The Day After Never (Book 7): Havoc

by Blake, Russell

  “I’d like to invite newcomers to form two lines, one of men and the other of women, for the first cleansing ritual. Don’t be shy, and don’t worry, it won’t hurt to have all your prior sins banished and forgiven, no matter what they were.”

  Everyone did as asked, and filed forward to where Carvin and Fogarty pressed metal crucifixes against their heads and uttered phrases in some language Arnold didn’t recognize, although he thought it sounded a little like the Latin he’d heard in church growing up. When it was his turn, he submitted with a meek expression, and Carvin held the cross against his temple and muttered his magic words. When Arnold looked up at where Elijah was standing, he saw that the minister was staring past Arnold, his eyes glued on Julie.

  A shiver ran up Arnold’s spine, and then as though reading Arnold’s thoughts, Elijah’s stare shifted and bored into him with the intensity of a laser. Arnold looked away immediately, but not before a sense of dread chilled his blood.

  Then it was over, and the next person in line was stepping forward. A cherubic girl with flowers in her golden hair took Arnold’s hand and led him back to the guest area, Elijah’s eyes following him every step of the way, he was sure.

  Once outside, Julie whispered to him as they strolled to an oversized tent where the buffet was being served. “Tell me that wasn’t seriously creepy – the son. The perv vibe radiates off him big time. Or was that just me?”

  “No. I caught it too. I just hope he doesn’t suspect anything.”

  “Why would he?”

  “I don’t know. But he was giving me the death stare.”

  “Really? You weren’t imagining it?”

  “No.”

  “You do look healthier than most of these skeletons. Maybe that’s why. Or maybe he has a thing for guys.”

  “Not the way he was looking at you, he doesn’t. Maybe he saw me with you earlier or something. I just hope he doesn’t have me killed in the middle of the night so you’re suddenly available.”

  She slowed and turned to him. “Why, Arnold, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you were jealous.”

  “Not jealous. Worried.”

  “Getting last-minute jitters about the wedding? Don’t leave me at the altar,” she joked.

  “No sign of Eve, though.”

  “No. Didn’t see her with any of the kids.”

  “That’s not good.”

  “No, it isn’t,” she agreed. “Do you think she’ll be the main attraction of this celebration the son kept going on about?”

  “I’m afraid we’re going to have to stick around to find out. In the meantime, we can dig around and see if we can find anything that would lead us to her.”

  She sniffed the air and smiled. “Everyone’s super friendly, and the food’s phenomenal. It could be worse.”

  “I suppose so. But not for Eve.”

  Her smile faded and she nodded grimly. “No, not for Eve. Or Sierra, either.”

  Chapter 31

  Newport, Oregon

  Lucas studied the Chinese warship through his binoculars from his position in the hills to the east of town. The big vessel was docked at the concrete pier in front of what had been the NOAA Marine Operations Center. Its gray bulk was easily seven hundred feet long, with a ninety-foot beam – designed like a ferry, from what he could see, which made sense given its mission to transport troops and equipment across the ocean. Lights glowed in its superstructure, and the sound of a generator carried across the water, the ship’s self-contained power system providing the crew with round-the-clock comfort while aboard.

  He lowered the glasses and looked at Art.

  “Bigger than the one they sent to Astoria,” he said.

  “Yep. The question is how many are on board.”

  They’d been watching the ship since arriving that afternoon. Their main force was four miles inland, with Art and Lucas serving as advance scouts and chartered with scoping out the situation in town.

  From what they’d seen over the last four hours, there was only a skeleton crew on the ship, with the lion’s share of the Chinese bivouacked at a pair of hotels on the beach, across the bridge that spanned the mouth of the bay. Regular patrols of four soldiers each made their way through Newport’s streets on a seemingly random schedule while the residents worked in forced labor crews watched over by gunmen. If the Chinese ventured past the town perimeter, neither Lucas nor Art had seen any patrols leave, and it appeared that they weren’t bothering with defensive sorties in a rural, isolated area on the Oregon coast.

