Horsemen's War (The Rebellion Chronicles #3) - Steve McHugh Page 0,5
has been helping the search party for him, but everyone involved is exhausted and frustrated. The monster is still out there, God knows where, doing God knows what.”
“More blood,” Diana said from the top of the stairs, which, according to the blueprints, would lead them to a horseshoe-shaped hallway with the bridge at the front, overlooking the bow of the ship.
There were several doors along the pristine white corridor, but after Diana stopped at the first and a low growl left her throat, no one really wanted to open it.
Hel sighed and pushed open the door, revealing the mass of blood and gore from what had once been people inside.
“Holy fuck,” Remy whispered.
“The sirens’ storage area,” Chloe said. “It’s why it’s so damn cold in here.”
Mordred hadn’t noticed the temperature, but she was right: it was at least twenty degrees colder inside the room than in the corridor. He had no idea what the room used to be for; any remnants of its old purpose were lost in a sea of horror.
“The sirens are killing these people and then just storing the bodies for when they’re hungry,” Zamek said. “Parts of them, anyway.”
Diana closed the door as everyone left. No one wanted to check the other three rooms before the bridge, but they did anyway. They contained piles of body parts similar to the first. No one spoke until they reached the door to the bridge, which was already open.
The dozen people inside almost screamed in terror as Chloe and Zamek burst through the door, demanding everyone get down on the floor. The seven men and five women did as they were told. All wore grimy white shirts and black trousers and were clearly members of the crew.
“Captain?” Mordred asked.
A middle-aged man with a bald head raised his hand.
“Okay, everyone back on their feet,” Mordred said, helping the captain up.
“Everything is fucked,” Chloe said, pointing to the radio.
“The navigation is still working,” Zamek said, checking various instruments and panels. “But it’s not in use. The engines aren’t propelling this ship. They’ve been switched off, except to create power for the ship itself. It’s an interesting piece of technology. The ship uses partial solar energy to—”
“Later,” Mordred said.
Zamek nodded solemnly. “Apologies.”
“Not needed,” Mordred said, looking out the window down onto the bow. “The sirens’ bodies have gone.”
Hel joined him. “Shit. Do we know what sirens do with their dead?”
“Eat them,” Remy said. “That’s my best guess, anyway.”
“He’s actually right,” the captain said.
“I’m smarter than I look,” Remy said.
“You’d have to be,” Zamek said with a smile.
“I’m pretty sure this is now bullying,” Remy said with mock indignation.
“What happened here?” Mordred asked the captain.
Several of the humans shared concerned glances.
“My name is Mordred,” he said. “We’re here to stop whatever is happening and hopefully get you all home safely. But I need to know a few things.”
“They came at night,” the first officer said as she helped one of her colleagues up and put him in a chair.
“Let me take a look at that,” Chloe said, moving over to help with what looked like a nasty wound on his leg.
“The passengers in the ballroom were attacked,” the captain said. “Hundreds of them died. The survivors were separated, the crew kept alive to maintain the ship and feed the bastard. The lifeboats have been mostly destroyed—a few tried to take one of those remaining, but they were killed the second the boat touched the ocean.”
“The sirens?” Diana asked.
The captain nodded. “We didn’t have a name for them.”
“Who’s the bastard?” Remy asked.
“The man in charge. He’s in a suite in the first-class cabins. They keep us in here and the adjoining rooms. There are twenty of us in total. Two shifts a day. The sirens bring their kills to the corridor outside so we know our place.”
“Any idea of how many are alive?”
The captain shook his head. “The marines boarded us and were all killed. Anyone who fought back was killed. I think a lot of the passengers and crew are still alive, belowdecks. That’s what he told us. We’ve stopped three times to refuel. Venezuela, Brazil, Morocco. Each time we picked up supplies and people.”
“Prisoners,” Mordred said. “Any idea where they are?”
The crew shook their heads. “The chef and his team will. They’re in the kitchens; all of them are still alive, so they tell us. They have to prepare food for two thousand people.”
“The bastard likes his good food,” the first officer said with barely contained anger.