Sea of Lost Souls Page 17

  “Rachel,” Torres said quietly. “Let’s talk.”

  “Go away.”

  “Please, let’s talk about this.”

  “I said leave.”

  “I—“

  “I’m working!” I screamed, the connection snapping as a result. I whipped around. “Don’t you get it? That’s all I want to do! I just want to be able to do my job! But I can’t, because I’ve got you calling me selfish over here, Commander Gagnon trying to murder me over there, people flying planes into ships, monsters killing Yeoman Hanson, I’ll never see my parents grow old, I’ll never turn twenty-two, I’ll never do anything except be a nuke in this engine room! So let me work!

  I turned back to the sphere and slammed my hand down on it, tears streaming down my face.

  And just to make matters worse, the sound of footsteps in the passageway was coming closer. I was about to have one more unwelcome visitor. Maybe, if I were very lucky, it was Chief Buntin with handcuffs. Isolation sounded nice.

  The door opened, and in stepped Captain Hollander.

  We all stared at each other. Torres and Bickley were apparently too taken aback to stand to attention, and I had a hand on the sphere, the power gently flowing from it into my body.

  Captain Hollander’s face was a novel all on its own, a story of regret and failure.

  “What is it, sir?” I asked, turning away. “If you’re coming to keelhaul me, I’ll be up in a minute. I’m carrying a lot of magic right now and it shouldn’t be released into the ocean like that.”

  “I’m not going to keelhaul you. I came to inform you…” He trailed off, and out of the corner of my eye, I saw him look down. “We lost Commander Gagnon. She stole a RHIB and escaped through the weak spot. I thought it was appropriate that you hear it from me.”

  And that was that. She’d tried to kill me, and she’d gotten away. She’d won.

  We made eye contact, and I hoped my expression communicated just how thoroughly I’d been let down.

  I turned back to the sphere. “Thank you for telling me, sir. If you relate the details to Torres and Bickley while you all leave, I’m sure they’ll give me the report after my shift.”

  Please leave. Please turn around and shut the door. Don’t speak. Just leave.

  “I’ll leave you to your work, then,” he said, his voice low with emotion. “Chief, Petty Officer, let’s go.”

  Finally, something was going my way.

  They left me in the engine room, and if they gave me one last parting glance, I did not turn around to see them. Instead, I just siphoned magic, converted it, and put it into the ship’s systems, again and again. Ironically, my new duties were much closer to the sarcastic “refining uranium” I’d alleged to Captain Hollander.

  But as I worked, left alone in peace as I’d asked, the isolation became overpowering. I rested my head against one of the engines, power seeping into it, and closed my eyes. Perhaps we could still eat and sleep not because we needed comfort, but because we still truly needed refreshment from the drudgery naval life offered.

  After a minute, I stood up straight, and began to convert energy again. I placed my hand on the sphere—and immediately saw that it was empty. I’d been so taken up with my pity party that I’d neglected to see that I’d sucked the last bit out.

  Sighing, I grabbed the empty sphere and placed it in a crate set aside just for that purpose, then went over to the cage where we kept the raw magic, stored in the back of the engine room. On my way, I retrieved the hidden key from behind one of the panels in the wall.

  But the cage was already open. The lock had been broken.

  “No, no, no,” I breathed, rushing inside. All around me, evidence of Commander Gagnon’s theft laughed at me. The boxes and crates were empty, the sawdust containing just round little indentations where the spheres had been. She’d stolen an unimaginable amount of magic.

  “No!” I threw one of the crates against the bulkhead, the sawdust flying everywhere in a dusty yellow cloud. I sank to my knees and bowed my head, crying in earnest.

  There was a low boom in the distance, audible above the din of the engines.

  I raised my head. What now?

  Another boom, and the ship shuddered.

  I held up three fingers, ticking down to what I knew was coming. Three… two… one…

  “General quarters! General quarters! All hands report to your battle stations! This is not a drill!”

  We were under attack, and this time, our enemy had our magic.

