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Authors: James F. David

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BOOK: Ship of the Damned
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The crowd murmured excitedly, but then quieted without Prophet’s urging, anxious to hear his words.
“God brought us here and gave us eternal life so that we would prepare ourselves to serve him as his chosen people. He established a covenant
with us just as he did with Abraham, and freed us from hunger, disease, and death, and gave to us abilities like those spiritual beings who share heaven with God. But just like with the children of Israel, there were those who were weak, who denied God, and we drove them from our fellowship. Then the world sent its agents—people like you—to destroy us, and we repulsed them as well, becoming stronger in our faithfulness, trusting God that he would make his plan clear to us.
“Only when the heretic Kellum came to us with his plan to destroy this world God created for us, did God reveal his final plan for us. Kellum wanted us to go back to the world to resume our sinful ways, but God wanted more for us. So we let Kellum build his machines, and when I saw what they could do I knew God was pleased with us and ready to make his chosen a mighty people again. God brought this ship’s weapons to us so that we might return to the world and build a new Israel.”
Cheers erupted from the crowd.
“Set my people free!”
The crowed roared approval, shaking their medieval weapons in the air. They wouldn’t be quieted now and continued to shout praises at Prophet. Walking up and down the platform, Prophet fed off their adulation. His ego finally satiated, he quieted them by raising his arms above his head and bringing them down slowly. Prophet played his flock like an organ, using arm motions to stir them up and quiet them down.
“They will shut down their machine that traps us in here, or they will be punished with the nuclear fire of their own evil creation.”
Wes was horrified by what he was hearing. The madman on the platform had access to the Nimitz’s nuclear weapons and was threatening to use them against the world. Wes didn’t doubt that he would carry out his threat.
“When we have finished moving the rest of the nuclear weapons to the Norfolk, we will be ready to return to the world.”
Again the crowd erupted in deafening roars of approval. Prophet quieted his flock with another dramatic arm motion. Then he strutted across his stage, looking down at his kneeling captives.
“Before we can finish God’s work, we must once again purify his flock.”
“Burn them!” the Crazies shouted.
With a dramatic turn and a point he stopped in front of the wounded sailor.
“Bring that one,” Prophet said.
Even half conscious the sailor knew what was coming, and struggled vainly as he was dragged roughly up onto the stage. A metal post was
brought to the platform and fitted into a hole. Then the sailor was tied to the post.
“Mr. Rust, do God’s work,” Prophet said.
“Burn him, burn him, burn him!” the crowd chanted.
A bearded man in a brown leisure suit climbed onto the stage. He wore a cruel smile, clearly enjoying his work. Wes struggled against his bonds to no avail. Even if he broke free, he was powerless to stop what was about to happen. With the crowd shouting encouragement Rust bowed his head, his chin nearly touching his chest. Instantly, Wes could feel the heat. Then the air around the sailor began to glow.
“Don’t look, Anita,” Elizabeth said with Dawson’s voice.
The sailor was panting and begging for mercy, his face beaded with sweat. Suddenly his pants burst into flame and the screaming began. The mob erupted in cheers and applause as the flames licked up the legs of the sailor. The agony of the sailor chilled Wes’s blood, and his eyes teared in sympathy. The sailor was hoarse by the time the flames reached his waist, his throat producing only scratchy wails. Suddenly he collapsed, unconscious. Weak from blood loss, he died before the torture was over.
Rust stopped abruptly, the flames dying quickly, leaving the sailor’s flesh and clothes smoldering. The flames couldn’t be sustained without Rust’s psi influence. The crowd booed and shouted their disappointment. Prophet stepped back to the center of the stage.
“This is my fault,” Prophet shouted. “I should have given the life-sustaining field a chance to heal him, but I was loathe to waste God’s gift of healing on one condemned to the fire.”
“It was right,” a woman shouted from the mob. Others shouted agreement.
“Never mind, we have others who will suffer God’s full punishment,” Prophet said.
Now Prophet walked slowly in front of the kneeling captives.
“Who shall go next?” Prophet said. “Roberto, who has refused God many times before? How many of the faithful have you killed, Roberto?”
The Hispanic man glared defiantly. Prophet moved on to Monica.
“Perhaps Monica should go next. Ladies before gentlemen?”
“Burn the Jap,” a sailor shouted.
“I’m not Japanese, I’m Korean-American,” Monica protested.
“The newcomers tell me we went to war with the Koreans,” Prophet said.
“That was North Korea,” Monica said. “I was born in America.”
