A puff of misty air catches my attention. It’s followed by five more. The orcas are on an intercept course, moving in tight formation. Why are they helping us? I wonder. Can they sense something wrong? Are they intelligent enough to identify Draugar as enemies? Is this vengeance? I suspect we’ll never know why the killers are helping us. Hell, they might not even be helping us. Their arrival at this moment might be coincidence. If so, hallelujah to the god of coincidence because he saved my life. Of course, I did pray for help…but I’m not quite ready to believe a higher power sent an orca pod to save me, though I have no doubt that’s what Helena believes.
When I step up next to Klein, he flinches and falls back, catching himself on his hands. “Geezum crow,” he whispers, then says to me, “That was fast.”
“Fast?”
“You’ve been gone just ten minutes,” he says.
Guess I didn’t fall asleep. “What can I do?”
“Not much, I suppose.” He rubs his nose. “Figure we can run to whoever fires off a shot, pull in the line, help reload, and get off another shot. Nice and efficient. There are three whales, so it’s not inconceivable we’ll have more than one gun to reload at a time.”
I’ve heard everything he says, but a single detail jumps out. “Just three whales? What happened to the blues?”
“They were farther back,” he says. “But they haven’t surfaced in five minutes.”
“Blues can stay under for thirty minutes,” I say and then mentally kick myself. “But these aren’t blue whales. They don’t need to surface at all.”
Klein looks down like he can see through the hull to the water below.
“Yeah, sucks,” I say. “Each one can weigh up to two hundred tons.”
“Just two of them weigh as much as the Raven!” he says.
“Yeah, but if just one of them decides to swan-dive on the back deck like that humpback did, we’re done.” I sigh. “You sure there isn’t something else I could be doing?”
His brow furrows. “Not unless you know how to fire a grenade launcher.”
I stand up straighter as a fiendish grin slips onto my face. “We have a grenade launcher?”
“You know how to use one?” Klein asks.
“Did you forget who my father was?”
He scratches his head, upsetting his comb-over. “Right. The Colonel. But that doesn’t mean you can—”
“Ain’t a gun I don’t know how to shoot,” I say.
Klein stands, takes note of the whales’ location, and starts back toward the supply closet. “You sound like Talbot.”
“I guarantee you, I’ve fired some guns the UFO Ranger has never even heard of.”
I watch him work the combination on the supply closet lock. It’s my birthday. “Did Jakob set the combination?”
“Yeah,” he replies. “Why?” Then I see his eyes dart back and forth for a moment, and before I can respond, he says, “Oh. Your birthday. Interesting.” He pulls the lock and swings open the doors.
I gasp. Not only is there a grenade launcher, but there are several assault rifles, handguns, swords, axes, and boxes of ammo. “Hot damn, where the hell did Jakob get all this?”
“Uh,” Klein says, adjusting his glasses. “I sort of pilfered a few weapons contacts from the office before I left.”
“Jakob bought weapons from an arms dealer?”
Klein waves his hands in front of him. “No one will ever know, of course, but I—”
“I’m not worried about that,” I say. “It’s just awesome.” I take the grenade launcher—a Mark 14 six-shot revolver-style weapon that can pop off six 40mm rounds in three seconds, open it up, and give it a quick look-see. It’s in nice condition, and the storage closet, which I can now see is heavy duty and designed to hold weapons, has protected it from the elements nicely. The Mark 14 isn’t large and weighs just eighteen pounds fully loaded, so I can manage it just fine. Even better, it has a five-hundred-foot range, which means I can take the fight to the sperm whales a little bit sooner.
“Why weren’t you using this?” I ask as I open a case of fragmentation rounds and load the weapon.
“I—I don’t know how,” he says. He takes out his girlie-size handgun. “I can barely operate this peashooter.”
I slap the launcher closed and stand. “Well, you’re about to get a lesson in modern warfare, Colonel-style.”
As I turn to the rear of the boat, I hear Helena shout a Greenlandic curse. Two hundred feet behind the Raven, the orcas have engaged the bull whales. I see blood in the water already, from the center bull, I think, but the monster still has some fight left, a fact displayed when it dives and catches an orca off guard with its fluke. The massively powerful tail snaps up and catches the much smaller killer in the side, flinging it out of the water.
As the orca arcs back toward the ocean, a second bull rises from the deep and snatches it from the air like a Frisbee-fetching dog. Definitely not typical sperm whale behavior. The whale slaps back down into the water, taking the killer with it. Our would-be defender belongs to them now. And if we don’t do something soon, the other four will be turned against us, too.
25
I walk toward the rear of the ship, looking through the grenade launcher’s sight. I center the red crosshair on the spot where I think the whale farthest to the right will breach again. When I reach the stern rail to the right of Willem, I plant one foot on the lower bar and lean forward, bracing myself against recoil. The Mark 14 has very little kick and its low-pressure chamber fires nearly silently, but I’m not planning on squeezing off a single round. When you’ve got thirty tons of mean to kill and have a weapon that can spurt six grenades in three seconds, that’s exactly what you do.
That’s the plan anyway. But the whale, who hasn’t surfaced yet, isn’t playing along.
