Generation Z (Book 6): The Queen Unchained

by Meredith, Peter

  She put a finger to what was left of his lips. “I love you too, Dad.”

  Thirty seconds later, twenty Corsairs broke from cover and ran for the launcher. Half were killed. The other half dropped down and took up defensive positions. They would make any attempt to attack impossible. The battle had been lost.

  Chapter 32

  Alcatraz Island, San Francisco Bay

  The battle on the dock, although brief, had been so intensely violent that it had left both the winners and losers stunned.

  The few Corsairs left alive crept up out of the holds of their ships as if they were just emerging from fallout shelters ten years after a nuclear war. Mike and the Guardians were not much better off, and in their dazed confusion, they let one boat sink and another catch fire.

  Fire onboard a ship, even one moored at a dock, was enough to get anyone moving, and the Corsairs streaming down from the Golden Gate Bridge got them rushing about with proper urgency. The fire was put out and the wounded were rushed aboard the ships that were still afloat.

  Some of the ships were so riddled by bullets that the Guardians had to bail furiously just to keep them afloat. On one ship, two men stripped to the waist, tied ropes around their bellies and swam under the moving ship to come at the holes from the proper angle. This was dangerous enough in cold choppy waters when a boat was at a standstill. Doing it while they were underway took fantastic courage. If they slid out of their makeshift harnesses, they’d be left behind, and if they happened to come across a zombie, they’d have no chance at all.

  With the ships weighted down by sea water and their sails in tatters, it was a dreadfully slow getaway.

  The one ship that could have gotten clean away was the Harbinger. The terrible gash she had taken when running into the dock was now little more than an eyesore. When she had been carting a hundred soldiers about, the wound had been terrifying to the Guardians trapped below deck, waiting their turn to get out. The water had been coming in as if shot from a high-pressure hose. Once the men had disembarked, the ship had popped right up and the gash was now three feet above the waterline.

  She had gone from being a pig of a boat to a quick sailor with plenty of potential. Mike piled on the canvas and wanted to fly home to Alcatraz—but he couldn’t leave his newly won fleet.

  He set every sail he could and she blossomed like a black rose. He then wasted her potential by holding steady at the rear of the formation, providing what cover he could. A thin bit of polyester and an inch of fiberglass was only a tiny bit better than no cover at all.

  While they edged away, Mike bustled about, setting two men to watch over the prisoners, two more to check for holes, and three to start repairing the gash. This left only Ren Finnemore and another man to sail the ship.

  When a series of shots rang out from the shore, only she flinched. Although no one said anything, she glared at anyone who looked in her direction, and wouldn’t speak until more bullets kicked up little fountains of white foam next to the boat. She stood rock steady this time.

  “Sir? You’re bleeding on my deck,” she said to Mike. “If you could do that somewhere else, that would be great.”

  He had been hoping the problem would go away on its own. “Can you take a look at it?”

  “I guess. I’m not really an expert you know.” She helped him out of his coat and then squinted in at his wounded arm. “Hmmmm,” she said.

  “What? What’s ‘hmmmm’ supposed to mean?” His arm had been hurting for some time and he was a little worried. It came out in his over-casual tone.

  She squeezed and prodded before answering. “I think it missed the bone, so you have that going for you. But it’s a nasty wound. Lots of muscle damage. I bet Denise will pack it for you when we get in.”

  “Denise? We’re not going to Angel Island, we’re going to Alcatraz.”

  Ren snuck a quick look up at Mike. “To see the Queen I suppose? What’s she like? Is she like the last one?”

  He wanted to answer that they were as different as night and day, except that wasn’t entirely true. “In some ways she is. They both have a certain something that normal people don’t have. I don’t know the right word for it, she just carries herself bigger or like…ow!”

