Children Of Fiends Read online

  They spotted land on the sixth evening. The sun had nearly set beyond the endless stratospheric clouds, leaving just enough light to make out the hard line of a shore on the horizon. Dean had made his own navigational calculations and was confident that they were indeed looking at the coast of Nicaragua. Every day that they had moved south they had gained a small rise in temperature and, as the land revealed itself, the air began to feel almost balmy. Everyone on both ships had been alive when temperatures like this were not only common, but much hotter, yet their skin had nearly forgotten the caress of warm moist air. Clothes were shed in near abandon and the deck of the Delfshaven appeared like a party during an unexpected thaw in winter. Jamesbonds had set the trend as he stripped down to his skivvies without a moment of shame; his memories of his youth fishing in the warm waters of Thailand making him homesick for a lost place and time. Soon enough, others were adopting the fashion and even Dean found himself reduced to a pair of pants and T-shirt. Only Sanders and Wen Blakely remained fully clothed, the conservative men choosing to keep their eyes averted and their noses pointed toward work - even when there was none. Hansel and Gretel were the most affected, and unless the crew was helmeted up, the puck’s thrill of feeling tropical air was pervasive. Their enthusiasm was infectious and led to everyone else’s general good cheer. The fact that a warship driven by an enemy was towing them was nearly driven from their minds as Dean allowed the crew to invent games to play on deck. The atmosphere was not unlike that of a cruiseship.

  Dean agreed with the Shoremen that without benefit of light they should lay up at anchor for the night. They would stop a mile out.

  At the edge of dawn, distant birdcalls filled the air while they pulled up anchor, and Dean found a tear growing in the corner of his eye. For a decade, only Virtutrips could approximate such an experience, and had been a poor replacement for the real thing. He caught Eliza gazing in his direction and noted the tears that fell smoothly down her flushed cheeks. She smiled and didn’t look away. As they approached the dark and shadowy landfall they marveled at the lush outlines of a jungle capped by low rain filled clouds. He moved to stand with her as they passed along a seemingly endless stretch of virgin Earth.

  “Delicious,” she said.

  “I guess we didn’t screw up the whole planet.”

  They looked at the pucks who were taking in deep lungfuls of air and the humans found themselves riding on the high that poured from their minds like a heady perfume. With their senses nearly overwhelmed with smells, tastes and touch, most of the crew chose to go helmetless and the combined perceptions of everyone onboard melded into a thrill that was felt by all. This sensation held for miles until the two ships were within view of a short, cliff-laden peninsula covered in buildings. The entrance to the Great Nicaragua Canal was bordered on the South by the seawall that had been built to hold back a once relentlessly rising ocean. Beyond it, the dark volcanic sand of Brito Beach gave way to a long line of grand hotels that were slowly being reabsorbed by the jungle. Dean’s perspective suddenly skewed. For a moment he got the sensation that he was looking back at the two ships from the land and could even make himself out standing at the bow of the Delfshaven. It was utterly disorienting and the opiate of the crew’s shared experience was withdrawn like a needle, leaving everyone suddenly desperate to gain the sensation back. There were even some cries of annoyance and general disgruntlement, but this stopped quickly when they observed the pucks sitting down, their foreheads touching. Eliza slowly crouched next to them, not getting too close but speaking quietly. “What is it?” The pucks did not answer, instead keeping eyes closed, their foreheads together and then clasping hands.

  Eliza looked at Dean in bewilderment. He knelt with them and asked, “Children, please tell me. Did I see what I thought I saw? Us, from the land?”

