But he’d heard enough. He sat back, blinking, trying to understand the details, trying to understand beyond the important part. The machine had called him friend and had told him they’d all survived the Ravagers. It wasn’t a mistake; the machine knew him by just his voice, knew their names, knew what they looked like. How? Micah had built this place, and Micah hadn’t had access to their revised appearances until today, long after his family had likely made landfall here. Had he been lying? Or had the machine used some other means to accurately identify all of them?
He couldn’t fathom why the general would lie. There was some other way that the machine had used to discern their identities, plain and simple.
They’d survived. There was somebody else with them, perhaps someone named Wez, but he didn’t care about that. There was something about a portal, something about 4355, something about “through safe.” Roddy didn’t know what that meant, but Micah would know. And unless Micah had reason to doubt the machine’s information, Roddy knew his family was alive.
He glanced down at the box that had given him back his hope, decided he couldn’t leave it here, and used his hand to scrape and dig away the partial grave of Ravagers. He finally cleared enough space to lift the box out… and felt wires snap. He frowned, set the box aside, and looked down. There was more to it, and so he dug some more and pulled out the rest, a large box that fit beneath the first.
When he looked at the parts together, he understood.
He’d been talking to the “head” of a robot.
He picked up the pieces, straining under the weight and thankful that he'd spent so much time working out. He carried them back to the sphere and hauled them inside before ordering the ship to close the exit ramp. The sphere solidified around him, drowning out the sounds of the breeze and the lake waves lapping against the empty shore. Roddy needed the quiet to try to process everything, tried to think over the emotion of the news he’d just learned, tried to figure out if he could contact Micah directly or—
“Roddy? Roddy, pick up! Roddy, can you hear me?”
“Mom?” Her contact spared him the decision of who to contact first. “Mom, I can hear you. What's going—wait, no. They're alive! Mary, the kids… they're alive!”
“We know. Micah spotted them. Said they were on a large luxury boat they'd commandeered on the other side of the world, swiped from an enclave where the richest members of Phoenix passed time. I have no idea how they got there, but Micah did. Something about a door they’d walked through with the number—”
“Four three five five.” Roddy glanced at the pieces that had given him that information as the last act of its electronic life. “I don't know what it means, Mom, or what the door might be. But I’ve found evidence here matching what Micah’s seen. They’re alive, and I need to know where they are so that I can go bring them home.”
“Right. I'm transmitting the coordinates to you. They're for the island itself; Micah lost contact with the ship, but said it looked to be heading due north, toward the subcontinent on the East mainland. You'll probably need to go to the island first and do sweeps to find them.”
“I’m ready.” His spirit soared, his heart skipped a happy beat, and he feared the emotion would trigger his surging power and cause an electrical override of the ship. He calmed himself, saw the numbers appear on the screen where the ship had displayed the countdown timer. “I'll head there immediately.”
“Of course. There’s food on the ship, and there should be some changes of clothes. I took the liberty of putting some there in your new size.”
He smiled at the thoughtfulness. “I see it.” The small refrigeration unit was obvious now that he looked, and there was a small locker in the wall near the entry ramp where he suspected he’d find the referenced clothing. “Everything okay there, Mom?”
“We're having a bit of a situation with one of the prisoners, but we should have it under control soon.” She paused. “Roddy, let me ask you something. If a prisoner escaped and could cause thousands of deaths if not recaptured… do you think it's justified to execute that prisoner if recapture isn’t possible?”
“Yes.” Roddy found himself nodding. “I think it's fully justified.”
“Thanks, Roddy; I agree with you. We’ll manage the situation.” Her tone changed, as if indicating she was done discussing that topic. “Keep us updated. Just remember that communication may be more difficult as you reach Eastern air and radio space.”
“Understood. Good luck, Mom.”
“Good luck, Roddy. Bring them—and yourself—all home safely.”
“I’ll accept no other outcome.”
The connection ended. Roddy gave the ship the coordinates and watched as the flight map appeared along with the countdown timer—he’d be flying for how many hours?—and settled back to rest as best he could. He stared out over the water as the ship rose higher into the air and veered westward, chasing the setting sun, and wondered if his family could once more escape death long enough for him to arrive.
But he knew one thing. He wouldn't go back to New Venice without them.
If he failed… if they died in his care or before he could find them?
He’d meant his final words. There was no acceptable outcome but their safe return. If he wasn’t successful?
He’d order the ship to fly high into the sky.
And then he'd jump out without a parachute, thinking about his mistakes all the way down.
—20—
WESLEY CARDINAL
WESLEY DOVE OVER JOHN, positioning himself between the bleeding man and the shore-based snipers. It didn’t help the injury, but at least it was another layer of interference against another shot. Probably a meaningless gesture. He debated moving John toward one end of the boat while staying below the level of the sides. As it was, the shooters knew where John was; if they could fire bullets capable of penetrating the speedboat’s sides, they’d be able to fire a killing shot.
But they didn’t have that, Wesley reasoned. If they did, they wouldn’t waste time shooting at people from such a distance. They’d have aimed at the boat first, spilling him and John into the water, and would then have aim at the big yacht. Or perhaps they had such ammunition and didn’t want to risk the possibility of sinking their evacuation vehicle.