  She had slipped a field dressing around his arm and had pulled it painfully tight. “Don’t be a baby,” she chided, tying it like she thought it was going to try to get away if she didn’t. “Are you saying she has a greater presence? If she’s like the last queen, I’d believe it. I saw her once. After she tore down our walls and sent those zombies against us. The next morning she walked down the street as if she owned the place. It was like she was daring someone to try something, and knew with a hundred percent certainty that no one would.”

  A bullet gouged a finger-length of wood out of the deck next to Mike’s foot. He pretended not to notice. “Jillybean is like that in real life. She acts like she’s better than everyone else and in many ways she is. Jenn’s not like that at all. She’s great but she doesn’t see it. She’s kind and beautiful and…”

  “And you love her.” Although it was still too dark to see him blush, she could feel it. She laughed at him and not just because she knew how embarrassed he was—she was also giddy with relief. The shooting had finally stopped and now the terrible stress of battle was draining out of her. “It’s okay. We all know it. I heard the story about the beautiful queen and her dashing captain from Faith Checkamian so I know it’s true. She claims there’s no rule in the Bible about gossiping, so she’s it’s number one practitioner.”

  “Faith got some things wrong. I’m not dashing or anything like that. I’m just me. Jenn though, she’s a real queen.” First and foremost, she was his queen and he couldn’t stand being away from her for longer than necessary. Now that the shooting was over, he ordered Ren to take a proper course for Alcatraz. She raced to the head of the fleet, while he set the bow and stern kettles alight. Under their glow, he saw the blood and the bullet holes.

  “Let’s get all this cleaned up,” he told her. It felt bizarre to have the reputation for being dashing, and yet he wasn’t going to lose it on account of slovenliness.

  As it frequently did, the wind died to a whisper just before dawn and their mad dash home became a stately procession. It gave both Mike and Jenn plenty of time to prepare.

  She had watched him through her telescope. Even before dawn broke across the bay, she had known he was alive and leading the ships back. Maybe it was the way he set his sails or the precise way he cut across the wind, or maybe it was just desperate hope on her part, but either way, she knew it. Yet she hadn’t budged from her scope until she saw his golden hair streaming back in the first rays of the sun.

  The moment she did, she hurried to her quarters. Well, she hurried as fast as a queen was allowed to hurry, which wasn’t nearly fast enough in her opinion. Once behind closed doors, she splashed cold water on her face and brushed out the wind-blown tangles from her long hair. She applied the lightest amount of blush, decided she didn’t need anything more, and then headed down to the dock with Shaina Hale marching along next to her.

  Sitting squarely in the palm of the lumpy-headed girl’s hand was a muffin. In her anxiety, Shaina had forgotten about it. “Are those Corsair boats? Are we being invaded? Everyone says Captain Mike is coming back, but those are Corsair boats, I know it.”

  “They were Corsair boats. Mike took them from the Corsairs. That was the plan, remember?”

  “Yeah, ‘cept those are black boats, and our ships are white. And they don’t have none of your flags.”

  Jenn patted the girl’s bony shoulder. “Trust me, those are the Queen’s ships. Now eat your muffin.” Shaina liked it when things were labeled as “The Queen’s.” It made her feel safe.

  A lane was made for the two of them and they arrived just as Mike eased the Harbinger up to the dock. He tried to concentrate on the mooring of his ship, while she did her best not to grow impatient. She had been hoping that he would bound over the
rail and present himself with a quick knee and a long kiss. He wanted this as well, however there were wounded among the men who had to be helped off the ship.

  Most were only nicked up like Mike. Six were critically wounded and needed immediate care. Seeing them killed part of Jenn’s joy. There were too many for Denise Woodruff to handle on her own. The Queen’s Revenge had been sent for her hours before, and now an operating room of sorts had been set up in the prison.

  Jenn only had time to give Mike a quick kiss. “I knew you would make it,” she whispered, wishing she could cling to him and give up this crazy “queen” business. “I saw…” she started to say when a sudden burst of gunfire from the bridge cut her off. Three or four guns chattered away for just shy of a minute before falling silent.