  Rather than answer out loud, the answer came to his head with one simple word, Chosen.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Land

  Hanson was startled awake by a muffled cry. His first thought went instantly to the girl, his second that he had been so deeply asleep. He had taken to sleeping in the hallway outside Ms. St. James’ door. Each night he had pretended to bed down in the adjacent room next to his master and then moved to the hall and its hard floor. He would set a mental alarm to wake before Plimpton arose in need of coffee and help with dressing. The alarm was easy enough. He had been rising before the master in all the years of his employ. The floor of the hallway was linoleum laid over steel and therefore unforgiving, but he was getting used to sleeping in difficult conditions and he’d be damned if he’d let something happen to this young lady. For a decade, guilt over his complicity with the master’s crimes generally gave him little rest at night. He was surprised to have been so deeply asleep and therefore caught off guard when a hastily dressed Niles Plimpton opened his door to find his footman lying with blanket and pillow in the hall. They both heard it again. Someone was hailing from the Delfshaven. It sounded like the captain. Plimpton gave his servant a perplexed look that swiftly evolved into anger. He spoke not a word, but headed hastily down the hall toward the control room.

  Brandy cracked her door open and peered out just as Hanson stood and put on his carefully folded jacket. He saw her from the corner of his eye and found himself at a loss. A sweet scent of youthful perspiration drifted to him and he kept his back to her until he felt the door begin to close, allowing the motion to give him an excuse to turn his head. He offered what he hoped was a reassuring smile and the girl paused.

  “Good morning,” he offered.

  She stared straight into his eyes. He found the observation extremely disquieting. Her big brown irises were simply beautiful and he silently shamed himself for noticing. His tongue became thick, yet he was able to manage, “Can I bring you some breakfast? There are cereal grains and milk from powder.”

  The girl glanced at the blanket and pillow and at his wrinkled pants and loose tie and then back to his eyes; holding him with a steady look. “Thank you, yes. What is that yelling?”

  “Someone is calling from the other ship. I know not what about. I shall investigate and bring you some food.” The girl was dressed only in a man’s extra large sleeveless T-shirt, the buds of her newly arriving breasts giving the garment some extra shape. Hanson offered a now quivering smile and said, “Best you put on your clothes in case the matter is urgent.”

  The girl closed the door without another word. Hanson did up his tie and walked on unsteady legs toward Command. He didn’t know it of himself; rather, he would never admit it to himself, but he was deeply affected by the proclivities of his boss. With layers of gauzy denial, his mind would simply not allow him to acknowledge that he had received great pleasure as a passive observer of Councilor Plimpton’s liberties. Just hearing such events occur only a few feet away from where he would stand vigil had caused his heart and soul to vibrate. Yet there was just enough self-awareness in the man to know that such deeds were offensive to everything that was supposed to be good and decent. He paused at his room to lay his pillow and blanket on his bunk and a sudden sense memory offered her scent to him again. He turned, half expecting that she had followed, but her door remained closed, the hall empty. As he resumed his walk toward Command he was astonished, and then mortified, as his pace became awkward with a growing erection. He found himself cursing the appendage and shoving it to one side in an effort to gain some authority. He buttoned his jacket and slowed his stride, wishing the sensation away while biting his lip until drawing a small taste of blood. Then he paused to lean against the wall and breathed deeply to rebalance himself. What in God’s name had come over him? He was the girl’s protector, her defender. He would pray. He would seek out one of the deacons and pray.

  Dean stood at the bow with Sanders at his side. Both men wore their helmets and were suited up for combat. Dean held the hailer at his side and waited expectantly. The hanger door slid open and the drone revealed itself, stopping at the edge of th
e threshold. The voice coming from its speaker was that of Major Thompson, “What can we do for you, Captain?”

  “We have a situation. Our pucks... the children that travel with us… the ones you call dev… the children of the infected. They detect the presence of others like them. I myself experienced a brief moment of their telepathy.”

  “How is that, Captain?”

  “I observed myself and these ships from the perspective of the shore.”

  This was met with a long silence. Finally, Thompson said, “We are familiar with the phenomenon. Are you able to assert proximity, direction? We have systems aboard that may be able to pick up heat signatures on shore.”

  Dean raised the hailer to his lips. “We are past the point on the peninsula where this was experienced. We haven’t experienced it again and the children are only speaking of a broad sensation of...” He paused to find the right word then lifted the hailer again. “...Of perception.”

