just for fun, let me ask: one ‘problematic’ section is all you … we … I need to be completely screwed, isn’t it?” She was without levity in her voice now. “Sean, a thick-ass cable like that doesn’t get stripped by … I don’t even know how you could ‘strip’ that accidentally. You’d have to know a lot about how we do things and have a lot of time around the cable.”

Without conscious intention, Sean looked over at Vanessa, Toro, and Slipjack. They were all looking at him the same way, blankly but with uncertainty in their eyes.

Or maybe with certainty in them.

“So, Sean, babe, what’s the plan here? The cable’s magically stripped, fine. What are we going to do about it? Can the bare area be patched?”

Sean shook his head, even though she couldn’t see him, and said flatly, “No.”

“Well, shit.”

“I mean, it could, but that would take equipment, supplies, and room we don’t have. Not to mention time—that’d be a two-hour process before we even moved it onto the spool. If you weren’t attached to the other end of it, we could use the blow torch to just cut the cable off before the break and then reattach it. No worries. If we had all that, and we don’t.”

“So helpful, thanks.”

He loudly mumbled a string of angry-sounding almost-words; then, more clearly not much less loudly, shouted into the comm link with his wife, “These goddamn cables never just get stripped like this! They’re indestructible!”

Kat didn’t say anything.

He calmed himself. He took a big breath in and let it out. Then he could say with honesty, “Honey? We’ve got options. Don’t worry.”

When she spoke, it was clear from her voice that she had gone into shock. It was almost a whisper, as if she were talking to herself: “Someone’s trying to murder me.”

“What? No, that’s not …” He wanted to say it wasn’t possible, but she would give him the same retort as always when he said that: It doesn’t have to be possible anymore. It’s actual. “Listen, let’s just focus on getting this FUBAR situation fixed up, okay?”

Kat had head-mounted headphones with a microphone, so her scarcely audible mumbling of “… murder … someone’s trying to murder me … someone’s trying to murder me …” continued on the radio on deck where everyone could hear it, even though she clearly was no longer conversing with her husband.

He called to Toro: “How long do you need to get the JSL ready to launch?”

The big Hispanic mariner looked up at where the knockoff was secured. “If I bust my ass, it could be in the water in forty-five minutes. And you bet your ass I’m gonna bust my ass, jefe.”

“But what are we supposed to do when we get down there?” Vanessa asked, not as a challenge but as a consequence of her overflowing anxiety. “Okay, yeah, the JSL isn’t a tethered submersible, so we don’t need to use the cable on that. But the whole point would be to pull D-Plus and Kat up to the surface, and that would require the bad cable to be cut or separated, and a new one to be slipped into the place of the bad one.

“But even if we had another three thousand feet of cable—which we don’t, since all our cable for the whole mother-loving mission is on this one useless spool because this cable is practically indestructible unless you’re trying to damage it—how would we attach it? You can’t do detail work like that with those JSL claws, Sean. And God knows it’s too damn deep for an out-of-vessel excursion. Three thousand feet in just a wetsuit isn’t even close to possible, and that means we can’t attach another cable and we can’t just spring Kat out of there and into our sub—her lungs and heart would collapse instantly.”

Sean’s gaze remained on the deck, which is what he did when he was trying to think deeply, or when he was listening intently, or both. He nodded at everything Vanessa was saying, and it wasn’t much different from what he was already thinking. For a moment a hope came to him and he said, “What if we went down in the JSL and clamped onto the cable holding D-Plus and just dragged it back up to where she could get out? That would keep there from being any pull on the compromised cable, and the slack as she was brought up could be used to wrap the exposed cable under several more layers on the spool.”

“That could work, but what’s the operational depth of the JSL? Didn’t it get discontinued because those poor bastards got caught on some sunken ship, and they were stuck there until they ran out of air? How deep was that?” Slipjack asked in his hint of a western-by-way-of-New Jersey drawl that usually seemed homey and ominous in equal measure but seemed neither at the moment, more like on the edge of panic as he tried to run through all the possibilities in his mind. The winch, after all, was his responsibility. Only he and Sean Muir had official access to it around the clock. The others had to be wondering how he’d let this happen right under his nose.

