“The bridge?” Gianna asked. “You don’t know, do you?”

  House stopped and faced her. “Know what?”

  It was then that House grabbed for his earpiece and realized that it had been knocked loose during the fisticuffs. He re-secured it and heard a familiar, soft tone. He had a message. Activating it, he told the system to “play messages.”

  House broke out in a cold sweat when he heard Sam shouting on the other end. Merged within the XO’s cries for help, were other voices. Some were shouting. Even more were snarling.

  The bridge had been overrun.

  It was a mutiny driven by Donovan and the creatures that had infected him and Grigson. The agent mentioned that it was “all of us” when House had questioned her. He seriously doubted that it was just the two of them, though. “All of us,” in that case, should’ve been “both of us” if she’d only been describing two individuals’ involvements.

  That reminded him…

  “Any word from Dr. Bowen and her team?” he asked his daughter.

  Gianna didn’t reply. She just shook her head and bit her lip.

  Dammit, House thought, rubbing his forehead.

  Five people didn’t simply disappear into thin air. Either they were forced to join Donovan’s freakshow, or they were dead, like Abbott and Dansby and who knows who else. At this rate, House may have already lost more than half his crew without even knowing it.

  “Any word from McMurdo?” House asked, pounding up the stairs.

  “None,” Gianna replied, “we can’t get through.”

  House stopped again. “What?”

  “The bridge,” she said. “They locked us out. Someone inside is blocking all comms to the outside world.” She patted his shoulder, instantly flaring her nostrils in disgust when her hand came away with something nasty and stringy. She gagged and turned away from her father.

  “You feeling okay, G?”

  She nodded, then shook her head, not verbally answering him.

  “Right,” he said, laughing at the absurdity of his question, “how can anyone be okay at a time like this?”

  “I’m just…” she looked like she wanted to tell him something, but didn’t, “I’m just not feeling well. The storm, the killings, the smell…”

  She said the last part while looking at him.

  House rolled his eyes and started back up the stairs. “Can you do anything from here?”

  “About the smell, no,” Gianna replied, smiling. House turned to her. “Kidding—kidding! And no, the only systems I have access to are the boat itself. I can’t get a signal out any further than that.”

  “But you do have access to the rest of the Endeavor?” He needed to be sure.

  “Yep,” she replied, sounding annoyed. “Maybe if you dig some of the blue shit out of your ears you woulda heard me the first time I said it.” She raised her voice and repeated herself. “I have access to the boat!”

  House could only shake his head. Gianna definitely took after her mother with her sense of humor. Karen was the queen of not giving a damn what people thought. Gianna was the princess of that kingdom. House was the court jester. In his line of work, House absolutely cared what others thought about him.

  He went to turn the corner and head up the next flight of stairs but was stopped by Gianna.

  “No,” she said, “not up there.”

  He eyed her, waiting for an explanation.

  “The closer you get to the bridge, the more of them there’ll be.”

  He crossed his arms. “And how do you know that?”

  She shrugged. “Seems pretty obvious, when you think about it. Donovan just overtook the bridge, right? Do you really think he’d let it be ripped away from him so easily? I’m telling you, there’ll be a blockade of Blue Bloods up there guarding him!”

  “Blue Bloods?” he asked.

  She shrugged again. “The name sorta just popped into my head.”

  House wasn’t about to start calling them that, but nor did he have a better name. He doubted that even Donovan knew what “they” really were.

  “Can they track our location through our comms?”

  Gianna shook her head. “Not that I’ve found, no.”

  He nodded, laying out a plan in his head.

  “What are you thinking, Dad?”

  He placed a hand on her shoulder. “We need to get to a safe location, find everyone we can that isn’t…infected, or whatever…and plan a counterattack.”

  “Counterattack?” She snorted. “You aren’t a SEAL, Dad. Plus, you’re kinda old.”

