by James Axler
From below, he heard the unique sound of Ricky’s De Lisle carbine, followed by a splash on that side. With another three cannies boarding, he couldn’t even spare a quick glance that way. J.B. joined him with his Uzi, and the two men cleared the stern of the pod, blowing the final three cannies into shark food.
Both men turned to the third boat in time to see the last of the cannies try to breach their defenses, only to fail as slugs from Ricky’s carbine, along with slugs from Mildred’s barking ZKR, chopped into their bodies, sending them back over the side.
One landed back in the boat as it began to drift off. Only wounded, he began struggling to sit up but didn’t realized that his legs were still in the water. The water swirled under his feet, and a shark lunged out, its mouth open to bite down with its rows of serrated teeth. It neatly severed both feet at the ankles and disappeared into the brine with hardly a splash, leaving the maimed cannie to scream and thrash about, blood jetting from the stumps of his legs until an eel leaped up and snapped its jaws onto his shoulder. The twenty-foot-long animal dragged him backward, where he disappeared with a gurgle as the water and other predators cut off his screams for good.
Ryan and J.B. took a moment to police the area and make sure there were no more cannies lurking anywhere. The water surrounding them looked like a carnivore’s smorgasboard; sharks and eels snapped at and fought each other for their share of the grisly feast.
The boats were already drifting away.
Ryan looked down into the pod’s main room. “Everyone all right down there?”
“Just fine, thanks,” Mildred sang out. “Cannies all blown to hell?” She harbored a particular hatred of the flesh-eaters after almost being infected with a disease known as “the oozies” before the rest of the group had gone with her to find a cure.
“Every last one of them,” Ryan replied. “The sharks and eels are putting on quite a show out here, if you want to take a look.”
“Ryan, I think you better take a look at this,” J.B. said, staring off to the northwest.
The one-eyed man did so, and what he saw made him whistle in surprise. “Damn! You weren’t kidding about it being big. What kind of ship is that?”
“I don’t know. I bet Mildred or Doc will, though,” J.B. replied.
“Right.” Ryan called down again. “Everyone come out. You’ll want to see this.”
The rest of the companions filed out, and just as J.B. predicted, Mildred’s mouth fell open at what she saw in the distance. “I know I haven’t gotten too much sun out here, or I would have sworn that I’m seeing a mirage. Surely none of those things could possibly be left.”
Along with the rest of the others, she stared at the huge white, green and red ship that was approaching them. Easily several hundred feet long and a hundred feet high, its superstructure climbed out of the water with at least a dozen different decks. As it got closer, they saw that although it appeared seaworthy enough, it was in an advanced state of disrepair. Large swathes of the hull were coated with red-brown rust and patches of dark green lichen or moss of some kind. Several layers of barnacles had attached themselves at the waterline, sticking out as much as a foot from the hull. The ship was so tall that no one could see the top deck, but everybody noticed the two much smaller vessels being lowered from the side of the huge boat. Landing with a splash, each one started toward them.
“Sure hope the guys rowing these boats are friendlier than the last ones,” J.B. said as he quickly reloaded the M-4000. “Also, we’re getting low on ammo. Just letting you know that we probably won’t be able to stand these folks off.”
“Well, they look a damn sight more civilized than the others, so let’s just see what they have to say before we go blowing any heads off,” Ryan replied.
The lead boat got closer, and everyone could make out a large man standing in the bow dressed in some kind of white uniform, complete with a cap with a short black brim. He looked perfectly normal and even had a thick, flowing red beard that was twisted into seven small braids.
“Ahoy the boat!” he called.
“Ahoy, yourself!” Ryan replied.
“I am Chief Officer Jabeth Markson of the Ocean Queen. We picked up your emergency beacon three days ago, and have been following the signal in hopes of finding you. Praise be to De Kooning that we have been successful. Do you need assistance?”
“Well, yes,” Ryan replied after introducing himself and the others. “We don’t have any power or any way to steer this thing, and have been drifting for the past few days.”
