The Raven (A Jane Harper Horror Novel) (19 page)

“What the hell is that?” I ask.

Jakob says nothing. Nor do Willem or Helena.

I try to work out the size. “It’s nearly two thousand feet wide! It has to be an island.”

“There are no islands out here,” Helena says.

She knows the waters off Greenland as well as anyone, so I have no reason to doubt her knowledge, aside from the giant green blob filling the radar screen as if the Jolly Green Giant dropped a load in the North Atlantic.

“Then what is it?” Willem says.

Willem’s smart. Possibly the smartest person on the ship aside from Klein. He knows the history of this place, the culture, the ocean, and our enemy. If he’s been thinking on this for several minutes already and not come up with an explanation, I doubt we’re going to have an epiphany.

But then Jakob does. “It’s the ships. All of them. Together.”

My eyes return to the radar screen. The shape of the target is roughly oval—shaped something like an aircraft carrier, though I know that’s not what it is because it’s twice the size.

“Makes sense,” Klein says. “Based on the individual sizes of the ships we know have disappeared, a grouping this size is plausible. The question is why.”

“Question of the day, Klein,” I say. “What we do know is that that’s where we’re headed.” I look up at the horizon, expecting to see the floating island, but nothing is there. “How long will it take to get there?”

“We’re moving at roughly seven knots,” Willem says. “Give or take a knot.”

Klein whispers to himself for a moment, then says, “Somewhere around forty minutes, though we’ll be able to see it in a half hour.”

“How many people were on board the
Poseidon Adventure
?” I ask. But then I remember the news report and say, “Twenty-five hundred. What about the other ships?”

“Most were working ships,” Klein says. “Maybe five hundred more, tops.”

“Some three thousand people,” I say. “In military terms, that’s a brigade.”

“Is…that bad?” Helena asks.

“My father led a brigade once,” I say. “They could take and hold a city like Nuuk overnight. Hell, they could kill everyone overnight. But that’s not what these things do. They’ll kill some people, sure, to eat them. The rest join the party. If three thousand Draugar make landfall, they’ll double their numbers overnight. They’ll spread through the country about as fast as they can run. Anyone who didn’t leave right away—by plane—would be overrun within a few weeks. It’s pretty much a doomsday scenario.”

“Which is why we’re going to sink them,” Jakob says. “All of them.”

I turn to him. “With what? A grenade launcher? We’ll be lucky to ding the cruise liner.”

“We’ll figure it out when we get there,” he says.

The rear door to the bridge opens, drawing our attention. Talbot walks in, fixing his belt. The cowboy had to take a leak. He nods at us, “What’d I miss?” Then he stops cold and looks at me. “How’d you get here before me?”

“I’ve been here for a few minutes,” I say. “I came with Jakob and—where did you see me?”

“Leaving the mess,” he says. “When you didn’t reply, I figured things weren’t going well with the interrogation, so I didn’t push it. You were wearing that cloak.”

Leaving the mess. The cloak.
I can feel the muscles in my back constricting. “I left my cloak with Nate. In the mess.”

Klein draws his weapon and heads for the door. “It wasn’t you.”

I’m right behind him. The entire crew files through the ship like a mob chasing down Frankenstein’s monster. We’re missing the pitchforks, but each and every one of us is armed with a handgun of some type. Even Helena.

Willem heads down to the second deck with Talbot and Helena. I take the main deck hallway, aiming for the mess, just to confirm my doppelgänger is Nate.

I find the mess hall door wide open. The table is covered in loose rope and blood, but no body. “How did he break the ropes?”

“He’s Draugr,” Jakob says.

The Draugar are stronger than the average man, in part because they can push past the pain that might give a normal person pause, but I suspect the parasites also enhance the muscles. Maybe reinforce the bones. Could just be that slime they coat everything with. Could be something else. But there’s a problem with Jakob’s theory.

“Nate had a single parasite in his eye,” I say. “Otherwise he was himself. And still human.”

“He’s not human anymore,” Jakob says. He glances down at my gun. “Be ready.”

What Jakob is really saying is, the gloves are off. If there is a Draugr on board, we’re all in danger. One bite. That’s all it takes, and the parasites can spread. It’s a death sentence, not just because the parasites would claim mind and body, but because Jakob, or I, would shoot the victim dead. Just like we will Nate when we find him. Poor kid.