In other words, he knew nothing, including whether his human shield mattered.
“Hang tight, friend,” Wesley told him.
John gritted his teeth. “Shut up and get me to the twins,” he gasped.
Wesley glanced up. They were getting closer, but the winch wasn’t lifting the boat with anything close to enough speed. Mary was no doubt looking for a means to accelerate their ascent; Wesley couldn’t help anything on that front. Instead, he pulled off his shirt and formed it into a makeshift tourniquet, shutting down the flow of blood gushing from the wound in the man's upper arm; blood loss was a more difficult proposition. He’d been fortunate with his Ravager generated wound because he’d gotten to the twins before he’d lost much. John wouldn’t get the benefit of healing for much longer.
Wesley glanced up. Mary and the children weren't tracking their progress up the side of the yacht, keeping them out of the sniper's line of sight.
Smart.
Wesley rattled off every bad joke he could think of, which kept John annoyed and, therefore, conscious. When the boat shook, indicating that they’d reached the summit, John, though pale, looked fully prepared to muzzle Wesley to avoid any future efforts at humor.
“Mary!” Wesley shouted from the floor of the speedboat. “I need you and the kids to get ready to pull John aboard.”
“I'm not putting them at risk of getting shot, too!” she snapped. “I'll do it myself.”
“No,” Wesley replied. Still on the ground, he grabbed at the storage tarp rolled into a tight bundle and stowed away beneath one of the seats. “I'll act as a decoy. It’ll take too long if you try to do it yourself.”
He scoured the interior storage on the boat and
found a roll of duct tape. He glanced up. “Mary! Is there a tarp used to cover this thing when it’s docked like this?”
A pause. “Yes! Why?”
“Toss it over the side into the boat.”
The heavy tarp hit him in the head, but thankfully avoided hitting the more recently injured of the two speedboat passengers. He could feel the effects of the salve wearing away, and gritted his teeth. Just a few more minutes.
He crouched down on the floor and unrolled the tarp. He tore several strips of tape off the roll and affixed them to the side of the boat, outside the span between the two cables on the outside of the boat nearest the shore… and the sniper. Wesley took several calming breaths.
Then he grabbed one end of the tarp and a piece of tape, stood, and reached the end of the tarp as high up the cable as he could, pushed it against the cable, and used the duct tape to adhere the end to the cable. He ducked back down, crawled to the other end of the boat, and repeated the process. He stayed low and used more tape to secure the tarp in place, then glanced up. His visual shield made it unclear where in the boat anyone might be.
He shouted again. “Mary! They can’t see you now. Bring the kids in and get John out of here! Move him away from me first though!”
“Move him… what?”
“Just get in the boat! It’ll make sense when you do.”
Then he stood, moved to one side of the boat, and turned his back to the shore, staring down at the empty floor.
John caught on as the rest scrambled over the side and helped him to his feet. “Move away from Wesley first, then climb over the side.”
Wesley didn’t look at them, but acted as if he was directing a rescue operation at his feet.
“Clear!”
Wesley dropped to his knees and felt the bullets fly by overhead. If they’d taken just a few seconds longer, he’d be in some serious pain right now. Given the timing of his drop to the floor, he suspected they might think they’d gotten him.
He didn’t give them a chance to think themselves wrong, crawling to the middle of the boat behind the view-shielding hanging tarp, then climbed wearily over the railing and aboard the big boat. He fell to the floor, breathing deeply, feeling every breath as the anesthetic effects of the salve wore off entirely. He turned his head to his left and saw John looking weak and pale, scowling at the fussing he received from Mary and the twins.
Jack noticed that Wesley had joined them aboard and left the arguments to check on Wesley. The boy was pale, his eyes wild with the constant adrenaline rush of the past few days; it didn’t help when he saw Wesley’s condition. “You’re bleeding!”
Wesley glanced down at his bare chest. He’d forgotten he’d used his shirt as a tourniquet on John’s gunshot wound. “That’s not my blood.” He nodded at the other man. “It’s his.”
Jill crawled over and heard the pronouncement. “Ew! That’s disgusting!”
“Yes, yes, it’s disgusting,” Mary said. “You okay, Wesley?”
He wasn’t, wanted nothing more than three days of sleep and to make use once again of the twins’ gift. “I’m fine.” He turned his head and nodded toward John, who had closed his eyes as he rested against the side of the big boat. “We should get him into the bridge. Tinted glass should make it tough on our friends.” He turned his head to look at the twins. “Are you two ready to help?”
They weren’t, but both recognized the severity of the situation.
He joined the trio as they crawled back to John, and did their best to help the injured man into the bridge area. Once inside with the door shut, they stood up and pulled him into the comfortable captain’s chair.
“Do we need to get the bullet out before they start?” Mary asked.
Wesley shook his head. “It went clear through. I heard it hit the yacht right behind me.”