“It doesn’t matter what you are. The wars with the Germans, the Japanese,
the Koreans—those are of the old world. Evil against evil, heretic against heretic. Here, the war is between the followers of God and the followers of Satan.”
Then Prophet turned to Ralph.
“Ralph has a simple mind, but still I cannot reach him. It’s a shame, but he is strong and will last a long time in the fire.”
“It’s not nice to hurt people,” Ralph said.
Ignoring Ralph, Prophet stopped in front of Wes.
“Perhaps this one. I thought you would join us, Dr. Wes Martin, but you are too full of yourself to make room for God.”
Then Prophet moved on to Jett.
“Nathan Jett, professional killer. God would have even you in his flock, but you refuse him.”
“I refuse
you,
Layton McNab, not God,” Jett said.
Prophet’s face flushed.
“Here I speak for God,” he said with grand arm gestures.
“Here you play God,” Jett said.
Teeth clenched, face purple, Prophet broadcast widely so that all heard.
“Blasphemy
will be
punished.”
Sparks arced from Cobb’s fingers into Jett’s back, knocking him to the ground where he squirmed silently like a worm on a hot sidewalk. After a minute of torture, Prophet ordered Cobb to stop. Immediately, Jett relaxed, his face serene, inscrutable.
“Has the evil one given you anything else to say?” Prophet said.
Jett’s mouth opened, but Ralph spoke first.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea to say anything, Nate.”
“Out of the mouths of babes,” Prophet said. “Take his advice or taste Cobb’s gift again.”
“Electrocution or fire? If that’s my choice, I’ll take electrocution,” Jett said.
Prophet reddened, angry at the way Jett knew his thoughts. Prophet did want to burn him. Slowly, his smug grin returned.
“You will be saved for last,” Prophet said. “We’ll see what kind of tongue you have after you’ve seen the flesh cooked from the bones of your friends.”
“I have no friends,” Jett said.
The woman in the silver suit stepped next to Prophet.
“He’s right. He has no feelings for anyone.”
“I’ve seen his heart,” Prophet said. “He loves Ralph.”
The woman in the silver suit looked surprised, while Ralph beamed.
“Ralph reminds him of his brother,” Prophet said. “His brother Jason killed himself, didn’t he, Nathan? You saw your brother’s mangled body, and it made you cry. Now you’ll watch Ralph die and we’ll see if there’s enough humanity left in you to muster another tear.”
Jett started to speak, but Prophet hushed him.
“If you say another word I’ll have your tongue cut out.”
Jett kept silent, and Prophet smiled in satisfaction. Then Prophet turned to Dawson.
“Roger, I honestly hoped you would never be brought before me. We were friends.”
“I’m not Roger,” Elizabeth protested.
“I know what you are, demon. You have possessed him and turned him against his best friend, and his savior.”
“I’m not a demon, I’m a social worker.”
“What’s the difference?” Prophet said, the mob laughing. “I have decided. The sooner we cleanse our fellowship, the sooner we can finish transferring the bombs.”
Taking center stage again, Prophet raised his arms and assumed a low and pretentious voice.
“Roger Dawson, we send you to the fire to purify you of the demon that has possessed you. May God have mercy on your soul.”
Dawson was dragged to his feet.
“No!” Wes shouted. “Elizabeth!”
“Anita, get away from me,” Elizabeth shouted.
Wes knew that wasn’t possible. What Elizabeth saw and felt, Anita would, too.
The smoldering carcass of the first victim was dragged away, and the man who was part Dawson and part Elizabeth was tied to the stake. Then Prophet raised his hands to quiet the mob.
“Mr. Rust, make this temple pure again.”
With a smile, Rust stepped forward, and the air around Dawson’s body began to glow.
E
vans reached the nearest of the twin generators safely and squatted behind it, looking and listening. It was a game of hide and seek. Even with two of the Norfolk’s boilers removed, the compartment was still filled with piping. There were many hiding places. The guards knew that he was after the generators, and they would protect them with their lives.
Evans’s pack had two compartments. The bottom held the compressed air canisters that powered his gun. The top portion of the pack was detachable; he released the catches, pulling it free. He was unzipping the top when he heard the attack. Evans lunged left, a spear creasing his side. He fumbled for his gun as the Crazy pulled the spear back, ready to plunge it into his chest. Evans kicked at the spear. The sailor hesitated, waiting for the clear path to a vital organ. The two-second delay was all Evans needed. Three quick shots struck chest, neck, and jaw; the Crazy collapsed in a heap.