Vanessa said, “That had nothing to do with crush depth, Slip.”

“No, but I’m wondering how deep that was, ’cause obviously that dive must’ve been inside their depth comfort zone, y’know? I think its deepest rating is in the neighborhood of three thousand feet. And she’s at, what’d you say earlier, 2,800 feet? So you’d have some wiggle room to save her, boss!”

Sean nodded. That accident killed two submariners and got the original JSL discontinued, but they lived long enough as the carbon dioxide scrubbers became inoperable that they knew they would die down there. All they could do was wait for the oxygen to run out. Vanessa was right: it was an oxygen thing, not a crush depth thing.

But those memories came and went like vapor. Slipjack’s words barely stuck, although he understood his winch man perfectly. All he could focus on right then was his wife still repeating that she was being murdered, someone was trying to murder her. Only now she was leaving the “trying” part out: “… someone’s murdering me … why are they murdering me? … someone is murdering me …”

“I think you got to go for it, boss,” Slipjack said, looking ill. “You got to save her somehow. She’s in danger because of you—”

“All right. Enough!” Sean snapped at him. “You think I don’t know that, goddamnit? You and Toro break out the JSL—use the launch crane—and make it ready.”

Slipjack and Toro moved as fast as Sean had ever seen them move. Vanessa stayed with Sean, since two deckhands with a hook and Sea Legs’ smaller winch would be enough to get the JSL down where they could prep it for a dive and get the pilot situated. An additional person would only get in the way.

“This could work, boss,” she said as the two men wrestled the hook onto the goddamn museum piece that was their counterfeit JSL. Young oceanographers from the Institute liked to use the thing to spend some time near coral reefs or where they could set down in a couple dozen feet of water and observe turtles and interesting fish do their thing in the light of the euphotic zone. But the Muirs had it on Sea Legs because it was always stowed on Sea Legs, the boat being used currently by the Muirs but actually the property of the Institute and thus used also by their colleagues and students. He was very glad right then that no one had ever thought it necessary to go through the pain in the ass of taking it off the boat and storing it somewhere else, just to have to haul it out and load it on the boat again the next time a grad student or postdoc wanted to use it.

Moving to help them, Vanessa stopped next to Sean and asked quietly, “Listen, Cap—even if they can get it down and prepped in forty-five minutes, how long will it take to get it down three thousand feet? Another forty?”

Sean looked pale but didn’t let his fear get the best of him. No effective mission leader could let anything, even something like this, get that deep under his skin. “Could be an hour.”

Vanessa looked at the green-screen on-deck computer monitor. “She’s been down there an hour and a half, Sean. Those scrubbers work how long? I don’t know this shit, boss, you got to help me here.”

“She’s got five hours in the sub. More than that and her brain dies from lack of oxygen.” He swallowed, shaken from listening to his wife go dissociative with talk of getting “murdered” while sitting in what could soon be her own coffin.

“Shit. So an hour and a half, plus, let’s say, an hour to get the JSL down to D-Plus and get a good hold on her cable. How long’s it gonna take for our little JSL to pull our chunky sub to the point where Kat can get out and free swim to the surface?”

“I have no idea, Van. I’ve never done this before. No one has. These armored cables do not—”

“I know, Sean, I know. But there’s plenty of time for figuring that out once we have your wife back and safe. Give me a ballpark: How long?”

“The JSL isn’t really made for towing, but since we’re pressing it into service, if I had to venture a guess—”

“Which you do.”

“—I’d say at least two hours with that heavy load and the limited thrust of the JSL. Maybe more.”

“That maybe is straddling the line between saving your wife and losing her, Sean. You’ve done, what, a hundred dives in this thing? You have to be the one to go down and get her—you always find a way to keep us going. We haven’t lost a crew member yet, so let’s not start today, all right?”

He allowed himself a very small smirk and said, “When did I promote you to first mate?”

