Текст книги "The Kill Order"

Автор книги: James Dashner

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Текущая страница: 12 (всего у книги 17 страниц)

He sat for a while, until he was able to walk back to the cockpit.

“Food. Please tell me there’s food,” he croaked.

“And water?” Alec asked him. “That sound good, too?”

Mark nodded even though the old man couldn’t see him.

“Let me get this thing landed somewhere first. I’d just hover, but we can’t afford to waste all our fuel. We’re gonna need it. But I bet there’s something to shove down our throats in this hunk of junk. Then we’ll go searching for our bonfire friends.”

“Please,” Mark muttered. His eyelids drooped, and not because he was tired. He knew he was on the verge of passing out from low blood sugar. It seemed a week had gone by since his last meal. And the thirst. His mouth was a bucket of sand.

“You’ve had a rough go,” Alec said quietly. “Just give me a minute or two.”

Mark sat down on the floor again and closed his eyes.

He never quite lost consciousness.

But the world felt disconnected, as if it were a play Mark was watching from the back row, lying on the floor. With a few blankets over his head. Sounds were muffled and his stomach ached from hunger.

Finally the Berg slowed, and then there was a rough bump that shook the ship, followed by silence and stillness. Mark had a long moment when he thought for sure that sleep was coming. And with it, the memories. He fought it, didn’t know if he could handle reliving the past at that moment. He heard footsteps from far away. Then Alec was speaking to him.

“Here ya go, son. Pretty much a standard military meal, but it’s food and it’s full of nutrients. Gonna perk you right up. I flew us to an empty neighborhood between the bunker and downtown Asheville. All the crazies seem to have fled the fire and headed south.”

Mark opened his eyes, the lids so heavy he almost had to use his fingers to lift them up. Alec was blurry at first but then came into focus. He held out a silvery foil that had chunks of… something on top. It didn’t matter. It didn’t matter at all. Mark grabbed three of them and shoved the delicious-beautifully delicious-morsels into his mouth. Salty and beefy. But when it came time to swallow he could barely get them down.

“Wa-” he began, but then he erupted into a coughing jag that sent the food he couldn’t swallow into Alec’s face.

His friend wiped it off. “Nice. Really nice.”

“Water,” Mark croaked out.

“Yeah, I know. Here.” He held out a canteen and Mark could hear the liquid sloshing inside.

Mark sat up, groaning from the shock of pain that jolted through his body at the movement.

“Be careful,” Alec said. “Don’t drink too fast. You’ll be sick.”

“Okay.” Mark took the canteen, paused to steady his hands, then brought it up and tipped the spout over his bottom lip. Glorious, cool water rushed into his mouth and down his throat. He fought off a cough, focused on swallowing without wasting a drop. Then he drank some more.

“That’s enough,” Alec warned. “Now eat a few more bites of the delicacy I brought you from the mess cabinet.”

Mark did, and this time it tasted even better. Saltier and beefier. With a wetted mouth and throat, it went down easier, as well, though he had the worst sore throat of his life. A little strength seeped its way into his muscles. His headache receded a bit. The best news of all was that his nausea was gone.

He felt just good enough that he wanted to sleep.

“You look like a couple of the lightbulbs in your brain flicked back on,” Alec said, sitting down. He relaxed back against the wall and stuffed food into his mouth. “This crap ain’t half bad, is it?”

“You shouldn’t talk with your mouth full,” Mark replied with a weak smile. “It’s not polite.”

“I know.” Alec crammed even more food in and exaggerated his movements to make sure Mark saw everything he was chewing. “What kind of a person even needs to be told such a thing? I mean, didn’t I have a mama?”

Mark laughed. Genuinely laughed, and it hurt his chest and throat. Made him cough. When he recovered, he asked, “So where did you take us, again?” Then he resumed eating.

“Well, the Berg’s bunker was just west of Asheville. So I came a little east-there’re a few fancy neighborhoods along this mountainside. I spotted a lot of activity a couple miles south, and I think it might be where all those people from our lovely bonfire experience fled to after they set the forest ablaze. It seems quiet here.”

He paused to take another bite. “We’re parked in a cul-de-sac-a fancy-schmancy neighborhood if I’ve ever seen one. Before it got baked in an oven, that is. Used to be a lot of rich folk outside Asheville, ya know. Most of these homes are half ruined now.”

“But what about-”

Alec held up his hand to stop Mark’s question. “I know. As soon as we get some strength and another few hours of sleep, we’ll find our friends.”

