HAYWIRE: A Pandemic Thriller (The F.A.S.T. Series Book 2)

by Shane M Brown

  The pilot pointed through the windshield. ‘But I can see Bolton.’

  Christov squinted through the foam and spray that the helicopter was churning up from the seawater.

  He’s right, realized Christov. Bolton made it!

  Even through the watery haze there was no mistaking the electric blue plasma lance that Bolton was running with.

  Christov squinted.

  Wait. That’s not Bolton.

  ‘It’s a Marine,’ cried Christov. ‘He’s got Bolton’s lance. Get us airborne. Hurry!’

  The chopper’s engines roared.

  They began lifting off.

  ‘Faster!’ yelled Christov.

  The Marine ran straight toward the chopper’s windshield.

  The helicopter rose above the deck. Christov threw himself back in his seat, relieved beyond measure.

  His relief lasted only a moment.

  The plasma lance burst up through the floor beside his leg.

  ‘Holy shit!’ cried the pilot.

  Intense heat scorched Christov’s leg. The water on his wet uniform instantly turned to steam.

  He threw himself sideways, away from the heat, away from the deadly plasma cutting up through the floor.

  The lance sliced back between their seats, cutting through the fuselage like a fisherman gutting a fish. Christov watched the lance eviscerating the chopper. The blinding plasma cleaved right through the cargo area before disappearing into the tail section.

  Alarms sounded from all over the cockpit.

  The pilot began rapidly hitting buttons and pulling back on the controls.

  ‘He’s severed the cyclic controls,’ shouted the pilot. ‘I can’t steer.’

  ‘Keep flying,’ ordered Christov. ‘Gain altitude.’

  ‘I can’t,’ yelled the pilot. ‘The controls are cut. Belt up. We’re going in hard!’

  Christov looked out his window. The ship’s deck passed underneath. They weren’t gaining altitude. The chopper began tipping.

  ‘Keep it level!’ Christov yelled.

  ‘I’m trying! It’s not responding!’

  ‘Just a few more seconds,’ urged Christov.

  ‘I’m losing her!’ yelled the pilot.

  Now!

  Christov shoved open the cockpit door and jumped.

  The chopper’s blades seemed to cut through the air just inches above his head. He plummeted, cycling his arms until…

  Splash!

  He landed in a pool half-filled with deck chairs.

  He surfaced in time to see the helicopter careening sideways above the ship, completely out of control.

  The chopper slammed sideways into the satellite tower.

  The explosion was instantaneous.

  One moment the chopper was banking out of control, and the next it was a warped mass of fiery steel wrapped around the satellite tower.

  Christov hauled himself from the pool and began climbing hand-over-hand up the deck toward the bridge.

  ‘This isn’t over!’ he yelled up the deck. ‘This isn’t even close to being over!’

  Chapter Twenty

  Forest ran for his life.

  Seawater chased his heels.

  He threw aside the plasma lance. The weapon had done its job.

  They didn’t see their enemy’s helicopter crash, but they certainly heard it.

  ‘Hurry!’ Erin shouted at Forest.

  ‘This way!’ King yelled.

  All three fled from the water engulfing the rear section of the ship. As the mighty ship sank backward into the water, Forest felt like he was climbing the wrong way up an escalator.

  Erin took the lead, using her knowledge of the ship to help them outrun the water.

  ‘Up here,’ she pointed.

  The main hallway through the rear cabins sloped straight up the deck. To survive they needed to stay ahead of the water. Behind them the water began surging into open cabins.

  Forest scrambled up the hallway after Erin.

  King shuffled up the slope. He moved damn fast for a man with two bullet wounds.

  No one spoke.

  The sloping hallway required every ounce of their concentration.

  If any of them slipped and rolled back down into the water filling the hallway they’d be sucked into a cabin. They’d never get out.

  The ship screeched and groaned around them.

  Forest looked back. They were pulling ahead of the rising water.

  Finally they climbed out onto a wide balcony overlooking the promenade.