Willem charges up the staircase a little farther down the hall. “He’s not down there.” Klein is with him, but not Helena.

“Where’s Helena?” I ask.

“Back deck,” Willem says.

Back deck. It’s really the only place we haven’t checked. But why would Nate—shit. “The weapons locker!”

We swarm down the hall and through the door at the end. A wall of cold air greets us, along with a sight none of us are expecting: Draugr-Nate, who is currently wearing my cloak, engaged in hand-to-hand combat with Helena.

And she’s a sight to behold. Nate is clearly stronger and faster than he has any right to be, and he’s fighting with a skill that doesn’t belong to him. But Helena, it’s like watching a blond Wonder Woman mixed with, well, just Wonder Woman. Nate swings a series of blows that, had he been a larger man like Willem or Torstein, would have had a devastating effect, but Nate’s shorter arms fail to connect. Helena ducks the last swing and delivers an uppercut to his lower jaw that sends him stumbling back.

All four of my male counterparts raise their weapons and take aim, but Helena is between them and Nate. “Put down your weapons, idiots!” I shout, before charging forward. It’s time for some women’s lib.

“Helena!” I shout.

She glances back. Sees that I’m coming.

“Stay away from his mouth!” I say. “No more head shots!”

Nate recovers and moves toward her. I can’t see him, though—just hear him—but he can’t see me, either, which is perfect.

I hit sprint speed, coming up fast behind Helena. “Duck!”

When she bows down fast, putting her trust in me, I think,
Good girl
, and then leap into the air. I sail over her back, extend both legs, and drive my heels into Nate’s chest. I’m not a big person, but I’m fast, have strong legs, and can pack a punch when I use my
entire body like a wrecking ball. I feel his rib cage bend under my feet for a fraction of a second before I hear them crack, one by one. Sounds like my father cracking his knuckles.

With my forward momentum arrested, I fall to the deck like Wile E. Coyote after running over a cliff ledge. The hard deck greets me mercilessly, but the rough landing pales in comparison to what I’ve just done to the Draugr. Unfortunately, my attack has barely fazed it. It’s hard to stop something that can’t feel, or doesn’t mind, pain. Even harder to stop something that doesn’t need to breathe. Or pump blood through a heart.

Before I can get back to my feet, the Draugr charges forward, mouth agape. I’ve got a clear view of Nate’s now-white tongue. One bite. Just one bite. And I’m done.

He dives.

I kick out, aiming to implode his face with my heel.

And miss.

When he lands a foot short of me, I nearly laugh because of how poorly we both judged the distance, but then I feel Helena’s hands beneath my arms. She pulls me out of range and deposits me on my feet.

Nate recovers once more, undaunted, and heads toward us.

She looks at me. There’s fire in her eyes. “Together.”

I grin. “Hell yes.”

We meet Nate halfway, just ten feet from the starboard rail. He lunges at Helena, but her long arms strike first, knocking him off balance. When he stumbles back, I follow her punch with a kick to his gut. His body pitches forward but snaps back a moment later when Helena lifts her leg and drives it into his chest.

Nate’s body is lifted off the deck. He stumbles backward and slams into the rail with a
clang
. The backward momentum pulls the
cloak up over his head. He tears it away, dropping it to the deck. He’s far from done. Nate springs off the metal rails like they were wrestling ring ropes. But the skill he displayed earlier is now gone. Instead of punching, he shoves. The effect is freakish.

Helena sails across the deck, sliding to a stop by the feet of the men, who are still aiming their weapons, waiting for the chance to shoot without also hitting Helena or me. I can see them shouting at me, probably to duck, but I’m not hearing them. Not really. I’m in that place where common sense takes a backseat to instinct.

Nate makes a gurgling sort of roar as he charges me, mouth open, teeth bared and ready to bite. But if Helena is Wonder Woman, I’m Batman—Frank Miller’s Batman—which is to say, I fight dirty. I kick out hard, this time judging the distance perfectly, connecting with his kneecap and inverting it with a loud crack.

Nate screams in pain as he falls to the ground. And I do mean Nate. The pain brought him back.

“Jane!” he shouts. “Do something! Save me!”

The kid is breaking my heart. But there’s nothing I can do for him, except take advantage of this break in the Draugr’s control. I lift him to his feet and shove him against the starboard rail. He turns and sees the water below.