“Not a problem. We’d be happy to have you come aboard as honored guests of the Queen. Requesting permission to come aboard your vessel.”
“Granted.” Ryan glanced at J.B., then turned back just as a line was tossed from Markson’s boat to their pod. Grabbing it before it slid into the water, the two men pulled the longboat closer, and the bearded man stepped aboard the escape pod.
Up close, he was still an imposing man, but he wasn’t quite as shipshape as he’d first appeared to be. His face was weather-beaten and red, with crow’s-feet radiating from his eyes. His teeth were yellowed, and a missing front incisor was revealed every time he smiled. His long-sleeved uniform shirt looked hand-sewn out of some kind of beaten cloth, possibly linen. He wore ragged white pants that ended just below the knee, and Ryan was even more surprised to find he was barefoot.
“This is an unusual craft indeed.”
“Yeah, we got into a bit of a scrape—” Ryan pointed a thumb at the ocean behind him “—and had to use this to escape. Since then, we’ve been drifting.”
Markson bowed gallantly from the waist. “Well, on behalf of all of us on the Ocean Queen, it is a pleasure to meet all of you. If you’d care to retrieve your things, we can take you aboard and also take this vessel in tow for you, in the event you need access to it later.”
“That would be great,” Ryan said. “Won’t take long for us to get our things together, and then we can head over to your ship.”
In a few minutes, everyone was ready, and they began transferring off the pod to the longboats, wooden-hulled vessels about twenty-five feet long that were manned by a half dozen sailors, all dressed in short-sleeved variants of the chief officer’s uniform. They were a motley mix, ranging from swarthy, short, muscular men with broad shoulders and flat faces that looked as if they came from this part of the world, to taller, once fairer-skinned men who had been burnished a deep brown by the relentless sun. They all sported tattoos of some kind on their bodies; some had their hands and arms marked, others had intricate markings on their faces.
“How long has your magnificent vessel been on the seas, Chief Officer Markson?” Doc asked as he clambered aboard the longboat, his long arms and legs making him look like an ungainly stork.
“Oh, the captain can fill you in on all of that,” Markson replied. “I’m sure you’ll be dining at his table this evening. It is his honor to host guests such as yourselves.”
“We look forward to it,” Ryan said as he came aboard. He’d ended up with Doc, Mildred and Ricky; the others were on board the second longboat. Ryan sat with his companions in the middle of the boat as the oarsmen began pulling for the huge liner, the pod in tow behind them. Ryan noticed that the ends of the oars near the sailors’ hands all ended in sharpened points.
Ricky had also noticed them. “What’s with the points?” he asked.
“Weapon,” the nearest sailor replied. “All topsiders are trained to use the oar-spear from the time they can walk.”
“Elial!” Markson’s voice cut through the rhythmic slapping of the oars hitting the water. “These may be our guests, but that doesn’t mean they have the run of the ship yet.”
“Sorry, Chief Officer,” the sailor replied, ducking his head. “I cry for De Kooning’s pardon, sir.”
“You know that isn’t up to me. The matter will be taken up with the captain,” Markson replied. Ryan saw a look of unadulterated terror cross Elial’s face, but it disappeared as fast
as it had come. The other sailors kept their mouths shut and put their backs into the rowing.
As they got closer to the main vessel, Ryan couldn’t help staring up at the hull looming out of the water over their heads. This close, he could see what looked like crude hatches cut into the side of the ship. He considered asking the chief officer about them, but figured he’d get the same brush-off as before.
Strangely, the huge ship was still moving, sending up a wake that made the longboats pitch and roll in the swells. The sailors all seemed used to this, however, and as they approached, lines were flung down from above. The men grabbed them and made them fast to rings of iron set into the sides of the boat. The lines tautened, dragging the longboats along with their mother ship.
Elial caught Ryan’s eye and winked. “Keep steady—now we ride the kraken.”
