The Crew (Captains & Cannons Book 2)

by Galen Surlak-Ramsey

  “Shouldn’t take long,” Zoey said to him, and it didn’t. The second lock popped open even faster than the first.

  Feeling good about how smoothly this was going, Zoey moved through the pen, her fingers delicately working her picks. When she’d freed almost half of the prisoners, the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end as sounds of approaching corsairs filled her ears. There was a group of them, talking loudly amongst themselves. Drunk, no doubt, but definitely headed their way.

  Zoey slinked further into the shadows that draped the pen, thinking it best to pause in her work and stay hidden until they passed by. That all changed, however, when the group—five by her count, judging from the different voices—stopped outside the door.

  One said something about going in first, and then there was an argument that quickly followed—the precise words Zoey couldn’t follow as most of their speech was slurred. But their intent was clear, especially when the heavy wooden beam on the outside fell to the ground with a solid thud.

  “Damn,” Zoey muttered. She thrust the spare pistols she’d taken off the others into the hands of the nearest two men and drew her sword. “Everyone stays inside till I say,” she said as loudly as she dared.

  The door to the jail swung open. Five corsairs with swords dangling off their hips and bottles of port and rum hanging in their hands staggered inside. The second one raised an oil lamp, presumably to hang it on a nearby hook. As he lifted it up and the light swept the room, the prisoners attacked.

  Chapter Nine

  The Battle

  The rats had returned. Well, maybe not all of them, but there was at least one of the hungry little devils gnawing on Ethan’s gut once again. Nothing was going to get rid of it, he knew. Nothing short of feeding.

  He should’ve taken a bite out of Katryna when he had had the chance, back when she and Zoey had lagged, and no one else noticed. Or maybe he should pounce on her now while they waited for Zoey to give the signal. Seeing how she’d been a blood doll already, she probably wouldn’t even fight him off all that much. She’d be an easy snack, one way or the other, he told himself.

  Ethan shook his head, set his jaw, and growled.

  God, what was he becoming? What had he become? A vampire, sure, but until recently, he never knew what that entailed. Worse, he had a feeling he still had a long way to go before he fully understood, and he shuddered to think of what monster he might ultimately turn into.

  But Zoey had managed, somehow, to keep her humanity. Or had she? He had seen her ravenous once before, and it shook him to the core. Furthermore, she’d admitted to killing others while feeding, though she never provided the details.

  Was she a cold, undead killer in the end? Ethan didn’t think so, but God, the gnawing growing worse and worse made it hard to think. All he wanted was a snack. From anyone. Anywhere. And he’d do anything for it. Maybe, in the end, that’s how Zoey was, too—controlling her hunger only when it was polite and beneficial to do so.

  Maii plopped next to Ethan, derailing his thoughts. “We’d make the most fantastic of teams, you know,” he said.

  The tone in the ahuizotl’s voice gave Ethan pause, and he cocked his head. “Aren’t we already?”

  “Yes and no,” the creature replied. “Yes, in that we travel together, but not when it comes to dining. Between you, me, and Zoey, we could feast on whoever we liked—gorge ourselves till the end of days. Wouldn’t that be nice?”

  Ethan winced at the bloody picture forming in his mind. As ravenous as he was, as much as he wrestled with his own wants and needs, the dark picture Maii painted struck a sharp chord against his soul. “I don’t want to eat anyone,” he said.

  “Your grumbling stomach says otherwise.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “You know, there are plenty of powerful and corrupt people out there who could use a good eating,” he went on, giving his forepaw a tongue bath. “You’d be doing the world a favor, really, if you drained them and left their bodies for whatever happened by.”

  “You mean, I’d be doing you a favor.”

  “Master Ethan,” Maii purred. “You sound like I’m trying to trick you, as if my motives aren’t plain to see. I did say upfront, I want you to keep me well-fed, and now that you’ve changed—for the better, I might add—you can really make that happen. Why should innocent men and women suffer under brigands and tyrants when we could put a stop to it all and fill our bellies in the process?”

