Chapter 44 “Dead reckoning.”

After a few hours sleep, Rosie stood over the map in the dark, everyone waiting on John. “The egg was found around here.” He moved the red light to the ammo tin that represented the old military school. “It tracked us a day and a night to here.” He moved the beam slowly down to the ship and across the river.

“They don’t hunt outside of their territory.” Matt crouched over the map, black camo stripes across his face. “You killed a male and a juvenile, right?”

“Yeah, somewhere around here.” John took his best guess and pointed.

“The objective is the containers, not a trophy hunt.” Brandon put a half burned cigar in his mouth. “Matthew, light.” He kept his hands by his sides, forcing Matt to ignite the lighter while everyone looked away. “Any questions?” Brandon exhaled smoke into the cold night air.

“Boss.” Matt spoke up, handing out items from his pack. “Two flashbangs and two flares each. They don’t like bright light.”

“We’re a go.” Brandon led them to the waiting Vertibird.

Rosie sat in the cabin. John manned the minigun, finger on the trigger. The effect of the rains hadn’t been fully apparent from the aerial scans. The steady flow had burst over the banks, high enough to make trees look like shrubs. “Eyes on.” John spoke over his comm to Charlie in the pilot seat. The Vertibird went into a wide arc, giving a good view of the listing ship and crooked stacks of containers.

A few minutes later they touched down on the bluff. It looked like it had been a car park, the building it served long washed away. “Tornado, Cyclone, I want a perimeter sweep and two o.p.’s established. Go.” Brandon ordered Rosie and Matt out. Within seconds they’d melted into the shadows while everyone else stayed with the bird.

They returned a few minutes later. “All clear Boss.” Matt reported, Rosie staying quiet so Matt could try and gain some favour. “Got the fifty set up at o.p. one, covering the west side of the ship and the road. o.p. two has the minigun. Covering the road, the drop site, and the evac route south.” Matt laid out a textbook defensive position.

“Matthew, light.” Brandon didn’t show any signs of softening. Matt lit the cigar, snapping the lighter shut like he wanted to throw it in the river.

“Tornado, you’re up. See if you can find a manifest, a bill of lading, even a ship’s log.”

“On it Boss.” Rosie gave Matt a sympathetic look and hopped onto the bird.

Rosie sat on the edge of the cabin, her legs dangling over. “Ready.” She said over the comm to Charlie in the pilot’s seat. The bird went into a hover, Rosie tossed the fast rope out and slid down it.

“On board.” Rosie stood on top of the bridge, trying to find her balance on the sloping ship. She pulled herself along, using the antenna and railings. She climbed down a ladder and forced a steel door, gaining access to the bridge.

Rosie peered over the banks of dead computers. Through the grimy windows and along the length of the ship. She still found it hard to believe something the size of building once moved.

She connected to the long dead computer, slowly building enough power to boot up. On the captain’s chair, in a sealed plastic pouch, she found the log book. Rosie hopped into the chair and began flipping through it. Most pages held basic course information in neat handwriting. Then a few blank pages, and a final scrawled entry.

“Found the log, this is the last entry.” Rosie cleared her throat. “We were in the mid-Atlantic when the systems went dead. Strange glow on the horizon. No sun for days now. Can’t even use the stars. Dead reckoning got us inland. Maps are useless. We’re beached now, no idea where. I’ve given the order to abandon ship. Some of us went north, the rest are going east with me. May God have mercy on us all. First Officer Malcolm Lockwood.”

“Do you think they made it?” Rosie asked over the comm.

“Maybe.” Brandon humoured her.

The dormant computer hummed back into life. Rosie pulled the manifest and went back on top of the bridge. She looked out at the titling stacks of containers, trying to find matches. “Got it.” Rosie zoomed in on the faded containers numbers, finding the one she wanted three deep in a teetering stack.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

“Alright Ronin, you’re up.” Brandon gave the order over the comm. John checked his harness, clipped onto the line, and wrapped the cargo straps around him. “Stood ready.” John signalled over the comm to Charlie and she flew the short distance to the ship.

The morning sun helped him pick out the faded colours of the containers. “Target marked.” Rosie tagged the container and it showed in his vision. He guided Charlie into a hover, then tossed the rope out. He abseiled down, landing on the container with a bang. He couldn’t be sure if it moved, or if the sharp and steep drop made it feel that way.

He found his balance, slowly edging towards the far corners. The carabineers snapped shut over the lift points in each corner. John laid out the high tensile orange straps, making sure there were no tangles. All the while resisting the urge to look down.