  16

  My legs couldn’t move fast enough as I sprinted down the passageway and up the stairs to the security office. Chief Buntin and his men had an entire armory filled with weapons, all of which could repel a pirate invasion. Combined with the jets and cannons, today didn’t have to turn into a bloodbath—for us, anyway.

  I skidded to a halt at the security door and pounded on it. “Chief Buntin! I need to talk to Chief Buntin! It’s Petty Officer Goldstein! Someone’s stolen all the magic!”

  Nothing.

  I raised my fist to bang on the door again, then paused. I put my ear to the door.

  Still nothing.

  “Hello?” I asked as I cracked it open. “Chief Buntin? Anyone?”

  The security forces had been absent from their posts when I’d found the corpses in the brig. I hadn’t given it much thought at the time, but now that they were conspicuously missing from the only other place they were usually found…

  I pushed the door wide open. The large security office was deserted, each desk neatly arranged and empty. The armory, a large cage, was unlocked and stripped of the guns we so badly needed.

  I hung my head. If the security forces had taken to arms because of the imminent battle, they’d still be loading up here, in the office. They’d have left at least one person behind to watch over the cage and sensitive items.

  They’d probably been gone for hours.

  Another explosion, louder than before, boomed in the distance. All around the ship, my shipmates were shouting to each other, calling for aid, munitions, an extra pair of hands, anything. Before long, the ship would run out of power, and then they’d start calling for me.

  I closed the door of the security office and began to walk toward the flight deck. I wouldn’t give in to despair until I knew what was coming. Perhaps it was a small flotilla, as before. Half a dozen decent-sized missiles had taken care of that in no time.

  I pushed against the crush of sailors running here and there, moving with purpose as I made my way to the flight deck.

  Another explosion. The ship shuddered.

  I turned the last corner to the flight deck, then stopped dead in my tracks. Captain Hollander was standing by the door in his flight suit, an aviator’s helmet in his hands. He was looking down at it. The blankness on his face was eerier than the explosions in the distance.

  “Sir? Are you okay? Why aren’t you on the bridge?” The last question was a bit impertinent, but fair all the same. We needed a strong captain at the helm more than ever.

  He didn’t answer, nor even look up at me. I came up to him and peered up at his blank face. “Sir?”

  He finally looked at me, albeit with a faraway glaze. “Chief Buntin helped her. All the security forces did. My ship is full of traitors.”

  I swallowed a stab of self-consciousness. “Why aren’t you on the bridge?”

  “I need to show everyone that I can be a strong leader. I’m going to lead the mission against the ships.” He pushed open the door. “I think we need every aviator available.”

  Eight ships were flanking us, each a rusting warship armed to the teeth. Their guns were lobbing ballistic ordnance at us, the ordnance exploded against our shields—though already I could see small cracks in the magic, the spidery fractures spreading over the ship like webbing.

  On the flight deck, aviators were getting into their planes and taxiing on the runway. Captain Hollander watched them, the same faraway look in his eyes.

  Regret,
toxic and painful, swirled in my stomach. I’d done this to him, and still I had to add to it by bearing to him the bad news. I’d never felt such remorse for anything in my life, and I ached to travel back in time a few hours and slap some sense into myself. Why a mutiny? Why had that been my first choice?

  But there wasn’t time to mull over my mistakes. Not now.

  I shut the door. “Sir, I must inform you that it appears that Commander Gagnon robbed us of our magic stores. The cage is empty. I don’t even know when she did it.”

  Still no response from him, other than a subtle heaviness descending into his eyes. He closed them, then said, “I heard you saw your memorial service on the Taft.”

  “I, uh, yes, I did,” I said, sideswiped by the sudden change of subject.

  “How were you remembered?”

  “Fondly, I guess. My officers and coworkers liked me.”

  Another explosion rocked the ship.

  “Do you know how I’ll be remembered, Petty Officer?”

