Don’t puke in your helmet, Ada.
She wasn’t sure she had a choice.
The bow punched into the next wave, and she slid, her broken toe lighting up as she grabbed the wheel to steady herself. Another wave broke over the bow a moment later, drenching her. She turned with the swell, trying to move with it.
Another flash gave a quick view of the landmass, and she saw civilization. Or what was left of it. The resorts that had once towered over the beaches had crumbled into piles of debris. A monster wave blocked out the view until it lifted the boat.
The masts of several sail craft stuck out of the harbor at odd angles. A skeletal prow jutted above the waves.
Anxious to take refuge in the harbor, she pushed the throttle down as far as she dared. The wind howled, flinging rain that felt like needles.
Almost there.
She held back the puke and felt her heartbeat in her throbbing toe.
The boat rose on another wave and smacked down into the trough. This time, the impact knocked her grip from the wheel. She fell backward, slamming against the closed hatch of the cabin.
The boat didn’t founder, but the deck had several inches of water. She slopped through it to reach the wheel yet again. The best she could hope for was to keep the boat moving in a straight line toward the forest of masts a half mile ahead.
Lightning hit a steel tower, showering sparks over hills of debris and mutated vegetation. Images of the monsters on the research ship surfaced in her mind as she recalled the last time she deviated off course. But there was no turning back now.
The boat struggled over a large wave, plunged into the trough, and went up on the next swell. At the crest Ada got a view of the landmass stretching across the horizon, but the image vanished as the bow plummeted.
A scream escaped her throat.
Down the boat went, toward water as black as night. She fell to the deck, water sloshing over her.
Lightning cut the horizon, illuminating the biggest wave yet. It rolled toward her, and like so many times in the sky, there was nothing to do but brace for the coming impact.
Les cursed when he saw the time on his wrist computer. It was just after dusk, and he had spent all day working with Samson’s little army of mechanics, engineers, and electricians trying to restore the airship to operational speed.
“Samson, I’ve got to bail now for dinner with my family,” he said.
The lead engineer coughed as he torqued another nut on the turbofan. Then he rested his sweaty back against the panel.
“No problem, Cap, I’ve got things under control,” Samson huffed, “assuming we don’t find any more freaks inside our turbofans. It’s no wonder this one had so much damage.”
“I’ve got my radio if you need me,” Les said.
He jogged past the staging area under the airship. Tool crates were laid out in neat rows. Coils of wiring and spare parts awaited installation.
Soon, Discovery would be 100 percent operational.
Les put that out of his mind. If he didn’t hurry, he would be late for dinner with his wife and daughter—the first real meal they had shared since his return from Rio de Janeiro. He mustn’t screw this up, especially since he wasn’t sure how much longer he would be here.
Instead of eating in their quarters tonight, he had a surprise for his family. He had told Katherine to save their ration of fish and wait for him to get home. It was a small step in trying to make up for being mostly absent since Trey’s death, but it was a start.
He passed under the ship and halted when he saw the platform extending from the launch bay. A team of militia soldiers, all of them unarmed, and a group of medical staff waited outside.
Les had been so busy working, he had forgotten that the bunker survivors from Rio de Janeiro had been cleared to leave quarantine. The immune-system boosters had worked, according to Dr. Huff.
The old man waited at the bottom of the platform, a tablet tucked under his arm, his white jacket whipping in the breeze.
Les hurried over to see the Vanguard Islands’ newest citizens emerge and take their first breath of unfiltered air. He stayed in the shadows, not wanting to cause any distractions. Lieutenant Sloan had gone to great lengths to make everything go smoothly, even ordering her soldiers to supervise without their weapons.
A tall, muscular man with dreadlocks stepped up to the top of the ramp. It was Pedro, the leader, who had killed a Siren with the leg of a cot. He reached back and picked up a young girl, whom Les also recognized.
She was the orphan who had lost her father to the stowaway Siren. Her mother had perished in the battle with Horn and his skinwalkers.
Pedro carried the girl down the ramp, and his people followed wearing their gray jumpsuits.
Curious eyes flitted over the tropical forest and the rooftop, the adults taking in the sights with eyes as wide as the children’s.
Several of Samson’s team joined Les to watch.
“More mouths to feed,” said a mechanic.
“Hope they have some skills so we can put ’em to work,” said another.
Les turned toward them. He had known both men all his life and was saddened at their selfish comments.
“They survived underground for over two and a half centuries,” he said. “They obviously have skills. Now, get your asses back to work.”
Les had thought X would be here to greet the new arrivals, but maybe he was planning something else.
Or maybe he’s hitting the sauce.
He took off through the tropical forest, hoping that wasn’t the case. The veteran Hell Divers had gathered with the greenhorns outside the Sky Arena for weapons training.
Edgar sat in a chair near the railing, cleaning his sniper rifle. He was the best marksman of the divers. Les had watched him hit a can off a boat on the water at over fifteen hundred meters.
Tonight, he was taking over for Magnolia and Michael, who had led the training while X recovered from his injuries. With the king out of commission and Les too busy to help, only four veterans had the experience to pass on to the dozen rookies.
“That’s not how you do it,” Arlo said.
“Stop, man,” Ted said. “This is my rifle, and I’ll hold it the way I want.”
Arlo shrugged. “Fine. Die if you want.”
“Guys, please shut up,” Rodger said.
Les walked on, to the door of his small two-room apartment, taking in a breath. He couldn’t mess this up. His family needed a good evening together, and he needed a break from work.
“Papa!” Phyl yelled when he opened the door.
She came running down the passage and wrapped her arms around his midsection. Katherine hung back, her hair blowing in the breeze through the open windows.
The afterglow of the sunset streaked across the sky behind her.
“I just need to change, and then we’re off, okay?” he said.
Phyl gave a snaggletoothed grin. “Do you like my dress?” She curtsied, spreading the flowery yellow dress outward.
“It’s beautiful, honey,” Les said.
Katherine was also wearing a dress, of white material. In the past Les would have told her she looked gorgeous, but they hadn’t spoken that way to each other for months.
Les hurried into their bedroom and changed out of his jumpsuit. He put on the only casual clothes he owned: brown trousers and a yellow button-down shirt.
Since becoming captain, he had heard his nickname less and less, but even he admitted he looked like a giraffe in the outfit.
“You guys ready?” he said.
“Yeah!” Phyl yelled excitedly.
Les led the way. They went four floors down to an open pair of wooden doors with intricate carvings of fish and other sea creatures.
The room was the Cazador version of a mess hall. But this was no ordinary mess hall.