Another sailor had been waving what looked like large signal flags up at someone on the main deck. He turned to the chief officer with a salute. “They are ready to bring us aboard, sir. I’ve alerted a Recovery crew to come down and assist with securing the Recovereds’ vessel to ours.”
Markson returned the salute. “Excellent. Signal the main deck that we stand ready. All sailors to your positions.”
Each sailor removed his oar from its oarlock and paired up with the man next to him. They took up positions facing the ship with the pointed ends of their oars facing the side of the vessel.
“What is going on, sir?” Doc asked.
“Just remain in your seats,” Markson replied. “This is simply a safety precaution to prevent the longboat from contacting the side of the ship as it is brought on board.”
“Strangest way to bring a boat aboard I’ve ever seen,” Mildred commented quietly.
“Yeah. Stay on triple red,” Ryan replied, his hand near his blaster. “It doesn’t look right, somehow.”
Everyone’s attention was either on the men on the left side of the boat, the curved hull of the giant ship or looking up at the main deck as both boats began rising out of the water.
Only Ricky happened to be looking out to sea. Therefore, he was the first to spot a pale, hairless hand rise from under the boat and grab the gunwale. Before he could shout a warning or bring his De Lisle around, the intruder had leaped aboard, right in front of him.
Chapter Twenty-Four
The invader was completely hairless; skin glistened from the water droplets pouring off his frame. Clad only in ragged pants, he had a broad-bladed knife clenched between his lips. However, it was the rest of him that made the gorge rise in Ricky’s throat.
His body was dotted with weeping, bloody sores, from his forehead to his feet. For a moment, the mutie—or whatever it was—stared at the teen, who stared back at him, surprised by his odd lack of aggression. Removing the knife from its lips, it brought a nailless finger to its mouth in a shushing gesture.
Instead, Ricky finally opened his mouth to shout a warning as he brought his carbine up to shoot the mutie. But it leaped at him, bodychecking the youth and slamming him into the row of sailors. Caught by surprise, one was knocked overboard with a shout.
“Muties!” Ricky still managed to shout, making heads turn as another one climbed aboard from underneath the boat. This one was covered in thickened scabs, making him appear clad in some kind of disgusting, crusty armor. Meanwhile, the first one was still moving, slashing at the sailors who were trying to reorganize around the crazy knife-wielder in their midst.
“Take one alive!” the chief officer shouted as he drew a blaster from behind his back. “Kill the other!”
Those orders, however, proved easier to give than to carry out. Already unbalanced by the attack, the boat came to a halt and swayed wildly in the ropes, tossing its occupants into one another. Add the chaos the sore-covered, blade-wielding mutie was causing, and it was nearly impossible to do anything without endangering someone else. And that didn’t even take into account a third mutie, this one so pale that he seemed to glow in the sunlight, who had climbed aboard the already crowded boat.
The oars were proving to be more of a hindrance than help, as they were too long to use without hitting someone. Ryan, however, was under no such restriction. Drawing his panga, he stepped over to meet the second intruder head-on.
Meanwhile, Doc had drawn his sword from its ebony walking-stick scabbard. “You wish to fight someone, good sir?” he addressed the last mutie. “Then you can duel with me!”
The mutie had the temerity to yawn at him, then stepped forward, raising what looked like a crude, metal-studded club to bring down onto the old man’s head.
However, Doc had studied with some of the very best fencers of his day, and was more than a match for his opponent, even under these conditions. He stepped up onto the seat in front of him and lunged forward, driving the point of his sword into the mutie’s throat. The gleaming blade punched through its palate and out the back of its neck, severing its spinal cord and killing it instantly. The mutie’s body short-circuited, and it dropped its club on its own head.
“As usual, the best defense is a good offense.” Doc withdrew his blade and wiped it on his pants, letting the body collapse. “And now I shall see where else I am need—” He was forced to duck as one of the oars came close to smacking him in the head. “Or perhaps I shall let the fight come to me again.”