Evans felt his side, his hand coming away sticky with blood. It wasn’t a fatal wound and would heal quickly in Pot of Gold. He worked quickly now, extracting the bomb and pulling the three red safety rings which extracted three long red plastic strips. The detonators could now strike their targets. Evans peeled the protective plastic sheet from the bottom of
the bomb, put one foot on the base of the generator, and stood, placing the bomb on the top. He pulled two more rings, releasing the catalyst that would mix with the liquid and cement the bomb to the generator.
Movement in the pipes across from him caught his eye, and Evans ducked. A sniper was taking position high on a rack of pipes across from the generators. Now Evans would be exposed when he finished triggering the bomb. It couldn’t be helped. He stood, pulled out a metal rod from the side of the bomb, gave it a half twist, and then rammed it in, hearing the satisfying sound of glass breaking. He pulled the second rod and repeated the procedure. There was only one step left.
An explosive device could not detonate within Pot of Gold, so Dr. Lee had created acid bombs which two of the team members carried. The bombs were glued to the casing of the generators; when the glass vials inside were crushed, the liquid contents would mix to create an acid which would eat through the metal casing of the generator, destroying the coils inside. Since it was the resonance created by two generators that sustained the time-and-space distortion, only one had to be destroyed to collapse the field. Now Evans reached up to the bomb one more time to remove the coated plate that kept the acid from the generator. Once pulled, nothing could stop the acid.
As Evans stood, the sniper fired. The bolt from the crossbow glanced off the top of the generator and caromed into the air. Evans fired three rounds to pin the sniper down; then he heard noises. Crazies were coming, and they were coming in force.
“R
oast him slowly” a woman shouted from the crowd.
“Very slowly, Mr. Rust, very slowly,” Prophet said.
Dawson’s body, with Elizabeth’s consciousness, was tied to a stake on a platform. A crowd of Crazies was gathered in a semicircle in front of the platform to watch the execution. Wes and the other captives were on their knees, waiting their turn. Elizabeth struggled at her bonds with Dawson’s strength, but couldn’t free her hands. The pyrokinetic, Rust, dressed in his leisure suit, approached slowly, head down, concentrating on Dawson’s feet.
The crowd murmured in anticipation. Under Rust’s pyrokinetic influence, heat waves formed around Dawson’s feet. Rust brought the temperature up slowly, hoping to maximize Dawson’s pain. Wes doubted that Elizabeth and Anita, weakened by the lack of normal dreaming, could survive that level of agony. Even if they did, the psychological trauma of being burned alive could do irreparable harm.
Dawson was panting now, ready to scream as his trouser legs heated toward combustion point, the skin underneath already searing. Helpless and desperate, Wes pleaded for mercy, but his voice was lost in the cheering of the crowd.
Suddenly there was a commotion in the back. The crowd noise changed from joy to worried babbling. Prophet held up a hand, stopping Rust. Dawson’s breaths were rapid and deep, as if he were hyperventilating. Dawson stared at his legs, holding perfectly still, as if to keep the superheated cloth from touching his skin.
There was shouting from down the flight deck. Prophet held out his arms, quieting the crowd.
“They’re after the generators!”
The news spread quickly through the crowd. The edge of the mob was already flowing toward the Norfolk when the word reached the platform. There was panic in the air. Prophet started from the stage, pushing Rust in front of him.
“Cobb, guard the heretics!” Prophet ordered.
Then Prophet pointed at men close to Cobb, ordering them to stay behind, too. Reluctantly, four sailors remained, eyes on the retreating mob. Unhappy about being left behind, Cobb stared after Prophet like a faithful dog ordered to stay by its master. The bridge was a bottleneck; but those Crazies who were crowded at Nimitz’s stern parted for Prophet.
Once Prophet was out of sight, Cobb checked the captives’ bonds, then joined the other guards who were standing down the deck where they could see more of the Norfolk.
Wes tried twisting his wrists, testing the cords. There was very little wiggle room, let alone enough to slip his hands out. Wes saw Jett watching him.
“Let’s sit back to back,” Wes suggested. “Maybe I can untie your ropes.”
“It won’t work,” Jett said. “They’ll notice.”
“Maybe we can find something to rub the ropes against and cut them.”
“Not enough time,” Jett said.
“We’ve got to try something,” Wes said, looking at Dawson hanging limp, still tied to the post.
Wes had never met anyone harder to read than Jett. He showed no fear, not even concern. Jett turned toward the stage and said in a soft voice, “Now’s the time and the place, Elizabeth.” Then he turned to Ralph, who was staring at the deck, his face blank.
“Hey, Ralph,” Jett said.
Ralph looked up, his generous lips folding into a smile.
