Crossbones (19 page)

Evan dreamed of running, holding Maya's hand as the two of them fled from something they could not see, something that wanted to hurt them, wanted the baby. As he dreamed and night fell on the Bay Area, the long, black silhouette of a ship slid silently past Richmond, heading south.

January 12—
Nimitz

Chief Liebs stood in what had once been a
Nimitz
classroom, where crewmen learned everything from first aid to the repair protocols for broken catapult equipment. It had since been transformed into a school, and twelve children sat at the tables, half of them orphans. They were doing work that ranged from junior high mathematics to the coloring and pasting of kindergarteners.

The young girl named Wind was hugging Miss Sophia's leg, telling her about what happened in the bow, and about Michael. The chief filled her in on what he knew.

“You said Doc Rosa sent Denny back here?” Sophia asked the girl.

“He was scared to go back there,” she said, “so she told him to come find you.”

Sophia, one of the survivors whom Angie West had rescued at the firehouse, and who had taken up housekeeping with their pilot Vladimir, looked at the chief and shook her head. “We haven't seen him.” She glanced nervously at Ben, the three-year-old orphan she
and Vladimir had adopted. He was sitting with some of the other children, coloring a cow Sophia had drawn for him.

The gunner's mate shook his head.
Another missing kid?
“We've got problems with Evan's flight. I can't go look for Denny right now.”

Sophia was about to say something when the room began to vibrate, the shaking growing in intensity. Children began to cry out and then scream as markers and toys rattled off tables and a freestanding whiteboard tipped over with a crash. The bigger kids held on to the smaller ones, huddled on the floor as the shaking made table legs jitter and the steel walls of the room seemed to rumble with the voice of some monstrous beast.

Then it was over. The adults moved through the room, checking to see that no one was hurt. A minute later a speaker mounted to the ceiling hummed with a voice they all knew.

“This is Father Xavier, speaking to all
Nimitz
residents. We have been boarded by a group of dangerous people who mean us harm. They are loose on the ship, and we are working to find them. Everyone is to lock down someplace safe, and make sure you are armed.” There was a pause, and then, “Be prepared to defend yourselves.”

Sophia looked at the chief, then at the only other adult in the room, a woman named Kay who was part of Calvin's extended family, and who had two of her own children in this room. Calvin's other son and two daughters were here as well. Kay saw the look and nodded toward a pair of shotguns that had been leaning in a corner and were now lying on the floor.

“I can't stay,” said Liebs, running for the hatch. “Lock down and don't come out until it's over,” he called, ducking through and slamming it closed behind him.

Sophia walked to Kay and spoke quietly. “Let's keep them all in here, and keep them calm,” Sophia said. The younger ones were already picking up fallen papers and crayons, but the older children were watching the adults.

Kay nodded. “We can use metal chair legs to wedge the handles. They should hold, and we have the shotguns.”

Sophia walked Kay to the corner and picked up one of the weapons, holding it close against her leg so the children wouldn't notice, still speaking softly. “Denny has to be somewhere between here and sick bay. I'm going after him.”

Kay put a hand on her friend's arm. “Xavier told us to—”

“I heard the announcement. We can't leave him out there.”

Kay hugged her. “Be careful.”

“Lock up behind me. I won't be long.” A moment later Sophia was in the passageway, and the hatch to the school thumped closed behind her, followed by a metallic rattle as Kay jammed the handle.

Sophia took a deep breath, racked the shotgun, and headed out.

•   •   •

T
he gunner's mate was still in his full battle gear from when they'd brought the refugees on board and escorted them to the officer's mess, and so now he jogged down a passageway with his M4 up and ready. Xavier's announcement—the equivalent of a general quarters alarm—hadn't given any details, but it was easy enough to put together what had happened. Liebs cursed himself. This had been their greatest fear, and he'd let his guard down. Stronger even than the self-recriminations was anger. Hostiles had breached his security and were roaming his ship. He was going to goddamn well put them down.

He ducked into an office that at one time belonged to a team of flight deck officers and snatched the phone off the wall, punching in an extension.

“Communications, Petty Officer Katcher,” said a voice.