  “And let you grow in power, too.”

  “Again, my desires are hardly secret,” Maii countered. “Or you can continue with this foolish idea you’ll beat The Hunger, and when it finally consumes you, you really will drain anyone nearby. Men. Women…children. Do you want those meals on your conscience? Or would you rather still feel good about yourself after a meal?”

  “No, I don’t,” Ethan admitted. He gritted his teeth as another stab took him, and he had to admit that whether he liked it or not, how and what he thought of as food was going to radically change his life from here on out.

  That said, maybe the ahuizotl had a viable point. Maybe he could save his humanity, feeding off the wicked and evil of this land. He could be a vampiric Dexter of sorts, and it would certainly go along with one of Zoey’s quips she’d made when they’d first met.

  “Life here is morally ambiguous at best,” she’d said.

  Another knot came and went. Though it hadn’t been as sharp as the previous, Ethan wondered how much self-control he had left.

  Katryna appeared from nowhere and dropped a hand on his shoulder. “A few more minutes at the most,” she whispered. “Can you wait?”

  “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I need—” He paused a half second to throw a glance at the others and ensure they still weren’t paying attention to him. “—something. Anything. Maii here isn’t helping.”

  To his surprise, she nodded. “I know. I’d offer, but I want you hungry.”

  Ethan narrowed his eyes and let slip a tiny growl. “Why?”

  “Hungry vamps are even deadlier vamps, provided they aren’t starving,” she said. “Trust me on this mechanic. You’ll get your fill shortly.”

  Ethan shook his head. “I don’t think I’ll be able to control it, though. They’re going to see.”

  “The fight will be chaos,” she said. “You should be able to eat where no one will see. But all that hinges on you staying in control long enough for us to blow the barracks.”

  Ethan opened his mouth to continue the conversation as the mere act helped keep his sanity, but then it came: the scent of blood.

  Coppery. Fresh. Absolutely delicious.

  Better yet, he could tell its source wasn’t that far off.

  Ethan tilted his head up and let his nose sniff the air. A couple of seconds later, he was certain the scent was coming from the watchtower Zoey had been heading to. An insatiable thirst welled within, and if Katryna hadn’t clamped her hand around Ethan’s upper arm and held fast, he’d have been over the wall in ten seconds flat.

  “Look, there’s the signal,” she said, pointing to the coat that now hung outside the watchtower. “Six minutes.”

  “Might as well be six centuries,” Ethan said, shuddering.

  “Count with me,” she replied. When Ethan balked, she dug her nails into his skin. “Count! One. Two. Three. Four. Five…”

  Ethan followed along to her steady pace, using all of his resolve to stay calm. By the time they reached the count of sixty, the tension in his arms and legs lessened, and by one hundred, it had practically disappeared. When they were halfway to three-sixty, Narrator spoke, putting a smile on Ethan’s face.

  Willpower check successful!

  You remain in control!

  “Thank God,” Ethan said, relaxing further. His stomach continued to gnaw and tear, but at least he didn’t feel as if he were teetering on disaster.

  Ethan rejoined the count, and when they hit three-sixty, he immediately j
umped to his feet and darted out from the tree line. Katryna followed closely behind with Marcus and his horde of skeletons in tow. Several of the undead carried three wooden ladders, while a few more held thick ropes with iron grappling hooks.

  They all reached the walls without trouble, and the ladders docked with a soft thump. Ethan scrambled over, hands shaking due to hunger and anticipation of a meal but still finding the rungs in the blink of an eye. When he reached the top, he used one hand to vault over the palisade and the other to draw his sword so that when he hit the ground, he was ready for a fight.

  “Damn,” he said, instantly taking note of the extra oil lamps hanging and patrols walking. “That can’t be good.”

  “It’s not, but that won’t be enough to stop us,” Katryna said.

  Marcus joined them and snorted, his giant nostrils flaring. “I can’t wait to see the look on their faces when they realize they’re all going to serve me.”