Mark didn’t want to waste any more time, but he knew Alec was right. They needed to rest. “Any sign of… anything?”

“I thought I recognized some people when we flew over the place south of here. I’m almost positive it’s the folks from Deedee’s settlement. We’ll just have to see if Lana and the others are there, too, like that Bruce seemed to be saying.”

Mark closed his eyes for a second, not sure if that was something he should hope for.

They paused to eat and drink some more. Mark was curious to see what it looked like outside, but he was too tired to stand up and go to the window. Plus, he’d seen his fair share of the burnt-out shells folks had once called home. “You’re sure we’re okay to be parked here? In case you forgot, some wild dude with a hammer broke one of our windows.”

“No one’s approached yet. All we can do is keep an eye out. And when we go looking for Lana and them, we’ll just have to hope people don’t notice the extra entrance.”

The thought of the man with the hammer made Mark’s stomach sink. It made him think of what had come over him when he’d killed the pilot on the hatch door.

Alec noticed something was wrong. “I know you weren’t exactly sipping tea and eating crumpets when I left you back in the cargo room all that time. Ready to tell me what happened?”

Mark flicked an embarrassed, almost nervous glance at his friend.

“For a few minutes it was like I lost control of myself, started acting weird. Sadistic, almost.”

“Son, that don’t mean jack. I’ve seen many a good man go south on the battlefield, and there wasn’t a virus around to blame back then, either. It doesn’t mean you… have it. Humans do crazy things to survive. Have you not spent the last year seeing that every day?”

Mark didn’t feel any better. “This was… different. For a second it felt like it was Christmas morning, watching a guy get crushed to death.”

“Really.” Alec looked at him for a long time, and Mark had no idea what the man was thinking. “It’s gonna be dark in a couple of hours. No good tramping around at night. Let’s get us a long dose of shut-eye.”

Mark nodded, troubled to the core. He wondered if maybe he should’ve kept his mouth shut. Yawning, he got comfortable, planning to process it all, think things through for a while.

But a full stomach and a week’s worth of exhaustion pulled him to unconsciousness.

Naturally, the dreams came next.

CHAPTER 46

Mark is in a conference room in the Lincoln Building, curled up into a ball under the huge table where he guesses very important men and women used to gather and talk about very important things. His stomach aches from the now weeks-old diet of junk food and soda pop scavenged from the vending machines scattered throughout the building. It took some work to break open the things-but a couple of former soldiers like Alec and Lana were trained to break open things, weren’t they? People and objects alike.

The Lincoln Building is a terrible place. Hotter than hell. Suffused with the gagging, sickening smell of rotting bodies, people who died from the initial burst of heat and radiation. They are everywhere. Mark and his new friends cleared the entire fifteenth floor, but the rank stench still permeates the air. It’s something you just don’t grow used to. And of course, there is nothing to do. Boredom has settled in like a cancer in the building, ready to eat away at their sanity. Not to mention the threat of radiation outside-though Alec thinks it’s finally dwindling. Even so, they’ve kept away from the windows as much as possible.

For all that, there is one thing Mark keeps thinking that makes it all seem not quite as bad as it could be: He and Trina have grown closer than ever. Very close. He grins like a fool and is glad no one can see him.

The door opens up and shuts; then there are footsteps. A can rattles across the floor and someone swears under his breath.

“Hey,” the someone whispers. Mark thinks it’s Baxter. “You awake under there?”

“Yeah,” comes Mark’s groggy reply. “And if I wasn’t I would be now. You’re not very good at being quiet.”

“Sorry. I was sent to find you-there’s a boat heading down Broadway, driving straight toward us. Come have a look.”

Mark never thought he’d hear those words-a boat coming down one of the most famous streets in the world, where cars are supposed to drive. But Manhattan has turned into a grid of rivers and streams, the fierce sun constantly reflecting off the waters in spectacular and blinding flashes. It’s like they have a sky both above them and below.

“Are you serious?” Mark finally asks, realizing he’s been quiet for a few seconds, stunned by the news. He tries not to get his hopes up that they’re about to be rescued.

Baxter scoffs. “No, I made it up. Come on.”

“Guess the radiation has died down, unless a couple of freak shows are driving it.” Mark wipes at his face and eyes, then scoots out from underneath the large table. He stands and stretches, yawns again, teasing Baxter by not hurrying. But then the curiosity finally gets to him.