  Erin dashed down the stairs to the promenade.

  ‘Not down,’ called Forest. ‘We have to go up!’

  ‘The promenade will flood last,’ Erin yelled back. ‘The water has to get through all the cabins first.’

  King followed Erin.

  Forest grabbed the railing as foaming seawater surged onto the balcony behind him. They were only seconds ahead of the rising water. He ran down the stairs as the water raced hungrily for his boots. Behind him the water crashed down the stairs like a waterfall.

  All three began climbing the promenade.

  King stopped and put pressure on his wounded leg. ‘We’ll never climb this in time. We need to find something that floats.’

  Forest realized King was right. They couldn’t scale the ever-increasing slope of the promenade ahead of the water.

  ‘What about an inflatable raft?’ King said.

  ‘The inflatables are all on the outer decks,’ Erin replied. ‘We can’t reach them. We’re cut off.’

  Forest pointed at the small balconies overlooking the promenade. ‘What if we cut through the cabins above us?’

  ‘They’re already filling with water,’ said Erin. ‘As soon as they’re full, the water will flood in here with us.’

  Forest looked at the water behind them. ‘But we’re still above the water level.’

  Erin shook her head. ‘No, we’re not. This end of the promenade is already below sea level. The cabins are just slowing the water reaching the promenade.’

  ‘Wait,’ said Forest, trying to fathom Erin’s meaning. ‘The flood water is already above us?’

  King pointed. ‘Look!’

  Water began pouring from the cabin balconies all around the promenade. Water cascaded into the promenade from balconies three decks above their heads.

  The water thundered down the edges of the promenade and joined the water already pursuing them from behind.

  She’s right, realized Forest. I thought we were keeping ahead of the water, but it was racing around us. This end of the ship is already under water. We are under water! It just hasn’t reached us yet!

  Behind them, churning white foam swallowed shops and restaurants. Only the path directly ahead wasn’t pouring seawater directly toward them.

  ‘Come on,’ yelled Erin. ‘This is it!’

  They’d reached the Hot Rod Cafe, a twenties-style diner filled with booths shaped like muscle cars.

  ‘This is what?’ asked King.

  Outside the Hot Rod Cafe stood a bright red Alfa Romeo sports car. Passengers could buy tickets for a chance to win it.

  Forest stared at Erin. Does she mean the car?

  King yanked on the door handle. ‘It’s locked!’

  Erin smashed open a glass box beside the car. Inside hung car keys. Lights flashed as Erin used the key fob to unlock the car.

  Beep-Beep

  ‘Quickly,’ yelled King. ‘Everyone in!’

  Erin climbed into the driver side. Forest jumped into the passenger seat. King dove in the back seat and slammed shut the door.

  Forest looked in the side mirror. Water was rising up the car’s rear wheels.

  ‘Go,’ yelled King. ‘Drive!’

  Erin keyed the ignition and hit the accelerator.

  The engine roared.

  Water flew up off the back wheels as though the car had propellers.

  Forest braced himself.

  The car didn’t move.

  ‘What’s happen
ing?’ cried Erin.

  ‘The wheels can’t get traction,’ said King.

  Forest knew that any moment the car’s rear wheels would lift off the deck and then they’d be helpless.

  Even the car knew it.

  It sensed the loss of traction.

  A light flashed on the dashboard as the car’s back wheels lifted off the deck.

  King pointed between the seats. ‘Push the four wheel drive button!’

  Forest hit the button.

  The front wheels bit into the deck. The car thrust forward. Forest and King both flew back in their seats.

  It felt like sitting in a launching rocket.

  A rocket suddenly caught in an obstacle course of trees and seats and signs and lights and everything else on the promenade.

  ‘Put your seatbelts on!’ yelled Erin.

  Forest and King rushed to oblige.

  Erin wove through the obstacles like a professional rally car driver. The obstacles she couldn’t avoid she just smashed right through.

  They were halfway up the promenade when water began pounding onto the car from the cabin balconies above.

  Erin braced her arms on the wheel and pressed her chin to her chest.

