Season of Rot

22

Steven bolted onto the bridge of the ship. The whole area was a mass of activity. His crew darted about, double-checking the data they’d just gotten.

“It’s true then?” Steven demanded as O’Neil approached him.

“I’m afraid so, sir,” O’Neil said grimly. “There are five vessels closing in on our current location, as if trying to surround us.”

“Jesus.” Steven scanned through the stack of reports O’Neil handed him. “Look at the size of them.”

O’Neil nodded. “Some are military in nature for sure. This one has to be…” O’Neil pointed at a blip on a nearby radar screen. “We think it’s an aircraft carrier, and the two flanking it from the east and west are most likely destroyers. It looks like they’ve finally got us where they want us.”

“Nonsense, Mr. O’Neil,” Steven said. “We’ve been in tight spots before. We’ll get through this one too.” He weighed their options in his head before he continued. “Can we out-maneuver them and make a run for it?”

“We can try. I don’t think the largest one can match our speed, but if the two flanking the large ship are destroyers, they’ll be able to overtake us even at our top speed.”

“Change course and burn the engines at their maximum,” Steven ordered. “And in the meantime, sound the alarm. I want to be ready if we do have a fight on our hands.”

“Aye, sir,” O’Neil replied. He punched a button and sirens squealed throughout the Queen.

A state of panic broke out on the ship. The raiders, who were also the Queen’s defenders, Scott among them, rushed to their battle stations. People and families ran for their quarters, locking the heavy doors of their rooms against the growing terror outside.

The daycare was in chaos. Hannah and Jessica tried to calm the children and the parents who showed up demanding their kids. Hannah had left her .30-.06 in her quarters, but she concealed in her jacket a .38 revolver she’d looted from the ship’s armory, thanks to Scott. Weapons weren’t permitted in the daycare center, but right now Hannah was damn glad she’d been breaking the rules. She’d watched her own son die helplessly and had sworn to herself that these children would not share his fate.

In the sickbay, Dr. Gallenger prepared for the wounded to start arriving, in case the coming battle couldn’t be avoided. Luke, meanwhile, darted through the corridors of the Queen, attempting to reach the main decks with a short, black metal tube gripped tightly in his arms.

O’Neil and Captain Steven watched from the bridge as the destroyers crossed the horizon and came into view. The ocean itself seemed to shake as the destroyer from the east fired its main guns at the Queen.

23

The shot from the enemy ship hit the water off the Queen’s portside, sending waves crashing against the hull, though it didn’t strike close enough to cause actual damage. The Queen lacked any sort of long-range weapon except for her jury-rigged torpedo launchers, which at the moment were facing away from the enemy vessels.

Captain Steven knew he had to do something. The destroyers were too fast to outrun, and at present the Queen was a sitting target for their guns. Closing with the two enemy ships for direct combat was a near suicidal option, but it was also the only one left.

“Bring us about!” he shouted. “Get us between them. Maybe they aren’t stupid enough to take the chance of hitting each other with their main guns!” Steven turned to O’Neil. “As soon as you get a shot with one of the launchers, take it!”

Scott and the Queen’s defenders stood helplessly at their machinegun emplacements as the Queen veered to engage the enemy. The destroyers were still not within range, but from the looks of things they would be soon. Scott shoved a belt of ammo into the massive weapon in front of him and began to pick a target for when the time came.

“Fire one!” O’Neil ordered.

A torpedo, dropped into the water, flared to life and raced towards the lead destroyer even as O’Neil ordered the remaining torpedo launched in its wake. Moments later, the first missile struck the destroyer just below the waterline, sending waves of fire and ocean spray up onto the decks of the military vessel. The second torpedo got lucky; it collided with something inside the destroyer, which turned the entire ship into a blazing wreck of secondary explosions.

Cheers went up on the bridge and the decks of the Queen as it angled towards the remaining enemy ship, which fired. This time the Queen was hit dead on. The blast ripped a hole in her side, killing many of her defenders instantly.

“Damage report!” Steven snapped, knowing full well that the Queen faced a new problem now—and not just the damage to the ship. Those killed or mortally wounded by the blast would soon reanimate.

“No damage to the engines!” O’Neil reported. “The hull breach is being contained. We’re not taking on water!”

Finally, Luke reached the deck and positioned himself to get a shot at the enemy ship. He extended the black metal tube he was carrying and slashed out a section of power cables on the wall near him to hook into the weapon. He had spent all of his free time in the last few months refining the invention; he was fully aware of its capabilities. What he was about to do would cripple the Queen in some respects, and he certainly wouldn’t survive, but it was worth the risk. He aimed the tube at the destroyer and pulled the trigger.

A beam of energy leapt from his weapon, striking the destroyer’s ammo stores for the main guns. The energy melted through the destroyer’s armor and reduced the ship to a ball of flames, which lit up the sea even under the midday sun. Luke, his weapon, and a large chunk of the Queen vaporized in the energy weapon’s backwash. People screamed, both inside and abovedeck, as the Queen’s engines blew from the surge.

“What in the hell was that?” Steven cried.

“I don’t know!” O’Neil yelled over the chaos on the bridge. “We’ve lost main power, and the engines are burnt out. Power is out everywhere on the ship. The backup generators are keeping the internal comm. system and the emergency lights working, but that’s about it. We’re dead in the water, sir!”

“Shit!” Steven whirled about to the officer at the radar station. “What about the other three dead ships?”

“I… I don’t know, sir,” the officer stammered. “It looked as if the big one was keeping back, maybe even changing course away from us before the screen went dead. The two smaller ones were still on an intercept heading. They should be on us in the next few minutes, tops.”

Steven slammed his fist against the radar station. “Somebody tell Luke I want those fucking engines back on-line now!”

24

Dr. Gallenger got to his feet—or tried to. As he attempted to stand up, the fractured bone of his left leg tore through his flesh, and he hit the floor hard. He felt no pain as he examined the rest of his body, saw the piece of shrapnel protruding from his right lung. He had to get up. He could sense that his brethren would be here soon, and he was hungry. Hungrier than he’d ever been.

He deemed the shrapnel to be irrelevant, but snapped his broken leg back into place and used the materials