“Two metres.” Charlie lowered the winch from the hovering bird. “One metre.” John reached out and grabbed it, quickly attaching the four cargo straps to the metal loop and double checking them. “Hooked on.” He attached himself to the winch cable and braced.

The wash from the down draft pummelled him. The engines heaved and old metal groaned. A sudden break and swing knocked him to his knees as the container lifted free and levelled out. John swayed in the breeze as he rode the container back to the top of the bluff.

Matt guided Charlie down with arm signals. John disconnected the straps and Charlie winched him back up to the cabin. They repeated the process twice more before taking a break. John sat in a folding chair by the fire. Charlie took off her jacket, her t shirt stained with sweat.

“I figure we do two more, take a break, then another three. Then the last one.” Charlie gulped down water from the canteen, the strain of precision flying showing.

“Works for me.” John sipped his warm coffee and fed the fire.

“These three are good.” Matt called down from the top of the container, kicking at the rusted sections.

“Matthew, light.” Brandon shouted from the ground. Matt jumped down and lit the cigar. “Open them up.” Brandon stepped back, letting Matt work

John helped by controlling his armour remotely. Making it swing a sledgehammer at the seized hinges. The clanging gave way to a creak as Matt pushed the door open. “Jet fuel Boss, high grade. Looks like fifty drums.”

“Fine work people.” Brandon spoke over the comm, stepping back from the fuel with his cigar.

John helped Matt open the next container. Wooden pallets and boxes wrapped in plastic. Matt flicked the blade open from his alloy knife, slicing the plastic away. “Fuck me.” Matt stepped back, his face concerned. John saw the picture on the box. A drawing of the round bodied, three armed domestic robot.

“Those are mine.” Rosie chipped in over the comm, her excitement barely hidden. Janey’s head whirred as it turned backwards from the fire.

“General Atomics products are of an inferior design.” Her head turned back to the coffee pot and bread toasting in the fire.

“They’re mostly for parts.” Rosie added. "Mostly."

The third container had been packed tight with small boxes. John wedged a crowbar in and Matt yanked one free. “Fancy Lad’s Snack Cakes.” Matt read the writing, tossing a pack to Brandon. He opened it and sniffed the century old cakes. He tossed one each to Matt and John. They seemed to enjoy them more than John did. He found them dry and overly sweet. “

"Those are mine too.” Rosie warned over the comm.

Rosie peered through the scope of her antique rifle. On top of the ship's bridge, she’d wedged old seat cushions against a vent, giving her an almost level position. It gave her a good view of the road and riverbank.

“Got one.” Rosie, Paul and Grimm had been playing a game to pass the time. She took aim at the half submerged rock and fired. A muffled crack sent the bullet skipping off the rock. Rosie punched the cushions repeatedly, having yet to score a point. “Miss.” She said over the comm, suffering the worst part of the game.

“Got one.” Paul lined up his shot at another rock. Rosie heard the bolt of his hunting rifle click, not wasting the fifty on sport. Rosie zoomed her view on the riverside. Paul fired. The suppressed shot hit the rock, causing it to shift.

The rock like carapace hinged up, revealing the hideous creature beneath. Eyes on stalks either side of a drooling maw. Rows of smaller pincers beneath a larger pair. Paul fired again, striking the creature between the eyes. It slumped where it stood. “That’s three.” He gloated. “I sure hope you like snack cakes Tornado. No fresh softshell Lurk for you. How copy?”

“Solid copy Hurricane.” Rosie pounded the cushions again. She turned on her thermal vision, willing to cheat. Yet the cold blooded creatures didn’t show up. She went back to checking rocks with her mark one eyeball.

“Boss, we need someone to pick up my Lurk claws. Request Cyclone makes a run. How copy?” Paul tried to give Matt a break.

“Fine.” Brandon relented, giving Matt a nod. He grabbed his bow and headed out.

Rosie marked the next container for John and turned her attention back to the game.

“Boss, we got a problem.” Matt’s voice came over the comm. “Greenskin tracks, fresh. At least two of them. How copy?” Everyone tensed and readied themselves at hearing the mention of mutants.

“Solid copy.” Brandon took less than a second to give his order. “Observe and report. Tornado, back him up. Do not engage. Everyone else as you were.”

“Yes sir.” Rosie sprang into action. She attached the fast rope to a sturdy railing, tossed it over and used it to descend.