  “That was one of mine,” Mike said, feeling a deeper pain than his throbbing arm. One of the people who had tried to defend the bridge must have been sitting under it for all these hours. He or she had probably been hiding, slowly freezing to death, hoping and praying not to be seen when the sun came up.

  Jenn felt the same pain as Mike. Another person who had pledged their life for her had fulfilled that oath to the highest degree.

  The Queen and her captain stared into each other’s eyes, and neither felt particularly beautiful or dashing. They both felt tired from the long night and anxious over what the day was promising to bring. “I have work to do,” she told him. “Rest while you can.” She went up on tip-toe to kiss him a last time before following the last of the stretcher bearers up to the prison.

  Outside the door to the hospital, there were a number of little fires going. Three had water in pots over them. Two were boiling and the third was merely scalding. Denise was already using the last to wash her hands. They were as red as her face was white.

  “I don’t know if I can do this,” she confided in Jenn. “Two were chest wounds and another a belly wound. Did you see? I’ve never had a patient with a chest wound live. Never. And a belly?” She shuddered. “Can you take them? I’ll try that neck. That’s more my speed.”

  “We’ll tackle them together,” Jenn told her with far more confidence than she felt. “We’ll do our best. It’s all we can do.”

  Denise jumped at the chance of shared responsibility, just as Mike would have if he could.

  There were no actual captains among the Guardians. There were sailors certainly and there were pilots, and each of them could trim a sail in the middle of the blackest storm. But as for actual fighting sea captains, there were none. The Guardians had always looked on their boats as a combination of fishing vessel and military transport. Fighting them ship to ship was not something that had ever crossed their minds, mainly because it seemed insane. As one of their sailors made abundantly clear: “These are not warships. They’re not even made of wood. They’re sailboats. Back before, they were toys for the rich and famous.”

  “They’re warships if we use them to fight with,” Mike answered. “And we don’t have any choice but to do that.” He sighed, stretched and grimaced, forgetting that any movement sent a bolt of pain down his arm. There was no rest for Mike. His fleet—and he counted every ship in the bay as his—had grown to thirty vessels.

  The Guardian ships were in perfect order. The Corsair ships were ridiculous in every way. Some had sails that were so weatherworn that they could practically be seen through. Others had lines and ropes on the verge of disintegrating. And all had barnacles and seaweed hanging like great green beards from their hulls.

  Mike set teams working on each boat. Sails were stitched or replaced, lines were reworked, holes were filled, and the ships careened so their bottoms could be scraped. Nothing could be done about the smell that shimmered from the holds.

  While the men and women worked, Mike helped where he could. With his one arm he was usually in the way, and was told politely that he should go get it checked. Compared to some of the wounds he’d seen, it was nothing but a scratch and was embarrassed at the idea of trying to push to the head of the line. Instead, he perched himself on a terrace overlooking the bay. It was a place of refuge that he had come to for the past ten years.

  Now he looked out over the water and saw it in a different light. A battle was coming and, win or lose, it was going to be decisive. Whoever won control of the water would control the land.

  He studied the water, picking out the landmarks, the shoals, the areas where the current was weak and where it could suck a boat right onto the rocks. He noted where the wind came howling off the southern slope of Angel Island and where it died not a hundred yards to the east. He tried to picture a battle being fought on the bay, but could not. He was too tired and even as he rolled ideas around in his head, he fell asleep.

  Hours later, a great thrummmm echoed across the water, waking him. “Huh?” he asked, his eyes blurry and his head filled with cotton. It took him a few seconds to realize that the Corsairs were finally daring the bridge. Seeing the ships streaming in woke him quickly and in seconds he had run to the top of the prison where he found Deaf Mick bent over the Queen’s telescope.

  “They’re being extra cautious,” the man muttered. “Not that I blame them after the beatings we’ve given them.”

  We? Mike couldn’t remember Mick being a part of any fight. “May I?” he asked. Mick stepped aside and Mike settled in behind the scope. Ten ships led the way, dashing forward under full sails. They expected a trap and Mike wished with all his heart that he had been in the position to spring one.