  ‘Here it comes!’ she cried.

  Forest caught a single glance out his window before the car plunged underwater.

  He witnessed an unbroken ring of waterfalls roaring from all the balconies surrounding the promenade.

  In a heartbeat the water swallowed the car.

  ‘Anchor yourself!’ yelled Forest.

  Erin grabbed the handbrake and the handle above her door. Forest did likewise. King jammed his boots under their seats and grabbed the handles above both rear doors.

  The current flipped the car like a dry leaf.

  Water blasted into the car from a hundred different places. Through the windshield Forest caught topsy-turvy glimpses of the promenade.

  Debris swirled everywhere.

  Smack!

  Something hit the car.

  Forest didn’t see what they’d hit. It took everything he had just to hold on as the car twisted and rotated.

  Something pounded into the bottom of the car. Something else struck the door beside Erin. If they took a direct hit to the windshield, water would fill the car instantly.

  For a moment the current held them motionless.

  Forest saw streams of bubbles rising everywhere. The bubbles travelled in the opposite direction to the car.

  Forest knew bubbles only ever went up.

  That meant the car was going down.

  My God, thought Forest. The ship is sucking us down with it.

  Coleman dropped Neve into the pilot’s chair.

  He was utterly exhausted.

  Hauling them both up the sloping deck had been the most grueling climb of his life. His legs felt like jelly as he climbed out the bridge’s broken front window.

  ‘Can you see their lifeboat?’ Neve called out. ‘Can you see Justin?’

  He scanned the churning, debris-filled water around the sinking ship.

  Somebody must have reached a lifeboat, he thought.

  Myers and Craigson had orders to get Justin safely to a lifeboat at any cost.

  Coleman scanned the water desperately.

  Something sizzled in the sky. Coleman looked up.

  A flare.

  ‘I see a flare!’ he yelled back to Neve. ‘Someone discharged a blue flare.’

  ‘That must be Justin,’ Neve shouted back.

  Coleman couldn’t see where the flare had come from.

  I need to get higher, he thought. Maybe on top of the bridge.

  He turned and looked for a way to climb higher. At that exact moment, he saw someone diving through the air toward him.

  What the...?

  WUMP!

  It was Christov.

  Their bodies crashed together. Momentum sent them tumbling off the bridge. Coleman felt himself falling through the air and then...

  CRASH!

  Locked together, the men smashed through a glass ceiling.

  Even before they hit the floor, Coleman knew where they were because of the glass ceiling.

  Galileo’s Wonders was a totally glass-walled observatory dedicated to astronomy.

  The men crashed down together onto a row of softly cushioned deck chairs angled perfectly for star gazing.

  The impact knocked the men apart, but not before Coleman heard a dreadful sound. He’d first heard the terrible hissing sound in the casino.

  Only a flamethrower made such an ominous noise.

  He was right.

  Christov held a half-sized flamethrower.

  Coleman instinctively reached for his sidearm, but his Colt .45 was empty.

  Christov swung up his flamethrower.

  Coleman scrambled away across the deck chairs. As he reached the last chair, he heard the terrible sound of flames roaring toward him. He grabbed the last deck chair and lifted it like a huge full body shield.

  He barely swung the chair up in time.

  Flames engulfed him.

  Fire swept around the chair.

  Heat scorched him from every direction, but the brunt of the attack was halted by the chair.

  Christov kept firing the flamethrower, trying to burn right through the cushions and wood of the deck chair to reach Coleman.

  It didn’t work.

  The inferno retreated.

  Flames stopped licking around the edges of the chair that Coleman gripped like an ancient Roman shield.

  Christov roared in frustration.

  His weapon is out of fuel, realized Coleman. That was his last shot.

  Coleman couldn’t waste the opportunity.

  He charged.

  The deck chair still blazed on one side, entirely covered in the flamethrower’s sticky combustible.

  Before Christov could leap away, Coleman slammed the fiery shield into him.

  Christov fell backward.

  Coleman released the burning chair.

