Surface Deck

The high-pressure slug of harbor water hit the bottom of the maintenance shaft like a battering ram, launching my body upward through the open yellow hatch before I could even turn the manual wheel completely.

I flew out onto the rain-slicked concrete of the upper fortress pad, rolling three times before my shoulder slammed into the metal chassis of a parked generator.

I lay there for a long minute, gasping for the clean salt air, my lungs burning as I spat out the remaining sulfur-tinged seawater from my throat.

The storm outside had returned with a vengeance, the black clouds hanging so low over the peninsula that they touched the tips of the automated missile batteries.

"Valerie! Get up!"

A figure in a dark grey naval uniform sprinted across the pad toward me, dodging the thick streams of water pouring from the upper drainage gutters.

He didn't look like the coastal guards. He wore no ballistic visor, his sharp features and dark hair plastered to his forehead by the driving rain.

Garrison.

My breath caught in my throat.

I stared at him, my mind refusing to accept the image as he dropped to his knees beside me, his large hands catching my shoulders to haul me up against the side of the generator.

His uniform was scorched, his left sleeve torn away to reveal a thick, white bandage wrapped tightly around the bullet graze from Depot One.

"You're alive," I whispered, my fingers digging into the wet fabric of his vest to ensure he was solid. "I saw the platform fall, Garrison. I saw the core cave inward."

"The drainage lines had an emergency pressure release chute that opened into the northern riverbed," Garrison said, his gray eyes scanning the dark pad behind me with frantic intensity. "I used the current to clear the mountain before the granite settled. I took a defector skiff to reach the coast hours before your transport landed."

"Admiral Hudson knows about the resistance," I said, my teeth chattering as the cold wind hit my wet skin. "She locked me in the lower grid to extract the marrow. Garrison, Cynthia is in the pipes. She adapted to the seawater. She's inside the fortress foundation."

"The fortress is already falling, Valerie," Garrison said, pulling a rifle from his back and checking the bolt. "Hudson didn't build this place to defend the fleet. She built it to store the original pathogen strains. Look at the harbor."

I looked past his shoulder toward the concrete breakwall.

The three massive grey warships sitting in the center of the bay weren't maintaining their positions. The closest vessel was listing heavily to the starboard side, its main automated turret firing blindly into the dark water of the harbor.

Thick plumes of crimson smoke were pouring out of the lower portholes of the hull, turning the surrounding seawater into a boiling, frothy red soup.

"The crew inside the lower decks turned within the hour," Garrison said, his voice flat and deadly against the roar of the wind. "The Admiral tried to seal the harbor gates to keep the infection from reaching the main cruise liners, but the network is dead. The automated systems are failing across the whole peninsula."

A sudden, sharp metallic groan cut through the sound of the storm.

The yellow service hatch in the center of the pad began to buckle upward, the iron frame lifting away from the concrete anchors as something massive threw its weight against the lower seal from inside the shaft.

Garrison stood up, his boots planting firmly on the wet concrete as he raised his rifle toward the opening.

"Get to the rear dock, Valerie. There is a high-speed launch tied to the lower landing. It has enough fuel to reach the outer islands."

"I am not running without you, Garrison," I said, standing up beside him and wiping the rain from my eyes.

"You aren't running," Garrison said, his eyes locking onto mine with that same dark, possessive intensity from the bunker cabin. "We are clearing the platform together. Now, move!"

The yellow hatch blew completely off its hinges, flying thirty feet into the air before crashing into the sea below, and a massive, scaled hand gripped the edge of the open concrete pit.