The Tide: Dead Ashore (Tide Series Book 6)

by Anthony J Melchiorri

  The distant boom of the AA guns told him the others still hadn’t been able to leave their positions. No matter. He would carry on alone. The rest of the swarm, farther away, hadn’t been attracted by the fire-and-brimstone show of the crashed MRAPs. Normally, Dom would’ve expected them to be on his position. He wondered if what the Hybrids had told him and the Hunters about their tenuous control over the beasts had something to do with it. If that was the case, he prayed the chemical spell cast over their Skulls would hold.

  He still had one thing he needed to get done.

  A couple of soldiers struggled out of the MRAP that was crumpled against the Goliath’s corpse. The bodies of three more soldiers lay strewn about. Dom shouldered his rifle as he limped forward, firing at the dazed men. His shots connected, throwing the first man back to the ground. The other two spun around to see who was shooting at them. Dom ended another before the man could react.

  The third lifted his rifle to his shoulder and fired. Dom continued marching straight toward him. There was nowhere to hide. No cover between him and his enemy. But the soldier must’ve been concussed, his vision blurry. His shots went wide, sparking against pavement. Dom sent the man to the ground with a few squeezes of his trigger.

  Pain still lanced up his leg. He couldn’t quite walk straight. He wasn’t sure there was an ounce of adrenaline left in his body to push him forward or assuage the agony rolling through his muscles. But that hardly mattered. Something even more powerful fueled him now.

  He was pissed off.

  Another person climbed out of the MRAP and began running toward the row of choppers. Dom’s heart stuttered. It was the man in the black fatigues. Tall and muscled. Spitkovsky.

  As much as he hated the idea of it, he needed Spitkovsky alive. Not dead.

  Slowing his breathing, he took aim and fired. A single shot punched into Spitkovsky’s leg. The hulking man stumbled and cried out, but he did not fall.

  Dom ran after the man the best he could. They were both limping now, but Spitkovsky still had the advantage. Sweat and blood trickled down Dom’s forehead and stung his eyes. He was flagging, and at this rate he would not catch the bastard. He plugged another round into Spitkovsky’s leg. This time the man dropped.

  “You’re mine!” Dom bellowed.

  The cries of the Skull horde sounded behind him. Their claws scraped over the concrete, and their plates clacked together. And still, somehow, they were surging away from him like a river, immutable in its course.

  Thank you, Reynolds, Dom thought. And thank the rest of your brethren for their sacrifice.

  Spitkovsky crawled in the dirt. The choppers were still over a hundred yards away, and no one had rushed from the birds to save the Russian. Dom grinned. Spitkovsky had ruled his people through fear, not loyalty. Now that he was a ruined man dragging his body slowly across the pavement, they would not fear him anymore.

  Dom closed the distance between them in a few more seconds. He drove his knee into the back of Spitkovsky’s spine, forcing the man down. Spitkovsky let out a pathetic cry. He was nothing like the man Dom had faced before. He was a sniveling wreck, a husk of his former self.

  Grabbing the man’s collar, Dom twisted the Russian around to face him.

  And then he realized why Spitkovsky was acting like such a coward.

  It wasn’t him.

  Frustration and anger boiled up inside him. He let it loose in a blow that crushed the imposter’s cheekbone. The man’s beret flew off, revealing short-cropped black hair. The man had a wide nose and smooth skin. Dark bags hung under his eyes, and blood trickled out of his cracked lip and over his plump cheek.

  “Where is he?” Dom growled, his knee now pressing into the man’s chest.

  “I don’t...who are you talking about?” the man asked. “I don’t understand.”

  He had a hint of a Persian accent. An Iranian running around with all these Russians? Dom found it odd, but they’d already established that someone within the Iranian government had been working with the FGL. War made strange bedfellows.

  “Where’s Spitkovsky?”

  “He’s not here,” the man said.

  “Who are you?”

  “Abbasi,” the man spat out. “Reza Abbasi.”

  “Who’s in charge, Reza?” Dom dug his knee in harder.

  “I am.” Bloody snot dribbled out of the man’s nose. Spitkovsky had put a guy like this in charge of a base like this? Dom didn’t buy it.

  “Tell me the goddamned truth.”