  There was another long pause from the drone. Then Plimpton’s voice came across. “Captain. Councilor Niles Plimpton here. We have only spoken briefly when Miss St. James chose to join us. We are of the consensus that you have indeed experienced an encounter with one of the devils. Observed we have, that they are part of the wild that is now this world. We are used to dealing with them. Our scan of the entrance to the canal and the ruined city reveal no activity, neither motion nor heat. Keep your vigil and let us press on.”

  Dean turned to Sanders and asked, “Thoughts?”

  “Like being tied to a dog that’s got the scent and won’t hear a holler.”

  Dean looked at his first mate skeptically.

  “What?”

  “You suddenly from West Virginia?”

  Sanders shrugged. “Seemed like the right cliché.”

  “Sure. Why not?” Dean scanned the shoreline, his helmet zooming in as needed. Abandoned shipping was either submerged or wrecked against the beach and rocks. A few larger vessels remained floating inside a small man-made harbor. “Worst comes to worse, we cut lose and hope one of those wrecks has viable fuel.”

  Sanders nodded at the destroyer. “I doubt they’d think kindly to that.”

  “No, and we should plan accordingly.”

  The sun broke over the tree tops in its full glory. A nearly cloudless day presented a sunrise that simply took everyone’s breath away. The pucks were rightly amazed, having no memory of seeing such a thing. The Halflie crew was without a dry eye as they took in the sight of their star over the dense mist-capped jungle. Sunlight glinted off the remaining windows on the dead hotels, and it seemed a good omen for moving forward.

  Aboard the destroyer, the feelings were much the same. The handful of men and the girl Brandy stood and stared at the scene. Brandy asked no one in particular, “It’s the sun, right?”

  Plimpton’s smooth voice answered while he placed a fatherly hand on her shoulder. “Magnificent, isn’t it my dear?”

  Brandy allowed the physical contact, the moment so profound that a human touch helped ground her. “It hurts my eyes.”

  “Don’t look straight at it. It will make you blind.”

  Hanson observed all of this with a jealousy that he didn't understand. Rather, he experienced the sensation of a hole growing in the pit of his stomach and a tightening in his chest. He pretended to look at the sunrise while taking in the girl’s form from the corner of his eye. Yes, don’t look at it. You don’t want to spoil those beautiful eyes. Deacon Jones entered the room and blocked his view of the girl. The pastor saw the view and exclaimed, “God be praised.” Hanson thought about his promise to himself; that he would seek out one of the deacons to pray. He had instead taken to polishing and refining his thoughts on the girl, going over and over them, especially his encounter with her at her open door. He had polished until those thoughts nearly outshone the sun, repeating over and over the sight of the girl standing in her T-shirt, her young breasts... During the night, with a mixture of mortification and delight, he had stood at the crack of his door, staring at hers and imagining her sleeping form beyond. With his heart beating at a rate that he feared was a bit high, he had relieved himself, finally becoming sleepy enough to lie down. As he gazed at the sunrise, he chose to forgive the master’s hand on the girl’s shoulder. Who could blame him? Then he had a rare moment of self-discovery: He never really blamed the master. In truth, he wished that he could be the master - at least concerning the various girls.

  Jamesbonds spotted the first mine. Just below the surface and no more than ten meters off their starboard flank, the menacing thing seemed to innocuously shift at its anchor while being disturbed by the Delfshaven’s bow wake. Then before the man could gather his wits and scream a warning, he watched the bomb shift again, its magnetic element drawing it to the ship’s hull. There was an audible thud as the mine bummed up against the steel plates. Jamesbonds managed to dive to the deck, yet nothing happened. The floating bomb simply scraped along the hull until it was released by the stern wake. His heart pounded and his healing shoulder wound ached with the action of diving onto a hard surface.

  Dean saw his lookout’s motions and ran to the rail. The weapon bobbed in the wake. “All hands! Get to the rails and look for mines!”