They head out into the hallway, where a fresh wave of heat and stench assaults Mark’s senses. After weeks of this, he still gags, willing himself not to throw up.

“Where are they?” he asks, assuming Alec and Lana are the ones who’ve spotted the boat and are watching it now.

“Down on five. Smells a thousand times worse down there, but that’s where the water line is. It’s like rotting fish and humans. I hope you haven’t eaten in a while.”

Mark just shrugs, not wanting to think about food. He’s sick of candy bars and potato chips-something he never would’ve thought possible.

The two of them go to the central bank of stairwells and begin the ten-story trip down to the fifth floor. All is quiet except for the thumps and scuffles of their footsteps, and Mark finds that his excitement over who might be in the boat overcomes the growing stench as they descend. There are bloodstains on the stairs. He sees a chunk of hair and meaty mass on one of the handrails. He can’t imagine the panic that ensued in this place when the sun flares struck, and the horrors that resulted. Luckily-for them, anyway-no one was alive by the time they arrived.

They reach the landing of the fifth floor and Trina is waiting at the door to the stairwell.

“Hurry!” she says, motioning with a quick nod to follow her. She breaks into a trot and talks over her shoulder as they maneuver down a long hallway toward the outermost wall of windows. “It’s a big yacht-looks like it was nice and fancy before the flares struck. Now it seems like it was built a hundred years ago. Can’t believe it floats, much less runs.”

“Could you see the people on it yet?” Mark asks.

“No. They’re obviously underneath. In the cockpit, the bridge, whatever you call it.”

Seems like she knows as much about boats as Mark.

They turn a corner and see Alec and Lana at a section where the windows have been knocked out, the water of the sea lapping against the wall just a foot or so below them outside. The Toad and Misty are sitting on the floor, staring out. Mark hears the boat before he sees it, a coughing, choked sound of engines that have seen better days. Then the battered vessel comes into view past a small building, its back end sunk low into the water as the yacht chugs along. It’s about thirty feet long, fifteen wide, with duct tape and plywood boards covering up scattered holes and split seams. A tinted window with spiderwebs of cracks is like an ominous eye, looking at them as it approaches.

“Do they know we’re here?” Mark asks. He only allows himself to think that these people are coming to rescue them. Bring food and water, at least. “Did you hail them down?”

“No,” Alec answers curtly. “By the looks of it, they’re checking out every building. Scavenging, no doubt. But they’ve seen us by now.”

“I just hope they’re friendly,” Trina whispers, as if she doesn’t want the strangers to hear.

“I’ll fly to the moon and back if these folks are nice,” Alec replies in a completely dead voice. “Stay on your toes, boys and girls. Follow my lead.”

The boat is very close now, its noises filling the air along with the smell of fuel. Mark can see the faint shadow of two people behind the darkened window now, and they both appear to be male. They both have short hair, anyway.

The engines of the yacht cut off and its tail end begins to swing around so that the boat can bump lengthwise against the building. Alec and Lana step back, and Mark notices that at some point the Toad and Misty have scooted all the way to the far wall. Trina, Baxter and Mark are standing in a tight group, the tension clear in their faces.

One of the people from the bridge appears on deck, stepping through a doorway from below. It’s a man, and he’s holding an enormous gun in both hands, the muzzle already pointed at the spectators inside the Lincoln Building. He’s one ugly dude, greasy hair matted to his head, a scruffy beard-the kind that looks like a wild fungus on the neck-and black sunglasses. His skin is filthy and sunburnt, his clothes tattered.

Another person appears, and Mark’s surprised to see it’s a woman with a shaved head. She deals with securing the boat against the wall as her partner steps closer to the broken window where Alec and Lana stand.

“I want to see every single hand,” the man says to them, sweeping his weapon back and forth, pausing for a brief moment on each person. “Two each, up in the air. Go on.”

Most of them do as they’re commanded, except Alec. Mark hopes the man doesn’t do something crazy and get them all shot.

“You really think I’m bluffing?” the stranger says in a raw, scratchy voice. “Do it now or die.”

Alec slowly raises his hands toward the ceiling.

The man with the gun doesn’t seem satisfied. He’s breathing heavier than he should, and staring at Alec through those dark sunglasses. Then he swings his weapon at Baxter and lets loose three quick bursts of fire. The explosions of sound rock the air, and Mark stumbles backward until he slams into the wall of a cubicle. The bullets have torn into Baxter’s chest, spraying red mist everywhere and knocking him onto his back with a hard thud. He doesn’t even scream, death having taken him already. His torso is a mess of blood and mangled skin.

