Pulse

THIRTY- SEVEN

The shadow emerged from the depths, reached out, and took King's arm in a vice grip. He and Queen were yanked up and away as Bishop, still holding the high-powered scooter pulled them away from the mouth of the cave. An explosion of bubbles and wave of heat pursued them as lava spilled into the ocean. With the scooter pulling and King still kicking with his fins, they cleared the area just in time not to be boiled alive, but as King's vision began to fade, a new threat emerged.

He needed to breathe.

Sensing this, Bishop turned the scooter toward the surface and pulled them up. After breaking through the waves, King and Queen gasped for air, taxed beyond their limits, but unwilling to give the grim reaper his due. As they fought against the waves, hands reached down from above and plucked them from the ocean and onto the plush, comfortable deck of the Mercury. Bishop started up after them.

Rook reached down to help him up.

"I got it," Bishop said.

He took Bishop by the wrist. "C'mon, big guy. Let me help you—"

"I said I got it!" Bishop twisted his wrist out of Rook's hand, took hold of Rook's shirt, and pulled him overboard. Rook sank under the water and came back up a moment later. "Bishop, what the hell!"

Standing on the deck of the Mercury, Bishop looked back at him. "Just stay away from me, Rook." He stalked away, ignoring the stunned looks of King, Queen, and Knight, and entered the cabin.

King helped Rook back onto the deck. Water poured from his waterlogged clothes. "What was that about?"

"Probably upset about being captured," Queen said, wrapping a towel around her scantily clad body. "He'll cool off soon enough."

"Well, I'm doing like the man said and steering clear of his grumpy ass," Rook said. He didn't like being humiliated, or manhandled, by a teammate. Broken trust could lead to all kinds of trouble on the battlefield. As Rook stripped out of his drenched clothing he frowned and added, "To top things off, the island is a total loss."

King looked up as Knight hammered the throttle, launching the yacht away from the island. The whole of Tristan da Cunha was consumed in lava, smoke, and fire. Edinburgh burned. Manifold Beta sat beneath a pool of molten lava that would cool and harden. The site would take years, perhaps more, to excavate. Even then any evidence left behind would have been burned or melted within the cauldron.

The mission had been a disaster.

Well, not a complete disaster. King looked to his side and found Pierce, if it even was him, lying next to him. His eyes remained closed and breathing shallow. He'd rescued his friend, but at what price? He might have been better off if they'd shot him and been done with it. Now he had to, what… live life as an immortal monster? A modern mythological creature?

"Near as I can tell," Rook said, "your buddy is in a coma."

Queen checked Pierce's pulse, holding his wrist. Checked his eyes. Squeezed his hand hard, looking for a reaction to pain. Nothing. "The regens reacted to regeneration by losing their grasp on reality. They became animals… worse than animals. But this is something new. Still not perfected. His mind might be reacting by shutting down."

King listened. It made sense and he was glad Pierce wasn't awake to see himself like this. Still, on the off chance that people in comas really could hear the people around them, he leaned in close and said, "George. It's Jack. Listen. I'm going to take care of things. I'm going to figure out a way to help you. That's a promise."

"We've got trouble," Knight shouted back from the captain's chair. He pointed out toward the ocean. Debris clung to the waves. Body parts, too.

"They didn't make it," Rook said.

"Who?"

"The locals. A bunch launched out to sea."

King ground his teeth together. The submarine. Had to be. He punched the side of the boat and looked back at Tristan da Cunha. The island glowed bright orange like the devil had ascended from the thirteenth level of Hell and settled on the island. A great billow of smoke filled the sky above, blotting out the stars. Ash fell from the sky, the gentle flakes kissing their skin like warm snowflakes.

"Head inside," King said. "We don't need to be breathing this crap."

Rook took Pierce in his arms and carried him into the cabin and lay him down on a comfortable couch. Queen followed. King stepped up to Knight at the controls. "Set a course due north, then come inside. We'll take shifts out here. For now, let's see if we can raise the Grant on the radio inside."

Knight turned the wheel, looking at the compass, when he caught a flash of green in his periphery. The luxury yacht came complete with sonar. Something was rising next to them. Something big. "King…"

He saw it, ducked into the cabin and came back out with an RPG, ready to launch. Bishop, Rook, and Queen followed him out, similarly armed with a variety of explosive projectiles. He looked at the sonar screen, took aim at the ocean, and waited to fire. The submarine broke the surface one hundred yards away, rising like a breeching whale and crashing back into the water. A massive wave rolled out and away from the sub, pushing the Mercuryup at an odd angle, throwing off their aim.

The sub was easily recognizable as a Los Angeles-class attack submarine, but King had no way of knowing what kind of sub Manifold had got its hands on. He took aim again, as the Mercurysettled in the water. The others followed his lead. The sub approached slowly and stopped ten feet away. Too close to launch torpedoes and not sustain damage. The message was clear: We come in peace. But King maintained his vigil. The sub could easily ram them, letting its conning tower tear the Mercuryin two.

Only when the top hatch opened and two men in U.S. Navy uniforms stepped out, hands in the air, did King relax. The two sailors were followed by Captain Savile looking like a drowned cat.

He lowered the RPG staring at the captain, his mouth open in shock. He realized immediately what the captain's presence and physical appearance meant. Something awful had happened to the USS Grant.

"Get your people on board," Savile said to King.

"How many were lost?"

The side of Savile's mouth twitched for a moment. "Five hundred thirteen dead or lost so far. Maybe more. The Grant is wounded, listing, but not sunk. She'll make it."

"Those sons-a-bitches," Rook muttered.

"Get what you need," King said to the others, "and take George. I'll sink the Mercury."

"Hey, King," Savile said. "Yes, sir."

Savile looked at the glowing remnants of Tristan da Cunha. "Did you get them?"

King felt his stomach lurch as he heard the eager tone in the captain's voice. He wanted to know the bastards that sunk his boat and killed his men had paid for their crimes. But they hadn't. They'd escaped right out from under their noses. King let them go again. King's silence and cold eyes said what words couldn't.

Savile shook his head. "When you find the man who sank my ship, make him hurt."

King nodded. It went without saying. Manifold and Gen-Y had not only drawn first blood, but second blood, too. The only acceptable solution was to draw third blood… and much more of it.