The Tide (Book 5): Iron Wind Read online

  “Aye, aye, Captain,” they responded. Meredith could sense the lack of enthusiasm in their replies. Dom’s flagging confidence seemed contagious. Meredith could see the confusion and worry eating at Dom. She wanted to take him aside and talk with him like they used to as partners in the field, but there wasn’t time.

  “Get moving,” Dom said. Blood still dripped down his face and soaked into his fatigues.

  She hesitated a moment longer and then said over the comms, “Huntress, this is Bravo One. Meredith leading.”

  “Copy,” Chao replied.

  “Can you guide us to the engine room?” she asked, already stepping down the ladders back to the lower decks. The others followed her, scanning the flapping tarps and abandoned cooking stations.

  “Roger, Bravo One,” Chao said. “I’m streaming helm-mounted cams to my screen. I’ve got some idea of what your ferry should look like. Go down one more deck, then head astern. That should lead you to the engine room.”

  “Copy.” Meredith hopped off the ladder. The rest of the crew caught up at the deck where they’d first boarded the ferry. She eyed the jumble of cars, vans, and trucks shoved together.

  There was no easy path through.

  “Miguel—” she started.

  “I know, take point.”

  She couldn’t tell if it was purely good humor or a touch of resentment lacing his words. Andris shot Miguel a look of disapproval at his tone that indicated to her maybe it wasn’t just a simple joke. She might’ve fought by these people since the outbreak, but she was still new blood to them. Still a bit of a stranger.

  The Hunter moved to the front of their small pack and started climbing over the hood of a sedan. He stomped on the roof of an SUV then slid between two vans with crushed hoods. The others followed, one by one. Every time the wind rustled against the tarps or the waves caused the ferry to creak, Meredith paused and probed the darkness for any signs they weren’t alone on the ferry.

  Progress was slow, but they made it to the stern without major incident. A formidable metal hatch emblazoned with the word ENGINE caught Meredith’s eyes as she scrambled over yet another crumpled sedan. They were almost there. As Miguel led them over a fallen motorcycle, Meredith’s boot slipped out from under her. Gravity pulled her down, and her head slammed against the side of a panel van. A dull thud echoed through her helmet, and her ears rang slightly as she struggled through her momentary dizziness.

  A hand grabbed her arm. “You okay?” Jenna said, holding onto an SUV’s door handle for her own balance.

  “I’m okay, just—” She stopped, inhaling sharply. “Holy shit. Bravo, hold up.”

  The Hunters froze, shouldering their rifles automatically and ducking into firing positions. Meredith bent low to examine the thing that had caught her eye. Beside her, Jenna gasped. Bones. Piles of them under the vehicles. Marrow sucked dry, teeth marks all over them. Everywhere she looked, she found more.

  Meredith pulled herself onto the roof of a nearby SUV, sliding over its hood to crouch next to Miguel.

  His gaze was fixed forward, and he used a single finger to point to the ENGINE hatch. A pile of broken femurs and ulnas, ribs and clavicles, skulls and vertebrae was stacked against the bulkhead and gunwale like firewood. A wave of nausea trickled through Meredith as she considered just how many people had died here.

  But something else nagged at the back of her mind, something more frightening. Miguel turned to her as if he too had the same crippling fear. The scene was almost too familiar, like a tableau from a nature documentary. The way the bones were arranged in a pile made it seem like something had dragged the bodies back here to devour them.

  “A predator, bringing food back to its den,” Meredith whispered.

  Miguel, as ever, cut to the heart of the matter. “Fucking hell. Do you think it’s coming back?”

  -17-

  Dom grimaced as Terrence sprayed the lacerations on his cheek with an antibiotic solution. Each drop sizzled on his torn flesh. Terrence applied several strips of bandages coated with a coagulating agent to stop the bleeding.

  Dom batted him away, growling, “Okay, nurse, that’s enough.”

  “Dom, Bravo One here. We stumbled on something...interesting,” Meredith called over the comm link.

  “What is it?” Dom said, his voice coming out gruffer than he’d intended.

  “We’ve got some kind of feeding ground down here, Chief,” Miguel answered.