“PK, it's the chief.”

“Hey, Guns,” the man started, “what the—”

Liebs cut him off. “Listen up, PK. You heard the skipper's announcement. We've been boarded, nine adult hostiles. I don't know how they're armed. You packing?”

“Affirmative, I've got a sidearm.”

“Good,” said Liebs. “Make sure Banks is up to speed, and button up the bridge. Any luck with Evan's beacon?”

“That's a negative, Guns. I'm scanning the frequencies, but no contact yet.”

The gunner's mate blew out a breath. “Okay. We can't try a rescue right now, anyway. Keep trying, and call me if that situation changes.”

“Aye-aye, Chief.”

“And PK, report any sightings or contact with boarders. Don't leave the bridge, don't try to engage.”

“But Chief, if I get a shot—”

“You heard me, Petty Officer,” Liebs said.

“Copy that. And by the way, the ship is adrift.”

“I know, I can feel it,” said the chief, clicking off. He spoke into the mic for the Hydra radio attached to the shoulder of his combat vest. “Stone, it's Guns, come in.”

The boy responded at once. “I heard the announcement, Chief. Where do you need me?”

“Meet me at the armory. If you can find anyone along the way, bring them with you.”

“Copy that.”

“And Stone,” Liebs said, “if you see someone you don't recognize, open fire. No hesitation.”

“No problem.” Stone clicked off.

Liebs headed back into the passageway, jogging once more. He keyed the mic again. “Xavier, it's Liebs.”

•   •   •

X
avier and Calvin faced one another across the officer's mess; Mercy lay dead on the floor by an entrance, and Big Jerry lay near the galley doors with a butcher's knife sticking out of his chest. The two men were without words, looking at their lost friends, both
consumed by a torrent of grief and guilt. Tommy went to the crying toddler still sitting on the deck, trying to comfort the boy as he watched the other men.

Xavier spoke first, his voice low. “We have to find them, Cal. We have to stop them before they hurt anyone else.”

Calvin's eyes flashed, his face that of a wounded animal. “I'm going to find Michael.”

“No,” said Xavier, and Calvin took a step toward him, one hand still clenched around the knife he'd used to make sure Mercy didn't come back.

“Stop me,” the hippie leader said.

Xavier walked toward him slowly, meeting his eyes. “Rosa is already looking for him.”

“I'm taking this little guy to the school,” Tommy said, “and then I'm going after Michael and Rosa.”

The priest nodded, and the orderly lifted the abandoned toddler into his arms and pushed through the mess hall's doors, leaving the two men alone. “It's the best we can do for Michael,” Xavier said. “For now.”

Calvin said nothing.

“They'll find him, they'll bring him back.” Xavier stood before his friend now. “And telling Maya about Evan will have to wait. If he's still alive, we'll find him too, but not right now.”

“Everything you do gets people killed,” Calvin said.

The words were a slap. He couldn't deny it, but there was no time to indulge in self-pity. Neither could his friend. The priest's expression remained hard, unchanged. “We need to find them,” Xavier said. “Nothing is more important than that right now.”

“My son—” Calvin started.

“There are other people who need protecting besides Michael,” Xavier said, his voice sharp. “Your other kids, among them.”

Tears sprang to Calvin's eyes. “You're a bastard,” he whispered.

I know.
The priest stepped close to the man. “I need you to
toughen up, Calvin. Yes, I said to let them in and it was a mistake. Hate me later. It doesn't change the fact that they're here, and they're killing people.” Xavier's eyes were cold. “The only way to save our people is to hunt these murderers down. You
have
to do this, and right now.”
Oh, he was such a poor excuse for a friend and a priest.

Chief Liebs called him on the Hydra then, and Xavier filled the gunner's mate in on what had happened with the refugees, and what he wanted from the chief. Then he clicked off and looked back at his friend.

The hippie stared at the ceiling, tears on his cheeks, thinking of his son wandering lost and afraid; of the young pilot and writer who had become a son to him, missing as well; and of his eldest daughter, who had now lost as much as Calvin. He thought of all the other faces aboard
Nimitz
, people he'd known for years and new friends he'd made. Other faces looked back at him, the people he'd failed, ever-present spirits haunting him.

