Storm (The Storm Chronicles Book 6) (5 page)

Kane shook his head. “He must have been very confused. The search ended in 1971, they couldn’t have still been lost in 1972.”

“Did you hear what you just said? The ship hasn’t been seen in forty years, of course they were lost in 1972. The question is where, not when,” Aspen said.

“Agent King theorized they had fallen through time, it has happened before,” Kane replied.

Aspen shook her head. “This time, King is way off. Listen to this:
The storm is over, but we are unable to reach the Coast Guard by any means and navigation isn’t working. I tried to match the stars last night, but there was nothing. Just a black sky. Did the Russians launch nuclear missiles?”

“A black sky? There is no such thing.”

Aspen opened her mouth to argue when Mercy called from outside. “Aspen, you better get out here!”

Aspen shoved the log into Kane’s hand. “Hold onto this, it may be our lifeline.”

She stepped back onto the bridge and joined Mercy at the door. “What’s up?”

Mercy nodded toward the rear of the ship. “I can hear movement. Something, a lot of somethings, somewhere down below the fog layer. I thought you said there was no life on this tub.”

“Nothing but us.”

In spite of the heat and sunlight, the deck below was hidden by a thick layer of grey fog. Aspen cocked her head at the sound and frowned. The noise was like sandpaper on wood, getting louder. She walked down the steps to the fog layer and crouched above the fog, listening. Cadaverous hands, stringy and wet with blood and sinew, rose from the fog and reached for her ankles. She jumped back in surprise and a dozen walking corpses lurched up the steps, scrambling over each other in slow motion. Aspen raised her hand and a shield of hard magik appeared between her and the creatures as she backpedaled toward her team.

“Aspen, get down!” Brody yelled.

Aspen fell flat and she felt as much as heard Brody’s MP5 spitting bullets past her. Below, the corpses danced and jerked in the hail of gunfire, but they didn’t stop. Their broken bodies kept climbing like hell’s marionettes.

“Fire, use fire!” Aspen yelled.

“You’re too close!” Mercy called back.

“Just do it, they’re trying to eat me!”

Mercy ran into view, her bow drawn. In the knock was an arrow tipped with a silver canister. She let the arrow fly and it hit home somewhere below the fog. A split-second later flames erupted, licking at the fog like the pits of hell. The flames danced around the crawling corpses and they exploded one by one, raining ash and fire onto the floor below.

Aspen looked up at the last one as it banged on her shield just inches from her face with blood-crusted fists. It still wore the remains of a Hawaiian shirt and a pair of sunglasses that reflected the flames and her own frightened face. She pushed it away and was helped to her feet by Brody.

“No offense, but why aren’t you on fire?” he asked.

“I don’t burn so easy,” was Aspen’s simple reply. “Thanks for the assist.”

He shrugged. “King would have my hide if I let you get eaten. He’s kind of attached to you.”

“You’re welcome would have been good enough,” Aspen said.

She nodded a thanks to Mercy and returned to the bridge.

“Weyland, any luck with the controls?”

Ford shook her head. “These things are as dead as the rest of the ship. I want to take Brody and try from the engine room.”

Aspen shook her head. “We’ll all go. I’m not leaving anyone behind, I can’t protect you if you aren’t close by.”

The ship shuddered and everyone grabbed the nearest least-disgusting object to keep from being thrown to the deck.

Pain thundered through Aspen’s skull and she felt herself falling. Hands kept her from pitching face-first into the bloody water.

“
Quod tu es?
” an unearthly voice rumbled.

“Aspen? Are you okay?” Kane asked.

Her tongue felt like it was made out of lead. “Yeah…that voice…”

“What voice?”

“The one yelling? It sounds kind of like an undead Barry White,” Aspen replied.

Kane helped her to stand. “I heard no voice, Aspen.”

Aspen shook away the last of the pain. “You’re lucky. My head feels like I spent a week in front of the speakers at a death metal concert.”