“When you lost your shit listening to Katherine. Besides, who do you want right now? Mickey is a boat chief, not a submersible expert. I’m not saying he can’t learn, but now seems an inopportune time for rookie training.

“Slipjack doesn’t dive, but he could be your right-hand man on the surface once we get the JSL ready to go. And that should be soon, once they get the batteries installed and run through the checklist.”

“Has Toro ever piloted a submersible?”

“No. He’s purely a member of the boat crew, promoted to winch team. And I’ve dived a few times, just not in the pilot’s seat.”

“Vanessa, I know all this. What are you getting at, already?”

“I’m telling you that you need to get suited up, and you need to do this. Not because she’s your wife, but because she’s part of your research crew. Your skills and experience are the only things that can save her.”

Sean took all of this in, sucked in a deep breath, then let it go. He shouted to Toro and Slipjack, “Let’s go, gentlemen! Time is short!”

“Twenty minutes,” Toro said without looking up from his work.

“Screw that. Fifteen at the most and I want this in the water.”

Slipjack muttered under his breath, but it was plenty loud enough for Toro to hear, and laugh.

“It’s a suicide mission, ese. You don’t want it. Like Van said, you don’t dive.”

“No, I don’t. But I could. I want to be the hero for once, save the woman who …”

“Who … who what?”

“Who is really friggin’ important to this expedition! I want to be her hero instead of just a guy on the boat.”

“What, you got a crush on Mrs. Muir? Ha ha, that is muy adorable!” Toro said with a sympathetic smile. “She is easy on the eyes, man, but come on. And you want to be a hero … or a martyr, maybe, you mean? ’Cause that’s what el jefe is gonna be in a few minutes, man. Ain’t no way this thing can drag up a full-size submersible.”

“This ain’t right. The whole thing stinks like rotten fish covered with dog shit,” Slipjack said when they turned back to keep prepping the rickety-ass sub that was less likely to rescue the wonderful Kitty Muir than to send Sean and his wife to the bottom forever.

He just hoped his check got signed before Sean Muir left on his mission to be the center of attention once again. And the Muirs would be at the center, all right. He could see the headlines: OCEAN RESEARCHERS DIE IN ‘ACCIDENT.’

Except this bullshit is no accident, Slipjack thought, but kept it to himself. He had a job to do here, and doing it well and swiftly could mean rescuing Katherine instead of letting her die, even if the whole situation was Sean Muir’s doing, or if not his fault, then at least definitely his responsibility. But he shook that out of his mind and got the JSL ready as quickly as he and Toro could.

“Sean … ?” It was Katherine’s voice, still sounding distant but much more cogent. “Come in, babe …”

Sean spun around from watching them work with the JSL (just far away enough that he couldn’t hear what Slipjack was saying to Toro) and practically hurled himself the six feet to the mic and started talking almost before he had depressed the button: “Kat! Thank God! I thought you had gone off the deep end!” He winced at his own choice of words.

“I’m okay. I’m alive. Had me a little freak-out there.” She sounded more with it, but hardly one hundred percent. “Honey, I’m just hanging in the dark. There’s nothing to see, not even dinosaurs … and directly below, there’s the vents. Maybe the dinos are nearby, maybe they can sense me …”

“Don’t worry about that, honey—you’re not deep enough to give off a heat signature strong enough to attract them, anyway. So just forget about anything except my words, okay?”

“Okay.” With that one-word response, she sounded again like the researcher who had first gone down in the submersible.

“Okay, excellent. The cable is … not operational. We can’t haul you up with the winch, and we can’t even get you any deeper—not that we would—but never mind—I’m coming down to get you.”

“Sean, it’s okay. I know the risks every time I go down.”

“Jesus, honey, no—I said, I’m coming down right now.”

“I’m at three thousand feet, Sean! What are you going to do, put on some swim fins and a snorkel? I can still get some data, even if we can’t find your prehistoric beasts—”

“No! Just hang tight”—again he regretted his turn of phrase—“and I’ll be there in plenty of time. I’m using the JSL.”