“I'll go,” Calvin said quietly, but then he pointed a finger at the priest. “But understand something, Father. If you come with
me
, then it's a manhunt and nothing less. No negotiating, no forgiveness, no mercy. You leave God behind for this.”

A silence stretched between them, and then Xavier unslung the shotgun from his shoulder. “Let's go hunting.”

•   •   •

S
ophia padded down the corridor in sock feet, her shoes left behind at the school's hatch. The shotgun held eight shells, and other than blue sweatpants with
NAVY
down one leg in yellow letters and a zip-up sweater, it was all she had.

According to Wind, Doc Rosa had told Denny to go straight down to the classroom from sick bay. That left a lot of space in between; the medical center was on the 03 Gallery Deck just below the flight deck, along the central line of the vessel, just forward of amidships, and the classroom was slightly to starboard of the center
line, but located on Second Deck, four levels below. For those who knew the layout, it was really a simple matter of descending the right stairway. Denny knew it as well as any of them, but he was young, and he'd been frightened.

Needle in a haystack.

Sophia headed up the starboard side toward the berthing compartment the orphans shared with some of the surviving adults, thinking he might have gone to a familiar place. When she turned a corner, her sock feet slid to a halt. The hatchway to the berthing compartment was open, and a man's arm was protruding from it, limp on the floor. She crept forward, the shotgun held before her and trembling.

She peered around the edge of the bulkhead. Lying on the floor with his throat cut was one of Calvin's people, a man called Pablo. She didn't know if that was his real name. The man's face wore a wide-eyed, surprised expression, and the blood was still pooling about him. His killers were close.

Not long dead, and that meant . . .

Pablo's eyes clouded over, and his fingers twitched.

Sophia wanted to scream, and she almost turned to run but then forced herself to stop. She couldn't let him get up and start roaming, and couldn't risk the sound a shotgun blast would make in these quiet passageways, alerting the man's killers. There was nothing nearby she could use, and she had no other weapons.

Biting her bottom lip and holding back a whimper, Sophia reversed the shotgun, aimed the butt at those cloudy, rolling eyes, and started smashing. Each blow shot a spatter of red across the walls, her sweatpants, and her face, and the thing on the floor grunted, flailing its arms. Three blows, five, six, and it was done. Sophia looked at the damage to make sure Pablo wouldn't be getting back up—the shotgun butt had done a thorough job—then sagged against a bulkhead and threw up.

After blotting her mouth on a sleeve and wiping the worst of the
gore off the weapon on Pablo's pants leg, she entered the berthing compartment. Sophia had been here many times, looking in on all her orphans, ensuring that they had clothing and warm bedding and were brushing their teeth. Four adults lived here too, but right now everyone was out doing their jobs on the ship. Denny wasn't here.

Neither were any of the weapons the adults kept near their beds.

Sophia moved back into the corridor, stepping over the man's remains without looking down, and pressed on.

With Pablo gone, how many of Calvin's adults did that leave? Ten?
She ran through the names in her head.
Yes, ten adults including Calvin and Maya, Mercy, Stone, and Kay. Evan made eleven. How many left from the firehouse? Herself, Big Jerry . . . God, were they the only ones left from there besides the kids? Rosa, Xavier, the four Navy guys . . . Not many people to fight off intruders.
There had seemed to be so many of them back at the hangar on Alameda.

A cough and low voices echoed from somewhere up ahead, and Sophia ducked through a hatch marked
SONAR ACCESS 1
. She found herself in a compartment crammed with computer towers and walls of electronic circuitry, a single light bar glowing overhead. She eased the hatch until it was nearly closed, leaving a crack of space, and held her breath. The shotgun barrel pointed at the slender opening. If anyone decided to come through the hatch, they would get a surprise.

Boots thumped past the opening, and through the crack she had an instant's view of two bearded men in ratty sweaters, one carrying a rifle, the other a fire axe and a handgun. Neither man belonged on the carrier. They went by without slowing, speaking quietly to one another, and Sophia counted to thirty before looking out into the passageway once more. They were gone.