She pulled away and looked out of the bridge windows. She felt cold, like something evil had just passed through her. It would explain the voice and the pain, but it was a scary thought. Her shield felt as if it was still intact.

She turned back and looked at Ford. “Find us a route to the engine room, the clock is ticking and I want to get off this thing sooner rather than later.”

Ford pointed at the computer on her wrist. “Already got it.”

“Nice. Walk point with Brody, Kane keep an eye on our rear and everyone stay close, especially once we get below the fog layer,” Aspen said.

Ford nodded and followed Brody out of the bridge to the port staircase. Mercy trailed behind, then Aspen with Kane. Brody hesitated at the fog, then flicked on his light and moved ahead. A few seconds later they were all on the deck below. The world beneath the fog was grey and eerie. The sunlight that filtered through cast shadows in odd places and muted colors so that it was almost like being in a black and white film.

Brody knelt at the bottom of the steps and held up a closed fist.

“Something is wrong,” he said in a soft voice.

“He’s right,” Ford added. “Rand’s body and the blood, it’s all gone. Wiped clean.”

Aspen joined them. As they had said, the floor was clean with no sign of blood or Rand’s body.

“I have a bad feeling about this,” Mercy said.

Aspen nodded. “Me, too. Brody, get going. We’ll follow, we need to find the engine room and get off this thing.”

Brody nodded and led the way aft. They descended another staircase and passed through a double-door into an interior corridor that smelled old and dank. A pile of old Sailing magazines lay on the floor, just inside the entrance, along with a headless child’s doll and a single ladies’ stocking stuffed with seaweed.

The hallway they found themselves in was paneled in wood with tarnished brass at the seams around arched doorways. Electric brass sconces flickered fitfully to the left and a hallway led into a dingy white corridor to a series of staterooms. Brody pulled the door open and stepped through, his MP5 panning back and forth.

“Go straight back, we need to find the aft grand staircase,” Ford said.

“Acknowledged.”

Brody moved ahead, weapon ready.

“Brody, slow down and stay close,” Aspen said.

He slowed and looked back. “How big is this shield of yours?”

Aspen shook her head. “Not that big.”

“I’m not used to walking a short point,” Brody groused.

Aspen shrugged. “Not my problem. Stay close, we’re a team on this.”

He turned away and continued down the corridor at a slower pace and waited at the bulkhead door halfway down the corridor. He held up a fist and Aspen joined him.

“I swear I heard movement down there,” he said.

The bulkhead door stood open, its hinges covered in rusty grease. Beyond it, the corridor continued with identical staterooms on either side. Like the corridor behind, the floor was covered in red and white patterned carpet stained by water and age. Tendrils of mold hung from the ceiling and the lights flickered as the batteries that powered them struggled to produce a charge. There was no sign of anything moving.

“What was it?” Aspen asked.

Brody shook his head. “I’m not sure. It was a short, quick motion, like a shadow.”

Aspen pursed her lips. “Okay. Everyone, weapons ready, stay close. No chances.”

The team moved out in a rough line, weapons held at the ready. They’d gone perhaps twenty feet when Brody paused and looked at the door beside him. He raised his weapon and the door crashed open in a wave of blood that knocked him flying across the corridor. When it subsided they were knee deep in bloody brine that frothed around their ankles. Brody stood and wiped his face, leaving streaks on his pale skin.

“You okay, B?” Ford asked.

“I think so, just feels sticky around my feet…”

Aspen turned and started toward him. She could see a dark shape writhing just beneath the surface at Brody’s feet. “Brody, move! Get away from it!”

He was looking down when the creature rose from the foam. It swirled and wrapped itself around his knees. Brody yelled in surprise and fought against the pull.

“Let go, dammit!”