  “I’m sure the air wing misses you, sir. And of course, your parents and fr—”

  “As a failure,” he said, his voice hard. “I will eternally be remembered as the aviator who screwed up and killed twenty-five people. Nobody will ever care about anything else in my life. That is the story of me. And now, I’m going to be the captain whose executive officer was colluding with pirates, whose security forces robbed him blind, and whose crew mutinied because I was so crappy of a leader.”

  I’d pushed him into despair. This was the most human side of Arthur Hollander, what was beneath the braiding and bossy voice. A guy who’d screwed up, and his judgment was that he’d have to live with the people he’d killed. That sucked in a way I’d never experienced, nor did I want to.

  But he was still the captain of the ship. We needed someone who would lead from the front, not someone who was having an emotional meltdown.

  I took a breath, then planted my hands on my hips. “Sir, I’m not going to waste my time with a pep talk. The ship chose me to be its heart, and she chose you to be her captain. Now, get your helmet on, get in that plane, and go defend your ship!” I ripped the helmet out of his hands and shoved it into his chest. “And with your permission, I’d like to fight the pirates myself because otherwise there’s nothing I can do!” Why did I just yell that?

  My shout must’ve snapped him to his senses, because he tucked his helmet underneath his arm, gave his head a shake, and said, “Fine, yes, get out there, Petty Officer. Tell the other nukes to do whatever you need to. You have my permission.”

  He opened the door and ran out, and I followed.

  The flight deck was alight with people running everywhere, crews carrying ordnance to planes and arming them with all speed. Jets were flying off the deck, their roars drowning out all other sound. The eastern horizon was a dusty pink, allowing all to see the enormous force bearing down on us.

  I pressed myself against the outside bulkhead and studied the ships. If all I had to work with was the raw power in my stomach, what was the best way to use it? I squinted, searching the ships for an obvious weakness. They were lined up… except for one. I knew immediately it was the ship with the captives.

  The eighth ship, smaller than the others, floated well behind the others. It lobbed no bombs at us, nor did it even move. Instead, it hovered around the weak spot that was plain to see—the familiar lights of the Virginia Beach boardwalk appeared where there should’ve been open ocean. Standing tall above the other hotels, my family’s premier oceanside resort served as a beacon. If I were a marauder seeking people, I’d automatically choose that building first.

  And since they’d come from the weak spot, which meant they’d already been in the waters off Virginia Beach for at least a little while. What had called them back?

  I stood up a little straighter. We had.

  This was the final flotilla, and this was the final battle to protect Virginia Beach, and the entire world of the living. They’d sailed into Virginia Beach’s waters hoping for booty, high in the belief that their mole had disarmed us and rendered us useless.

  “Their mistake,” I muttered to myself. I still had magic left in me, and as long as I did, I had a weapon. And with that weapon, a plan formed.

  Better still, a plane released an enormous missile on the lead ship, finally breaking through its shield. If their shields fell as quickly, my plan was going to be easier than I had thought.

  I sidled alongside the bulkhead back to the door, then sprinted down the passageway to the engine room. “Bickley! Torres! Where are you?”

  Torres and Bickley poked their heads out of the engine room. “It’s general quarters!” Torres said. “Where have you been? What happened to all the magic spheres?”

  I pointed behind me. “Commander Gagnon,” I said by way of explanation. “I spoke with the captain and told him about the magic. He said we can do whatever we have to do to fight the pirates.”

  “You have a plan?” Bickley said. “I know that look in your eye.”

  I grinned. “Can either of you drive a boat?”

  “Fair warning,” Bickley said as he gripped the wheel of the RHIB. “I’ve only ever piloted my granddad’s boat on the Hudson. Never done anything in a sea battle before.”

  We were bobbing up and down next to the ship in the only spare RHIB that the security forces hadn’t stolen. Torres and I had clasped hands, allowing me to pour some of my unspent magic into her. When we had an even amount, I let go and tossed her an ax. “That’s fine,” I said, buckling down in the RHIB. “Just don’t crash.”

  “We really have the captain’s permission?” Bickley asked over his shoulder. “Nuke’s honor?”