“I thought you’d like that,” Willem says.
Without looking away, I say, “Should have told me about it sooner.”
“Try not to shoot anything on deck,” he teases.
I lower the weapon and look over at him. He turns to me with a grin that’s one part mocking me and one part some kind of genetic Viking battlegasm. I’m about to tell him as much when the whale chooses that exact moment to breach.
We both turn and aim, but it’s too late. The breach was quick, timed perfectly to get a look but avoid getting peppered with a 40mm hail à la Jane Harper. “That seem a little too well timed?” I ask, not taking my eyes off the ocean. I won’t do that again.
“How could it know we were distracted?” he asks.
The center whale surfaces and I nearly shoot, but the ocean around it is swirling pink with blood. Lots of blood. The sperm whale pounds its tail at the water but can’t move. Its fluke is missing. Score one for the killer whales.
The victory wasn’t without cost, though. The bodies of two orcas float to the surface. One is unmoving, probably dead, and slides back beneath the waves. The second is having some kind of spasm, its fluke slapping the water, while it swims on its side with its mouth locked open. When it completes a revolution, I see that its dorsal fin is missing and its back is bent at an unnatural angle. Its spine is broken. That tail is on autopilot. The killer slips beneath the water, its fluke pushing it down to the depths, where it will drown.
Twin puffs of steam pull my aim to the right. Two tall dorsal fins cut through the water, moving away at high speed. The two remaining orcas are retreating. Seems even porpoises abide by the “live to fight another day” mentality.
“Here they come!” Willem shouts, pulling my attention back to the stern.
Twin mounds of water surge toward the Raven as the two remaining sperm whales kick into high gear and charge. They’re just a few feet below the surface, easy targets for Willem and me.
“Wait,” Willem says. “We can’t miss.”
Technically, I can miss five times, but I don’t say anything. I’d rather put all six rounds into the Draugr’s head and make sure the job is done. The whales continue on
their path, closing to within fifty feet. What are they doing? Ramming the back of the ship won’t do much. If they were going to breach and try to crush us, they’d have to go deep first.
When they close to within thirty feet and hold their distance, I’m even more confused, but I know not to look a gift horse in the mouth. Whatever it is they’re up to, I don’t think they’ve equated a Mark 14 into the plan.
Then I see it. A band of white spread out between them.
“What is that?” I ask. “Between them.”
“Not sure,” Willem says. “But they’re close enough.”
The whales close in, breaking the surface as though offering themselves to us. As they rise, the line stretched between them comes into view. It’s a rope. A thick rope. The ramifications of what they’re attempting makes me hold my breath. It’s the oldest trick in the antiwhaling handbook. The large rope won’t be hacked to bits by the prop, it will be sucked in and wrapped tight until the blades can no longer spin. If the engine keeps running at that point, it could burn out. The only defense against it is cutting power to the engines and sending in a diver to cut the line free. “They’re going to prop-foul us.”
That they’re employing the technique chills me, not because it’s intelligent—I already knew the Draugar are smart—but because I have no doubt they learned how to prop-foul from the Sentinel’s crew. They could have absorbed the knowledge from McAfee, Peach, or even Jenny. Poor Jenny. That they might be using my friend’s mind against me now makes my jaw clench tight with rage. These fuckers are going too far.
“Fire!” Willem shouts.
Don’t need to tell me twice.
The boom of Willem’s harpoon firing drowns out the four coughs from the grenade launcher. But the sound is nothing compared to the simultaneous explosions that tear through the air when our projectiles find their marks. Willem’s harpoon strikes the starboard side whale dead center in the head, tearing through several inches of skin and flesh before sinking into the spermaceti-filled case and detonating. A geyser of red and yellow bursts from the wound.
The four grenades launched from the Mark 14 find their target as well, each one striking the crater created by the previous shell. In two seconds, the four fragmentation grenades punch a hole all the way through the whale’s head, partly severing it from the whale’s body. While the water fills with a slick of fleshy gore and slick chunks of yellowish wax, the whale’s forward momentum is arrested. It falls behind and sinks.
“Jane!” Willem shouts.
I turn and find that while his whale sports a crater the size of a kiddie pool, it still has some fight left in it and the rope clutched in its jaws.
I zero in on the wound, which makes a convenient target, and squeeze the trigger twice, firing my last two grenades. The second shot must reach its brain because as the insides of its head burst into the outside world, the body seizes and goes still. The rope slides free from its mouth and bobs in the water behind us.
My small measure of relief is erased by the memory of three missing colossal blue whales. I turn around and shout, “Has anyone seen the blues?”
Talbot shakes his head. “Not a dang thing.”
“Nothing over here,” Helena says.
Klein is approaching with a fresh spearhead for Willem. I already know he couldn’t see anything more from his position at the center of the deck. I see Nate standing on deck three, which is the roof of the bridge. He’s got the best view on the ship. “Nate!”
He doesn’t acknowledge me. I shout louder and wave my arms. “Nate!”
His head turns subtly, but I can see he’s looking at me now.
“Can you see the blue whales? There are three of them!”
Nothing. No reply. He just stares at me.