  “I did!” the man yelled.

  There was no way. No goddamn way. “What the fuck is going on here?”

  “Nothing. We are doing nothing.”

  “Cut the shit.” Dom took out his pistol and pressed it under Reza’s chin. “What are you really doing?”

  Reza said nothing. Dom thought he smelled the odor of a released bladder.

  Dom pointed the gun at Reza’s arm and then nodded back toward the horde of charging Skulls. “With just one working arm, what do you think your chances are of getting away?”

  Dom fired the pistol. Reza cried out like a terrified child. Dom hadn’t even been aiming at him; he’d fired at the ground.

  “Tell me what was going on here.”

  “You must’ve seen. The genetic mutants. The monsters we made. They can control these other ones. Please, you must believe me.”

  “Where is Spitkovsky?”

  “He isn’t here,” Reza said, blubbering now. “I swear he isn’t here.”

  Dom fired a round into Reza’s outstretched hand. The man bellowed in agony.

  “Where is he?”

  “He’s in—”

  Something sliced across Reza’s throat, leaving a crimson line, and Reza went silent. A flash of yellow. And then Dom was thrown backward, his pistol flying from his hand and clattering somewhere behind him. He scrambled to his knees in time to see Dimitri perched over Reza’s body, one taloned foot grinding into Reza’s neck. He rubbed his claws together as if he were sharpening a handful of knives all at once.

  “Your friend was no match for me,” he said. It took Dom a moment to realize he meant Reynolds and not Reza. “Must’ve been weak from being starved.”

  Dom wanted to believe the SEAL had come out victorious, even with the odds against him, but he had already guessed the truth. A pang of regret shuddered through him nonetheless. He’d abandoned Reynolds, and the Hybrid had sacrificed himself for Dom to make it here.

  Dimitri sighed and stepped off the corpse. “Reza should’ve known better than to talk.”

  As Dimitri approached, Dom inched backward, his fingers creeping toward his pistol. Dimitri’s eyes seemed to be focused on the Skulls. “Your friends”—he pressed his claws to his chest—“like me have learned quite well how to excite those monsters up, haven’t they? They should be very proud. It is sad that it doesn’t hardly matter. We’re done here anyway.”

  “Your ships aren’t going anywhere,” Dom said. His finger touched the metal of the handgun. He’d seen how quick Dimitri was. He had to be quicker. “You’ve lost.”

  “Three cargo ships.” Dimitri shrugged. “It’s a tragedy to lose a few foot soldiers, yes. But the real victory is this.” He indicated his own body. “I suppose I should have thanked Reza for his work. Ah well. I find I do not care anymore. Reza served his purpose.”

  Dom was hardly listening. He had to do this right. Had to peg Dimitri square between the eyes.

  “Spitkovsky does not like you. Not one bit. You and your silly little band of pirates, believing you are saving the world. You thought you stopped his people long ago, but you never did.” Dimitri bent to meet Dom’s eyes. “He will be quite jealous to know I was the one that ended your life.”

  The Hybrid raised a claw. Dom twisted and grabbed his handgun. He raised it toward Dimitri’s face and squeezed the trigger.

  Too slow. By a second, maybe less. But still too slow.

  Dimitri wrapped his claws around Dom’s wrist and yanked his arm u
pward.

  “I told you, this is the time and place of your death,” Dimitri said, his fangs bared. “This is where it all ends, you arrogant bastard.”

  He stabbed out with his free hand and drove his claws into Dom’s shoulder. Dom grimaced but refused to give the monster the satisfaction of so much as a whimper.

  Twisting his claw around, Dimitri tore at muscle and skin. Dom clenched his jaw and swung a leg into Dimitri’s knee. He hit it hard enough that bone chips flew off. Dimitri’s grip on his wrist loosened, and he ducked under the Hybrid’s swinging claw. He sent an uppercut into Dimitri’s chin. It hurt Dom more than it did Dimitri, but the Hybrid was distracted, off balance.

  With another powerful kick to Dimitri’s abdomen, the Hybrid fell over. Dom swooped toward his pistol and snagged it in one sweat-slick hand. His heart pounded in his ears, the blood roaring like a waterfall. Victory was close. Dimitri was the arrogant one, not Dom, and his arrogance would cost him his life. Dom turned the gun on Dimitri and started to squeeze the trigger.

