Outcasts (18 page)

“That thing is a medically enhanced insane teenager who escaped from a highly secure military prison,” I explained. “Maybe you believe us now? He’s the strongest person on earth, and one of the fastest too. He can be drowned or burned or electrocuted, but those are the only ways I know to stop him. He’s here for her. And for me, too.”

He glared a moment, looking like a man who’d just been told the moon was made of blood. “We have a dozen tasers on board,” he said eventually. “I’ll send for them.”

“You’ll need to hit him with more than one.”

“You two can’t subdue him?” he asked.

“We can’t
find
him. He’s staying away from us.”

“This is a mess, Majors. This is a God-awful, unprecedented mess. I don’t know how the hell I’m supposed to explain this to Admiralty, but I’m turning the
San Antonio
around. We need resources we can’t obtain in this squall.”

The phone rang. Captain Travis grabbed it and barked, “
What
?” He listened and rubbed his eyes. “Where’s the Chief? Sounds like a electronic malfunction-”

Loud thumps below interrupted him. The ship rang like it’d been struck with a hammer. The reverberations were too deep to be gunfire. Travis stared crazily at the deck, like he could see through it.

I asked, “What on earth was that?”

“Sounds like something hit us,” Travis said. “But it came from below, near the keel.”

Two more thumps. Samantha swung open the door. Echoes of the blast caromed off steel, faint but sharp. Samantha said, “Those are grenades detonating.”

“Seaman Burke,” Travis said, a new note of tension in his voice. “Show me the Armory.”

Burke hit a few keys and a blue picture jumped onto his screen. “Those cameras were destroyed, Captain.”

“Son of a bitch has our grenades.” Travis shook his head, living a nightmare.

“Grenades can’t puncture the hull,” I said.

Our room dimmed. The overhead speaker sputtered. Half of Burke’s monitors blinked off and on. Lights in the hall flickered, instants of pitch black, accompanied by a deep digital hum as electronic systems shuffled their loads.

“No,” Travis said. “But he could destroy our engines. And power. That bastard’s in engineering.”

Samantha asked, “This ship have a nuclear reactor?”

“Four diesel engines. Though, maybe three now.”

“If that big oaf went to the Armory, you can bet he destroyed the tasers.”

I asked Cody, “Can you get us to engineering?”

“Yes sir. Or close at least.”

“Captain, how long before you get us to shore?” I walked into the passageway and flipped the Stick in my hands a few times. It was impossibly heavy, but in my condition I didn’t notice.

Captain Travis grumbled, “That depends on how many engines I have left, Major. Twelve hours, at least, in this storm. Maybe days.”

“He texted me again!” Katie called. “It’s addressed to you, Chase. He says if you let me go, he won’t destroy the ship.”

“No deal. You’re worth more than the boat.”

“Aw!”

Cody punched my shoulder. “Nice.”

I’m the smoothest.

“So,” Travis said, trying to make order from the chaos. “If you weren’t aboard, he wouldn’t be here?”

“Probably not,” Katie replied.

“This is essentially a lovers quarrel?”

“Of epic proportions.”

More blasts emitted below. Strident ruptures of steam. Metal tearing apart. The radio in Captain Travis’s hand squealed, bursts of static and screams. The screams reached our ears unaided a heartbeat later. The fluorescent bulbs popped, and vibrations in the steel decks noticeably slackened. The propellors were losing power.

Emergency lights clicked on, casting us with an eery half-light.

“Gear,” I said. “Let’s go. We have a giant to slay.”

“We lose one more engine, we won’t maintain our heading,” Travis barked. “The waves will roll us onto our beam and we’ll be ass over heels!”

Samantha and I leapt down ladder wells, following the hissing steam deeper into the metal monster’s belly. The order and discipline of the
San Antonio
was abandoned; rain water poured down hatches and hot steam issued from below. Inner horizons swayed and lights failed and men couldn’t cope.

“Totally lost my zen!” Samantha cried above the racket, and she stumbled sideways as the ship heeled. “Damn it!”

“Just shoot him in the eye! I’ll treat his head like a sledge treats a watermelon.”

We reached the bottom deck and his voice echoed from the fog. “Do I hear Super Pajamas?” As always, his deep voice was felt as much as heard. It came tumbling out of air vents. He could be anywhere. “And PJs sidekick, Captain Bitch?”