Bloody water fountained around him and he fell, flailing at the thick liquid. As he struggled ,his MP5 fired erratically into the walls, making Aspen and the team duck for cover. Aspen raised her shield and ran forward to the spot where he had been standing, her pistol aimed at the floor. But there was no sign of Brody or the creature that had taken him, just the acrid scent of gunpowder and sulfur. Kane joined her and probed the spot with his blade. The thick viscous liquid was only a few inches deep.

“Impossible,” he said.

“On most days, I would agree with you. But on this ship, impossible doesn’t mean much,” Aspen said.

“What happened to him?” Mercy asked.

Aspen shook her head. She felt cold, dead inside. She’d lost a man. “I don’t know, something dragged him away. Check…check the rooms on either side, but stay close.”

She turned away and leaned against the wall, staring at nothing. Kane blocked her view of the corridor.

“Aspen?”

She couldn’t look at him. “Yeah?”

“It wasn’t your fault. You warned him to stay closer,” Kane said.

Aspen looked up at him. “Brody was right, I’m not a leader, I’m a lab tech.”

Kane smiled. “Who says a lab tech cannot be a leader? As I said, you warned him—”

“I should have done more than warn him. Raven would have brought him back, saved him,” Aspen said.

“Do not be so certain, Aspen Kincaid. Brody has a mind of his own, he does what he thinks should be done, which is why he is not a team leader,” Kane said.

Aspen blinked in surprise. “I thought he led this team.”

Kane chuckled. “Until you, we were not a team, Aspen. With the exception of Mercy, we all work alone. I am impressed they have followed you so readily.”

“Are you trying to make me feel better?” Aspen asked.

“Perhaps. But it does not make what I said any less true,” Kane said.

Aspen smiled her thanks and straightened; Mercy and Ford had returned from their sweep.

“The closest four rooms are clear, nothing but furniture and detritus,” Ford reported.

“Let’s get moving. We can search for him as we go, but stopping the
Star
is still our goal,” Aspen said.

“What about Brody?” Mercy asked.

Aspen took a breath. “We can look for him when our mission is done.”

“He might be dead by then,” Ford said.

“And if we waste time, a lot more people could die. We have no idea what is on this ship, but whatever it is, its powerful and dangerous. Ford, take point. Kane, back on the rear,” Aspen said.

Ford shrugged and sloshed through the water. Aspen let her get a few paces ahead then followed, doing her best not to think about Brody. They moved beyond the next bulkhead and through a set of double doors into another hallway. This one was different than the last, however. The portside wall was a bank of windows that looked out on the Atlantic while the starboard was a series of white-painted doors that led to first-class staterooms. Outside, the fog still hung just above the deck, thick and grey. Aspen followed Ford down the corridor, her eyes on the doors beside them. A streak of blood ran down the wall, still wet and dripping. It looked as if it had been made by the hand of a giant, trailing his fingers down the wall as he lumbered along. At the corner, in the space between the floor and the wall, was a piece of SRT uniform smeared with blood and matted hair.

“Something?” Mercy asked.

“Just more blood,” Aspen said.

She turned back to the corridor. Ford had slowed and was looking out the window to her right. Aspen looked and saw what had caught Ford’s attention. Something was moving in the fog. Black shapes about the size of a hawk, darting to and fro within the mist and getting closer.

“Ford, get back!”

Aspen started forward at a run, her boots splashing through the much. Ford looked at her in surprise and the window exploded inward in a shower of glass and blood. Aspen concentrated and drew on her magik as she ran. Fire leapt from her fingertips and struck the creature as it passed through the window. It exploded, covering Ford in ash. Aspen slammed into her a beat later and they fell to the water as more of the creatures, vicious birdlike creatures with black wings and a curving scorpion tail, burst through. One struck Aspen in the shoulder and she screamed in pain. She felt a momentary dizziness from the venom, then pitched forward as blackness claimed her.

CHAPTER FIVE

Seattle, Queen Anne Ave.