  Which made sense, given Lucas’s experience with them in Astoria. Nothing in the wilds could pose a threat to a massive warship or a well-armed force two hundred strong, so there was no point to burning energy and time patrolling the roads that led into town.

  A small advantage, but one that Lucas and Art were grateful for.

  “What do you think?” Art asked.

  “I want to see what they do tonight. If it’s like Astoria, they’ll keep the patrols to a minimum. I’d say we hit them like we did in Salem – before dawn.”

  “With the boat docked that way, it would be easy for it to use its guns on the town.”

  “Right. We’ll have to take out the ship before we hit the troops.”

  “That’s not going to be easy. They’ve set up a roadblock on the only entry point to that dock.”

  “I saw that.”

  “What are you thinking?”

  Lucas raised the binoculars again. “I’m thinking the ship is probably pretty confident it’s invulnerable the way it’s positioned, and with a guard detail blocking the approach.”

  Art nodded. “I would be.”

  “Me too.”

  Lucas outlined his idea. When he finished, Art stared at him in silence for several beats.

  “That’s genius.”

  “Not really. Path of least resistance.”

  They continued monitoring the area for another three hours, and when they were confident they understood the Chinese night routine, retraced their steps to their horses and rode back to the main camp, where the men were resting in anticipation of the battle to come. After eating, Art and Lucas held a war council that included Henry, Sam, Bill, and two ex-navy veterans named Gary and Kirk. Lucas went over his proposed plan with them and fine-tuned it based on their input, and by the time he settled onto his bedroll to snatch a few hours of sleep, he felt they had a good chance of pulling it off.

  When he awoke, the camp was bustling as the men readied themselves for the march to Newport. Lucas had considered, and then discarded, the possibility of traveling there on horseback, but it made more sense to leave Ruby and some of the younger members of the ragtag brigade with the animals and make their way on foot. Even with the best of intentions, a large force on horseback would create noise, and they didn’t need a whinny or snort to alert the Chinese when they were within striking distance.

  They’d agreed that Lucas would lead the assault on the ship while Art directed the attack on the town, using the mortars and grenade launchers they’d brought. Since the Chinese had made the mistake of holing up at the beach motels, Art’s militia would be able to block them from three sides with the sea at their backs while Henry and his mortar crew went to work on them.

  The countryside was dark as they worked their way to the coast by moonlight, and when they arrived at the town perimeter, Lucas shook hands with Art and whispered to him, “Don’t start until I radio you or you hear shooting.”

  “You got it. Best of luck.”

  “Thanks.”

  Lucas led Gary, Kirk, and fifteen handpicked fighters from Sam’s and Bill’s groups through the deserted streets and to the waterfront far from the Chinese presence. When they arrived at the marina, they ran to the shore, where four fiberglass dinghies were beached. Three had oars, and they pushed them into the water and climbed aboard in silence, taking care not to splash or bang their guns against the hulls. Once everyone was loaded, they began rowing to the far shore, where the ship loom
ed over the harbor, its lights burning bright in the superstructure.

  Lucas had concluded that the guards would be watching the road, not the water, because there was no practical way to scale the hull on the side of the ship facing the bay. That presented them with the opportunity to make their approach by water and, once landed, to board the ship while the guards focused on threats from a direction that would never materialize.

  They were three-quarters of the way across the harbor when Lucas motioned for the oarsmen to stop rowing. A lone soldier was walking along the quay, a rifle hanging from his shoulder, plodding along the shore with the slow determination of the chronically bored. He stopped and peered out at the water. Lucas held his breath and slowly brought his M4 to bear, the battery for the NV scope freshly charged.

  The guard’s head was the size of a melon in the scope’s high magnification, and Lucas could make out eyeglasses and wisps of a mustache on a thin, youthful face. Time seemed to slow, and then the soldier spit and continued walking toward the ship, his pace the same as before.

