Jonas cupped his hands to his mouth. “Ahoy! Is anyone alive in there?”
Halcyon’s bow bumped into a jellyfish at the outer edge of the shimmer. Lark recoiled as a stinging filament slithered up the side, undulating like a poisonous worm.
Someone stirred, pushed up to a seated position, and waved weakly at them. “Help,” squeaked from his parched throat.
“Look!” Mate Flynn pointed with urgency. “Someone’s alive!”
Azaleen crooked a worried aspect at Pike. “I’ll take all due care,” he promised. “Rory, get up here with some ropes and poles. I’ll take the wheel.”
Skipper and mate moved into position while the VERT team stood by to aid the survivors or fight off attackers, whichever proved to be the case. Jonas cursed under his breath as the cutter wallowed through the drifting bells, his tiller hand twitching at every brush of tentacle across the hull.
Rory’s fair hair gleamed gold in the sun as it framed his ruddy face. With a line and a pole, he eased out onto the bow pulpit. “We’re comin’ to get ya,” he shouted to the survivor.
The blistered man who’d waved and called out shook the shoulders of two others, another man and a woman. The damaged floating hull creaked, and a crate slid off into the mass of thrashing jellyfish, a menacing appendage flailing dangerously near the man’s leg. Lark hopped up beside Flynn, taking a gaff from him. He tossed a line while she hooked an edge of the wreckage and pulled it nearer.
The man fumbled with the rope, almost dropping it into the oozing gelatinous mass.
“Careful.” Queen Frost’s tone was layered with concern and command. Harlan aimed his gun, Jonas steady at the wheel. Diego and Skye hurled grappling hooks from their spot in the cockpit area, snagging a cleat.
“Here.” Flynn leaned over the rail, extending an arm. The man tried to balance, to stand on the unsteady portion of hull. The other man and the woman peered up at them with frantic eyes. Lark pulled the unsteady platform until it clinked into theHalcyon. The first survivor, sunburned and shaky, locked wrists with Flynn. When he shifted his weight to climb up, the other man—who appeared much weaker—faltered, losing his balance, and toppled backward into a pulsing glob of deadly jelly.
A gasp arose from Lark’s team. The queen covered her mouth, her breath catching, eyes wide in shock. His screams tore the air as stinging arms dragged him under.
“Don!” the surviving woman cried.
“Look at me,” Luke ordered in a stern voice. She glanced up at him while Flynn pulled the moaning survivor over the rail. “We’ve got you now.”
Guiding him to the deck, Lark offered comfort. “Come with me. We’ll get you some water.”
“Don,” he moaned. “Matt, Chloe, Bart, everyone.” He sank to his knees on the teak planks and covered his eyes, a voiceless wail spilling from his twisted mouth.
When Flynn stretched for the woman, a tentacle slapped his arm. Pain flashed across his face as the welt swelled, angry and red. He slapped a protective hand over the mark.
“Get to the galley,” Luke ordered, “and put some vinegar on that. Diego, go with him. I’ll pull her up.”
Eyes brimming with tears of pain, Flynn nodded and scurried along the rail.
“I’ll see to him.” Azaleen followed the young man. As the sailboat pulled free, the jellyfish swarm closed over the spot, as if erasing all trace of what had just transpired.
A short while later, with Flynn’s arm treated and bandaged, salve spread on the half-starved survivors, and reheated soup ladled around, Azaleen questioned the pair they’d fished from the sea. “Who are you, and where are you from?” The team sat squeezed onto the benches in the cockpit, all but Flynn, who was sleeping before taking night duty, and Wes, who was seasick again.
The battered man looked late thirties, while the woman with him was much younger. Both suffered from dehydration and the effects of the elements.
Luke had searched their packs, and what he found told a revealing tale—Verdancian coins, Appalachian credits, and Republic notes; jewelry, watches, batteries; a waterlogged revolver; a box crammed with medicines, a roll of silk cloth, and tins of old survival foods like they found in the Tupelo bunker.
“I’m Jose Lopez, and this is my daughter, Sandy.” He seemed calm and was talking more clearly than before. “I can’t thank you enough. If you hadn’t come along and fished us out of that mess, we’d have all ended up like Don.”
“We weren’t going to sit by and watch you become a meal for radiated jellyfish.” She leveled a pointed look at Lark. She had reasons for concern, not the least of which was what to do with these two. TheHalcyonwas at capacity before they came on board, and they had only packed rations for ten, not twelve. However, for some irrational reason, Lark’s opinion of her mattered. She couldn’t bear the idea of Lark viewing her as cold and uncaring.
Lark caught her gaze, lifted a discerning brow, and nodded to her.Approval.That single nod warmed her more than the sun at her back. While showing no outward sign, Azaleen felt a small weight lift.
“We’re from a coastal village called Captains Cove,” Sandy answered. “There were six of us on our boat.” The teenage girl lowered her chin, salt-caked hair falling across her face. “They’re all dead now.”
“Where is Captains Cove?” Jonas asked. He puffed on a pipe, the sweet tobacco swirling around them while the cutter, back at full sail, raced to make up for lost time. “I don’t recall such a town.”
“It’s in Appalachia, isn’t it?” The queen stared authoritatively at Jose.
He nodded. “But we aren’t cult followers. I don’t even think the Oligarchy knows we exist. Vast stretches of wasteland lie along the coast, between our peninsula and the mountains. Our village mostly sustains itself with fishing.”