  Ignoring the last part of what she said, he pushed her back down the way they’d come. “We need to find Damon and then retake the bridge.” Damon Becker was the only one with a direct line to the US government, because he had a separate comms system in his room. His innate knowledge would be invaluable to Donovan if he got to the liaison first. “But first,” House added, squelching any rebuttal out of his daughter, “I need to make a call.”

  Gianna looked at him quizzically. “Who you gonna call?”

  House refrained from making a Ghostbusters joke, knowing it wasn’t the right time or place. Instead, he told her exactly what he was going to do.

  Gianna’s eyes opened wide. “You’re kidding me, right?”

  17

  Marcus Malone had been called a lot of things in his long life. Asshole, uncaring, unworthy, sometimes even worse—the worst thing a black man could be called… But he was also called, buddy. It stuck as a nickname after a year of his commanding officer not being able to remember his name. Instead of calling him Malone, he was christened “Buddy.”

  Growing up in the fifties and sixties, he, like a lot of young African Americans, had it rough. He’d have loved to have just been called buddy back in those days and not some of the awful, hateful words people had used instead. It would’ve saved the childhood version of himself a lot of tears. His young adult self would’ve saved a good amount of knuckle skin too. Fights were frequent, whether you had a shot at winning them or not.

  Even after he graduated from the Naval Academy and had been given a position aboard his first carrier, he continued to hear the rumblings. No matter what he did, no one would give him the time of day.

  His past experiences hardened his heart for years to come and had built a wall no one could tear down. Buddy never married or had children. Instead, he dedicated his entire being to the United States Navy and her floating command centers. Decades later, he met a young, brash sailor named Sebastian House. Buddy instantaneously become enamored with the man.

  “You remind me of a younger me,” he once told House.

  “Is that a compliment?” House replied, getting a chuckle out of Buddy.

  “Damn right it is!”

  The memory made Buddy smile, but his current circumstances shook him to the core. His boat had been shanghaied by a bunch of freaks, chasing him out of his workstation like he was back in the third grade. Buddy was the smallest kid on the block and was continuously picked on for nothing more than being the “runt of the litter.”

  Sooner or later, they stopped picking on him…after he broke the largest bully’s nose…and after he bloodied his own fist on the boy’s front teeth, knocking two of them out. He went on to joke that he was the scrappiest SOB on the ocean.

  Now, he couldn’t get his comms unit to work. Since the system had been updated, Buddy could never seem to remember how to activate the damn thing. Now, he screamed obscenities at it while ducking and dodging…

  Monsters, he thought, still not believing it. Unbe-fucking-lievable. Real-life monsters!

  Nova had saved his life earlier. For some reason, whoever was leading the attack was looking for Buddy, specifically. His assistant grabbed the much smaller Buddy and literally tossed him into the one-way elevator down to the engine room, guarding the closing doors with his hulking frame.

  “George…” Buddy said, breathing hard. “No! Come with me!”

  His imposing friend smiled at him and responded with a simple nod of his head. Then, he hurled himself at three of his fellow crewmen, fists balled, shouting like a Norse Berserker warrior.

  “Captain House?” Buddy asked as the doors closed, trying desperately to make a call. It didn’t connect. He tapped his earpiece like he always had. Then, he looked down at the contraption on his wrist, unsure of how to use it.

  “Dammit, Sebastian, answer me!” Buddy pounded on the WiMP’s green, glowing screen with the bottom of his clenched fist, not noticing the small telephone logo in the corner of it. His eyesight up close wasn’t what it used to be, and his reading glasses were somewhere on his desk back in the mayhem.

  Buddy was frustrated—and scared for his life. He wasn’t the fighter he used to be, weighed down by piss and vinegar now, instead of being fueled by it. He could still talk the talk, but those close to him knew the only thing Buddy wanted was peace—peace and his engines.

  He teared up at the thought of losing everything. “Damn you, Sebastian, answer me…”

  * * *

  Trip’s headaches were getting worse by the minute. The sunglasses had helped initially, but over the last twenty-or-so minutes, nothing seemed to work except keeping his eyes closed. The amount of light penetrating his corneas didn’t matter. “Any” was too much.