“Got any gum?” Jett said.
Now Ralph’s smile widened, and he said, “Nope, not even that pink stuff.”
“Not that gum that stinks!”
“Pee-yew,” Ralph and Jett said together.
“We’ve got to get loose,” Wes said, frustrated.
“Want to have a contest, Ralph?” Jett asked.
“Sure.”
“First one to break the ropes tying their hands wins a pack of gum,” Jett said.
“Do they gots to share?” Ralph asked, looking serious.
“Nope,” Jett said. “But if I win I’ll share with you.”
“And if I win I’ll share with you,” Ralph said, smiling. “Who gets to say go?”
“Let’s have Doctor Martin say it,” Jett said.
“Sure. Wes is fair, aren’t you, Wes?”
“Shut up over there!” one of the guards shouted, pointing a spear in their direction.
When the guard turned back to the Norfolk, Wes whispered, “Go, now.”
“You gots to say ready-set first, Wes. That’s how it’s done.”
“I said shut up!” the guard ordered.
Wes froze when Cobb glanced at them, but then relaxed when he looked away again. One of the other guards looked their way, then started toward them.
“We should wait,” Wes said.
“Do it now,” Jett said firmly.
With another glance at the approaching guard, Wes said “Ready, set, go!”
“What’s going on?” the guard said.
The guard was now halfway to the captives.
Ralph’s shoulders tightened and shook, and his face reddened. Jett’s arms and shoulders were quivering, too. Suddenly there was a “snap,” and Ralph pulled his hands free.
“I win,” Ralph said at a near shout, waving his arms in the air, ropes still around his wrists.
“Untie me,” the other captives said at once.
“One of them is loose,” the guard shouted, rushing at Ralph with his spear.
Still tied, Wes could only shout a warning to Ralph, who stared dumbly at the approaching weapon. What happened next came in a rapid-fire blur.
The other guards came rushing down the deck, leaving Cobb, who followed slowly, confident in his special power. Just before the guard with the spear reached Ralph, Jett jumped to his feet, his hands already free. Intercepting the guard’s lunge, he grabbed the spear, head-butting the guard at the same time, breaking his nose and weakening his grip. Jett wrested the
spear from the guard’s hands and jammed the blunt end into his solar plexus; the guard crumpled, his nose bleeding.
“Hold him, Ralph!” Jett ordered. “So he won’t hurt anyone.”
“Okee-dokee, Nate,” Ralph said, wrapping his arms around the guard. “Got a nosebleed? Try putting your head back,” Ralph said as he held the sailor firmly.
“Roberto, turn around,” Jett shouted.
Jett was swinging the spear by the shaft before the Hispanic man was fully turned, his roped wrists extended. The spear struck and was pulled away in a flash; then Jett spun to face the onrushing guards, tossing the spear up and back and catching it midshaft with his arm cocked. The motion was fluid and precise. Without hesitation, Jett threw the spear at a guard who was aiming a crossbow at him. Both men launched at the same time, but only Jett had the reflexes to throw and then dodge. The spear buried itself low in the guard’s abdomen while his bolt passed over Jett’s shoulder, flying past Dawson’s limp body. Eyes wide, the guard dropped his crossbow and stared in shock at the protruding shaft. A small red stain surrounded the entry point, but then, under the weight of the sagging spear’s shaft, the tip of the spear was forced upward, slicing toward his sternum. With a gasp the guard grabbed the shaft, but it was too late. The blood flowed freely now from the fatal wound, and he collapsed to his knees, then fell onto his side with a sob.
Ignoring Cobb’s approach, Jett charged the two other guards who wielded knives. Still tied, Wes was helpless and could only watch as Jett took on the guards. Then Roberto broke free, scrambling to his feet and running to the speared guard. He picked up the crossbow. Stepping into the stirrup, he drew the bow, cocked it, then nocked another bolt.
Having seen Jett in action, the other guards hesitated, wielding their knives defensively, jockeying for position. One guard saw Roberto with the crossbow; he broke and ran toward the bridge. Roberto tracked the running man with his weapon, loosing the bolt before he was more than a few yards down the deck. The shaft struck just under the guard’s right shoulder blade, nearly disappearing into the body cavity. The guard took one last step and collapsed. Unnerved now, the last guard turned to flee, but Jett spun, sweeping his leg into the guard, knocking his feet into a tangle. Then Jett was on him and with two quick blows to the neck, came up with the guard’s knife and tossed it to Roberto.
“Free the others,” Jett ordered.
“Cobb?” Roberto protested, cocking the crossbow again.