His eyes go wide with fear, but he doesn’t fight. Instead, he turns to me and says, “The host. Jane, don’t let them find the ho—” His voice morphs into a shriek, and he lunges for my throat.

A single shot rips through the air. Nate’s head snaps back as a dot appears on his forehead and his parasite-ridden brains exit through the back of his skull. His body lolls back over the rail and then, tugged by gravity, slips over the top and falls into the North Atlantic.

W
hen the reality of what has just happened hits me, I drop to my knees. Nate was a good kid and, unlike most people, willing to fight for something he believed in. His cyberspeak rubbed me the wrong way, but his passion was admirable.
Was
admirable. Him and the parasites trapped in his lifeless body are fish food now.

“We killed him,” I say when I feel a hand on my shoulder.

“Ain’t no way that’s the truth,” Talbot says.

I’m surprised that it’s Talbot and turn toward the man.

“That boy was dead long before we plucked him from the water, and you know that, sure as I do.”

He’s right, of course. And my logical side can argue the point until I’m old and wrinkly, but I’m not sure it will ever feel true. The moment he went from human being to Draugr, something in my mind snapped and I didn’t just attack to defend myself; I took pleasure in the fight. Hell, if Nate hadn’t come back right at the end, I might not have a guilty conscience at all. But he
did
come back. Some part of the infected still remains, and while they’re beyond hope of retrieval, and I have no doubts that killing them is a mercy, erasing that last part of them should be done solemnly.

“If it makes you feel better,” Talbot says. “I put the bullet in him.”

I knew that the moment the expert shot whizzed past me and poked a hole dead center in Nate’s head.

“Had to be done.” He grows serious. “But next time, git out of the damn way. Y’all coulda been killed.”

Right again. I’m going to have to find a way to swallow my anger at the Draugar and start thinking before I act. I got lucky this time. The sharpshooting cowboy might not always be around to save me.

He offers his hand to me. “C’mon. Being all weepy and sad ain’t becoming for the Mighty Raven.”

His says the last part with a dramatic flourish that makes me smile. I take his hand and get back to my feet.

“He mentioned ‘the host’ again,” I say, wiping the moisture from my eyes. “I think it might be more than we thought. Heard anything about that from the conspiracy nuts?”

Talbot thinks on it and takes so long I think he might have taken offense to me saying “conspiracy nuts,” but then he shakes his head. “Can’t say that I have. Nothing of the sort.”

Feeling discouraged, I look at the deck and see that it’s covered in loose weapons and ammo. We didn’t lose everything, but a quick glance at the cabinet reveals that Nate managed to throw a good portion of our arsenal overboard before Helena confronted him.

I catch a glimpse of Jakob and Klein leading Helena inside the ship. She’s holding her side but looks okay otherwise. Before ducking through the door, she looks my way and gives a nod. In Greenlandic body language, it’s the kind of nod that says, “Well done,” “I respect you,” or “We’re friends,” but in this case, I think it’s all three.

Talbot crouches next to me and picks up my cloak. “This belongs to you.”

I take it from him but don’t put it on despite the chilly ocean air. I give it a once-over, looking for any parasitical stowaways. Finding none, I fold the cloak over my arm and turn to greet Willem. He’s got his “tsk, tsk, Jane” face on, so I raise an eyebrow that says, “Don’t say a damn word.”

When he offers an apologetic smile, I realize we’ve just had an entire conversation without saying a word.

Talbot notices, too, and voices what I’m thinking. “You two are like an old married couple.” He spares us from the awkward moment by adding, “Help me collect the guns. See what kind of damage the kid did.”

Twenty minutes later, we’ve got what remains of our weapons laid out on the chart room table.

Jakob enters the room. “We’ll see it in five minutes,” he says, referring to what he believes is a conglomeration of ships. “What do we have?”

Talbot verbally inventories our weapons. “One pump-action shotgun. Twenty shells. Two AK-47s. Five magazines between the two. One hundred fifty rounds total. Three 9mm handguns. Six magazines. Plus the handguns y’all are carrying.” He draws his revolver, which now has one less live round in its chambers. “I kept my ammo in my quarters, so I’ve still got sixty rounds for the ol’ peacemaker here.”