Adrift (Book 1) (28 page)
Dan awoke in darkness, and smiled.
A dream, he thought. A nightmare, more like. He must have missed taking his medication. Not surprising, really, what with the wedding going on. It had been a big day, a crazy day. Hardly surprising that he might forget to take his pills.
What a nightmare, though.
Dan shuddered.
"Elaine?"
There was no answer for a moment, and Dan smiled again. Elaine hadn't ever been a fan of getting up early, and had affected a mock-pout when Dan told her that they'd have to be up at five in order to make their way down to Portsmouth for the start of their honeymoon.
"Elaine?" he started to say again, but the word died in his throat.
"I'm afraid not, Mr Bellamy."
A man's voice.
It all came back at once, crushing Dan beneath the weight of its enormity.
Vampires.
Darkness.
I'm still on the ship.
"Who's there?" he asked weakly.
"My name is Herbert Rennick, Mr Bellamy. I think we've got a lot to talk about."
Dan didn't want to talk. Didn't want anything other than for oblivion to reclaim him.
"Assuming that we survive, of course."
Dan squeezed his eyes shut in despair.
"What do you mean?"
His answer was a roar that sounded like a god screaming. An enormous explosion that seemed to rattle the cells in his body. Another explosion followed it.
Another.
"That'll be the fuel tanks," Herbert Rennick said. "Things are about to get—"
Dan didn't hear anymore.
Suddenly the entire world was roaring, and everything was tumbling, endless darkness.
"A tragic accident. An explosion. I lost four of my sons."
"You think that will work?"
"If you mean do I think they’ll take pity on me, Jeremy, then
no.
I
don’t
think that will fucking work. We’ll have to offer to make amends. A bigger sacrifice; soon. Much bigger."
"And that should appease them?"
Charles Rennick threw the mug of half-drunk brandy down onto the deck. Metal mugs were only sensible if you were planning a trip to the mid-Atlantic, but the fact they didn’t smash when thrown in anger just added to his rising fury.
"Who fucking knows?" he snarled. "These things don’t think like us. There’s every chance they’ll rip our fucking heads off just for having the audacity to make the offer. Our only hope is that they believe their brothers died in an accident. Maybe even caused the explosion themselves. If they think for a second that one of their kind was killed by one of us, it won’t matter how many souls we offer them. They’ll take them all. That was the bargain. It has always been the bargain."
Jeremy dropped his gaze to the deck, watching the metal mug rolling across the floor as the waves pummelled the ship.
He didn’t know what to say. Charles Rennick was unpredictable at the best of times. There was every chance that the wrong word would mean Jeremy leaving the cabin with more holes than he went in with.
He eyed the pistol on Charles’ waist, and took a long gulp of the brandy, letting the pleasant fire burn his throat.
And let out a quiet sigh of relief when there was a knock at the door.
"Yes?" Charles barked.
A young man walked in, eyes wide, gasping for air.
"We’ve located the container, Sir. We’re winching it up right now."
Charles nodded, and fixed the man with his piercing grey eyes. It had been four hours since the fuel tanks on the Oceanus blew. He had started to suspect that they would never locate the container.
At least part of him had hoped that would prove to be the case.
"How long?"
"We’ll have it on board in five minutes, Sir."
*
The dark green shipping container had taken a battering: Charles guessed that the explosion that finally tore the Oceanus apart had done most of the damage, but the seabed had almost certainly done its share, too.
The thing was covered in dents, but the structure had remained intact. Bent out of shape, but still in one piece.
That might have been good news. Until the doors opened, it was impossible to tell.
"The lock’s set for two hundred hours, Sir."
Charles nodded.
"Then pry it off."
Prying it off turned out to be too much for even the strongest among the men on board. Eventually when it became clear that the twisted lock didn't want to give up without a fight, Charles called for someone to fetch a torch, and the cutting began.
The container was right back where it had started its journey, chained to the narrow deck of the
Sea Shanty
. The trawler was modest in size, and between the container and the chopper, space on board was at a premium. Still, most of the twelve members of the extended Rennick family on the trawler would have had plenty of space to gather in front when the doors finally opened.
Only one man chose to stand directly in front, though. The rest crowded to the sides of the container, and did their best to look elsewhere.
Just being in the presence of the vampires was terrifying: they exuded fear like a pheromone, and left a sickly feeling in the mind that lingered like an aftertaste. But
looking
at them...well, nobody in their right mind wanted to do that. Not when there was a chance that they might look right back.
When the lock finally fell to the deck with a heavy clunk, Charles nodded at the young man holding the cutting torch, whose face lit up with relief as he scampered away without looking back.
Charles stood alone and stared at the doors, waiting for them to open. Wondering how many of the creatures he would find inside.
If it were any less than three, he expected to die in short order. It had to be three vampires, or the container had to be empty. Anything in between would mean the end of everything.
Something inside the container thumped, and the heavy door shivered.
Charles Rennick drew in a deep breath, and wondered if it was to be his last.
When the door began to open, Charles lowered his eyes and knelt, bowing his head as if in prayer. He stared at the deck, and only when he saw a pair of scuffed boots in front of him did he dare to look up.
His mouth dropped open in astonishment.
"Hi, Dad."
Charles’ gaze flitted to the pistol that his last remaining son aimed at his head.
"Herbert? What happened?"
"Dead vampires, Dad. Who’d have guessed huh? Oh, and dead brothers as well, let’s not forget that."
He lifted his voice to a roar.
"Let’s not forget that
I’m
supposed to be dead too, right?"
Herb took a step closer, until the barrel of the gun was pressed into the wrinkled flesh of his father’s forehead.
"Y-
You
killed vampires?" Charles stuttered. "That's imposs—"
Herb took a step back, but didn’t lower the gun.
"Not me, Dad.
Him
."
Charles shot a glance at the container and saw a young man stepping out. Late twenties. Unshaven, with a mop of dark hair plastered to his forehead. A scrawny body wrapped in old clothes. Unremarkable in every way.
"I don't understand. Son, what do you—"
"Son," Herb snapped caustically. "Bit late for that,
father.
"
Charles Rennick's eyes clouded with anger.
"You’ve started a war."
"We’ve terminated a surrender. Not happy with the terms," Herb said.
Charles barked a laugh.
"And now what? You’re going to kill me? Then who’ll be the head of the Rennick family?
You?"
Herb lowered the gun and shook his head.
"I’m not going to kill you, Dad. I couldn’t. You’re family
. Blood
. To some of us that actually means something. I
wish
I could kill you, but I can’t."
He turned, and tossed the gun away.
*
Dan Bellamy caught the gun, and stared down at it. It felt surprisingly heavy in his hands.
"That guy can, though," Herb said.
Dan looked at Herb, and lifted the gun in trembling hands.
At the end of the barrel, he saw Elaine’s smiling face; saw her standing there in her wedding dress, the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.
Saw her on the floor, pinned beneath a monster as it tore out her throat. Dying alone in the darkness.
He felt the familiar pounding of his heart, and he aimed the gun at Charles Rennick’s face.
And rode the black river.
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