  “Open a stream so I can see,” Dom said. He held up his left wrist. Terrence had already bandaged his forearm, and he looked like a mummy. He ignored them and focused on the smartwatch he wore, the only part of his arm that wasn’t covered in gauze or medical tape. The small screen fizzled to life with a piece of tiny text proclaiming MIGUEL RUIZ. The camera view panned back and forth over the bones as Miguel scanned the remains.

  “Never saw Skulls act like that in the States,” Terrence muttered, looking over Dom’s shoulder at the smartwatch’s screen. “Think those Imps are responsible?”

  “Could be,” Dom said. Terrence was right. All the Skulls they’d encountered before now tended to eat and run. Maybe the remains hadn’t been collected by the Skulls. Maybe humans had disposed of them here. But he found it difficult to come up with a good reason someone would stow human remains on a car ferry.

  “Should we proceed?” Meredith asked.

  He chinned his comm link. “Proceed as planned. But the moment you run into trouble, turn back.”

  “Aye, aye,” Meredith responded.

  Dom watched the Hunters gather around the engine room hatch, preparing to enter.

  “This is weird, Captain,” Terrence said. He applied a new bandage to one that had already bled through. “If you don’t mind me saying.”

  “No, no, weird is right,” Dom said. Those massive Skulls he couldn’t be sure were Goliaths or not. The trail of human remains in the jungle. The Imps ambushing them from the treetops. The screams that the others had claimed not to hear.

  “Probably the most accurate thing I’ve heard all night,” Dom continued through gritted teeth as Terrence peeled away another bandage.

  “I’ve been thinking,” Terrence said. “Those Imps...I don’t think they were human.”

  Dom grunted as Terrence changed the dressing. These damn wounds weren’t closing up, and the blood loss was starting to make him worried.

  “Hear me out, Captain. All kinds of viruses pass between humans and primates. Like SSIV. That’s where HIV came from, right? And Ebola, rabies, all those things can move between monkeys and people.”

  “I wish to God you were wrong, but I think you’re on to something. Huntress, did you get all that?”

  “Copy,” Chao responded. “I’ve already sent word to the medical team to investigate. Samantha’s talking to them now. I’ll send you updates as we get them.”

  “Good,” Dom said. He didn’t want any more surprises on this mission.

  He glanced at his smartwatch and watched Andris step back from the hatch after setting a breaching charge. A loud pop echoed through his comm link, and he saw smoke drift from the hatch as the door popped open, clanging against the bulkhead. The Hunters plunged through the darkness and into a chamber leading to the engine room.

  “Godspeed and be safe,” Dom whispered as he stared at Renee’s still form, praying that none of the others would end up like her—or worse.

  ***

  “What’s going on?” Kara asked. A million thoughts zoomed through her mind. Was her dad okay? Did something go wrong with the research?

  Sean shook his head and then ushered a young boy into the Huntress’s mess hall. Connor was the son of Rich and Tammy, both survivors that the Hunters had rescued from Mass Gen in Boston. They’d almost starved to death, and the Hunters had saved them just in the nick of time. The young boy rubbed his puffy, red eyes. His face was still wet with tears as Sean patted his back.

  “Navid and Kara will take care of you,” Sean said. “I heard they were look
ing for someone to play some games with.”

  “What kind of games?” Navid asked. “It’s not like we have Chutes and Ladders or—”

  Kara elbowed him. “Sure thing. How about I grab some paper and pens and we can start with Tic-Tac-Toe or something?”

  Connor’s head bobbed even as his bottom lip trembled.

  “Navid’s pretty bad at it,” Kara said. “How about you, Connor? Are you better?”

  Again, Connor’s head bobbed, and Kara stood, taking his hand from Sean’s. She guided him to the seat across from hers. Navid’s eyes were wide. He suddenly appeared withdrawn and shy, like he’d never talked to a kid in his life. She left him there for a moment and walked back to Sean.

  “What’s up with him? And what about his parents?” Kara whispered to Sean at the hatch to the mess hall.

