“That’s terrific,” Lark replied enthusiastically. Azaleen didn’t seem thrilled.
“You know, my grandpa used to tell me about life before the war,” she expounded. “Cancer had been eradicated, between discovering a cure and the widespread use of vaccines. The average lifespan was a hundred, and most folks stayed vital into their eighties. They had holographic immersive television, advanced recycling, and computerized automobiles that could drive themselves while you slept.” Her attention shot back to Lark. “That’s why only ancient combustion engines still run. EMPs knocked out everything electric—except for that damn giant computer core in Clover Hollow Mountain.” She lowered her chin and shook her head before gazing back over the water.
“Appalachia’s full of fruitcakes,” Lark quipped, trying to lighten the mood. “And besides, who needs an ego-inflated computer? Nobody in the Reach, I can tell you that.”
Turning toward her, a wry smile tugged at Azaleen’s mouth. “You know, Lark, my son Caelen says you’re ‘jacked’—whatever that means. Something good, I presume, because he keeps begging me to let you teach him to run up walls.”
Another flutter rushed through Lark. This was the longest conversation she’d had with the queen, and, in it, she’d accepted her apology, asked to be called by her first name, and now informed her that Caelen holds her in high esteem. Images from the dream she’d had flashed across her mind. Her cheeks flushed.Maybe Azaleen will think it’s from the wind.
“Skipper!” an excited tenor voice rang out. First mate Rory Flynn balanced on the spreader, two-thirds of the way up the mast. “Somethin’s in the water.” He pointed ahead to starboard. Gripping the rail, Lark pushed to her feet.
Ahead, shapes bobbed in the waves. “It could be wreckage.” She lifted a hand to shade her eyes. “Flotsam, jetsam, perhaps.”
“What do ya see, boy?” boomed Pike from his post at the steering wheel.
“I’ll grab my binoculars,” Luke said. Harlan followed him into the cabin, most likely to gethis rifle.
“Looks like parts of a boat tangled up in something slimy,” Flynn reported as he clung to the mast, wiry as a monkey.
“Diego, take the wheel,” ordered Pike. He rushed about, tugging ropes and cranking chains, reefing the sails of the cutter.
“He’s slowing us down to take a look,” Lark commented, glancing at the skipper. Well into his sixties, Jonas Pike carried himself with the steady assurance of someone who’d weathered more storms than most sailors will see in a lifetime. Although his broad shoulders stooped slightly, he moved with practiced ease, strong hands performing rigorous work. He wore a full, bristling beard transitioning from brown to gray, and a traditional navy peacoat and sailor’s cap.
“Captain Pike knows boats and the sea.” Azaleen rose as well, peering over the waves. “He was my father’s trusted friend, took us out on the water. He served in Verdancia’s tiny navy for a decade, but, when the king died, he retired to private life in New Charleston.”
“What’s that?” Lark pointed at a gelatinous shimmer surrounding the wreckage, reflecting sunrays with an unnatural glow.
“Rory, get down here,” bellowed the skipper, “and don’t mess around. It’s those monstrous jellyfish.”
TheHalcyonslowed to a crawl, sails sagging, as the sea writhed with translucent bodies, their long filaments drifting like ghostly nets. To Lark, they resembled soggy silk parachutes, iridescent in abalone hues, their cords floating around them in the foam. In the middle of the tangle rocked half a hull and splintered debris. Rory slid down the mast, Luke reemerged with binoculars, and Harlan gripped his long gun. A ripple of movement caught Lark’s eye.
“There’re people over there!” she called out so the entire crew could hear. “They could be alive.”
Luke rounded one side of the cabin and Jonas Pike the other, scanning the floating debris from the bow. Pressing in between Lark and Azaleen, Luke raised the binoculars, adjusted the wheel.
“She’s right. Three, maybe four, but I can’t tell if they’re alive.”
“Well, we have to go in there, find out,” declared Lark. “We can’t let the elements or those unnaturally huge jellyfish kill them.”
“It could be a trap.” Azaleen’s demeanor pivoted on a pin. Gone was the friendly companion. In her place stood the icy queen, eyes sharp with suspicion, mouth grave. “What do you think, Jonas?”
“I don’t know about traps, but those mutated cubozoa can be deadly,” the skipper answered. His brow furrowed, and he scratched his beard. “Even the common box jellyfish’s tentacles’ sting can be life-threatening. These have been known to stop a man’s heart from beating.”
Wes hollered from where he stood near Diego and the wheel. “My Geiger counter is picking up radiation from the blob. Not lethal amounts, but they sure aren’t normal jellies.”
“But we have to help them,” Lark insisted.
“We don’t know where they’re from,” Luke cautioned, “or even if they’re alive.”
As they neared the mass of boat parts and sea menace, the air stank faintly of iodine and putrefaction , every gust carrying a whiff of something unnatural.
“There could be an explosive hiding in there,” Diego called across the length of the cutter, “rigged to blow when the bodies are disturbed.”
“Why would someone do that?” Skye asked. “Nobody knew we’d be out here.”
Azaleen seemed torn, her gaze flickering from the skipper to Luke to Lark and to the floating mass. Waves slapped the hull as the sailboat rocked. A tentacle coiled over the wrecked hull, waving toward a human figure lying there.
“Use all due caution,” ordered Azaleen. “Take us closer and we’ll see if they’re alive.” Lark sensed the queen’s tension and wished she could comfort her.