The man takes in a deep pull of air. “Now I expect you’ll do what I say.”

CHAPTER 47

Mark twitched in his sleep and almost woke up. He’d always liked Baxter, liked the kid’s smart-aleck nature and who-cares attitude. To see such a thing done to him…

It was something Mark would probably never get over. Of all the memories that came back to haunt his dreams, that one was the most frequent. And Mark wanted to wake up, wanted to leave it behind again instead of reliving the aftermath of what he’d witnessed and the craziness that followed.

But his body needed the rest and wouldn’t allow it. Sleep pulled him back down into its embrace, with no intention of comforting his troubled mind.

It’s one of those moments when it takes the brain a moment to catch up with the events playing out before your eyes-shock temporarily blocks the path. Mark is on the ground, leaning back at a forty-five-degree angle, his head resting against the wall. Trina has her hands folded against her chest and suddenly screams-a sound like a million frantic crows bursting out of a tunnel. The Toad and Misty have huddled together, their faces masks of terror. Lana and Alec stand straight, their hands still raised. But Mark can see the tension in their muscles.

“Shut up!” the man with the gun yells, spit flying out of his mouth. Trina does, the noise of her scream cutting off like it’s been sliced with a blade. “If I hear one more god-awful sound like that I’ll shoot whoever makes it. Am I understood?”

Trina is trembling, her hands now covering her mouth. Somehow she manages to nod, but her eyes are still glued to the bloody and lifeless Baxter. Mark doesn’t let himself look at the boy. Instead he stares at the man who killed him, hatred clouding his vision.

“All done, boss,” the woman on the boat says. She stands up and wipes her fingers on her filthy pants. She’s tied the yacht to something on the outside-Mark can see the coiled end of a rope-either oblivious or insensitive to the murder her partner has just committed. Or maybe just used to it. “What now?”

“Go get your gun, idiot,” the man answers with a sideways look that leaves no doubt how he has always treated the woman. “Do I need to tell you how to use the bathroom, too?”

Somehow even sadder to Mark than what the guy has just said, the object of his scorn just nods and apologizes. Then she disappears back into the boat for a second, emerging with a similar gun held tightly in both hands. She takes a stance next to her partner and points the weapon at Mark and each of his friends in turn.

“Now here’s how this is going to work,” the man says. “You want to live, then all you have to do is obey. Easy-peasy. We’re here for fuel and food. My guess is you have both, judging by the fact that you aren’t a bunch of walking skeletons. And every building this big has generators. Bring us what we need, and we leave. You can even keep some for yourselves. That’s how loving we are. All we want is our share.”

“Real generous,” Alec says in a low voice.

Mark jumps to his feet as the man brings his weapon up and points it directly at the old man’s face. “No! Stop!”

The stranger swings it to point at Mark, who throws his hands up and scoots back against the cubicle wall. “Please! Just stop it! We’ll get you whatever you want!”

“That’s right, you will, boy. Now move. All of you. Time to go on a little scavenger hunt.” He jerks his weapon in a gesture to get people in motion.

“Be careful not to step on your dead friend,” the woman says.

“Shut up!” her partner lashes back. “Seriously. You get dumber every day.”

“Sorry, boss.”

She’s suddenly a meek little mouse, head hung low. Mark’s heart is still beating a thousand times a minute, but he can’t help feeling sorry for the lady.

The man returns his attention to the others. “Show us where it’s at. I don’t wanna be here all day.”

Mark half expects Alec to do something crazy, but he just begins walking back toward the stairwell. As he passes Mark, he gives him a quick wink. Mark doesn’t know if he should be encouraged or worried.

They march down the hallway, leaving the bloodied form of Baxter behind, prisoners in what has become their castle over the past few weeks. They reach the stairs and start climbing. Boss-that’s the only way Mark can think of the man with the gun now, hearing over and over in his mind the pathetic way his partner saluted him-takes turns poking people in the back as they ascend, making sure they don’t forget who’s armed.

“Just remember what I did to your buddy,” Boss whispers to Mark when it’s his turn to get prodded.

Mark keeps moving, step by step.

They spend the next two hours scavenging the Lincoln Building, top to bottom, for food and fuel. Every inch of Mark’s skin is sweating, and his muscles ache from carrying the large containers of generator fuel from the emergency supply room on the thirtieth floor down to the boat. They scour the vending machines, emptying over half of the dwindling stock throughout the many break rooms and other common areas.