He left the twins to their magic and checked the instrumentation. Despite the complete lack of attention they’d paid to navigation issues, they were hurtling to the north, with a slight hint of drift to the west, at a pace he’d not thought possible for so large a ship after so short a period of time accelerating. He hobbled to the tinted windows and stared back at the shoreline of the island, watching for a moment as it continued to drift further away.
Unless they had a boat of their own, or some serious tracking technology they could use to launch bullets or missiles… they were in the clear. For now.
He moved the steering column and turned the wheel to his right—couldn’t remember if that was port or starboard and didn’t care, which changed their course to the east. Mary watched him, but said nothing, trusting or perhaps understanding his instincts. If the island residents came after them, they’d certainly trace them along the course setting they’d been heading. If they continued east for a time and then turned north once more, there’d be significant variance between where they’d project to make landfall and where they did.
He turned back toward the captain’s chair. The twins were exhausted, and he moved quickly to catch Jack as the youngster fell asleep standing up. He lowered the boy gently to the floor, noting that Mary had done the same with Jill. The pair wordlessly found pillows and blankets, and after covering the children, they wrestled the sleeping John to the floor and covered him similarly.
Mary looked exhausted but unable to sleep, and Wesley suspected he’d be unable to turn his mind off. “Let’s look for the armory on this beast of a boat.”
“Armory?” Mary frowned. “Why would they need one?”
“I doubt they’d plan on attacking anyone while aboard this boat, but they’d worry about unfriendly types sneaking aboard and causing havoc.” He smiled. “People like us. So they’ll have an armory. Probably down on a lower deck. I’m curious to see what they have.”
Mary shrugged, but followed. They exited the bridge on the side of the boat away from the island and headed down the metal stairs. Wesley’s easterly swing had started too soon; they were still within visual range of the island, though just barely. It wasn’t what he’d intended, but now they’d know the boat could change course, which meant they’d have no idea where to look. They could jointly discuss a new navigation setting later.
They moved cautiously. Wesley had lost the rifle during the tank explosion back near the dock, and Mary had lost anything she had resembling a weapon. If there was another person aboard with a gun, they were in trouble. At least until they found the armory.
Thankfully, they found nothing alive. Not even a scurrying rodent or an insect. After checking the contents behind a half dozen doors, they found what they needed. The armory wasn’t huge, but it was packed with all manner of weaponry. Mary selected a knife and a new handgun.
Wesley eyed something larger, and his sense of vengeance engaged.
Moments later, he was on the top deck, aiming the rocket propelled grenade at the retreating image of the island and specifically at the dock. He increased the magnification on his scope until he could see the sniper, watching the boat through her own scope, looking for a human target to take down.
“Gotcha,” Wesley murmured. He steadied his aim and fired.
He watched her, noting her reaction of surprise as she saw the bit of smoke come from the large boat. But she didn’t recognize the threat until she heard the crescendoing whistle-like sound of the large explosive heading her way. Wesley watched her stand and run back toward the shore… before realizing she couldn’t go back the way she’d come.
He watched as the grenade hit the dock and exploded on contact.
When the smoke cleared, he saw no sign of the deadly sniper.
Wesley tipped an imaginary cap at his adversary. They’d fought on opposite sides, but her long-range marksmanship was superb, and made her death necessary.
He rested the launcher on the deck and trotted back to the bridge.
Mary handed him a new shirt, which he shrugged over his sore shoulders. She also handed him a knife, a pair of handguns of differing sizes and calibers, and ammunition. He foun
d places for everything, yawning as he did.
Then she handed him a bottle of water. He gulped it down, only now realizing just how thirsty he was. “You were busy.”
“You were eliminating the final threat to my children’s lives. Figured I could manage collecting personal weaponry, water, and food to help you out.”
“Food?” His stomach growled as if on cue and Mary laughed, pointing to a tray with sandwiches. “The kitchen area—sorry, the galley—was near the armory, so I made a couple of trips. There’s enough there for everyone when they wake up.” She yawned as well.
Wesley shoveled a sandwich into his mouth, savoring the taste. He knew it was nothing special, but the tastes he experienced were the best he could ever recall.
They angled the ship back toward the north. Mary found a map application near the control console, and after a bit of trial and error, they found that the ship could self-navigate. They scoured the shoreline, looking for a place that met their criteria. Large enough to have communication towers. Small enough to have a low likelihood of dormant Ravager swarm pods lying around, waiting for activation. They found a site, thanks to the Phoenix navigation system that had both Eastern and Western cities and landmarks programmed in, and let the ship take control. The help system noted that the vessel monitored weather, water depth, and other factors, and would reroute as needed.
They could sleep without worrying about veering off course or running the ship aground. Wesley looked forward to their arrival; the rumors from his Western education suggested that the so-called sub-continent featured mountains of staggering size, and he wanted to see if the rumors were true.
And make contact with friends back West, specifically General Jamison, to see if they were both alive and capable of sending a rescue party. They expected they’d be able to reach the man if they were near enough to an Eastern communications tower, but it was far from certain. It gave them a better chance than remaining at sea, though. And if they failed? The ship was stocked for hundreds and had spare fuel. They could survive for a while until they figured out another plan.
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