  He needed rest, but regrettably, he didn’t get much.

  Gianna received a frantic call from Sam and went running off to find her father. At first, Trip offered to go with her, considering the danger everyone seemed to be in. She refused his offer and shoved him back down on the bed to “rest.”

  Even though I had to get back up and lock the door.

  He was willing to follow her, but if he was being honest with himself, he was happy that she told him to stay. His head really was killing him. Even the cold compress that was laying across his forehead wasn’t doing much of anything. It was also too early to pop another pair of painkillers unless he wanted to melt his stomach lining.

  “Go away, you bitch,” he groaned, rubbing his eyebrows with both palms.

  Somewhere off in the distance, he heard a soft ding but thought nothing of it. The walls between the cabins weren’t as thick as Trip would’ve liked. The loudest of noises from room-to-room were easily heard. Thankfully, they came out as nothing more than untranslatable muffles. Living near people you didn’t get along with was awkward enough. Having them inadvertently listen in on your private conversations was even worse.

  He heard the ding again and opened his eyes, wanting nothing better than to bang on his neighbor’s wall and curse them out. When he heard the tone for the third time, Trip’s pulsating mind finally did the math, and he realized what the sound was.

  He pawed at his right ear and popped his earpiece back in, groaning when the minuscule device was back in place. In his current state, it felt like a bull elephant just sat on his head. Blinking away some of the discomfort, he answered the call and almost blacked out at the volume of the speaker’s voice.

  “Trip!” Gianna’s high-pitched voice stabbed at his brain.

  He went to turn down the volume but stopped, realizing that it wasn’t his earpiece’s level, it was the caller’s. Gianna was screaming, and she was breathing heavily.

  Running?

  Trip sat blot-upright, shoving aside the pain to the best of his ability. His pregnant girlfriend was scared and on the run. His own pain could wait for a moment while he listened to her panicked voice.

  “Oh, my God, Trip! Where are you?”

  “Uh…” he replied, unsure of what else to say. “I’m right where you left me, remember?” Answering her question with one of his own seemed off, but he didn’t know what else he could say. She had severely caught him off guard, and his brain was still trying to reboot.

  “Oh, right,” she said, saying something to someone else. “Can you meet us?”

  Trip threw his legs over the edge of the bed and quickly stood, feeling the room spin. He stumbled and shook his head. “No,” he said, “I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to be gallivanting around a rocking tanker right now.”

  “Shit,” Gianna said. “The headaches are that bad?”

  He nodded to no one. “Worse than before.”

  She, once more, spoke to someone off-mic, and when he heard her call the other person, “Dad,” Trip understood who was with her.

  “You didn’t tell him, did you?”

  “What—no!”

  “No, what?” House asked, close enough to Gianna for his voice to come through clear as day.

  Trip froze and waited for Gianna to respond.

  “Um, nothing important. Trip was just trying to be funny and failed miserably.”

  Rolling his eyes, Trip was thankful that Gianna was good at thinking on her feet. Still…

  “What’s going on?”

  “In a word,” Gianna replied, “death.”

  “Excuse me?” Trip asked. “Death? Who died?”

  He was stunned when she laughed at his question, snickering nervously. “Quite a few people, actually. Plus, the whole brainwashing thing happened too.”

  “Wait…” Trip said, pausing as he pulled on his pants, “I’m confused.”

  “Don’t worry, Trip, we’re all confused.” He hefted a heavy breath as she continued. “That’s what Dad says anyway, and you know, it’s my dad, and he usually doesn’t make this kind of shit up.” That was most definitely true. House was as honest a guy as Trip had ever met. “Plus,” she added, “I saw it with my own eyes.”

  “You did?” he asked, stumbling as he slipped into his sneakers.

  “Well, I saw the bodies…”

  “Bodies?” he asked, shocked. “As in plural?”