  As they continued to approach the mouth of the canal he spotted a barrier ahead: a series of anchored barges in various forms of decay. Some were partially or almost completely submerged, and all were connected by thick rusting cable. The entrance to the canal was effectively fenced off, the harbor apparently mined for added effect. Clearly, the people of Nicaragua had tried to close themselves off to a dying world.

  The men on the Lyndon Johnson had begun to slow the ship. Too quick a stop and the Delfshaven would smash into the destroyer’s stern.

  Dean didn’t need to yell for attention this time. With the destroyer’s engines at idle, he raised his voice to the drone. “A magnetic pressure-actuated mine made contact with our starboard side. It was either a dud or deactivated. It was obviously not a lone device. Mines like that are capable of remaining armed for a hundred years or more.”

  “Stand by,” said Thompson through the drone’s speaker. After what seemed like an interminable length of time to Dean, Thompson spoke again. “Here is what we are going to do. Drop a boat you will, with that welding kit we lent and send a team to go cut one of those barges free. We will tie the barge to our bow and use it to sweep ahead, hopefully detonating anything that may lay between us and the canal.”

  Dean looked at Sanders who shrugged. “It’s simple, straightforward. Can’t argue with it.”

  Dean exhaled and turned back to the drone. “Our lifeboats have no power to tow one of those barges. You’ll need to send your tender.”

  There was yet another long pause and then Thompson said, “It appears that you wear specialized helmets. We assume that this provides you with some type of immunity from the devils. Our man will be unprotected from those that travel with you. Do we have your guarantee that he will be left unmolested?”

  Dean shook his head in annoyance. “The children that travel with us have no desire to molest you people.”

  Bishop, Cinders, Murphy and Wall volunteered for the mission. Within an hour the men had severed the cables fastened to the two ends of a barge. The crew watching from the Delfshaven saw the great splash of the cables as they fell. Moments later, a man set out on the Lyndon Johnson’s tender to rendezvous with the now free floating barge. The man threw two heavy lines to the crew on the barge and in short order the big flat vessel was towed toward the Lyndon Johnson’s bow while the four men from the Delfshaven rowed along next to the tender. Bishop called out steering instructions to avoid yet another mine that was moored between the two vessels.

  When the barge met with the bow of the destroyer, another team stepped from the cover of the stealthy ship to lash the two together while the Sentinel remained on the stern as a simple reminder to not mess with the Shoremen. When Dean’s crew returned and they
had hoisted the lifeboat back aboard, Bishop reported that the Shoremen never spoke a word, instead using hand signals for the work. “Play it close they do, Cap.”

  The Lyndon Johnson fired up her engines and pressed forward, pulling the Delfshaven and pushing the huge barge. The notion of imminent sinking served to refocus everyone on the immediate task.

  As they passed through the gap in the cable and barge line, Dean ordered everyone to the top deck and to find a place where nothing above them could fall and crush. If there were an explosion, the resulting shockwave would certainly knock people off their feet and perhaps even break limbs. All they could do was look forward and stare at the barge as it slowly approached the gateway to the canal and the still erect but densely rusting Bridge of The Central Americas.

  PART FOUR

  The Dark Heart

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Mines

  They heard the scraping bass tone of contact all the way on the command deck of the Delfshaven. The barge way out front had struck something, running its shallow hull across what was likely the superstructure of a submerged vessel. The screeching echo of rending steel reverberated through the water and off the surrounding boats, buildings, trees and walls. The speed of the Lyndon Johnson fell from a walk to a crawl as the helmsman of that boat made a fruitless effort to steer around the sunken obstacle, the sound of its own hull coming into contact next. The keel screamed in protest as the port side scraped by, setting everyone’s teeth on edge. Then it was the Delfshaven’s turn. The deeper hull immediately caught on something unshakeable and the lines between the ships tightened further with the strain, drawing all three boats to a halt. From his post at the bow, with Wen as a second pair of eyes, Dean yelled through his hailer for the Shoremen to stop. The strain eased as the Lyndon Johnson’s engines fell into neutral, the rubber band effect drawing the two boats together until they touched with a hollow thunk.