“You’ll never get a shot off,” Jett shouted. “Get the others out.”
Cobb’s arm was extended toward Roberto; his long black hair was splayed out around his head, and his fingertips were sparking. Roberto flattened behind a row of chairs just as a ragged spark shot from Cobb’s fingers as if he were a human electric eel. Wes saw that Cobb’s hair fell to his shoulders after the discharge. In his black boots and denims, he looked like a Hell’s Angel. Then his hair began to rise from his shoulders, his electric power building.
Wes heard Roberto slithering along the deck, using the rows of chairs for cover. He came up behind Wes, slitting the ropes in one smooth motion. Wes wanted to run to Elizabeth, but climbing up on the stage would make him an easy target. He saw Jett maneuvering himself between Cobb and the stage, deliberately stepping into harm’s way. Wes knew that Jett had no chance on his own against Cobb, and moved to help.
“Give me the crossbow,” Wes ordered.
Roberto hesitated, looking at Jett and then at Dawson.
“I’ll help delay Cobb while you cut him free,” Wes said.
“I only need a few seconds—then get away from him. He can knock you on your ass with a flick of his finger.”
Nodding, Wes took the bow, feeling awkward as he fit his hand to the trigger and brought the bow up level. Made entirely of steel, the bow was heavy and powerful looking. Wes realized that he didn’t have the quiver so he wouldn’t be reloading, but from the look of the crosspiece, he doubted that he could draw the bow anyway.
With the unfamiliar weapon in hand, Wes turned to the confrontation taking place a few yards away. Locked eye to eye, Cobb advanced slowly on Jett, his arms spread wide, his fingertips crackling and sparking like fourth of July sparklers. Jett stood perfectly still, letting Cobb get closer, showing no fear. He wasn’t going to run; he was going to take the monster’s attack, sacrificing himself to save the others.
With Cobb and Jett intent on each other, Wes felt invisible, and decided to move to a better position. He couldn’t risk hitting Jett with the unfamiliar crossbow. Wes took only a few steps before Cobb’s arm swung toward him and five jagged streaks of light shot from his finger tips. The high voltage fired every nerve ending in Wes’s body and he convulsed, muscles taut. He fell to the deck, his body trembling.
Raising his head, Wes saw Jett holding his ground, letting Cobb come within a few feet of him. While Cobb was engaged with Jett, Roberto sprinted across the stage to Dawson, cut him down, and threw him over his shoulder.
“Do you need help?”
It was Monica, crawling toward Wes from behind.
“I’m okay. Help Roberto get Elizabeth-Dawson out of here.”
Wes turned back just as Cobb struck. Arms spread wide as if ready to hug Jett, Cobb threw sparks which arced from every fingertip into Jett, spreading along his arms and shoulders. Flashes of electric light cracked and hissed—the peculiar thunder of miniature lightning bolts. Wes hurt for the man who sagged under the assault but had the strength to keep standing.
“Let’s go,” Roberto shouted as he and Monica dragged Dawson past Wes, down the deck, and toward the island. To Wes’s relief, Dawson was awake. Wes rolled over and got up on his knees. He could follow the others, but he wouldn’t leave Jett.
Wes lifted the crossbow again, his arms still weak, the bow swaying so badly that Jett was as much at risk as Cobb. Fearing that Jett couldn’t take much more, he steadied the bow and pulled the trigger. The bolt buried in Cobb’s thigh. The big man had been mute before, but now he roared like a wounded animal. Cobb grabbed his injured leg, interrupting his electrocution of Jett. Jett was free. Wes struggled to his feet and toward him. To his surprise, Jett was coming to him, reaching out, offering Wes support.
“How could you take that?” Wes asked.
“I wouldn’t have lasted much longer,” Jett said. “I’m not ready for him yet.”
Closing his eyes and concentrating, Jett held out his hand, spreading his fingers wide. Tiny sparks crackled in the spaces.
“Whatever he is, I’m becoming,” Jett said.
“Can I let him go now, Nate?” Ralph said, arms still wrapped around the guard.
Jett turned to answer, but then Cobb stood again, arms held straight in front of him, pointing at Roberto and Monica, who were hurrying down the deck with Dawson. An electric bolt enveloped the group, and they collapsed in a heap. Then Cobb turned with a limp, striking Wes and Jett. Wes fell, but Jett stood his ground, taking the charge. When Cobb finished his discharge, he turned back to Roberto and the others, preparing another charge. Jett dropped down next to Wes.
“I’m not ready,” Jett said. “He’s got ten times the power I have.”
BOOK: Ship of the Damned
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