Lilith

by Toby Tate

  All conversation ceased when Lisa suddenly stood up, knocking her chair over backwards as she raced from the room holding her stomach. Everyone in the officer’s mess watched in stunned silence.

  CHAPTER 7

  After a trip to sickbay and a check up, the ship’s surgeon decided that Lisa was probably suffering from seasickness. She felt as if her entire stomach lining was about to be ejected through her esophagus, and her head spun with vertigo like someone who had just stepped off a speeding merry-go-round. The doctor gave her Dramamine pills and told Lisa to return for a follow-up the next day. Lieutenant Delgado had been kind enough to accompany them through the maze of corridors and even helped Lisa up a few ladders.

  Lisa lay on her rack in her stateroom in jeans and a t-shirt, completely drained, Hunter by her side and holding her hand in both of his as if she may die any minute.

  “You sure you’re feeling okay? Can I get you anything? A glass of water? Another pillow?”

  Lisa slowly shook her head and smiled. “Hunter, I’m okay—really. I was just a little seasick, that’s all.”

  “A little?”

  “Okay, a lot. But I’m alright now. Stop treating me like an invalid.”

  Hunter frowned. “Is that what I’m doing? I thought I was treating you like my wife. And you’re also my photographer, I might add. Without you, my story is only half told.”

  “Oh, is that what I am now, your assistant?” Lisa said, propping herself up on her elbows.

  “Easy, now, I was kidding. Man, you really are on edge. You’re actually taking me seriously.” Hunter gently pushed Lisa back down on the pillow. “The doc says you need rest and that’s what you’re going to get—rest. We’ve been walking around this ship for hours, up and down ladders, from one deck to the next, so it’s bound to take a toll. In fact, I’m pretty tired myself.” He stretched, yawned, and looked at his watch. “It’s about one o’clock. I think I’ll take a little nap before I finish the media tour.”

  Hunter stood up, pushed the chair aside with his foot and scrunched himself into Lisa’s bed, gently pushing her over with his body as he slid in next to her.

  “Boy, I hope Julia doesn’t come back anytime soon,” he said, closing his eyes and letting out a deep sigh.

  Lisa let Hunter’s body radiate its warmth into hers and she began to relax as sleep quickly overtook her.

  CHAPTER 8

  Julia Lambert was beginning to get used to the stares from the crewmembers as she cruised around various parts of the ship, her ego inflated by the attention. She was accustomed to men ogling her, anyway, and was aware she made most women uncomfortable and insecure. She was undoubtedly the hottest thing any of them had seen that wasn’t on a movie screen or in a magazine. The feeling was euphoric, intoxicating—it made her feel sexy and powerful.

  Julia listened to the Commander of Carrier Air Wing Eight, Captain Jimmy Sullivan, drone on and on about the magnificence of his pilots, the amazing technology of their planes and the moral obligations of their mission as she put the back of her hand up to her mouth, trying to stifle a yawn. She imagined herself suddenly slinking up to the commander in the middle of his speech and sliding down underneath his desk while everyone in the room watched in astonishment. She couldn’t help smiling to herself.

  The whole thing was boring to her—the ship, the Navy, the military in general. She wished she could have been somewhere else, but for now, this was where Julia needed to be. It was necessary.

  The monotony of the commander’s voice seemed to be slowly lulling her to sleep when something he said suddenly made her mind flash back to her childhood. In her mind Julia saw her old dog Tater, a basset hound she had adored more than her own family. She and Tater, whose potato-shaped head had prompted the name, were inseparable until one day when it all ended with a walk in the park and the sudden appearance of a nervous squirrel.

  Julia smiled at the memory. Tater had hated squirrels.