  “Yes, bodies—more than one. Look… A lot has happened since I left your room. Trust me, will ya?”

  He calmed and got both shoes on. “Of course, I trust you.”

  House was shouting at her to get down and stay quiet. Trip pressed his earpiece firmly against his head as if doing so would make it louder. He could’ve simply turned its volume up and saved himself the discomfort of pancaking the plastic device against his ear.

  Trip heard someone roar—presumably House—and then Gianna shriek in fright.

  “Where are you?” Trip asked, yanking open his room’s door.

  When she didn’t reply, he freaked out.

  “Gianna!”

  “What?” she hissed, voice low. “Calm down, Trip. Dad told me to be quiet, remember?”

  Right… He thought, feeling silly. His head swam from the sudden movement. Ugh.

  Trip stepped into the hallway and was tackled to the floor. He freaked out, swinging wildly at his attacker, relishing in hearing him/her/it grunt when his right elbow made solid contact. Leaping to his feet, Trip balled both of his fists tight, and raised them, instantly feeling terrible for what he’d just done.

  “Dammit, Triplett!” Sam shouted, holding his right eye with both hands. “What the hell was that!”

  “XO Ferguson?” He cringed. “Sorry about that, sir.”

  “Ferguson?” Gianna asked. “Sam’s there?”

  “Yeah, sorta,” Trip helped his superior off the floor, “and I, uh, may have just given him a black eye.”

  * * *

  Donovan should’ve been standing proudly, overlooking his subjects. He visualized himself, resembling a conquering warlord. Instead, he stood and gritted his teeth in anger. House wasn’t in the wheelhouse. The one person he needed to make his plan work, and he wasn’t present when Donovan attacked the bridge.

  As bad as that was, the combined failures of joining with XO Ferguson, Chief Engineer Malone, and Liaison Becker were worse. The latter would be a more significant catch than Donovan had initially predicted. Both he and House needed approval from Becker to do anything outside of the Endeavor. It was a part of their onboard checks-and-balances. Then, with House’s agreement and Becker’s endorsement, Donovan could set his people free upon the world.

  He picked out one of Buddy’s men two stories below his feet.

  “What’s our fuel situation?” he asked as if the man was simply standing next to him. He thought about trying to make it to New Zealand and forego a return to McMurdo altogether. Just the thought spurred a question that the engineer was already checking on.

  Donovan waited impatiently for the sailor to reply, hearing him clack away at a keyboard. When he did answer, Donovan despised what the engineer had to say.

  “Not good. There’s no way we can make it to New Zealand. McMurdo is the only option.”

  Donovan gripped the top bar of the third-floor guardrail making the fortified steel creak in protest. McMurdo Station was a cold and desolate place. But New Zealand, and its nearly five million inhabitants…

  It’s a start.

  Donovan smiled at the thought of having so many people connected to him. It was too much to comprehend. Even now, with thirty-six minds connected to his own, he basked in the data that he’d gained.

  But there were still so many more out there.

  His ultimate plan, however, would have to be put on hold, for now. He sneered at the thought. They’d, indeed, have to return to McMurdo. Taking the station wouldn’t be an easy undertaking, either. The Endeavor required one room to operate successfully, and only a handful of skilled minds to do it. Overrunning an entire research station that contained over a thousand people was a completely different task, and if they failed in their first attempt, Donovan wasn’t sure they’d get another try.

  We need to target their security team first.

  Everyone agreed.

  Donovan hoped that McMurdo would send out a distress call mid-invasion too. He needed a response—a rescue attempt—to come south. They’d wait for it and then commandeer that vessel, and take it, and its crew back north.

  Donovan grinned.

  He required House and Becker to be joined to him regardless. None of it mattered if that didn’t happen. If the Endeavor arrived unannounced, and without approval from McMurdo Command, those on the ground would know something was wrong. They’d have a better chance of defending themselves as well. Worst-case scenario, the McMurdo would be put on high alert, making Donovan and the others’ jobs infinitely harder.