  “Marcus, take the main bulk to the left,” Ethan said, spending a few extra seconds to study it all. “Seems like that’s where most of the corsairs are milling around. I’ll take our bombs up the right near the cannon embankments and hook into the barracks from there. It doesn’t look like they have many lamps in that area.”

  Marcus nodded. “Agreed. But be fast. They’ll see us soon.”

  Ethan tapped Katryna on the shoulder. “Let’s do it.”

  “Ethan, one more thing,” Marcus said. When Ethan turned back around, the minotaur thumped his chest. “May the Great Lord Charethes infuse your soul with his undying power.”

  “And may he, um, do the same for you,” Ethan said, stumbling as he wasn’t sure how to respond. Hopefully, that was good enough, and he didn’t just anger the gods with accidental blasphemy because he failed some unknown Lore check, but when Marcus nodded with approval, Ethan sighed with relief.

  At that point, the pair darted to the right, hugging along the northern side of the palisade, and made a run to the embankment that held the shore batteries aloft. The corsairs had nine in total, each one spaced by about ten yards, each one ready to pulverize any ship that wandered into the little cove with a hail of thirty-pound cannon balls. Oil lamps burned steadily near each one, casting a warm glow twenty paces in each direction—no doubt to ward off any saboteurs on top of the general security they provided.

  Ethan, staying well out of the light surrounding the embankment, hooked left and led his team across a flat expanse of grass toward the three buildings serving as barracks.

  Gunshots pierced the night, two in total, their echoing booms snapping Ethan’s attention to the side. Cries born from savagery and desperation immediately followed, and from the prison, Ethan saw two corsairs stumble backward. One clutched his stomach, attempting to staunch the flow of blood, while the other ran screaming with both hands pressed against his face. On their heels came dozens of prisoners who spilled out into the night, making a run for the armory.

  Two separate nearby patrols of five men each quickly formed a skirmish line as voices shouted the alarm. Pistols fired from the groups, while muskets shot from the watchtowers.

  “Take these two and send them in there,” Ethan ordered, directing Katryna to the closest two skeletal bombs he had. “I’ll hit others.”

  “Aye.”

  Ethan dashed forward, heading for the barracks in the middle as fast as he could, hoping to the gods of this world that the men inside wouldn’t pour out in the next three seconds.

  They didn’t. But not by much.

  With less than ten yards to go, the rear door swung open. A corsair appeared in the entryway, half-dressed but clutching both pistol and cutlass in hand. Reflexively, Ethan whipped up his pistol and fired. The weapon spat out a torrent of flame so bright the ground beneath him turned to daylight.

  Corsair missed!

  Ethan didn’t need Narrator’s wonderful remark on that one to know what had happened. His shot tore a chunk out of the door frame. Wood splinters showered the man, and he ducked back inside. Ethan started to run again, but that changed six strides later when Narrator spoke again.

  Weapon reloaded!

  “Reloaded?” Ethan repeated, cocking his head and coming to a halt. A brief glance down shed light on it all. His pistol, magically enchanted and once wielded by the late Lord Belmont, was indeed ready to fire. And so Ethan did.

  Corsair missed!

  And then a third time.

  Corsair missed!

  Ethan didn’t care. His shots were doing exactly what he’d hoped they’d do: they kept the man (and his friends) from coming out of the door for a few more moments, no doubt not wanting to run into what they thought was a firing line outside.

  “Get in there!” he shouted at his nearest kamikaze skeleton.

  The minion chattered its six teeth together excitedly and dashed forward, one hand clutching the bomb on its chest while the other held a bit of burning slow match. It disappeared into the barracks, and time seemed to come to a standstill as nothing happened. Not a cry. Not a shot. Definitely not an explosion.

  Ethan blinked, dumbfounded, but then it happened. A massive blast sent a shockwave through Ethan’s chest, blowing debris in all directions out the door and window, carrying with it the scent of scorched flesh.

  Two more explosions followed, this time with the bombs detonating in the barracks to Ethan’s left, the ones Katryna had attacked.

