Authors: James F. David

Ship of the Damned (39 page)

BOOK: Ship of the Damned

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R
ainbow was essentially a high-tech prison, not a research facility. The only experimentation done there during the fifty years of its existence had involved finding ways to destroy Pot of Gold. Most of the technical staff spent their time monitoring an energy field that changed very little. Until recently, the only breaks in the monotony were the unpredictable escapes of the Specials. Now the work was anything but dull.

Beginning just before the disappearance of the Nimitz, Pot of Gold’s field reconfigured three times, exciting the underutilized staff. Then there had been the insertion of the agents, and finally Woolman’s arrival. Now Rainbow’s staff was energized by a mix of excitement and nervous tension. Mental cobwebs created by years of dull routine were swept away by frenzied activity and the anticipation of how the game they had started would play out. Dr. Lee shared the excitement, but understood the risks as well.

With the latest printouts, he returned to his office, finding Woolman on the phone, his fingers drumming as he listened intently. Woolman hung up as Dr. Lee came in.

“They found the Nimitz. She’s in the same longitude and latitude as where she disappeared.”

“What about her nuclear weapons?” Dr. Lee asked. “Have they been accounted for?”

Woolman shook his head.

“They can’t get on board. She’s on fire, and there have been numerous secondary explosions. The flight deck has buckled and she’s listing to port. She’s going to be a total loss. They’re recommending to the President that she be sunk before the reactor is breached.”

“Then there’s no way to know if they have any more of her nuclear warheads?”

“No,” Woolman said.

In his mind, Dr. Lee ran through the various computer simulations of the collapse of Pot of Gold. They were all highly speculative, but in most, the computer concluded that the mass of the Norfolk would be pushed out of Pot of Gold. What wasn’t clear was where that mass would go.

A technician knocked on the door frame, asking Dr. Lee to return to the monitoring stations. Woolman followed Dr. Lee to a monitor displaying a three-dimensional representation of Pot of Gold’s field. Dr. Lee studied the map in amazement. Not one of the thousand simulations of field collapse had predicted what was actually taking place.

“What does it mean?” Woolman asked.

“The field has lost its spherical shape—far exceeding normal fluctuation parameters. None of our simulations predicted this.”

“Will the field collapse or not?” Woolman said.

“There is nothing to keep it open,” Dr. Lee said evasively.

“Then what’s the problem?” Woolman wanted to know.

“I don’t know that it’s a problem, but you can see the field is reforming into a cylinder—a cigar shape. The field is stretched between two poles. There seems to be a great deal of dynamic tension.”

“Meaning what?” Woolman said.

“What happens when you stretch a rubber band as wide as it will go?” Dr. Lee hinted.

“It slips out of your fingers and snaps back,” Woolman replied.

“Or it breaks,” Lee said.

“Will the field collapse before the band breaks?” Woolman asked, picking up on the analogy.

“I don’t have any data to base such a projection on,” Lee said. “But there is another concern. One of those poles is Rainbow.”

CRUSHED

J
ett and Dr. Kellum waited anxiously outside the portal Ralph had found; Kellum’s people backed up behind them down the corridor. Wes and Elizabeth had gone ahead with Ralph to find a second door, but there was little time left. The ship was being crushed by the collapsing field, and Prophet and his cult were in pursuit, skirmishing with the rear guard. Suddenly, the green mist shimmered, and Roberto stepped back through.

“Is it a way home?” Dr. Kellum demanded immediately.

“No.”

“But you were there a long time,” Kellum said.

“Yeah, but it’s like nowhere I’ve ever been. It’s a weird damn maze.”

“It has to be home,” Monica said. “You could breathe the air.”

“It’s a place full of green doors like this one. There must be hundreds of them, maybe thousands.”

“It’s a nexus,” Dr. Kellum said. “A focal point where the holes in time and space converge.”

“We’ll never find our way through it,” Roberto said.

Jett hesitated only a second, wanting this to be the door home, but trusting Roberto.

“The other door?” Jett had time to say before there was a flash and a scream.

“Surrender Doctor Kellum, or you’ll all die,”
Prophet’s voice sounded.

“Get to the other door,” Jett shouted.

Jett took three steps before Crazies poured around the corner, rushing them en masse. The Crazies in front carried a two-piece metal shield that they fitted together and held in front of them, filling the corridor. Jett’s Teflon slugs couldn’t penetrate the shield. Jett adapted, firing at their feet, wounding one Crazy. The man stumbled, releasing the shield, but another stepped into his place. The slow advance continued, but now the men holding the shield crouched, keeping their feet and heads covered.

Kellum’s telekinetic came forward and with a stare sent a wall of force into the metal shield, knocking the Crazies down. Jett fired over the shield. Then a fireball streaked toward them. Jett flattened against the bulkhead, and Kellum’s last powerful telekinetic took the fireball in the chest. Engulfed in flames, he ran into those behind, burning those he touched. The flames extinguished quickly, but the damage was done, and he collapsed.