It was still early, but in Seattle most burger joints served all day long. Rick’s was no different, in that it was the food and atmosphere that made it different. The restaurant had been in place since the fifties and, aside from a recent facelift it was the same as it had been when it first opened. It consisted of a central building with an overhang big enough to protect six tables and as many as thirty people. Food was served either at the windows or by the carhops that skated between the cars like figure-skaters of old. In the shining sun with only a handful of classic cars sitting in the lot, the morning could have been mistaken for one in 1967.

Raven sat on the hood of the Shelby and chewed on a sausage sandwich smothered in ketchup and egg. She normally wouldn’t touch such a gross combination, but she felt hungry for the first time in days. She finished her meal and balled the foil wrapper up in her left hand. She was considering a second sandwich when she felt Aspen pull on their connection. Raven closed her eyes and could see a corridor in a place she didn’t recognize, but was undoubtedly the
Crescent Star.
Aspen was running toward a blonde woman as the windows around them exploded inward. A moment later, the connection went dead, leaving Raven feeling cold. She couldn’t feel Aspen at all.

Raven tossed her garbage into a nearby bin and started the car. Two minutes later she was weaving her way through traffic to the Seattle FBI range. On the way she dialed Weaver’s number. He picked up on the second ring.

“Weaver.”

“Be at the range in twenty minutes,” Raven said.

“Storm, we’ve been through this—”

“I said be there,” Raven snapped.

She tossed the phone aside and pressed the accelerator hard enough it felt like it was going to break beneath her foot. When she parked behind the range just over twenty minutes later, she was sweating in spite of the cold weather. She couldn’t feel Aspen, it was as if there connection was severed. The only time she had felt that was when the Alpha-lycan had almost killed her two years before.

Raven pushed through doors and hurried down the steps to where Weaver was waiting. He had an annoyed look on his face. He opened his mouth to say something and Raven raised a finger. “Don’t. Just don’t.”

“I’m not afraid of you, Storm,” Weaver said.

Raven lowered her sunglasses knowing full well her eyes were the feral slits of an angry vampire. “Good for you, you’re tougher than you look. Set it up.”

Weaver blanched and turned away. “It already is. The first part, anyway.”

Raven followed him to the end of the range where the red man had been set up. Weaver placed the Sig on the counter along with a magazine of ammunition. Raven loaded the weapon and closed the slide with a clack that echoed throughout the range.

“You already failed today, Storm,” Weaver said. “What makes you think you can do it now?”

“Because I’m not a monster,” Raven said.

She held the weapon at her side. Though she knew it was finely crafted, it felt wrong in her hand. Light. Her fingers itched for her Automag. She shook off the sensation and pushed the dummy out of her way. As it fell back she moved blindingly fast. The Sig barked and she put two holes in the target down range and a third the middle of the dummy’s head, sending it to the floor again.

Raven glanced at the timer. Less than two seconds had passed and Weaver was standing nearby with his mouth hanging open. Raven ejected the magazine, ejected the unused cartridge and dropped the Sig on the counter. “Tell King I passed.”

Weaver closed his mouth, then opened it again. “Just this part. I can’t clear you until you pass the marksmanship po—”

Raven spun, drew her own sidearm and fired, one handed, emptying all eight rounds in the blink of an eye. Across the range, targets shook and flashed with perfect hits to the chest and head. Raven ejected the magazine, reloaded and turned back to Weaver. “I said, tell King I passed.”

“How did… I’ve never… I wouldn’t even try—”

“Good. A man’s got to know his limitations.”

Raven holstered her weapon and walked away, her hand shaking.

Outside, she took a deep breath and slid behind the Shelby’s wheel. This time, when the engine rumbled to life, it was almost like coming home.

She parked behind the FBI office a short time later and passed through the lobby and atrium to the elevator. It opened a moment later onto the rugged face of Blake, the Marine guard.

“Hey, Agent Storm, how did your visit with Clark go?” he asked.

“Swell. Open the door, please.”

“Sure…but Agent King asked that you leave your sidearm with me until you leave.”

Raven arched an eyebrow. “Is he afraid I’m going to shoot him?”