The yacht is an oven inside the cabin, which only makes the smell within even worse. As Mark unloads the supplies, he wonders if Boss and his partner have bothered to so much as dip themselves in the warm waters that surround them. They literally live in bathwater-dirty as it may be-yet refuse to bathe. Mark grows more disgusted with the pair on every trip. He also wonders at the biding silence of Alec, who’s worked hard without the slightest sign of rebellion.

They’ve filled almost every spare inch of the vessel when the entire group finds themselves on the twelfth floor-part of one last sweep through the lower half of the building. Boss tells them they can have whatever’s left above that.

The man, still pointing his gun at each of them in turn, is standing next to the windows. The orange sheen of the setting sun paints the glass behind him. His subordinate stands right next to him, looking as blank-minded as ever. Trina is grabbing a few last chip bags and candy bars through the busted cover of a vending machine. The Toad, Misty, Lana, Alec and Darnell are waiting for her, not much to do now. The place is emptied out and each of them is probably like Mark, just counting down the seconds until these people are gone. And hoping no one else dies.

Alec walks toward Boss, holding his hands up in a conciliatory gesture.

“Careful,” the armed man warns. “Now your work’s done, I wouldn’t mind gettin’ a little more target practice. Close-range, even.”

“It’s done, all right,” Alec says in a half growl. “We’re not idiots. We wanted to get that boat loaded first. Ya know, before…”

“Before what?” Boss seems to sense trouble and the muscles of his arms tense; Mark sees his finger tighten on the trigger of the gun.

“This.”

Alec suddenly bursts into motion. His hand shoots forward and smacks the weapon out of Boss’s hands-the gun fires a wayward shot just as it spins away, clattering on the floor. Boss’s partner turns and bolts down the hallway along the bank of windows, as quickly as she’s done anything yet. Lana chases her, even though the other woman is armed. Mark barely has time to notice this before Alec throws his body forward and tackles Boss, the two of them slamming into the glass of the large window.

Everything happens so fast. An icy splintering sound fills the room as cracks branch out from their point of impact. Then the entire pane bursts, exploding into a million pieces just as Alec is trying to get his balance and lift himself off of Boss’s body. Both of them begin to fall, tipping as if in slow motion, leaning toward the water below. Mark is already rushing at them, diving, then sliding across the floor so that he can brace his feet against the window frame for support while reaching for Alec’s arm. He grabs it, grips his fingers, holds tight, but his feet miss and are suddenly in open air. His entire body is about to topple out with Alec and Boss.

Someone grabs him from behind, arms slipping around his chest. Mark holds on to Alec with every ounce of his strength and is looking straight down into the river-street. Boss is falling, madly flailing his arms and legs and screaming. Mark’s arms feel like they may come out of their sockets, but Alec recovers his wits quickly, turns his body and puts his free hand on the bottom sill of the window, begins to hoist himself inside while whoever has captured Mark drags him in as well. It’s the Toad.

Soon they are all standing again, safe. Lana comes charging back down the hallway.

“She got away,” the woman says. “I bet she’s hiding in some closet.”

“Let’s get out of here,” Alec replies, already on the move. Mark and the others follow. “Plan worked perfectly. Got the boat stocked up and now it’s ours for the taking. We’re getting out of the city.”

They find the stairwell, descend rapidly, taking two steps at a time. Mark is sweating and exhausted, and anxious about what they’re planning to do. Leaving the place that has become home in the wake of the sun flares. Venturing out into the complete unknown. He doesn’t know which is stronger, the excitement or the fear.

They make it to the fifth floor, sprint down the hallway, go through the missing window, board the boat.

“Get us loose,” Alec yells to Mark.

Alec and Lana go into the cabin. Darnell, the Toad, Misty and Trina find places to sit up top, looking a little lost and a lot uncertain. Mark begins untying the rope the woman used to secure the yacht earlier. He finally gets the knots loose and pulls in the rope just as the engines come to life and the boat starts moving away from the Lincoln Building. Mark sits on a seat at the tail end of the vessel and twists backward to look up at the towering skyscraper, where the dwindling glow of the day’s sunshine reflects an amber sheen.

Boss suddenly leaps out of the water like a crazed dolphin, his arms slamming onto the back of the boat as he begins to frantically scramble on board. His legs kick and scissor as his hands search for anything to hold on to; he grabs a hook and his muscles bulge as he pulls himself up, water streaming off his body. He has a huge purple bruise covering half his face-the other half is red and angry to match his eyes.