The air filled with spears and crossbow bolts, Jett taking cover behind one of the frozen men protruding from a bulkhead. The man’s left leg and arm were buried in the bulkhead, his face frozen in perpetual surprise. Jett could feel the warmth of the frozen man, and realized that he was alive. More crossbows were fired, and both sides took casualties. A bolt buried itself in the back of the frozen man that Jett was using for cover. Pressed against the man’s chest, Jett felt a muscle spasm. The man’s lips had been set in an oval, but as Jett watched, the lips opened wider, more of the teeth showing. Another fireball shot past, and Jett, pulled back into the battle, opened fire again. The shield was back up, protecting the attackers.

“Rush them,” Jett yelled, leading the way.

At full speed, he hit the shield with his shoulder. The advanced stopped briefly as the Crazies behind adjusted their footing, recovering from the blow. Then more men hit the shield, filling every space in the narrow corridor, pushing with all their might. Slowly, with the shield moving backwards, they won the brute-force contest. Then reinforcements hit the other side and they reached a stalemate.

Jett called for someone to take his place, and when his niche was filled, he fired high over the shield, bullets ricocheting into those on the other side. Then the shield was moving again, pushing the Crazies toward the hangar.

“What do we do when we reach the hangar?” Roberto said, coming to stand next to Jett.

“Ralph’s somewhere straight ahead. We drive them into the hangar and to the left, and we take out anyone to the right. Then we get our people across to Ralph.”

There were compartments along the corridor; Jett had ordered the hatches closed. Suddenly, a hatch opened and they were flanked. Hacking and stabbing, the Crazies attacked the men holding the shield. Jett jumped into the space left by the wounded men. If the shield fell, fireballs would devastate their ranks.

Armed with an axe, a Crazy broke through, charging Jett. Jett turned and raised his body. The axe blade cut into his pack, impacting the nitrogen canisters that powered his weapon. The gas vented explosively, spraying the attacker with supercold compressed gas. With his last round, Jett punched a hole in his attacker’s heart.

Roberto was hacking with his machete, keeping more Crazies from getting through the compartment. Jett grabbed the axe of the man he had just killed and joined the assault, the Crazies giving way under their combined blows.

“Hold the shield,” Jett shouted over the melee.

Men squeezed past them to the shield, filling the spaces and stopping the advance of the Crazies. Jett and Roberto’s attack was bloody, but effective. The chopping and slicing disabled the attackers and drove them back into the compartment. Once through the hatch, the Crazies broke and ran, leaving three bleeding men in and around the door.

“Give us Dr. Kellum and you will live,”
Prophet’s voice rang again.

They were winning the shoving match with the shield, pushing the Crazies back toward the hangar. Jett was suspicious. It was too easy, too steady.

“Doctor Kellum, keep them pushing the shield back,” Jett ordered. “Roberto, grab a couple of men and follow me.”

Jett opened the hatch through which the Crazies had attacked. The compartment was clear except for the bodies of dead men. Jett led Roberto and two men in, shedding his useless gun. The compartment was filled with hammocks strung from the bulkheads. There was another hatch at the far side, connecting with another crew compartment. On the far side of that compartment the watertight door was closed. As Jett stepped through to the second compartment, two Crazies swung down from hammocks, armed with lengths of pipe.

Jett blocked the first blow with the axe handle, then pushed the attacker away just in time to fend off the blow of the second attacker. He backed through the hatch, stumbling deliberately, suckering his attacker through. Roberto buried his machete into the Crazy’s midsection. The
other Crazy fled, Jett catching him just as he reached the far hatch. He killed him with one swing.

Jett dragged the body to the side. Picking up one of the Crazies’ pipe weapons, he handed it to a sailor and motioned for him to go first.

Roberto released the latches with a nerve-wracking squeal, then pulled the door open. The shouts of fighting men were loud on the other side. With a sign from Jett, the sailor jumped through, swinging his weapon left while Jett moved right. Two guards were caught by surprise and died.

They found themselves in the hangar; behind it, the Crazies were massed. They moved stealthily, creeping up behind a life-jacket bin. Peeking over the top, Jett could see Prophet directing the battle. Six armed men stood with Prophet, who wore one of Dr. Lee’s special guns. Jett was right about the shoving match with the shield. Prophet’s men were giving way to Kellum’s people, while others stood ready on either side of the spot where the corridor connected to the hangar. They were ready to ambush Kellum’speople. As one of Prophet’s converts, Compton was part of the trap, ready with her weapon.

Jett signalled the others that there were seven men to deal with. Roberto expected a clever plan, but the only way was to rush Prophet and try to close the distance before Prophet shot them. Jett was ready to lead the charge when the Norfolk changed everything.

It started with a vibration that built to a violent shudder—men were staggering on the deck. Then there was an ear-splitting metal shriek as if the ship were being torn in half; at the same time, the ship tilted. Jett and his men were thrown against a bulkhead. For the first time in his life, Jett was afraid. He protected his head to keep from being knocked unconscious as the ship shuddered violently.