Blake shrugged. “Just following orders, ma’am. I can’t let you in with a sidearm.”

Raven drew her pistol, ejected the magazine and dropped both onto the table. “I’ll be back for that.”

Blake put them both in a drawer of his desk. “Of course, Agent Storm. I will take good care of them.”

He buzzed her through the door and she moved through the desks to King’s office. He was standing in the doorway next to an athletic blonde Raven recognized as probationary agent Bobbi Kinnamon. She was wearing the standard FBI skirt-set and it didn’t suit her. She looked uncomfortable.

“Hi Ray,” Bobbi said.

“Hey Bobbi. King, what happened?”

Abraham King turned from his computer. “I don’t know. I lost contact with the team on their way to the engine room. How is your connection with Aspen?”

“Dead. Like you, if anything has happened to her. Get me on that ship!”

King shook his head. “No. I’m sorry, Raven. I am scheduling an air-strike as we speak.”

“The hell you are!” Raven roared. “You put my fiancé on that boat, you are not just abandoning her!”

“There is more than one life at stake, Ravenel. Whatever is on that ship has killed almost a thousand people. It cannot be allowed to make it to New York.”

“How long?”

“Twenty-six hours at current speed,” King replied.

Raven nodded. “Fine. Get the Airforce to drop me on the ship. If I don’t succeed, you can blow us both to hell.”

“Agent Storm, I have already lost ten good people—”

Raven tossed her badge on his desk. “You don’t know Aspen and her team are gone. You lost contact. I know she is out there and I am going to bring her home, or die trying. My Sig is in my desk.”

She turned and found the door blocked by Bobbi.

“I can’t let you go, Raven. Not like this,” Bobbi said.

“Bobbi, if you don’t move, I will move you,” Raven said.

“Let her go, Agent Kinnamon. Agent Storm, you are on your own, I cannot expend anymore assets on this. The best I can give you is sixteen hours until I report you officially missing and that ship a hostile target. Tomorrow at dawn, F-18’s will burn it to ashes.”

Raven looked back at him. “It’s enough. If I haven’t found her by then, she’s dead anyway.”

Bobbi stepped aside, but caught Raven’s arm on the way by. “Want me to go with you?”

Raven shook her head. “No. If we don’t make it back, King is going to need someone who isn’t an asshole on his team.”

Bobbi smiled. “I’ll take that as a complement. Good luck, Ray.”

Raven nodded and Bobbi let go.

“One more thing, Storm,” King said.

Raven looked back at him and he tossed her badge to her. “Next time you hand that to me, I’m keeping it.”

She slipped the badge into her pocket. “If I give it to you, it’s because I don’t need it. I’ll be in touch.”

Outside, she leaned against the side of the Shelby and stared at the number on her phone. She didn’t want to dial it, but she didn’t have a choice. If anyone could get her on that ship, it was Francois. She pressed the dial button and held the phone to her ear. Two rings later, a masculine voice answered.

“Lord Du Guerre’s residence, this is Sterling.”

“Get him,” Raven said.

There was a pause. “Fürstin Ravenel? It is good to hear your voice. The master is sleeping, may I take a message?”

“He’s not in hibernation. Wake his ass, now!”

“Fürstin, the master will be angry if—”

“Sterling, tell him it’s me, tell him I need help and get his ass on the phone!”

“Very well, madam.”

Raven heard him put the phone down and shuffle off. She tapped her nails on the Shelby and waited, part of her brain ticking off the seconds. Her nails were making scratches in the car’s paint by the time Du Guerre’s voice came on.

“Ravenel, what is wrong?”

“I need to get from Seattle to a ship in the North Atlantic in as short a time as possible,” Raven said. “What can you do?”

There was a pause, then, “I can get you on a flight leaving whenever you wish, I still have a private service. They will bring you to New Jersey and a helicopter will take you the rest of the way. Ravenel, what has happened?”