  “Will they come right for us, do you suppose?” It wasn’t Deaf Mick, who had melted into the crowd. In his place stood Bishop Wojdan, wearing a blue parka over his black vestments. With his belly looking even larger beneath the coat, he looked like a pregnant bald man. At his side was Commander Walker. He was in command of the land forces, meaning his skills would be called on when it was too late to win.

  Mike answered with a quick, “No.” He was no seer and he didn’t need to be one to see something so obvious. “They won’t risk it, not after so many losses. They’ll probably send out a few of their smallest ships to scout things out. When they know it’s safe, they’ll come all at once in overwhelming force.” And there’ll be no way to stop them, he didn’t add.

  The Bishop seemed to read his mind. “And we’ll be destroyed.” He went up on his toes, glancing at his commander as he did.

  “We could keep our ships in close to the island,” Walker suggested. “The added fire power would tip the scales in our favor.”

  Mike pictured this and saw the glaring error. “Only at first. If we don’t challenge them right away, they’ll attack Angel Island, then Treasure Island, then the Floating Fortress. They must know our weakness. They know we can’t defend everything at once. If we try, we’ll get destroyed piecemeal. We can only really defend Alcatraz.”

  “But if we do? If we put all our eggs in one basket?” Walker drew in a long breath and then let it out without going on. They all knew the answer: they’d be cornered and faced with slow starvation. There was no good option left to them.

  “They’ll gather their strength today and then they’ll come tonight,” Mike said. “Our only hope is that they’ll make a mistake. We have to be ready to jump on them when they do.”

  The Corsairs did not make any mistakes. Over the next few hours, they brought in their entire fleet and massed out in the middle of the bay. Seeing them there sent an electric charge throughout the island. From the Queen, with blood up to her elbows, to the smallest boy playing hide and seek in the black bowels of the prison, everyone felt the same heavy dread come over them. It was the dread of waiting helplessly as their doom slowly approached.

  At midday, five ships broke off from the main fleet and fanned out, darting between the wide waterways between the islands.

  For the most part, they kept to the very middle of the channel, making sure that any shot was taken from an extreme distance. The Queen’s men looked to Mike for an order to shoot, which he refused to grant. It would be
a waste of ammo.

  The five ships then came together south of Alcatraz where the bay opened up wide. With the wind out of the northeast, they were sitting ducks. Mike could take his entire fleet and swoop down on them. Outgunned, their only chance would be to flee further south where, eventually, they would run out of room to run. As enticing as it was to nibble the Corsairs down bit by bit, Mike held back.

  “What are we waiting for?” one of the sailors demanded loudly. They were all ready to kick off from the dock. “It’s not going to get any easier than this.”

  “That’s because it’s a trap,” Mike answered without taking his eyes from the binoculars he held one-handed. He saw how the ships lingered just out of range of their guns, how they were poised, ready to cut southeast, leading any ship that came after them straight downwind. To get back to the safety of the island, they would have to beat back with that same wind right in their teeth.

  Then they would be the sitting ducks.

  He refused to come out and after a few minutes, the five labored back to their main fleet. The same trick was tried an hour later, this time by twelve ships. They came by twos, and this time they strayed even closer, testing the defenses of the various islands.

  One ship got too close and was so riddled with bullets that it lost most of its mainsail. It flapped like an old shower curtain as it pulled slowly away. The other eleven ships raced over and huddled about it, protecting it as its crew ran about on deck in confusion. The repairs took so long that Commander Walker came back down to the docks. “His Excellency would like to know if you ever plan on using your navy? We have them almost three-to one.”

  Before answering, Mike glanced at the windsock at the end of the dock; it pointed southeast and didn’t waiver. “It’s a trap. They want us to commit. Once we do, they’ll turn and fight while the rest of their fleet comes up from behind. Trust me, this is all for show. They’ll have a new sail up in ten minutes.”