“Hah!” she screamed. “I
like
that name!” She fired her pistol down perpendicular passageways. “Just stick your head out. I only need to see one eye!”

“I was starved for
weeks
!” he roared. “Because of you. Now I’ll drink your blood.”

Dalton whispered in my ear, “Engineering down that way, sir, but I bet he ain’t there no more.”

“I just want what you stole, Pajamas,” Tank continued from…somewhere. “Release the Latina.”

“She left you of her own free will,” I answered, creeping cautiously towards the ruined engineering hatch. That compartment was on fire and emitting awful machinery groans. Dalton was right, but I had to check. “Jump overboard, Tank! We can’t chase you in this storm. Start a new life somewhere. You’re free.”

“I want the girl.”

“You can’t have the girl!”

My phone buzzed. Over and over again. I glanced at it as our group snuck around a corner.

>> okay Puck rules

>> got u a ride!

>> get to the back of your boat

I typed,
what the heck??

What do you mean?!

>> u need off that ship, dumb ass!!

>> got you a different one!

>> go!

I showed the screen to Samantha, and I whispered, “Do you know what he’s talking about?”

Her eyes widened. “Of course! She’s here! This…this could work. If we get off the
San Antonio
, Tank shouldn’t destroy it, right? Let’s go!”

Dumb founded. Flabbergasted. I followed her, stupidly. “Who? Who’s here?”

“Text Katie. Tell her to collect our stuff and rendezvous at the wet deck.”

“What-”

“You two.” Samantha jammed her finger at Cody and Dalton. “Go get Katie, get our stuff, and escort her to the wet deck. We’re getting off the
San Antonio
just in time to save it.”

“Yes ma’am!” They stormed up the ladder, out of sight.

“What. The. HeckAreYouTalkingAbout!” I hissed.

Samantha raised her gun and fired four shots into the fog. Then she held a finger to her lips and led us aft. Tank’s angry voice penetrated the thickening mire but his words were muted and unintelligible.

She spoke into the radio. “Captain Travis, this is Major Gear. We’re getting off your ship. Prepare to lower the stern gate.”

“
Major, that gate lowers and we sink.
”

“You want us off your boat or not, Captain? We’ll disembark and then contact Tank. Once he learns of our departure, he’ll have no reason to remain. He should abandon ship soon after.”

A long silence. The radio clicked twice, as if Travis raised the radio to reply but changed his mind. She shot me an angry, anxious glance. Travis
should
see reason. Finally, “
Roger. We’re monitoring your approaching vessel. Will lower the door. Stand by.
”

“Gear.” I took her by the shoulders. Her muscles were rocks. “What’s going on?”

“Pacific! She’s here. I didn’t even think to call her. Puck is a genius.”

“Pacific,” I repeated. “The Infected lady? I’ve heard you mention the codename.”

“She lives on a boat out here. I’ve never met her.”

“You’re positive this is a good idea?”

“Hell no, but its better than staying here.”

Above and beyond the aft gate, the world was madness. The driving rain obliterated everything except heaving walls of water. We clung on and gaped and wondered how we’d jump ships.

Cody and Dalton and Katie and Cory appeared three minutes later, carrying duffle bags. Cory vomited into the flooded wet deck. Katie kept her eyes on me.

“Gentlemen,” Samantha called over crashing waves. She saluted Cody and Dalton. “You will not be welcome on that boat. This is where we leave you.”

The two SEALs didn’t know whether to be relieved or angry.

Captain Travis radioed. “
Majors, your boat is in position. Will lower gate on your command.
”

“Ready to roll, Travis,” I spoke into the receiver. “Thank you for your service.”

He didn’t reply. Red lights blared over our heads and a siren wailed. The gate jerked and began lowering.

Fifty yards aft, a yacht paced us, tossing a majestic bow wave. I didn’t know much about luxury yachts, but the magnificent white boat looked like a hundred million dollars of splendor. The word ‘
Amnesia’
was painted on the starboard side.

The living sea was a constant threat to destroy us. The
San Antonio
rose on a deep green swell and the yacht dropped below, almost straight down, and then we crested and went over the apex and now the yacht was above us and racing down the wall of foam. Samantha screamed in delight, her body’s thirst for danger fully satisfied.