  The wall of flames fell right on top of Christov.

  Coleman didn’t stop. He spun and searched for a weapon.

  There!

  He dashed across the observatory.

  In his peripheral vision he glimpsed Christov kicking away the fiery deck chair.

  Coleman grabbed an old brass telescope off the wall. The heavy telescope was five feet long and about to be introduced to the side of Christov’s head.

  Christov had abandoned his flamethrower. Flames leaped from his right boot and left arm. Rising to his feet, he stamped his boot and slapped his arm to smother the flames.

  He’s distracted. Now’s my chance.

  Coleman charged again.

  He swung the telescope in a wide double-handed blow, planning to drop Christov with one heavy strike to the temple.

  Christov ducked.

  The telescope whooshed over his head and then...

  Crack!

  Christov lashed out with his fist, catching Coleman across the cheek.

  Coleman reeled back from the surprise attack. Christov had smothered the flames, and as Coleman caught his balance, Christov drew his trench knife. The same knife he’d tried to lobotomize Coleman with back in the ice bar.

  Coleman had a greater reach with the telescope, but Christov’s trench knife was far more lethal.

  ‘We don’t have to do this,’ said Christov. ‘Just give me the acid drive.’

  ‘I don’t have it,’ admitted Coleman.

  Christov’s face twisted in fury. He looked as insane as an infected passenger.

  ‘Just give it to me!’ he bellowed.

  Coleman slowly shook his head. ‘If I had it, I’d already have destroyed it.’

  Christov studied Coleman. ‘Yes. Yes, you would have. But that scientist up in the bridge wouldn’t. She’d never destroy her only chance to walk again. She has it, doesn’t she?’

  Coleman moved to put himself between Christov and the exit.

  Chri
stov nodded. ‘That’s what I thought. You’re just her guard dog. She’s got the drive. After I kill you, she’s next.’

  Coleman knew what came next.

  He recognized the way Christov stood. The way he held his weapon. Christov attacked in straight lines, overwhelming his opponents with sheer explosive fury.

  No feints. No tricks. No trying to wear an opponent down. Christov would attack like a berserker until someone died.

  He had overwhelmed Coleman once with that technique.

  It wouldn’t happen again.

  ‘You don’t get to sneak up behind me this time,’ Coleman taunted. ‘Let’s see how well you perform in a fair fight.’

  Christov exploded toward Coleman.

  Lightning-fast, he thrust his knife at Coleman’s throat, following through with his full bodyweight, committing entirely to the attack.

  Coleman expected the attack, but barely evaded it. His legs still felt unsteady from carrying Neve up the ship.

  He dodged away from Christov’s knifepoint at the last moment. Turning, he delivered a counterattack as Christov’s momentum carried him past.

  The telescope smashed into the back of Christov’s head. The glass lens exploded. Coleman felt the entire telescope reverberate in his hands. Had the glass lens not shattered, the impact would surely have fractured Christov’s skull.

  He watched Christov stumble forward.

  He waited for the larger man to collapse like a felled tree.

  He didn’t collapse.

  The blow would have knocked most men unconscious. Christov didn’t even drop to one knee.

  He turned to face Coleman.

  He smiled.

  The smile was calculating. Triumphant.

  Coleman realized he’d just been outwitted.

  He just wanted to get past me, Coleman realized. He doesn’t care about killing me. He just wants to reach Neve.

  Coleman no longer stood between Christov and the door. Their positions were reversed.

  Christov ran for the exit.

  He would reach the bridge and have his dagger at Neve’s throat in seconds.

  Coleman desperately threw the telescope at Christov’s legs. The telescope spun through the air and hit Christov’s ankle.

  The impact did nothing.

  It didn’t trip him.

  It didn’t slow him down.

  Christov reached the doorway. His boot crossed the threshold, but not one step further.

  His entire body suddenly bounced back from the doorway as though he’d run into a brick wall. Coleman glimpsed movement outside, a bright red flash, and then Christov came tumbling back into the viewing lounge.