Atticus found his arm free as Remus clutched his ears. And while every instinct in Atticus’s body told him to cover his own ears, he swung up at Remus’s throat instead. The blow glanced off. Remus, having recovered from the shock, laughed at Atticus’s failed attempt to fight back. As a glint of sunlight sparkled off Atticus’s forearm, which still hovered in front of Remus’s throat, Remus’s eyes grew wide.
“You guys never learn,” Atticus said as blood dripped into his eye. “I fight dirty.” With that, Atticus drew his arm back across Remus’s throat. Pain ripped through his arm as the shards of glass sticking out of his skin and muscle met the flesh of Remus’s neck. Some shards came free, now clinging to Remus’s neck, but it was the ones that remained stubbornly embedded in Atticus’s arms that did the real damage. Rather than simply impaling, they sliced.
Deep gouges stretched across Remus’s throat. Some weren’t deep, but others, through which streams of blood pulsed, revealed a fatal wound. Remus’s breathing became a gurgle as fluid and air filled his lungs, not through his nose or mouth, but through his exposed windpipe. He slumped and fell to the side, clutching his mangled throat.
Atticus shoved the hulk away and climbed to his feet, his head spinning. He realized that if the main gun had fired, it meant Kronos had reached the surface. He had, in fact, known Kronos wasn’t running when he saw the sonar screen on the bridge. Rather than running, Kronos had headed straight for them. The beast had had enough.
But now the crew of the Titan was countering. He looked up and found the helicopter hovering one hundred yards off the bow. Two of its four torpedoes dropped free and splashed into the ocean. He picked up the fallen MP5, raced to the bow of the ship, took aim and fired. Bullets tore through the air as though fired from the Viking woman figurehead. The weapon wasn’t accurate at the range, but a few lucky shots might distract the chopper.
As the magazine ran dry, he failed to see a single spark to indicate he’d hit it. He threw the MP5 to the deck and cursed. Then his eyes landed on the MP5 again; but he wasn’t interested in the gun. A faint outline in the deck floor held his gaze.
The harpoon.
Atticus fell to his hands and knees, looking for some sign of a panel. A slight ridge against his fingers found something to the side of the larger outline. He took the MP5 and slammed the deck with the butt of it until a panel broke free. Beneath it was a single switch labeled “raise” on one side and “lower” on the other. He flipped the switch to “raise” and the large outline in the deck became a hole as the panel lowered and slid away.
From the newly formed gap in the deck rose the colossal harpoon gun. A fresh harpoon sat ready to fire, though it lacked an explosive charge. But with the punch the titanium harpoon could deliver, Atticus knew he didn’t need one.
As soon as the harpoon finished rising, Atticus looked down the sight board, swiveled the harpoon into position, and pulled the trigger. The harpoon launched in the air, trailing its tether behind it like a lightning bolt from Zeus.
The pilot saw the incoming projectile and veered to the side, but it was too late. The titanium harpoon penetrated one side of the chopper and punched out the other. The black helicopter became as snared by the harpoon as the whales it was intended for. The helicopter continued its sideways motion, still attempting to flee, but the harpoon, with its flukes extended, held on tight. The line snapped taut as the helicopter pulled it to its full length. The helicopter pitched to the side and plowed into the ocean, its blades shearing off and flying away wildly. Its two remaining torpedoes went down, unfired.
Two explosions off the port bow tore Atticus’s attention away from the helicopter, now in tow alongside the Titan. Two hundred yards away, Kronos’s body rose and fell through the waves. A fresh splash of red revealed he’d been hit again. While Atticus wasn’t sure the torpedoes could cause a fresh wound on Kronos’s thick skin, he was positive they could exploit the old wound.
“Hang on, Giona!” Atticus yelled at Kronos as he barreled back toward the bridge. As he limped across the deck with all possible speed, Atticus became aware of two things, the main gun taking aim at Kronos and Andrea’s voice, shrieking in pain.
52
The Titan
Though her body ached with every motion, Andrea had vented all her frustration and rage in attacking Trevor. In the corner of her eye, she could see Atticus doing the same to Remus, but she dared not look. Trevor might not be the most physically impressive man, but he still held an UMP, the removal of which was her first goal.
She slugged him with every ounce of energy she had and was happy to hear a high-pitched squeal of pain escape his mouth. His body spun from the blow, but he managed to hold on to the UMP and was already bringing it back around. Andrea caught the weapon with both hands and held it at bay.
In desperation, Trevor pulled the trigger, sending a full clip of ammo into the sky. Even after the bullets were spent, their struggle for the UMP continued, each pulling and kicking the other. Andrea knew Trevor had spare clips and didn’t want to give him a chance to reload the weapon. She pulled hard, but Trevor kept a vise grip on the gun and was pulled toward her so that their faces were only a foot apart, the gun held tight between them.
“Can’t we solve this in a civilized manner, my dear?” Trevor said, but the gleam in his eyes revealed he had no intention of being civilized.
Andrea pulled harder. “Stop…calling…me… that!” With a sudden reverse in direction, Andrea pushed instead of pulled and the combined force of her push and Trevor’s pull sent the UMP smashing into Trevor’s face. He sprawled back onto the deck, a trickle of blood running down his forehead.
With his hand, Trevor felt the wound, which quickly oozed hot liquid. Aghast at the sight of his own blood, Trevor scrambled to his feet and shouted, “That’s going to leave a bloody scar! This is bollocks!”
Trevor charged as Andrea swung the UMP at him like a club. She connected with his side, but the impact was slight as his body collided with hers. The UMP fell from Andrea’s hands. She and Trevor sprawled to the deck. Moving slowly from having the wind knocked out of her and still feeling the residual head-to-toe ache remaining from the beating Remus had delivered in O’Shea’s quarters, Andrea struggled to get back to her feet.
But not quick enough.
She never saw Trevor stand up, but the kick to the side of her head confirmed that he had. The stars that swirled in her vision and the ringing in her ears further told her she wasn’t long for this world. Her body became an unsupportable weight, and though she tried to push herself up, her arms failed to function.
A second kick, this one to the gut, sent her back down to the deck, clutching her stomach, gasping for breath. She was vaguely aware that Trevor was circling her, and though her body didn’t register the pain anymore, she could feel his foot smashing into her body time after time.
As the impacts against her body stopped, she heard Trevor speak in his typical boyish voice. Though she couldn’t see him, she imagined he was wearing his lopsided grin; that his billowy white hair, stained with blood, was dancing in the sea breeze. The mental image of the man infuriated her. She wanted nothing more than to jump up and beat the pulp out of him, but her body was broken and unresponsive.
A sudden jolt of fresh pain, far beyond what she’d experienced so far, ripped through her body. She screamed as the pain throbbed through her nervous system, causing her muscles to twitch uncontrollably. The agony was made all the more painful by the knowledge that she’d failed Atticus. By allowing Trevor to kill her, which he would most likely do at any moment, she failed in her promise to Maria. She had said she’d be there for Atticus. She had said she’d take care of him. And all she’d achieved by regaining his trust, his love, was to give him one more person to mourn for. There was no guarantee that Giona would survive Kronos. Even though O’Shea’s Jonah theory had given them hope, the odds of its being true were too remote. Atticus would be alone again, and she would be to blame.
Trevor’s voice invaded her senses again. She heard him say something about always having a second pair handy and opened her eyes to see him donning his trademark, thick-rimmed glasses. Her eyes fell beyond Trevor, who stood with his back to the rail. It was fitting, she thought, that the ocean would be the last thing she saw. She’d spent years of her life saving people from the ocean’s deadly grasp. And it would be there to watch her die.