  He had taken off like a rocket, ripping the leash out of the ten-year-old-girl’s hand, and ran out into a four-lane street full of oncoming traffic. A Navy seaman who was heading back to base that morning after a night out on the town was still reeling from too much bourbon—the dog barely registered on his radar before he finally hit the brakes. There was a blare of horns, a screech of tires and a crescendo of voices as the scene quickly became pandemonium. The Chevy Malibu had rolled right over the top of Julia’s dog, leaving tire tread marks across the middle of the animal’s back. Julia can still see those tread marks in her dreams and still remembers the piercing scream that issued from her own lungs as she and her horrified father ran toward the dog. Julia could see it was already too late as thick blood oozed from Tater’s open mouth onto the black pavement. The smell of burnt rubber permeated the air, nauseating Julia, and she vomited in the middle of the intersection. She had not just lost a dog that day; she had lost a brother, a kindred spirit.

  Julia’s father, a prominent D.C. lawyer, sued the man for all he was worth, which wasn’t much, and made sure he lost his license to drive. The sailor’s own lawyer had managed to get him off with six months probation.

  Julia had felt more kinship with that dog, and animals in general, than she ever had with the human race. A single tear trickled down her cheek and she wiped it away with the side of her finger, discretely panning her eyes around the room, checking to see if anyone had noticed.

  But Julia was here to work, not daydream, and forced herself to pay attention, taking in every word the commander spoke. She was here to learn. Knowledge was power and power was everything. Environmental Times Magazine had sent her here expecting a story about the Ford and its crew. But for Julia, this trip was about more than just politics or saving the environment. Indeed…it was about much, much more.

  CHAPTER 9

  Lisa lay alone on her bunk after a long day of following Hunter around the ship, taking pictures and talking to the ship’s crew. They had said their goodbyes, but Hunter was a little reluctant to leave. He began gently kissing her neck, whispering in her ear and soon managed to light a fire in Lisa’s belly. As usual, she had to be the strong one and explain to Hunter that they were on a Navy ship in the middle of the Atlantic, not at home in bed. The foreplay would just have to wait. Eventually, after much coaxing, Hunter went back to his stateroom.

  Lisa had never taken so many photos in her life. The camera and lenses weren’t too heavy, unless she was walking up five decks or more, then they got heavy quickly. Setting up that damn tripod was a pain in the ass, but she managed to get some great shots of the crew with her Nikon. Out on the flight deck, she thought she may get sucked into a jet intake, but the crewmembers who were guiding the media group kept them well out of harm’s way.

  Lisa had never heard anything as loud as the bone-rattling decibels created by an F/A-18 Super Hornet. She was a little nervous about standing in the middle of the flight deck with planes taking off and landing all around. Crewmembers were ushering the group from one part of the deck to the next while the electromagnetic catapults shot planes into the air like cannonballs from a cannon.

  And it was so frigging hot. With the heat from the jet engines blasting away all over the deck and the sun beating relentlessly down from the noonday sky, Lisa thought for sure she just might melt. She wondered how the flight crews could stand it—it was literally like being in Hell. Luckily, Hunter had helped her carry her gear so she was able to move around more freely. She had also been feeling a little woozy and was praying that she didn’t lose her lunch in front of the media group. That would have been the ultimate humiliation, a laugh at her expense for years to come.

  When 5:30 finally rolled around, Lisa was never so happy to see a bed in her life. Pulling off the combat boots she had bought especially for the trip, she could have sworn there was steam coming out of them. After finally persuading Hunter to leave, Lisa showered and brushed her teeth in the head down the hall, slipped on her favorite night shirt, then lay back down in her bunk and let
sleep take her.

  It barely registered when Julia finally returned to the room after midnight.

  CHAPTER 10

  Jessica Blount was a veteran of the war in Iraq and exemplary at her job as an intelligence specialist. She had gathered information about combat operations and made presentations to admirals and even a few defense department officials—and she had yet to reach her twentieth birthday. A raven-haired beauty from the south Bronx, she also had street smarts and she knew better than to allow herself to be in the situation she was now in.

  Yet here she was.

