Chapter 36 - The Gala of Dead Men
The water was black and silent, illuminated only by the faint bioluminescence of disturbed plankton as Miller and I pushed through the offshore swells using handheld aquatic propulsion units.
The *Leviathan* grew before us like an iron mountain. Beneath the surface, the ship's massive hull was covered in barnacles and anti-fouling paint, its giant twin screws idling with a low, bone-vibrating hum that rumbled through my chest cavity.
We bypassed the external patrol boats by diving thirty feet down, coming up directly beneath the ship's belly.
There, glowing like an emerald eye in the abyssal blackness, was the moon pool.
The underwater hatch was open, allowing sea water to enter a rectangular chamber inside the ship's lower deck. It was designed for launching research submersibles, but tonight it was an open throat into the beast.
I surfaced slowly, keeping my eyes just above the churning waterline.
The chamber was bathed in amber halogen light. Two armed guards wearing black maritime tactical gear stood on the grated catwalk above the pool, their submachine guns hanging slack from two-point slings. They were laughing, drinking coffee from paper cups, completely oblivious to the dark water below.
Until a pale, soaked arm erupted from the water behind them.
It was too fast to track with the human eye.
Claire rose from the deep like a phantom. Her movements were totally noiseless. Before the first guard could even turn his head, her hand clamped around his windpipe, crushing the cartilage with a sickening crunch. She spun his limp body, using him as a shield as the second guard turned, his eyes widening in terror.
The second guard raised his weapon, but Claire closed the distance in a single, terrifying leap. She seized his wrist, twisting it until the bone splintered through the skin, then drove the heel of her hand into his nasal bone, driving it upward into his frontal lobe.
He dropped like a stone.
Claire stood on the metal grate, her long, soaked dark hair clinging to her pale shoulders, water dripping from the civilian evening dress she had stolen—now shredded and stained with engine grease. Her chest was heaving with violent, ragged breaths.
Under the harsh lights, I could see the terrifying progress of the cellular collapse.
Black, spider-web veins were crawling up the side of her neck, branching toward her cheekbones. The brilliant violet light in her eyes was pulsating erratically, like a dying neon sign. Her fingers were twitching, locked in involuntary muscle spasms.
She was dying. The Lazarus gene was burning her nervous system to cinders.
"Claire," I whispered, pulling my mouthpiece free as I hoisted myself onto the metal ladder.
She spun instantly, her hands curling into lethal claws, a low, animalistic hiss escaping her lips. But when her eyes locked onto mine, the violet flare flickered violently, battling against the darkness encroaching on her mind.
"Dan... iel..." she choked out, staggering backward, clutching her head with both hands. "It... it hurts... The fire... in my head..."
"I know, baby. I know," I said, moving slowly, keeping my hands open and visible. Miller hauled himself up behind me, keeping his weapon pointed safely at the deck. "I’m here. We’re going to get the stabilizer. Vance has it in the laboratory on Deck Two."
"Lily..." she sobbed, a single tear of blood running from the corner of her left eye. "They... they put her in the glass box, Daniel. She’s on the ballroom stage. The men... they’re bidding on her..."
A red mist descended over my vision.
"They're doing what?" I asked, my voice terrifyingly calm.
"Vance is showing them... what the blood does," Claire whispered, her knees buckling. I surged forward, catching her in my arms before she hit the steel deck. Her skin felt like burning parchment, radiating an unnatural, feverish heat. "He... he injected her with a neurotoxin... to show them the Lazarus blood neutralizes it in seconds. She’s in agony, Daniel. He’s torturing our baby to sell his drug!"
I held my dying wife in my arms, feeling the tremors ripping through her augmented body. Miller looked at me, his weathered face pale with pure horror.
"Miller," I said, not looking up. "Change of plans."
"Daniel..."
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"We aren't sneaking through the engine room," I said, looking into Claire’s tortured, violet eyes as I pressed a kiss to her burning forehead. "We’re going straight to the ballroom. And every single man who placed a bid on my daughter is going to die tonight."
***