  An ear-shattering bellow slammed into him, throwing his focus off for just a second. Dimitri dodged, and the bullet punched into the pavement where the Hybrid had been. The Goliath the MRAP had run into was back on its feet. Its chest was caved in, and its bone plates were covered in scarlet blood. It lumbered toward Dimitri and Dom, apparently not as affected by the call of the Hybrids as the rest of the Skulls.

  Dimitri didn’t seem to care. He came at Dom in a flurry of claws. Dom parried the attack as best he could. His fingers clung to the pistol with every reserve of strength he had. He just needed one opening. One shot. He could end this and get away before the Goliath stomped him to ragged bits.

  His strength flagged. He found himself more on the defensive, barely fending off Dimitri’s assault. The Hybrid’s strength and armor were a powerful combination when coupled with a human intellect instead of the rotted neurological tissue that passed for a Skull’s brain. Fighting Dimitri was unlike facing anyone Dom had ever engaged with.

  “You will not win,” Dimitri said, a clawed hand connecting with Dom’s fatigues. It scraped against body armor and ripped away fabric.

  Dom staggered, trying to remain upright even as his injured leg threatened to give way. He managed to squeeze off a few shots directly into Dimitri’s ribs. The bullets cracked the bony armor but didn’t seem to do much more than push Dimitri back.

  The Hybrid kicked at Dom’s hand, and the pistol flew away again, this time far outside Dom’s reach.

  Dimitri’s muscles coiled, and he shot forward, leading with claws outstretched. Dom braced himself, ready to grapple again, his chest heaving and his lungs burning.

  Automatic gunfire chattered somewhere to his left. Rounds smacked against Dimitri, just enough to throw him slightly off balance, and his lunge missed. As Dimitri skidded across the concrete, leaving a trail of bloody bone fragments, Dom finally had room to swing his dropped rifle up and shoulder it. He aimed at the back of Dimitri’s head and unleashed a torrent of rounds.

  Dimitri went still. Dom kept the rifle trained on the Hybrid, not trusting him to stay down. For good measure, he riddled Dimitri’s spine with bullets. The Goliath was still dragging itself toward him, limping even worse than Dom. He kicked Dimitri over and fired again. The Hybrid appeared to be dead, his jaw slack. Blood soaked through his uniform.

  The helicopters took off.

  No wonder they hadn’t helped Reza; they hadn’t cared. They’d been waiting for Dimitri, who by all rights should’ve been able to take care of himself.

  Dom crouched by Dimitri’s body, searching the chaos for the person who had fired on him and saved Dom’s life. It had all happened too quickly for the other Hunters to reach him. At least, that was what he’d thought.

  “Captain Holland!” a voice called. A familiar voice. Hamid waved at him from the walkway overlooking the water. Jalil stood next to him with his rifle still shouldered and trained on the injured Goliath. “Captain Holland!”

  Dom waved back then quickly patted Dimitri down. He took a satellite phone from Dimitri’s belt and found an SD card in one of his pockets secured in a protective plastic container. Dom ignored the roaring Goliath as it heaved its body forward, desperate to catch its prey. As he jogged to Hamid and Jalil, a few Skulls from the horde split off from the pack to give chase.

  The allied Hybrids were definitely losing their hold on the monsters—if they hadn’t lost it already. Jalil picked off the Skulls pursuing Dom.

  “I told you I’d come back for you,” Dom said when he reached them.

  “We got tired of waiting,” Hamid said. “And besides, it looks as if you needed us here.”

  Dom patted Hamid’s back then nodded at Jalil. “Thank you for your help. Now, I promised I’d get you out of here, and that’s just what I’ll do.”

  More Skulls were pouring toward them. Dom was exhausted, but he was determined to keep his promise. They would leave this place together.

  “We’re losing control!” Meredith shouted over the comm link. “Get moving!”

  Dom surveyed the shipyard. The MRAPs were down, and the two helicopters were nothing more than diminishing specks in the sky. All three freighters were slowly sinking, taking their terrible cargo with them. The scattered remains of civilian and military vehicles littered the shipyards. There was no telling if any of them were in working condition, and they didn’t have time to figure it out. Then he remembered the tugboats. They had to be operational. Otherwise, those freighters full of Skulls never could’ve been maneuvered into port.