A few seconds of calm followed, then the bulkhead he was leaning against bulged. The ship vibrated again, accompanied by a hideous grinding sound. Suddenly, a beam tore through the bulkhead, slamming into the deck just in front of Jett’s face. Then the ship stabilized again. Jett’s heart was pounding, and his throat was dry. A few days ago, the slightest emotion had intrigued him, but now he hated the way fear immobilized him. Regaining emotional control, he got to his feet.

“It’s now or never.”

Climbing over the beam, Jett was ready to rush Prophet, but Prophet had seen them.

Jett and Prophet locked eyes.

“Who can stand against us if God is on our side?”
Prophet transmitted.

“God doesn’t take sides,” Jett said.

The ship shuddered again, but without the junkyard scream of crumpling metal. Then Jett’s vision blurred, and Prophet and his men seemed to waver as if Jett were looking at them through desert heat. The death spasms of the ship had quelled the battle, and now the moaning could be heard.

Low and pitiful, the human sound came from all around them, as if the ship’s suffering had been given voice. The frozen men were unthawing, beginning to move. Those living on the Norfolk had long ago learned to ignore the men buried in the bulkheads or frozen in corridors as if they were fixtures. Now those men couldn’t be ignored. They were moving and making sounds—the sounds of suffering.

The different moments in time that created the multiple levels of the ship were collapsing back into one time stream. The men who had merged with the steel of the ship were beginning to flow with time again, entering their present.

Individual voices could be heard now, pleas for help. It was a bizarre and horrifying sight as the partial bodies around them came to life. Everyone was transfixed by it—everyone but Jett. Jett charged.

He was only a few yards from Prophet when he sensed the attack. Prophet was slow with the unfamiliar gun, bringing it up too late. Jett bent, hitting Prophet’s arm with his shoulder, driving it back against his rib cage. Prophet went down hard, but rolled at the same time, trying to throw Jett off. Jett clawed at Prophet’s gun arm, but Prophet was an experienced bar brawler. With a full-body heave and a quick duck, Jett was thrown off. Then Prophet brought the gun around.

Jett was shot, the slug penetrating his chest and glancing off a rib. It wasn’t a killing wound, but Prophet’s next shot would kill him. On the sharply tilted deck, it was an uphill run to Prophet. As Jett took his first step, Roberto and his other men attacked. With a two-armed swing of his machete, Roberto sliced a guard’s stomach. The wounded guard staggered into Prophet, spoiling his aim. Before Prophet could react, Roberto severed the cable connecting the gun to the gas canisters. The cable whipped violently, spraying liquid nitrogen and slapping at Prophet. Jett knew the gun held one last pellet in a charged chamber, but Prophet didn’t. Jett hit him waist high.

Prophet cracked him on the skull with the weapon, proving that he didn’t know it was still loaded. It was a brawl now, and Prophet was formidable and brutal. Head butts, bites, and scratches came fast and furious. As they grappled, Jett judged his opponent’s strengths and mapped his moves. A minute into the fight Jett knew the outcome. Prophet wasn’t a good match. With a quick spin, Jett maneuvered himself behind Prophet, his left arm snaking around his neck, the crook of his arm pinching Prophet’s
throat. Thirty seconds later Prophet’s arms stopped clawing at Jett’s head and his legs began to twitch. Hearing a sharp intake of air, Jett loosened his choke hold slightly. There was a thin line between death and anoxia, and Jett had Prophet walking that line.

With Prophet under control, he looked to see Roberto and two surviving sailors fighting to keep reinforcements away from Jett. Releasing his grip briefly, he retrieved the gun and pressed it to Prophet’s head, dragging him to his feet at the same time.

“Stop or I’ll kill him,” Jett shouted.

Prophet stirred, and Jett tightened the choke hold, then tapped on Prophet’s skull with the gun. The fighting around them stopped. Slowly, word of Prophet’s capture spread, and the battle in the hangar ended. But when the sounds of battle died, the chilling pleas and moans of those trapped in the bulkheads could be heard clearly again. Those in the hangar moved away from the bulkheads, keeping out of reach of the disembodied arms which clutched randomly.

“The cable is cut, the gun won’t work,”
Prophet broadcast.
“Kill them.”

“I’ll kill him,” Jett said, looking for Compton.

“He’s bluffing,”
Prophet repeated.

Prophet’s men advanced; Roberto and his men were ready to defend. Jett let Prophet’s men take two more steps, then pulled the gun from Prophet’s head and shot one of the advancing Crazies. Then the gun was at Prophet’s head again.

“Take another step and your god is dead,” Jett said.

Prophet didn’t broadcast now, uncertain of how the weapon worked.

“Clear the way,” Jett ordered. “Call off the attack.”

He pushed Prophet forward, and the Crazies parted.

“Give us Kellum,” Prophet said.

BOOK: Ship of the Damned

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