“More Downrunners on the port side, sir!” one of the sailors shouted as the boat was suddenly pulled toward the hull, knocking a few more sailors off their feet. Ricky, who had just regained his footing, was bowled over, as well. His carbine flew out of his hands and landed in the bottom of the boat.
While scrabbling for his longblaster before someone stepped on it or him, Ricky glanced up and saw that several of the crude hatches in the hull had opened, with more of the hideous-looking muties manning each one. Using long poles with hooks on the end, they had snared the boat’s ropes and were dragging it over to them. Others were sawing at the ropes with crude blades affixed to poles.
The clash of steel on steel rang out as Ryan dueled with the second blade-wielding mutie. This one, however, knew what he was doing, as he blocked Ryan’s chops and even took a swipe or two at him, which the one-eyed man deftly avoided. The mutie got a little too eager with his last thrust, however, and teetered off balance for a moment. Seizing the opportunity, Ryan brought his blade around in a swing that nearly severed the creature’s arm. He screamed and dropped his own weapon to clutch the gaping, spurting wound. Ryan lunged forward and barreled into him, knocking him overboard.
The other mutie was caught in a circle of sailors, but they had to divide their attention between him and the ones attacking from the ship. Having recovered his carbine, Ricky glanced at the other boat to see a pitched battle going on there, as well, with J.B. and Krysty fending off more assailants that had come up beneath the boat, while the sailors battled more of the “Downrunners” who were trying to hook their boat from the main vessel.
“Line’s about to give way, sir!” a sailor cried, just as one of the ropes at the rear of the boat was severed, making it pitch even more dangerously.
“By De Kooning’s beard, we have to get aboard! Signal them to raise us with all haste!” Markson ordered.
Ricky stood up to find himself near a mutie who was slashing wildly at three oar-wielding men, two of whom were trying to block his attacks, with the third looking for an opportunity to stab their enemy. Stepping up behind him, Ricky brought the butt of his carbine down hard on the mutie’s head, knocking him out cold.
“Good work, son!” Markson said. “Now let’s clear the boat of this riffraff so we can get aboard.”
“I’ll keep a lookout in case any more try to board us!” Ricky replied.
With their ambush nullified, the other muties began to retreat. Oarsmen stabbed at them with the ends of their spears, driving them back into the darkness inside the ship.
“Ryan!” The scream from the other boat made everyone’s head turn. As they did, the second rope parted on the
other longboat, tipping it over and spilling almost everyone inside into the ocean. The only ones left in the sideways-dangling vessel were Krysty and Jak—Ryan couldn’t see what had happened to J.B.
“Krysty!” Ryan stepped to the side of the longboat nearest the ship, dodged a hooked pole, grabbed its shaft and pulled. When its owner refused to give it up, Ryan hauled on it with all his might, making the boat rock even more as he yanked the wielder out and sent him plummeting into the water below.
He ran to the aft end of his boat and stuck the hooked pole out as far as he could. “Just a little farther...almost got it.” As he stretched out the farthest he could reach, he saw another blade on a pole extend and begin sawing at the third rope. “Ricky, keep that pole off the rope until I get them over here!”
“I’m on it!” Shouldering his way over to the edge of the boat, Ricky braced his elbows on the gunwale and aimed at the hatch where the pole was coming from. He took a breath, then squeezed the trigger of his De Lisle. The silenced carbine made its usual metal-tearing-through-cloth sound as Ricky worked the bolt to chamber another round and fire as fast as he could. The first bullet sparked off the side of the boat, but at least one found its mark, for the pole suddenly faltered and almost fell.
“Come on, you bastard!” Ryan said, grabbing the line and reaching out to grab the other boat’s front line. He was still just an inch or two away.
“I daresay, if we could rock this boat toward the other one, we might be able to give Ryan those precious few inches he needs,” Doc commented.
“Doc, you’re a genius!” Mildred said as she scrambled to stand next to him. “Come on, let’s do it. Help us, Ricky!”