  “Mom’s going into cardiac arrest again. Dad’s still too weak to handle the boy. It pretty much took all my strength to get the kid out of the med bay so Lauren, Peter, and Divya could do their work without him interfering. If you could give us a couple of hours...”

  “Got it,” Kara said.

  “Thanks,” Sean replied. “I know this isn’t glamorous or anything, but you’re a lifesaver.” He jogged back into the corridor. His footsteps faded away as the hatch swung shut.

  Kara grabbed a pen and some napkins then returned to Connor and Navid. To her surprise, Navid was already getting along great with Connor, despite his initial shyness.

  “My favorite Power Ranger is definitely the red one,” Navid said proudly.

  “No, blue is better,” Connor said. “Plus, the Blue Ranger drives the Triceratops Dinozord. The Red Ranger’s Dinozord is stupid.”

  “Man, those are some harsh words. You’re picking on me, Kara’s picking on me—I can’t win tonight!” Navid said in mock exasperation.

  Kara smiled as she settled into the seat next to Connor. “Maybe Connor and I will go easy on you in this first game and let you win.”

  “No,” Connor said. “We definitely won’t do that.”

  Kara drew four lines on one of the napkins.

  “I want to get a glass of water,” Connor said, his legs kicking as he sat on the chair. He slipped off, his shoes clunking on the deck.

  “I can get it for you.”

  “I can do it myself,” Connor said and then ran off to the galley.

  Kara stood. “I think I’m going to follow him in there anyway.”

  “Good idea,” Navid said.

  Kara started toward the kitchen and then paused. “Man, I really thought we were going to do something more important than babysitting.”

  Navid’s happy expression dimmed. “Careful what you wish for.”

  ***

  Lauren held an ice pack against Tammy Weaver’s forehead. The EKG rose and fell in quick spikes, beeping incessantly. Tammy, her husband, Rich, and their fellow survivor from Boston, Alex, had only just been stabilized from the brink of death. Again. With Tammy experiencing a wild bout of tachycardia—a drastically increased heart rate—Lauren wondered, not for the first time, if all their efforts to help these people were hopeless.

  “Is she going to be okay?” Rich said, sitting up in his bed. “Doc, please, help her!” He still looked like a skeleton himself, even though the color had finally begun flooding his cheeks again.

  “Peter!” Lauren said. “Keep him out of my way!”

  Peter grabbed Rich’s shoulders and, with all the gentleness of a polar bear, pushed the man back into bed and against his pillow. “She’ll be fine, but you need to give the good doctor her space, got it?”

  Lauren couldn’t understand what was wrong with Tammy. The symptoms were obvious—the fast heart rate, her skin awash in pallor, her fatigued responses to questions—but the cause was not. Had Tammy been her patient in any other setting, she might’ve had access to a forty-year history of medical records that could clue her in to the underlying causes for Tammy’s current condition. All three survivors had caught the flu within the past day, no doubt due to their weakened immune systems. But while Rich and Alex had responded well to a constant fluids drip through their IVs, Tammy had not. Her symptoms had only grown worse.

  “Paddles?” Divya asked, gesturing to the compact defibrillator in a case attached to a bulkhead.

  “Not yet,” Lauren said. “Vagal maneuvers first.”

  She adjusted the ice pack on Tammy’s forehead. If at all possible, she wanted to avoid drastic measures. She hoped to slow Tammy’s heart rate by stimulating the vagus nerve.

  “Tammy, I need you to cough,” Lauren said.

  Tammy’s hands clenched together over her chest, and her lips pinched together as though she were in pain. “I...can’t...I...”

  “Please, Tammy, cough,” Lauren said, mustering all the calmness she could into her voice. She refused to let her worry and exhaustion seep into her tone while dealing with the patient. But it was difficult to drown out the tension and anxiety she felt radiating off Rich. His eyes seemed to bore holes into Tammy as he muttered something.

  Lauren glanced at Rich while adjusting the ice pack again. Rivulets of cold water dripped down Tammy’s face as her eyes searched the ceiling. “Rich,” she started in a soothing voice. His head jerked to face her. “Does Tammy have any preexisting conditions I should know about?”