Raven bit her lip. She had to tell him something or he wouldn’t cooperate. “My fiancé is in trouble and I am going to her.”

Raven could hear concern in his voice and it annoyed her. “Aspen? Your familiar? Is she alright, Ravenel? I can have a medical team standing by when you arrive in New York.”

“Of course she isn’t okay, I can’t feel her. I’ll need something I can jump out of to get me offshore, a helicopter or something, and full SRT gear, can you do that?” Raven asked.

She heard the swish of Du Guerre’s hair on the phone and felt the sensation of his power, even through the connection. “I will have a helicopter and gear waiting for you. Sterling is contacting the airfield as we speak. It is still a four hour flight, is there anything I can do in the meantime?”

“Drop the Dracula mind whammy, Du Guerre, it won’t work. I’ll call you when I am in Jersey.”

She ended the call on Du Guerre’s objection and headed to the airport.

Please, Aspen, be okay.

II

Chicago, Silver Gates Home for Retirees, 11:00 a.m.

Silver Gates had, in its heyday, been a home for the city’s prominent retirees. It boasted a sprawling mansion with more than six floors and two hundred small apartments. On the grounds were three swimming pools, nine holes of golf and a garden lush with hardy exotic plants. Much of that had been sold off in the last fifty years leaving nothing but the home itself and a few acres of surrounding vegetation. Levac shaded his eyes and looked up at the house with a sense of dread. It may have once been beautiful, but it now looked dilapidated and sad, with peeling paint and broken shutters that swung in the breeze.

“When I get put out to pasture I hope I fair better than this,” he said.

“Like any of us is going to die of natural causes, Rupert,” Sable said.

Levac shrugged. “I have high hopes. You and your sister keep shortening my lifespan, but I take plenty of vitamins and drink milk.”

Sable smiled. “Milk may do a body good, but it doesn’t stop bullets or claws. I hope you have more than vitamin D under your shirt.”

Levac pulled the door open. “Of course. Hair, scars, nipples, all God’s kids have nipples, you know.”

Sable laughed. “I see what my sis liked about you. You’re funny.”

Levac shrugged. “I think being funny is why she didn’t pull my head off in the first week.”

“She didn’t like you?” Sable asked.

Levac shrugged. “She made me so nervous I was a bit off the first time she met me. My flirting attempts were more like a drooling teenage boy than me.”

They passed through the doors into a large lobby that also doubled as a recreation area. All around were half-played games of checkers, cards and chess, an upright piano sat unplayed in the corner and a wide-screen television was showing an old golf tournament. A middle-aged woman in scrubs sat behind a long desk giving all appearances that she was working on the computer. Which likely meant she was playing solitaire.

Sable leaned on the counter and held up her badge. “Agents Tempeste and Levac, we’re looking for Brian Sandoval.”

“Mr. Sandoval isn’t seeing visitors,” the woman said without looking up.

Sable pocketed her badge. “I wasn’t asking for permission, just point the way.”

The woman looked up. “Who did you say you were, again?”

Levac stepped up. “Levac and Tempeste, FBI. Which way, please?”

He smiled encouragingly.

“He really isn’t good with visitors, but he’s on the second floor, room nine at the end of the hall.”

“Thank you,” Levac said.

He turned toward the stairs and could feel Sable walking up behind him.

“Are people in Chicago always this annoying?” Sable asked.

Levac didn’t look at her. “They are just people, Agent Tempeste. Have you done many investigations like this before?”

“No. Mostly seek and destroy. Dad does the criminal stuff, it bores me,” Sable said.

Levac stopped at the top of the sweeping stairs. “Then why are you here now?”

“The old fart is taking his sweet time healing after sis shot him and she’s been sidelined with her touchy-feely crap,” Sable said. “Somebody has to do the leg work.”

For once, Levac knew what Raven meant about fighting her monster. “You may have ice-water in your veins, Sable, but Raven is human. She shot her father and took it hard. Most people would.”