  “There!” Dom yelled. He ran down the pier toward the nearest tugboats. Hamid and Jalil trailed him. Jalil stood at the stern, firing on the approaching Skulls, while Dom ran up to the wheelhouse. He dropped into the pilot seat and brought the engine to life. With both hands on the steering levers, he throttled the tugboat away from the pier.

  The craft only had a top speed of thirteen knots. The Skulls could run nearly as fast. Jalil could no longer keep them back, but Dom had put enough distance between the craft and the pier that the Skulls tumbled into the water, their claws never so much as scraping the gunwale of the boat.

  “Bravo, Alpha,” Dom said, “I’m on my way. Procured myself the Huntress II. We’re getting out of here.”

  “Shit, Chief, that you in the tugboat?” Miguel asked over the comm link. “We got a regular naval fleet now.”

  “While you’re awaiting pickup, take those helicopters down before you scuttle the AA.”

  “It would be my pleasure, Captain,” Andris said. Soon, the throaty burst of anti-aircraft fire pierced the sky. A second later, fireballs erupted in the darkness.

  The spark of gunfire led him toward the rest of the Hunters. Dom steered the tugboat, maneuvering tightly against the edge of the pier. The Hunters piled on. Dom counted only one Hybrid left with them.

  “Where are the rest?” Dom asked.

  The Hybrid that had joined them stared at Dom with hard, bloodshot eyes. “I’m all that’s left.”

  “Understood.” Dom pushed the steering levers forward, and the tugboat began its slow acceleration away from the shipyard. A fire raged in one of the warehouses. Skulls now poured over the anti-aircraft guns. Silhouetted against the burning warehouse, they cast flickering, ghoulish shadows. “Blow the AA guns, Andris.”

  Charges detonated with blasts like cannon fire. Flames licked into the night sky, and chunks of Skulls flew up with them. As the debris settled, the surviving Skulls continued their rampage toward the tugboat. They paid no heed when the remnants of their soiled clothes caught fire. They leapt at their escaping prey, but most landed in the water, flames hissing as they were put out, and the beasts sank below the murky surface. A few scrabbled for purchase on the hull, but the Hunters made short work of them.

  Meredith climbed the ladder to the wheelhouse and sidled up beside Dom. She placed a hand on his shoulder. Her touch sent a wave of warmth through him.

  “We did it,” she said.
>
  “We did.”

  “You okay?”

  Dom huffed. “I don’t think anyone’s okay. But we’re alive. Thanks to the SEALs and the Moroccans.”

  “Brave of them to step up like that,” Meredith said.

  They were silent for a moment. The growling tugboat took them farther from the shipyard as the flames spread. The chorus of Skulls diminished as they distanced themselves from the creatures, one choppy wave at a time.

  When they turned westward on the Strait of Gibraltar, Dom let go of the controls, letting the boat go on its own. He wrapped his arms around Meredith and pulled her in close. He forgot about the pain his leg and the odor of burning fuel and flesh that still clung to them both. Waves lapped against the tugboat in a rhythm familiar to him from years at sea. It felt almost like being home.

  They might’ve parted ways only hours ago, but it had seemed like months. Her touch opened a floodgate in him, and he felt the stress and anxiety and fear hit him all at once like a rogue wave slamming against a ship. He pressed his mouth greedily to hers, wanting to feel the proof that they were both still alive. His hand slid up the back of her neck, and she snaked an arm around his waist.

  Eventually, they surfaced for air. He leaned on the wheelhouse’s console to support himself. Kissing Meredith Webb might make him feel like a giddy teenager, but in reality he was a battered old soldier caught up in an endless war.

  “Do you think it’ll ever be over?” he asked.

  “We can still win this thing,” Meredith said, her hand still grasping his. “It felt like we were so damn close to Spitkovsky. But now we’ve got his people running scared.” She nodded toward the crew gathered along the stern. They were clapping each other on the back and hugging, relieved to be out of Tangier at last. Only one figure stood alone, looking as gloomy as the sea before a squall. “And now we’ve got a Hybrid on our side. That’s got to count for something.”