  Lucas exhaled in relief and lowered the rifle, and after the skiffs drifted for a few minutes, he nodded to the oarsman, who began rowing again. The breeze had blown them farther from the pier at which the ship was docked, and it took several more minutes than he’d hoped to make it to shore, where they jumped from the tenders onto the rocky beach, weapons in hand.

  The group stayed motionless until Lucas made it to the top of the slope and scanned the area with his M4. The man they’d seen had disappeared back to the guard post at the rotunda on the access road, where Lucas had earlier counted a six-soldier detail. He assumed that the detail was stationed on the ship, not with the troops in town due to the distance, and expected there were at least twelve more guards on the vessel at any given time.

  Lucas signaled the men to follow him, and ran in a crouch toward the gangplank that led to the main deck six stories above the pier. The heavy lines tethering the ship to the landing creaked as they neared the base of the gangplank, and then they were clambering up the steep ramp, taking care to do so as soundlessly as possible.

  Lucas reached the deck and swept the area with his rifle before moving aside and signaling for the others to board. When they were all on deck, he pointed with two fingers at the entry to the superstructure. Kirk nodded and went first – he would take most of the men and go belowdecks where the bunk areas would be, and Lucas would take a contingent of five men and work up. There would likely be at least one watch officer on the bridge at all times, even in port, and any other officers, as well as crew, were likely to have quarters in the structure, where the canteen and break areas would also be.

  Lucas waited until they disappeared down the superstructure’s metal stairs, and then crept up a flight to the first-level landing, which a quick inspection revealed was empty. The second level wasn’t, and they surprised eighteen crewmen, all asleep in their bunks. A quick search told them none had any weapons, so Lucas left a pair of gunmen to watch over them and led Gary and two others up toward the bridge.

  The galley and officer quarters were on the next level, and Gary dispatched three officers with a sound-suppressed .32-caliber pistol as they slept – allowing them to live wasn’t an option given the limited number of men in the boarding party. The sounds of the shots were muffled by the silencer as well as pillows held over the officers’ heads, and in under a minute Lucas and the men were climbing the steps to the level just below the bridge.

  A shot echoed through the hull from below, and Lucas swore as he reached the upper level at the sound. The watertight steel doors lining the hall looked the same as the ones below, and Lucas motioned for Gary to throw open the first door while Lucas covered him. Gary was almost to the opening when another door farther down the hallway swung wide and a sleepy-looking man wearing an undershirt appeared.

  With a rifle in his hands.

  Gunfire erupted in the corridor, and ricochets whined off the steel walls as the man fired wildly. Lucas threw himself to the floor and squeezed off three shots as he dropped, but none of his rounds hit the shooter. He rolled and fired two more times, and one struck the man’s midsection, knocking him backward.

  A head poked from the doorway, and pistol shots barked at them. One of Gary’s men cried out in pain, and the other loosed a three-round burst that drove the shooter back into the room. Lucas was on his feet and running before the echo of the shots had died, and tossed a grenade through the doorway as he blurred past.

  The explosion was deafening in the confined space, and when Lucas returned to survey the damage, his ears were ringing like his head was inside a church bell. Six Chinese crew lay dead and dismembered from the blast, and part of the far wall was destroyed, the pipes and electrical runs mangled by the detonation.

  Another door sprang open and a crewman emptied a submachine gun into the hall before Lucas could react. Gary’s companion’s head spackled the wall behind him with blood and brains, and then Lucas’s M4 barked once and a hole appeared in the center of the crewman’s back – he’d failed to check the other end of the hall.

  Lucas lowered his rifle, pulled another grenade from his vest, lobbed it into the room from which the dead crewman had appeared, and then stepped back with his hands over his ears. The blast shook the superstructure. A quick look into the room told the same story as before – bodies were strewn around, and the bulkhead walls were destroyed.

