“You don’t speak.” Meri stiffened. “You’re not one of us.”
Nahal held out her hands in a pacifying gesture. “That’s right. She’s not one of us. She’s not part of this, and she doesn’t deserve to die. Why not let her go?”
“Collateral damage happens in war.” Meri raised the gun slightly. She was ready to shoot.
Vivian shifted slightly.
“Like Rasha?” Nahal asked.
“Rasha was necessary!” Meri looked at Nahal. “You don’t—”
Vivian dove past Nahal toward Meri. This was her one chance.
She was too close to shoot. Meri swung the gun like a club. Vivian ducked, and the butt of the rifle clanged against the metal rungs of the ladder.
Nahal cried out.
Vivian kicked low, trying to sweep Meri’s knees, but the woman danced back, quick as a snake. Vivian lunged in close. She had to stay in close. Meri moved back another step and crashed into the wall.
It was like fighting inside a closet — no room to move, no room to run, no room to swing.
Meri brought the rifle up to shoot. Vivian slammed Meri’s arm between the metal wall and her cast. The barrel glanced off the wall, leaving a black streak in the paint. The metal rang like a bell.
In spite of the pain, Meri didn’t let go of her gun. Before she could move, Vivian grabbed the barrel with her other hand and twisted the gun. Meri’s fingers bent in an unnatural way. She gasped and lost her grip. The sub pitched to the side.
Vivian yanked the gun free. She swiveled it around and punched Meri in the stomach with the stock. She wanted to smack her in the head, but kept her temper. She didn’t want to kill her if she could help it.
Instead, she swept her feet out from under her.
Meri crashed to the floor with a scream.
Vivian put her foot on the back of Meri’s exposed neck. “Stay down.”
The sub reeled, and Vivian grabbed hold of one of the ladder’s rungs to hold herself in place.
Meri writhed, and Vivian swung the rifle down and pressed the barrel against the base of her spine. “One shot here and you won’t be moving so much. Maybe you won’t ever move again.”
Meri froze.
“Don’t hurt her!” Nahal came at Vivian with fists flailing.
Vivian elbowed the tiny woman in the chest. She collapsed into the ladder.
“So long as everyone behaves, this will go fine.” Vivian took the handcuffs out of her cast and slapped one on Meri’s wrist. The other one she locked around the ladder’s bottom rung. She eased her foot off Meri’s neck.
From this position, Meri couldn’t reach the corridor or the escape trunk. She might scream, but with all the screaming and excitement in the sub right now, Vivian wasn’t sure anyone would notice. Best she could do.
“Suits?” Vivian kept her gun on Meri’s back. No point in letting up until the last second. “The emergency suits?”
Nahal opened a locker to reveal neon yellow emergency suits. She handed one to Vivian and put on one herself. “I’m sorry, Meri.”
Meri grunted. It sounded like a curse, but Vivian didn’t understand it. Apparently, Nahal did, because her face hardened and she put her foot on the first rung of the ladder.
Vivian slipped into the suit on one side, then moved the gun to her other hand and put on the other side. If was a tight fit over her cast, but she was motivated. Barrel still pressed against Meri’s spine, Vivian yanked up the suit’s zipper.
The sub’s movements had stabilized.
“Do you think the sub dove after it was hit?” Vivian asked. Seemed like a logical choice.
“No order was given.” Nahal clambered up the ladder like a monkey.
Vivian was willing to chance it.
“Stay still,” Vivian told Meri. “And safe journeys.”
Which was more than Meri would ever wish for her.
She followed Nahal up the ladder. Her rubber boot slipped, and she caught herself with her broken arm. She stifled a curse and climbed again. She’d have to get the arm x-rayed again if she ever got back to civilization. She hadn’t been following doctor’s orders very much since he’d put the cast on.
Nahal was on the top rung of the ladder, struggling to open the hatch. Vivian squeezed past and opened it one-handed, glad for all her time rock-climbing. Upper-body strength was a handy thing to have.
Nahal climbed in first, Vivian after. They were jammed in so tightly it was tough to move around. As soon as Vivian was inside, she closed and sealed the hatch. She had to hope that Nahal was right about being able to work the escape trunk from this side.
She pulled on her hood and gave Nahal a thumbs-up. From now on, she’d be breathing the air in the suit. Nahal closed her hood and gave the thumbs-up signal, too. The suits were working. Nahal reached across and pressed a giant red button.
Cold water rushed into the enclosed space. Vivian gritted her teeth. Nahal buckled straps on her suit to connect to Vivian’s. Whatever happened, they were going up together.
The sub bobbed, and Vivian wondered if they’d been hit again.
She turned Nahal’s face toward her.
“Don’t hold your breath,” Vivian yelled.
Nahal pursed her lips and mimed blowing out air in a continuous stream. Apparently, she’d had the same briefing.
Great. Now the only dangers were getting trapped in this tube, running out of air before they hit the surface, being hit by a torpedo, or being pulverized by a shock wave.
All of them would be better than dying inside the submarine.
Or at least Vivian hoped so.
Chapter 51
Laila grimaced when the escape trunk light lit up on the bridge. One of her crew had deserted. Or two. Only rats deserted a sinking ship. Wasn’t that the metaphor?
Most of the crew were at their posts, repairing damage. The Roc’s last torpedo had been close, and systems were malfunctioning. Nothing they couldn’t manage. The submarine was built for combat.
She glanced at Ambra. Ambra had taken over the helmsman seat since the original helmsman, Fatin, was busy with a fire extinguisher in the corner. White gas drifted around the room, and Laila coughed.
“It’s out.” Fatin spun, searching for flames. But the bridge was calm.
“Check the rest of the ship,” Laila ordered. Fire was one of the biggest dangers on a submarine. Fire and torpedoes.
“I will.” Carrying the extinguisher, Fatin left at a run.
Ambra’s hands flew over the controls, trying to stabilize the craft. Ambra had stayed true. She had expected Ambra to desert her first of all, but Ambra hadn’t.
“Damage report from the torpedo room.” Laila didn’t care about the rest of the sub. Only the weapons mattered.
“Minor.” Samira spoke from the torpedo room. She, too, was coughing. “Bruises down here, a minor electrical problem. I think it won’t affect launch.”
“Ready next torpedoes.” Laila would fire off as many torpedoes as she could.
“Readying.” Samira sounded calm.
Laila wished Meri hadn’t killed Rasha. Rasha had been the only member of the crew with experience aiming and firing torpedoes. She’d had valuable skills. With her death, the practice run sinking the tanker had become useless. Laila should have had more of the crew train so that it wouldn’t have been a waste of time.
And lives.
“I recommend we dive,” Ambra called. “We can fire at depth, and it will be harder for the Roc’s weapons to reach us the deeper we go.”
“No.” Laila had to see the yacht sink. She needed to see the prince die.
“Ready to fire!” Samira called.
Laila took a deep breath. Abandoning her mother. Faking her own death. Bullying and cajoling the women into their new roles. Sinking the Narwhal. Killing Rasha. Each act had led to this moment.