“That piece of [buzz]? Don’t you dare, Doctor Muir—we don’t both need to die! Somebody on the ship sabotaged the cable. Don’t give them a chance to mess with the JSL and murder you, too.”

“Don’t say murder, Kat. Number one, you’re not going to die; and number two, I’m coming to get you and bring you up. Just keep your mind on that, okay? You’ve got to have two hours of oxygen left. I’ll make it in plenty of time.”

“I love you, Sean. I’m so sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry about. We got this. And I love you, too, so much. And if I have to die to save you, that’s a fair deal to me.”

“Well, it’s not to me!”

“All right, then, we’ll both live. How’s that?”

“Roger that. Okay, fine, go suit up and get down here already.”

“On it.” He motioned for Mickey to come off the bridge. “Mick, you’ve got the comm, all right? Talk to her, keep her calm, and keep reminding her that I’m on my way.”

“You got it, boss. And good luck—we know you can do it.”

Sean nodded at that and got his ass over to the winch crew setting up the submersible, which looked like nothing more than a 1950s science-fiction robot. He squeezed into his wetsuit and stowed his air tank and regulator inside the JSL. There was no real reason he’d need them—or be able to use them—unless and until he got Kat near the surface and opened D-Plus to get her out. The extra equipment was fine, anyway; he’d take a load of anvils on board if it would help him get down there. He froze. Why in God’s name didn’t I think of this earlier?

“Holy shit! Mickey, tell her to jettison her ballast, every bit of it, right away!” He literally couldn’t believe he hadn’t remembered to tell her to do that in the first place. Everybody on board must have thought he was a complete shithead who didn’t care whether his wife lived or died. Not that he cared much about that right now.

Mickey relayed the message, and the last thing Sean heard before Slipjack helped him into the JSL was her response of “Roger that.” It gave him the tiniest peace of mind, which was better than nothing.

Slipjack got him ready and was about to screw the hatch shut but stopped and looked Sean in the eyes. “Go save your wife. Save our Kat.”

Our Kat? But Sean nodded, holding back the desire to say, Why in the hell do you think I’m sitting in this thing? but he could hardly blame the crew for loving her. She was so good to everyone, always smiling and working as hard as anyone else. Sean saw her occasional tantrums and tears, but that was the difference between a husband and a coworker on a research vessel.

Slipjack screwed on the hatch and stepped back. He and Toro and Vanessa exchanged thumbs-ups with Sean and then with one another when each of them took their assigned positions to deploy the A-frame and crane to lower the submersible into the sea.

Excruciatingly slowly, they lowered the JSL. So slowly he would surely never get down in time to Kat, who was breathing the last of her air, waiting for him, so far away.

Prehistoric Beasts And Where to Fight Them is available from Amazon here!

Table of Contents

- MEGA 6
- Chapter One: In The Beginning…
- Chapter Two: Pullman Heating & Cooling
- Chapter Three: Papa, Can You Hear Me Die?
- Chapter Four: Talky Talk Talky Time
- Chapter Five: A Kinsey Thorne In The Side
- Chapter Six: We Don’t Talk About That
- Chapter Seven: We All Float Down Here
- Chapter Eight: You Gotta Have A Fallback
- Chapter Nine: Right Place, Right Time
- Chapter Ten: An Army Of One

- Chapter Eleven: What The Actual Blipping Bleep?

- Chapter Twelve: Tour Of Doody
- Chapter Thirteen: The Armor Makes The Woman
- Chapter Fourteen: Well, Ain’t That A Pisser
- Chapter Fifteen: Chaos Is Not A Theory

- Chapter Sixteen: So, You Think You Can Live?

- Chapter Seventeen: If Mommy Ain’t Happy Then No One Is Happy!

- Chapter Eighteen: Nut On The Run
- Chapter Nineteen: Chickens Meet Roost
- Chapter Twenty: Dying On Island Time
- Chapter Twenty-One: One Year Later
- Afterword
- Author Bio:
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