  The rest of the quarters proved empty, and after checking the wounded gunman, who’d died during the fighting, Gary and Lucas mounted the steps to the bridge, Lucas leading the way.

  The bridge was empty except for a single crewman in white who had ducked behind a cabinet that managed to hide all but his shoes. Lucas inclined his head at Gary and indicated the other side of the bridge, and Gary nodded and moved around the wide pilot’s console, rifle at the ready.

  The man was unarmed, and Lucas did a quick frisk before pushing him to where Gary stood.

  “Watch him. I want to check out what happened below.”

  Explosions in the distance reached Lucas as he headed down the steps to the main deck, and he peered through one of the portholes at Newport. The hotels on the beach were lit up with fires, and every few seconds another mortar detonated, sending plumes of flame into the air.

  He stopped at the crew quarters, where his two gunmen were guarding everyone. After verifying they had the situation under control, he moved down to the deck level, felt for the Chinese radio Art had given him, and transmitted.

  “Art,” he said.

  The older man’s voice answered. “We heard the shooting, so we’re shelling the bastards. Going to hold off on the grenades until we see what the mortars do. What’s up on your end?”

  “We’ve got the–”

  Boots running up the gangplank outside stopped him, and he twisted the volume off and replaced the radio in his vest. He crossed to the open door that fed onto the deck and peeked around it to the top of the gangplank. He didn’t see anyone, but the sound of footsteps on the ramp told him that the guards had also heard the commotion. He ducked through the door and switched his firing selector to three-round burst just as the first guard’s head appeared.

  The M4 stuttered and the guard tumbled backward, and then Lucas was at the rail, leaning over and spraying the remaining five guards with rounds. The soldiers stood no chance, exposed on a steep incline, and he cut them down without mercy.

  When they were all dead, Lucas returned to the superstructure and descended the steps, ejecting his spent magazine as he went and inserting a new one. When he arrived at the first lower level, the corridors were empty, and the watertight doors all open.

  He continued down another level. Same story on that floor, but when he arrived at the third, two of Kirk’s men lay in crimson pools, obviously dead. Lucas cocked his head and listened, but heard nothing. He was about to step from the stairwell when shooting echoed from below, and he turned and raced down two more levels to find himself in th
e middle of hell.

  Chapter 32

  Lucas peered around the corner of the doorway into a corridor awash in blood, the bodies of four of Kirk’s fighters splayed on the floor and six Chinese guards dead at the far end. Kirk and his remaining gunmen were firing at the soldiers using the fallen and the doors for protection, and the Chinese were returning fire from behind the cover of two steel doors.

  Lucas tugged a grenade from his flak jacket, pulled the pin, and tossed it underhand down the hall.

  “Fire in the hole!” he yelled over the gunfire, and Kirk and his men steeled themselves for the blast.

  The steel orb rolled the length of the corridor and exploded at the Chinese end. Lucas tore in the direction of the blast, M4 in hand, fighting not to slip on the slick blood that coated every surface. Kirk emerged from behind his cover and joined him while his men hung back.

  Lucas made it to the first door in seconds, and Kirk continued past him to the second. Three Chinese were writhing on the floor with blood streaming from their ears, and Lucas finished them with three shots from his rifle. Kirk’s rattled from the second doorway, and then he turned to Lucas, his expression drawn.

  “Thanks.”

  “No problem. Any more of them?”

  Kirk shook his head. “That was it for soldiers. There could be more crew below, but it’s clear from here to the deck.” He frowned. “We used all our grenades on the other decks.”

  Lucas felt in his vest and extracted a grenade. “Last one. You can have it. Check the rest of the boat and then meet back up on the bridge.”

  “Will do.”

  Lucas returned to the level where the crewmen were being held by his men. He studied the wheel handle on the watertight door and nodded.

  “Step outside,” he said. “We can lock them in by jamming the wheel.”