I squeeze the grenade launcher’s grip. “Nate, I swear to God if you are having some kind of whale love pout fest up there, I’m going to beat the living shit out of you until you beg me to feed you to them.”
Still nothing. Is he in some kind of shock? Whatever the reason, he’s useless.
“Oh shit,” Klein says. “Oh shit. Go faster!”
Willem and Klein are doing their best to quickly reel in the spent harpoon while piling the cable in neat loops so it can be fired again. Beyond them, out to sea, is a single killer whale. As its back arcs up and out of the water, I see a series of bloody puncture wounds. This is the orca that was bitten.
Draugr, I think.
My fear is confirmed when the beast rises again, clutching the rope in its jaws. We’ve been outsmarted again. The sperm whales weren’t attacking, they were distracting. More than that, we used up our ammo on them, leaving us no way to stop the freshly turned orca.
How did they know? How did they know!
I run for the supply closet as the orca closes the distance.
The closet doors shake as I whip them open and descend on the box of grenades like a rabid Tasmanian devil. I take out two rounds, probably far more roughly than is recommended, and put them on the deck. I pop open the six-shot revolver, dump out the spent cartridges, twist the chamber back into position, and slap in two fresh rounds. Not a lot of a margin for error, but I’m not going to have time to fire six rounds. If I miss with these two shots, I won’t have a chance to fire more anyway. With the launcher reloaded, I sprint to the rear rail.
Halfway there, Willem and Klein give up on reloading the harpoon, draw their handguns, and send a volley of lead over the rail. They’re aiming nearly straight down. Not a good sign and a wasted effort. The 9mm rounds couldn’t stop a non-Draugr orca, never mind one that’s technically already dead.
I nearly fall over the rail when I arrive and point the grenade launcher’s barrel over the side. I see the sleek black shape of the killer slide beneath the dive deck. My finger finds the trigger and squeezes, but the weapon is yanked from my hand before I can fire.
“Jane, no!” Willem shouts as he takes the weapon.
The ship shakes a moment later. The orca has struck the prop. Blood and gore plume out behind the ship as the nine-ton killer is diced by the giant propeller blades. But did the rope catch?
A grinding sound and sudden deceleration confirm the suicide attack’s success. The prop has been fouled.
Being an experienced whaler who has dealt with antiwhaling organizations in the past, Jakob reacts quickly, shutting down the engine. The silence that follows is eerie until I break it.
“Willem, what the hell!” I shout. “Why didn’t you let me shoot it!”
“We can fix a fouled prop,” he says. “But we can’t fix it if you blow it up.”
I just grind my teeth. It’s the closest thing he’ll get to a concession and he knows it, so he doesn’t say anything else about it.
The ship slows. We’re dead in the water. And to get moving again, someone will have to go in the water and cut away the cable. Being the only one on board with diving experience, I can guess who that someone is going to be.
Three gentle thumps from below furrow my brow, but I relax when I feel our speed pick up. “Did Jakob restart the engine?”
Willem’s frown is deep. “No.” He walks to the port rail and looks over the side of the ship.
“But we’re moving,” I say.
“It’s not us,” he says, then points. “It’s them.”
I look over the rail and see nothing but ocean. But the deep blue waves are suddenly disturbed by a swirl of water that flattens the surface and lets me catch a glimpse of a massive fluke. The three giants have wedged their bodies up against the hull and are now directing the ship’s motion. The Draugar never intended to kill or sink us. The whole thing was an elaborately choreographed kidnapping. With our engine disabled and the whales largely shielded by the Raven’s hull, there is nothing we can do now except go along for the ride.
Jakob arrives at the rail. He leans over and takes a look. I expect to see him respond with righteous anger, or perhaps even defeat, but when he leans back up, he’s smiling. “Our search is over,
Raven. They’re taking us, just like they did the others. We’ll find the other ships.”
“Jakob,” I say, disbelieving the man’s optimism. “Even if we find the other ships, there isn’t much we can do. We’re dead in the water. Our prop is fouled.”
The old captain gives me his best crafty Viking grin, raises an eyebrow, and says, “Is it?”
26
With no way to fight against the giant Draugar ferrying us through the ocean, the crew stands down and gathers on the main deck. Only Nate isn’t present, which is probably in his best interest since I’m still pissed about his silence. I know now that he couldn’t have helped, but if he wants to be on this ship, he needs to help out, even if all that means is replying, “I don’t see anything.”
“You’re really okay with this?” I ask Jakob.
He nods. “They’re taking us where we want to go.”
“I thought we wanted a sample?” I ask.
Jakob’s eyes flick to the deck for just a second, but it’s his tell. He’s about to lie to me.
I cross my arms. “As much as I like you, Jakob, the next words out of your mouth better be the truth.”
He meets my eyes with a challenge. I might be his Raven, but he’s not used to being spoken to like that on his ship.
“I’m your first mate,” I remind him. “Secrets are not part of the deal.”
“You’re right,” he says, wandering away from the group. He looks out at the endless ocean. His shoulders sag a touch before he turns around. “I’m afraid I haven’t been totally forthcoming—”
The Raven (A Jane Harper Horror Novel) Page 13