  Jessica’s mother had warned her about military men. “Men in the Navy tend to think with their little head, not with the big one,” she had once said after Jessica had announced her decision to join the Navy. And her mother knew what she was talking about—Jessica’s father had been a command master chief aboard the USS Nimitz.

  How she had been talked into meeting this man in the anchor windlass room was a mystery. The fact that he was her boss was even more unnerving. There was just something about the man that she found irresistible—something she couldn’t quite place—his cocky attitude, the musky smell of his aftershave, his impish, disarming smile. Whatever it was, it made her throw caution to the wind.

  If they were caught, it would mean court marshals for both of them, and that was something she definitely could not afford. Jessica was a seaman up for third class petty officer soon and she had a very good chance at making it. Her evaluations were perfect and the performance of her job was flawless.

  Yet here she was on her knees in a remote part of the Ford performing a different type of job, while Lieutenant Joe Sanchez stroked her dark hair and professed his undying love. Jessica knew he was probably lying, but the fire that burned within her made it not matter. Her only thought was to pleasure this man and then hopefully have the favor returned. She barely felt the pain in her knees as she knelt on the cold steel deck, surrounded by coiled anchor chain with links the size of engine blocks.

  For Jessica, the behavior was totally out of character. But tonight, she wasn’t herself—she just wasn’t herself at all.

  Sanchez’ breathing suddenly quickened and Jessica knew she was about to get a mouth full. She braced herself for the onslaught as Sanchez’ fingers gripped her hair. She imagined the feeling of sweet release that only a good orgasm could bring and knew that it would soon be her turn.

  As Sanchez’ tremors slowly died down, Jessica waited for the grip on her hair to loosen as she slid his rigid member out of her mouth. But it didn’t. Instead, his grip tightened.

  She let out a yelp. “Hey, watch the hair. You’re about to rip it out by the roots.”

  Jessica reached up and grabbed a hand, but it was like grabbing a slab of granite. She couldn’t even get hold of it, let alone pry it loose.

  “Hey, what the fuck?” The young sailor tried to stand, but the hand effortlessly held her down on the deck.

  A surge of fear, fueled by adrenalin, shot through her as she attempted to grab the only other thing that would force Sanchez to let go, but in anticipation he had already cupped his hand over the slowly dying erection.

  Jessica wasn’t about to let herself be humiliated like this and her fear turned to fury. “Hey, lieutenant, if you don’t let go I’m going to scream my ass off and whoever is on watch is going to come down here. So I’ll give you to the count of three.”

  Jessica never even made it to one when she felt fingers press through the bone of her skull, and before a scream could escape her lips, more fingers passed through the skin of her throat and wrapped themselves around her esophagus, squeezing it shut like a garden hose.

  As Jessica slowly asphyxiated, she looked up just in time to see a silvery mass move behind Sanchez’ eyes, as if something else were alive inside of them.

  Then a complete and overwhelming blackness enveloped her, body and soul.

  CHAPTER 11

  Aerographer’s Mate Second Class Jimmy “Shack” Shackelford stared at the satellite feed of weather radar in the meteorological room of the Ford as it made a sweep, revealing an image of yellow and deep red that seemed to be forming a pattern. Shack didn’t like what he was seeing. It could mean grounding aircraft, which would definitely piss off the captain, especially with the media on board.

  The thing that troubled him, though, was the speed with which the storm was organizing. He had never seen one pull together so quickly and he had been tracking sub-tropical storms for years. Most took days to go from disorganized storm clouds to sub-tropical storm, but this one was already sub-tropical and it hadn’t even been there yesterday. The proximity bothered him, as well. It was only about six-hundred miles out and this looked to be a big son of a bitch, so they would be feeling the outer rain bands in just a few hours.

  He took a sip of Starbucks coffee, which he had just gotten from the coffee bar on the mess deck to wake himself up, and thought about how to explain the sudden appearance of the storm. He knew it wasn’t the instruments and he was sure he had checked the radar yesterday. He glanced up at the clock and saw it was 0900. He checked the radar before hitting his rack at midnight last night. That means the storm had formed, or at least appeared in their vicinity, in just nine hours. But he had checked the National Weather Service last night, as well, and there were no storms reported in the Atlantic, not even a tropical wave.