  “What?” Rich asked, his eyes wide.

  “Preexisting conditions. A history of heart disease, a pacemaker, anything like that.”

  “Why? Is she—”

  “Rich, please answer my question,” she said with more of an edge.

  “Yes, yes,” Rich stammered, his fingers clenching around his bedsheet. “She had a heart attack or episode or something. Early. At thirty. Her family has a history of heart disease.”

  “Okay,” Lauren said, ever mindful of the accelerating rate at which Tammy’s heart was beating. The woman’s eyes glazed over before rolling back. She gave a subtle nod to Divya. The other doctor took the defibrillator from its case on the bulkhead.

  “Does she have a pacemaker?” Lauren asked Rich as the defibrillator buzzed to life, charging.

  “No, I don’t think so.”

  “You don’t think so, or are you sure?”

  “I don’t know. I mean, I’m sure!”

  Lauren inhaled deeply, took the paddles from Divya, and placed them on Tammy’s chest. Her palms were growing clammy as she situated the paddles, ensuring they were in the right spots. Then she looked at Divya, and the doctor’s eyes narrowed as she gave her nod that the defibrillator was ready.

  The Hunters were risking their lives in the Congo, searching for a clue to the cause of the outbreak. Lauren had a million experiments going on that she hoped would result in a cure or vaccine. And yet she had to ignore those immense pressures and work to save the life of a single survivor. No matter what else was happening in this world, even as millions died from the Oni Agent, she’d save every damn life she could.

  Starting with this one.

  Lauren pressed the pads against Tammy’s chest. “Clear!”

  -18-

  The sooner Frank left the Helicopter Flight Training School, the better.

  “Come on, old boy,” he said. “You’re in such a bad funk, the Skulls can smell it.”

  He’d scrounged up all the food and water he could carry. There had been no more ammunition and nothing else of interest but a couple of locked closets in one of the offices. He might have been able to open them, but the time that would require and the noise it would make wasn’t worth the effort. He just wanted to leave.

  After clearing the bookshelves from the front door, he whispered a prayer for Leonard’s family, wishing they might find peace in death, away from the Skulls, away from this hellish nightmare on Earth.

  A noise caused him to whip toward the office farther down the hall. His hand found his pistol, leveling the weapon at the open doorway. It had sounded like something had fallen in the closet out there.

  The door was still
locked, and Frank didn’t want to risk attracting any undue attention by noisily breaking it down. The clattering could have been anything. Skull, mouse, or some inanimate object choosing that moment to take a swan dive. It didn’t matter anymore. Escape was within reach. He stowed the handgun and then checked his pocket. The door keys jingled against each other as he patted them.

  Cracking the front door open slightly, Frank peered into the moonlit airfield. He counted at least a dozen Skulls rambling between the nearby planes and choppers. An unrecognizable chunk of fuselage rested on a scorched patch of earth next to the carcasses of what must’ve been the jet’s engines. Another regional jet, a 120-foot Boeing 717, had been T-boned by a smaller plane, tearing the Boeing 717’s entire tail section from the fuselage. Seats and wires hung from the open tube like the rotting guts of a beached whale. What was left of the smaller plane lay nearby, pieces of its wings and engines scattered about the grass.

  Frank could only imagine the terror of the passengers. Many of them were still lingering at the airport. At least fifty Skulls meandered near the airplane wreckage at the opposite end of the terminal. They posed no immediate threat, but Frank knew a single gunshot—or a whining chopper engine—would call those Skulls over here faster than a group of feral cats running toward an open can of Fancy Feast.

  He’d decided to make his getaway in a Bell 206L4 with a patriotic red, white, and blue paintjob. Between the chopper and him were two vans, an aircraft fueling truck, and an SUV parked in front of the training school’s office.

  Frank tiptoed out of the front door and let it close slowly behind him, careful to muffle the click from the door meeting the frame. He crept to the SUV. Leaning around the rear bumper of the vehicle, he eyed the Bell. The chopper practically gleamed in the moonlight, calling his name. He yearned to get his fingers back on the cyclic and pull that bird toward the stars.