  I crossed my heart and kissed my fingers. “On the grave of Admiral Rickover. Now, to be fair, he probably didn’t envision something like this, but he said we could do, and I quote, whatever we need to, unquote. I have determined that we need to do this.”

  “Then hold on,” Bickley said. The engine roared to life. “It’s about to get bumpy!”

  Torres and I braced ourselves as Bickley steered the speedy boat out of the shadow of the Rickover and into the open water. Our way was clear, lit by the orange sunrise in the clear sky. Though shaky, he maneuvered the RHIB well, and we zipped right past the first heavily damaged pirate ship.

  “Machine gun!” Torres screamed. “Two o’clock, Bick!”

  A pirate fired his machine gun wildly, the bullets throwing up cascades and columns of water next to us. Bickley swerved, nearly tossing me out of the boat. I raised my head to shout at him, but Torres pointed to the sky. “Bickley! Move!”

  A Rickover jet swooped down low and took out the boat, throwing up wood and people in an enormous explosion. We wheeled around in the water, zipping past the debris and heading for the other ships, all of which were armed with machine guns and other crew-served weapons.

  I gripped my ax. If the other gunners were as bad of a shot as the first guy, this was going to be easy.

  A shadow moved under the water, long and feminine. I sighed. I just had to go and jinx it, didn’t I?

  “It’s her!” I shouted. “It’s Scylla!”

  Scylla seemed to fly out of the water, rising up so fast that I barely had time to take in what was happening. She came to a stop when her torso was out of the water, her snake-hair slithering in various shapes and angles. Once again, her toothy grin was far too wide for comfort, and her eyes darted endlessly in their sockets, never focusing on any one thing. Her deep belly laugh turned my stomach.

  The pirates cheered their champion, but I stared up at the thing that had killed Yeoman Hanson, hate like I’d never felt clawing at my insides.

  Oh, I was going to kill her. For millennia she’d preyed on humanity, cementing her loathed visage in our myths and legends, haunting sailors as they sailed the corners of the globe. But no more. She’d killed a good man, and now she was going to die. Her time was well overdue.

  “Torres, link up with me,” I said, hold
ing out my hand and focusing on my hatred. “You’ll know what to do.”

  Bickley mounted the machine gun on the bow of the RHIB and began to fire at her stomach.

  She hissed and bent down to reach us, just what I’d hoped she do.

  “Now!” I screamed. Torres opened the “poltergeist” link that had caused so much trouble all those weeks ago, and into it I poured my anger, my hate, and my fear for my family—the perfect recipe for an absolutely perfect psychic storm.

  Scylla was blown off balance by the wave of power that hit her, flailing and falling backward into a ship. The ship capsized immediately, bowing and snapping underneath Scylla’s enormous frame. We bobbed up and down in the waves as Bickley fired some more. Scylla was floating on her back, partially impaled by bits of the ship she was on.

  Pirates dove off the vessel, waving their arms helplessly as they tried to grab onto whatever piece of flotsam they could. Nearby, jets were taking out more ships, cracking their shields and blowing them to kingdom come.

  “Get me next to her,” I ordered, clutching my ax. “It’s not over yet.”

  Bickley maneuvered the RHIB to where Scylla met the water, and I jumped off, right onto her flat white belly. I began to swing my ax.

  She screamed, trying desperately to grab the tiny person hacking into her stomach. Whenever her enormous fingers came near, I unleashed another blast of hate. I ran up her chest, between the mounds of her breasts, and raised my ax to her throat.

  For John. For Jordan. For the ship. For me. I infused the ax with my remaining magic and brought it down into her neck.

  Her high keen morphed into a low, guttural moan that shook her entire body. I lost my purchase, falling down into the ocean water by her head. Green blood pulsed out of her throat, dripping down into the water. As it washed over me, I felt a familiar, instinctual tug.

  Magic! There was magic in her blood!

  I spread out my arms and welcomed the magic into my body. It wasn’t as raw as the magic in the spheres, and therefore not as powerful, but it was magic all the same. Plants could survive on sunlight through a window, and I could absorb the magic in an evil beast’s veins.