  Shack figured either somebody had royally screwed up or he was losing his touch. Either way, the old man wasn’t going to be happy.

  He let out a deep sigh, took another sip of coffee, then picked up the phone and called the bridge.

  CHAPTER 12

  As a boy with three other siblings, Captain Greg Phillips had been the adventurous one—riding his bike through shoddy obstacle courses on a dare, climbing into the tops of the tallest trees, swimming across the local river with currents powerful enough to drag a horse downstream. Those experiences served as a training ground for the future fighter pilot Phillips would become.

  Now captain of the USS Ford, Phillips had graduated from the U.S. Naval Academy at the top of his class with a degree in Aeronautical Engineering, then a master’s degree and eventually a professional engineer’s license. As a young aviator, Phillips had spent many hours in the cockpits of the F/A-18 Hornet and the Super Hornet, flying sorties into Iraq, Afghanistan, and other hellholes. He had been a squadron commander for the VFC-12 “Fighting Omars” at Oceana Naval Air Station in Norfolk, attached to the USS Eisenhower during his time there. He had last captained the helicopter carrier USS Nassau.

  An imposing six-foot-three, and well-muscled with a chiseled jaw, dark brown hair and brown eyes, Phillips possessed the rugged handsomeness of a movie star. As any crewman who had gotten their ass kicked on the hangar deck could attest, he could also hold his own in any kick-boxing match. But the CO had the brains to go with the brawn, as well.

  Phillips had just finished talking to the Air Boss in the primary fly tower, or pry fly, where aircraft launch and recovery was coordinated. Everything had gone without a hitch—not even a missed trap, for which the captain was thankful. Catching a wire stretched out across the deck of a carrier with nothing but a tiny tail hook, on a runway that was not only moving at thirty knots, but swaying side to side, could be a nerve-rattling experience. The media group had asked a lot of questions, shot a lot of film and taken up a lot of space, but his crew managed to do their job without even flinching.

  The media group had been given the VIP treatment and had interviewed dozens of his crew and several pilots since their arrival yesterday. They were scheduled to leave the ship tomorrow, but now it seemed there would be a change of plans.

  The captain studied the radar image, running different scenarios in his mind.

  “Well, Shack,” Phillips finally said. “You did a good job tracking this storm. It’s odd that it came up so quickly, though. You say it wasn’t there when you hit your rack last night?”

  “No, sir, nothing there but some high, thin cloud
s. No precipitation whatsoever. I’ve never seen anything like it. According to my readings, the storm has intensified in just the last few hours.”

  “Do we know the wind speed?”

  “No, sir, the National Weather Service hasn’t even had time to send a plane out to investigate, yet.”

  “Well let me know what they say as soon as you find out anything.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Phillips gave Shack a slap on the back. “Don’t worry, Shack, I know it’s not your fault. It’s just some freak storm. Anyway, check with NOAA when you get a chance and see if they’re tracking it.”

  “Aye, captain.”

  Before he turned to leave, Phillips could see a look of relief wash over Shack’s face and smiled to himself on his way out the door.

  CHAPTER 13

  Lisa was feeling sick again.

  She sat at the desk in her room in jeans and a T-shirt, holding her head between her two hands, trying to keep the room from spinning. It did seem like the ship had been rocking just a little harder than it had been earlier. Or was it just her imagination? It was tough to tell at this point—she only wanted it to stop.

  Hunter sat in the other desk chair beside her and Lisa knew that he was wishing there was something he could do to ease his wife’s pain. He gently rubbed her tired shoulders and she could feel some of the tension drain out of her. She wanted nothing more than to go home right now, but that wouldn’t happen until the following morning. They had the free run of the ship, but Lisa didn’t think she would be going anywhere, at least not for a while.