“I’m gonna kill you,” the man growls. “Every single one of you!”

The boat is picking up speed. Everything explodes inside Mark at once-he’s not going to let this sorry excuse for a human ruin their chance to escape. Gripping a seat, he rears back his foot and launches it forward, kicking Boss in the shoulder. The man barely budges. Mark pulls back and kicks him again. Then again. He connects each time. Boss is beginning to lose his grip.

“Let… go!” Mark yells as he slams his foot into the man’s shoulder again.

“Kill…,” Boss says, but he seems to have no strength left.

Mark yells with a burst of adrenaline, then throws all his strength into one last assault, this time leaping up and throwing both feet forward. He smashes them into Boss, connecting with his nose and his neck, and the man releases a strangled scream and lets go, falling back into the wake of the churning boat. His body disappears in the white bubbles.

Mark is desperately sucking in each breath. He scoots himself around and crawls up onto the lip of the seat and looks over the edge. Sees nothing but the wake and black water behind that. Then he spots movement at the open window of the Lincoln Building where Boss fell. It’s receding now, growing smaller, but the woman-Boss’s partner-is standing there, holding her gun. Mark slouches down, waiting for the barrage of bullets. But instead, he notices the woman aim the weapon at herself, the muzzle propped against the bottom of her chin.

Mark wants to scream, to tell her not to do it. But it’s too late.

The woman pulls the trigger.

The boat drives on.

CHAPTER 48

Mark woke up in a cold sweat, as if the spray from the water in his dream had doused him while he slept. His head hurt badly again-like something rolled around loose in his skull every time he moved. Thankfully Alec was easy on him and didn’t talk much while they both ate and strengthened themselves for the day ahead. For the search for their friends.

The two of them were sitting in the cockpit, the light of late morning spilling in through the windows. A warm breeze whistled as it blew through the broken one.

“You were too dead to the world to notice,” Alec said after they’d sat in silence for a while, “but I took this baby up for an observation run while you were sleeping. And… I confirmed what I’d suspected. Just a couple miles away, the bonfire… they… have Lana, Trina and Deedee. I saw them being herded like sheep.”

That left a sick lump in Mark’s stomach. “What… do you mean?”

“A few people were being herded from one house to another. I spotted Lana’s black hair and Trina with the kid in her arms. I got closer to make sure.” Alec took a deep breath before he finished. “At least we know they’re alive and where they are. And now we know what we have to do.”

Mark should’ve been relieved that his friends weren’t dead. But instead he was consumed by the gnawing realization that to get them out, they’d have to go in and fight. Two against… how many?

“Did you forget how to talk, kid?”

Mark had been staring at the back of the pilot’s chair as if something mesmerizing were painted there. “No. Just scared.” He’d given up long ago trying to act brave for the old army vet.

“Scared. That’s good. A fine soldier is always scared. Makes you normal. It’s how you respond to it that makes or breaks you.”

Mark smiled. “You’ve given that speech a few times. I think I got it.”

“Then pour some water down your gullet and let’s get hopping.”

“Sounds good.” Mark drank long and hard from his canteen, then stood up. The weighty burden of his dream was finally starting to fade a little. “So what’s the plan?”

Alec was just wiping his mouth. He nodded in the general direction of the Berg’s middle section. “Go get our friends. But first we break into the ship’s weapons stash.”

Mark knew nothing about Bergs, but Alec knew more than most. In the central area of the ship there was a locked storage facility that required passwords and retinal scans to open. Since they had neither the words nor the eyeballs for such access, they decided to work at it the old-fashioned way: with an axe.

Luckily the Berg was old and had seen its better days many years before, so it only took three turns each and a half hour of sweat to bust the hinges and locks off the metal door. Little shards of steel clattered across the hallway and the big door tipped over and slammed into the opposite wall. The echo seemed to reverberate through the vessel for a solid minute.

Alec had thrown the last blow of the axe to make it happen. “Let’s hope there’s still something inside this beast,” he announced.

The storage room was dark and smelled like dust. The Berg had power, but most of the lights had been broken, except for a small red emergency bulb in the corner that made everything look like it was washed in blood. Alec started searching, but Mark could already see that most of the shelves were empty. Nothing but trash and discarded containers strewn about from the ship tipping upside down now and then. Alec swore under his breath with every disappointing discovery, and Mark was feeling it, too. How could they possibly have a chance if all they had when they went after Trina were their fists and their feet?