Chapter 14
1276 Words
The roar of the cabin cruiser’s engine was a rhythmic hammer against Chloe’s skull. Every vibration of the hull felt like it was rattling her teeth. It had been nearly thirty-six hours since she had last slept—back when her life was defined by double shifts and cafeteria salads—and the physical exhaustion was finally starting to settle into her marrow like lead.
Her stomach let out a sharp, twisting growl, a reminder that she hadn't eaten since the previous morning. Her blood sugar was crashing; she could feel the telltale tremors in her hands as she gripped the steering wheel, and her vision was beginning to fray at the edges, dotted with flickering sparks of light.
"Just a little further," she whispered to herself, her voice sounding like sandpaper.
Behind her, the white wake of the Coast Guard cutter was cutting through the grey Atlantic water with terrifying efficiency. It was a sleek, modern sickle designed to harvest anything that didn't belong on the open sea. Chloe looked at the radar screen—a small, glowing green eye that showed the distance between them was shrinking.
"Cassius," she croaked, her throat so dry it hurt to swallow. "They’re gaining. I can’t... I can't outrun them in this thing."
There was no response from the cabin. The sun was now fully above the horizon, turning the ocean into a sheet of hammered silver. For Cassius, that beauty was a death sentence. He was curled in the darkest corner of the small cabin, pressed against the floorboards where the shadow was deepest. Even the reflected light bouncing off the waves seemed to peel the strength from his bones.
"The light," Cassius’s voice drifted up, weak and hollow. "It is a wall of fire, Chloe. I am... I am diminished."
Chloe wiped a bead of cold sweat from her forehead. She felt lightheaded, the world tilting dangerously to the left. She needed to focus, but her brain felt like it was floating in cotton wool. She looked at the dashboard, her eyes struggling to make sense of the dials.
"We need to hide," she muttered. "Fog. We need fog."
As if the universe was mocking her, the sky remained a cruel, mocking blue. She looked back at the cutter. They were close enough now that she could see the figures on the deck—men in dark tactical gear, their faces obscured by helmets. They weren't just the Coast Guard; they were the "Hunters" wearing the skin of the law.
A voice boomed across the water, amplified by a long-range acoustic device. "Vessel Sea Sprite, this is the United States Coast Guard. Heave to and prepare to be boarded. We are investigating a reported theft and a missing person."
"They're calling me a theft," Chloe laughed, a jagged, hysterical sound. "I’m the missing person!"
She slammed the throttle forward, but the old engine groaned in protest, a plume of black smoke belching from the exhaust. The boat shuddered, but it didn't go any faster.
Suddenly, the air around the boat erupted. Thwip-thwip-thwip.
They weren't using bullets. Chloe saw small, metallic canisters hitting the water around them, releasing a thick, yellowish gas.
"Cassius! Don't breathe it!" she screamed, covering her nose with the sleeve of her hoodie.
The gas began to drift over the deck, smelling of sulfur and ozone. Chloe’s head spun. The sleep deprivation was already making her hallucinate; she thought she saw the waves turning into giant, reaching hands. Her grip on the wheel loosened as her knees finally gave way.
She slumped to the deck, the boat beginning to veer wildly off course. The sun felt like a physical weight on her back, burning through her clothes. She was so tired. She just wanted to close her eyes for a second. Just a second.
"Chloe!"
A shadow fell over her. Despite the agony the daylight was causing him, Cassius had crawled from the cabin. He was draped in a heavy, moth-eaten wool blanket he’d found in a locker, looking like a grim specter of death. His skin was blistering where the light touched him, small wisps of smoke rising from his hands.
He grabbed the wheel, his movements jerky and pained. He looked at the cutter, then at the sprawling mass of an old, abandoned industrial pier about a half-mile to the east. It was a forest of rotting pylons and rusted iron—a maze where a smaller boat might vanish.
"Hold... hold on," he gasped, his voice a guttural snarl of defiance.
He spun the wheel, sending the Sea Sprite into a sharp, violent turn that nearly threw Chloe overboard. She clung to the railing, her fingers numb. She watched as Cassius steered them toward the shadows of the pier. The darkness beneath the massive wooden structure was deep and inviting, a cathedral of rot that promised a temporary reprieve from the sun.
The boat slid under the pier, the sound of the engine echoing loudly against the damp timber. The transition from the blinding glare of the sea to the cool, dripping dark was like a dousing of cold water.
Cassius cut the engine. The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the lap of water against the pylons and the distant, fading wail of the cutter’s siren. They had overshot them, the larger ship unable to follow into the shallow, debris-choked waters of the old dock.
Cassius collapsed next to Chloe, the wool blanket falling away to reveal the red, raw burns across his face and neck. He was shivering, his preternatural healing struggling to keep up with the damage of the sun and the silver wound in his side.
Chloe looked at him, her eyes heavy and unfocused. She reached out, her hand trembling as she touched his cheek. "You... you came out into the sun. For me."
"I told thee," Cassius whispered, his eyes fluttering shut. "I am a widower of the fire. I will not lose another to the light."
Chloe leaned her head against his shoulder, her strength finally utterly spent. The hunger in her stomach had faded into a dull, aching void. She felt herself slipping away into a dark, dreamless sleep, the gold coin in her pocket a cold, hard lump against her leg.
"We have to... move," she murmured, her voice trailing off.
"Rest, Chloe of the Blue," Cassius said, his hand moving to cover hers. "I shall watch the shadows. But tomorrow... tomorrow I must find my strength. I must return to the place where I began."
"The crypt?" she asked, her voice a mere puff of air.
"My ring," he breathed. "The stone of the sun. Without it, I am a prisoner of the dark, and thou art a prisoner of me."
Chloe didn't hear the rest. She was already gone, falling into the deepest sleep of her life, while above them, the "Hunters" began to deploy their drones, the buzzing of the tiny machines sounding like a swarm of angry hornets in the distance.
They were safe for an hour. Perhaps two. But the world was closing in, and the nurse who kept everyone’s secrets was finally out of time.
As she slept, the gold coin in her pocket began to hum—a low, vibrating frequency that matched the one from the "Hunters'" devices.
It wasn't just a coin. It was a beacon. And Beatrice was already tracking the signal.
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