  Cheers erupted from the chaos of the night, but Ethan knew the battle was far from won. He sent the next skeleton in to finish off anyone still left in the middle barracks. The undead creature easily pushed through the smokey doorway, and by the time it, too, had detonated, Ethan was running across the grounds to the third barracks, some thirty yards away.

  Gunfire cracked as bursts of flame and smoke came from the building’s windows. A bullet whizzed past his ear, and another drove into the ground several feet to his side.

  “Ethan!” Katryna yelled from somewhere behind. “Don’t let them escape!”

  It only took a split second for Ethan to see what she was talking about. Though several of the corsairs were taking turns shooting from the barracks, more and more were taking their chances running out of the barracks to join the fighting out in the grounds—fighting that even from Ethan’s distant view he could see was bloody and relentless.

  Ethan’s stomach knotted, and he doubled over in pain, clenching his teeth, cursing up a storm. It subsided a moment later, but the pain had been so intense that part of him was shocked he hadn’t just been shot through the gut.

  Blood filled the air. Blood that called to him. Blood that he had to have.

  “No,” he growled at himself, holding a tight fist as he pushed himself up. “Not yet.”

  His hands trembled. Sweat dripped from his brow, blurring his vision, and he could feel the fangs in his mouth lengthen in anticipation. “You two,” he said to his last two minions, voice straining. “Go. Now. Through the windows.”

  The undead soldiers obeyed without question and rushed forward. In an almost immediate response, those inside the barracks answered the charge with a volley of musket fire. The shots tore into the closest of the two skeletons, shattering one of the arms, taking its jaw, and finally sending it sprawling to the ground when its left hip disintegrated.

  Before the corsairs could reload, however, the second skeleton reached the building. Ethan watched as it threw itself headlong through the window. Before its feet made it inside, the bomb blew.

  Shouts. Screams. Gunshots. The clang of steel on steel continued long after the blast stopped ringing in Ethan’s ears. He spent a moment trying to sort out the chaos in the night. On both sides, far off in the dark, bands of corsairs and skeletons hacked away at each other. He wasn’t sure where anyone else was. He was about to head for the prison to look for Zoey when the far door to the barracks he was near shot open and out poured dozens of men.

  They ran with panicked looks on cut and bruised faces, ran w
ithout purpose or organization. Most tried to regroup with those already fighting, but a few others ran for the gates. One, in particular, caught Ethan’s attention. He hobbled along, hand clutching his thigh as blood flowed from the leg.

  Ethan narrowed his eyes, like a lion eyeing a wounded gazelle. The battle around him faded into nothing as a solitary thought consumed all. He needed to feed.

  The ground flew beneath his feet as he drove forward toward his prey, and he covered the forty yards that separated the two in seconds. The wounded corsair didn’t even turn around before Ethan struck him from behind, sending both of them tumbling to the ground. They rolled once, with Ethan coming out on top. He grabbed his meal by the head and yanked it sideways, exposing the man’s neck, and promptly sank his teeth into flesh.

  Fangs scissored for a half second and half inch, opening veins and letting the rich lifeforce fill Ethan’s mouth. Ethan shut his eyes, drinking it in. Gooseflesh formed across his arms and ran across his body as hair stood on the back of his neck. His eyes rolled upward as he closed his eyelids, smiling the entire time. This was his first true meal, not some disgusting pittance that involved rat or fish. No, the taste was richer than anything he’d ever experienced, and with each passing second, his body felt more and more energized than it had ever before.

  The corsair feebly swatted at Ethan’s head and sides, the blows barely a minor distraction. After several more seconds, they ceased altogether. The corsair shuddered once, and then the blood stopped coming.

  Ethan reared back, sitting on his haunches while still straddling the man’s waist, and took in a sharp intake of air as he wiped his mouth on the back of his sleeve. Ahead of him, some twenty yards away, Katryna drove forward into a dozen men with not even three skeletons at her side. She’d scarcely engaged the first corsair when six more came at her from her left flank.

  “Katryna!” Ethan shouted, leaping to his feet and driving forward.