“Sir, this won’t work-” Cody roared but the ocean swept in, flooding the bay and drowning us. Cory scrambled after our duffle bags. Katie treaded water, keeping her phone out of the consuming wash.

We ascended another wave and the water sluiced out. Thirty seconds later we leveled. The water rushed in like a tide and so did the yacht. The luxury liner’s bow barely fit into our bay.
Amnesia
plunged recklessly inside the
San Antonio,
burrowing her bow (nose) until the two boats wedged tight, nearly crushing us. Metal screamed. Fiberglass splintered. The yacht was obscene and alien and enormous in the tight space. The two vessels were now attached, nose to stern.

“We’ve got ten seconds,” I shouted and
Threw
Katie over my head, onto the bow of the yacht. She climbed under metal safety rails that bent from the
San Antonio
impact. Cory and I tossed duffle bags after her and then I raised him. He grasped desperately and scrambled up.

The
San Antonio
began rising on another mammoth wave.
Amnesia
heaved backwards and bucked loose, drawing free before the Navy’s larger, stronger warship sheered off her nose. Samantha swarmed up
Amnesia’s
side. I
Leapt
over the chasm of sea and landed aboard the yacht, slipping on the fiberglass.

All four of us held fast to handholds, exposed and tossed in the raging elements. The yacht roared powerfully and began pulling away from the
San Antonio
, which consumed the horizon directly ahead.

I slid beside Katie. “We need to call Tank! Let him know we’re gone!”

“Look!” Cory cried, clinging for dear life and green all over.

Through curtains of rain, silhouetted by distant bolts of lightning, Tank stood like an angry sea god at the break of the helipad. The strength of his gaze and hate struck like thunder.

Samantha snatched the pistol from her belt and fumbled it.

Tank got a three-step running start, and he jumped the distance. He hung in the air, Thor himself descending from above, bringing storm and fury. I struggled to stand, wetly grasping for the Thunder Stick shoved down my back. The ship tilted and rocked and I fell.

Tank’s arms rotated wildly, trying to pull our boat closer, balancing himself midair. He splashed like a four hundred pound cannon ball three feet short of our hull, lost in the surf. Our yacht surged forward, strong propellors churning, and we chased the waves. If Tank rose, he’d slam into our keel.

Samantha and I slipped and tripped and slid our way aft, holding onto the lifelines. This boat was
huge
!

We reached the stern (back of the boat).

So did Tank. The rear-mounted swim ladder hadn’t been secured and it bounced on the surface; Tank snagged it before the engines could shoot him into the creaming wake. He glared malevolently at us, his face still twisted with severe burns. He tried to shout but swallowed gallons of salt water. Even so he managed to get a foot onto the swim platform.

I
Crushed
the ladder with the Thunder Stick. The mechanism exploded and came free, along with chunks of the boat. Tank’s fingers broke.

Tank fell helplessly into the Pacific Ocean, grasping at nothing. He went under, lost in the rolling mountain range of waves. We plunged northward at thirty knots and soon Tank was left far, far behind.

We panted, hands on knees, streaming with rain, watching the water flood past, not daring to feel relief.

Above us, exposed and beautiful in the convertible cockpit, a woman piloted
Amnesia
with confidence and abandon, smiling at us. Her long gray hair whipped in the gale like a flag. She howled in laughter and delirium, and she bore us on to safety.

The storm lasted two more days. The yacht, named
Amnesia
, churned north to avoid the worst. Cory and Katie remained in their cabins and hugged the toilet. I stayed with Katie until she physically shoved me out.

“You’re wonderful. But I’m tired of being aware how gross I must look,” she groaned and slammed the door.

Samantha and I sat at the forward rail (bent from the rescue) and took the shattered rain and bow waves directly into our faces. This
had
to be what cocaine was like. I felt happy and high on subconscious levels traveling all the way back to my childhood. The yacht surged and heaved beneath us, and every motion triggered a positive emotional response. I left the bow for food and rest only. Samantha did not. She slept with her feet dangling, soaked with most of the ocean and smiling pleasantly in her sleep.

We still hadn’t met our captain. Pacific never left the wheel. She waved at us a couple times, her brilliant smile piercing the deluge, and screamed in delight when her boat went up and over aggressive waves. She had two stewards, polite middle-aged men, who helped us stow our bags and find food. But even these two felt the storm’s effects and they stayed below.