Forged(32)

The cavernous warehouse opens onto the equally as cavernous shipping center. The water channel is in front of us, with long wharfs on either side, each sprouting docks like tree limbs. Enormous vessels are docked at the first few, making it impossible to see if the other docks house smaller boats, or no boats at all. Directly to the right, dock 1B is swarming with activity. It looks like the giant rig there was in the process of being loaded with cargo when the alarm went off. Now, half the crew is still trying to load it while the others run around, pointing between the boat and the warehouse, barking orders.

“Dammit, where is Farrester?” I hear one Order member shout.

“He’s not answering. Either the com lines are down or . . .”

I can’t make out any more as I tail Bree down the left wharf. We’ve passed two docks—1A and 2A—when something explodes behind us. I glance over my shoulder. Dock 1B is in shambles. A hole has blown through the hull of the boat secured beside it. Smoke billows. A shipment crate tumbles into the channel.

“Clipper’s work,” Bree shouts, breaking into a run.

“He’s here?”

I’m guessing the supposed tracking device Bree’s fake inspection team spotted on the boat was never a tracking device.

A speckling of bullets hits the wall behind us. We’ve finally been identified.

Bree lengthens her strides, and I do the same. About halfway up the wharf, she turns onto a dock and leaps into a waiting boat. It’s small. Minuscule compared to the shipping rigs closer to the warehouse, but it has the Franconian emblem on the side and something about its shape tells me it will be fast. I jump on after Bree and it roars to life, tearing away from the dock.

“Wait! Emma!” I say, crouching down so I don’t lose my footing. “And Harvey!”

“Harvey’s alive?” Bree says.

“Like always, you’re out of the loop, Nox,” Sammy shouts. He’s standing near the nose of the boat, hands gripping the wheel. “They’re both below.” He glances at me. “Blaine?”

All I can do is shake my head.

“Faster!” Clipper urges. I didn’t even notice him when we jumped on, but he’s in a seat beside Sammy, a bulky package in his left hand.

“This is fast!” Sammy shouts back.

At the mouth of the Compound, I can see the security station Harvey mentioned, a sturdy room with glass windows that butts against the water. From behind the windows, a guard is signaling for us to stop. The Gulf ahead is dark beneath the falling twilight, but we’ll have trouble reaching it. A series of spiked metal poles rise a forearm’s length from the Compound’s channel. They are precisely spaced, ensuring no boat can slip through unless the blockade is lowered. Not even one as tiny as ours.

“Clipper?” Sammy says hesitantly.

“We should fit. May promised we’d fit.”

Sammy doesn’t slow. It looks tight. Too tight.

Several guards run from the security room and onto the surrounding exposed deck. They take aim.

The blockade is right before us now.

As they open fire, we duck. I swear a bullet nicks my ear, but the next moment we are flying between two of the pillars. A horrible screech sounds beneath our feet—the spikes tearing into the hull of the boat—but the next moment we are on the open water. I crane back toward the Compound, listening for the sound of a pursuing motor. All I hear is wind and our own motor, sounding wounded, drained. I look over the side of the boat, trying to survey the damage.

“I thought we were supposed to fit.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Clipper says to me. “We’re bailing soon anyway.”

“Bree, get ’em up here for the jump,” Sammy orders. She darts down the short half staircase to get Harvey and Emma.

“Jump?” I echo. “What shore do we plan to swim to?” As far as I can see, the only land in sight is the island we’re fleeing, and our original plan had us traveling back to Pine Ridge in the disguised Order boat.

Sammy ignores my question and Clipper busies himself with securing his bulky package beneath his seat.

“Look, I get that the hull’s breached,” I shout over the wind, “but we’ll freeze to death in this water!” I remember the sting of the Gulf when the Catherine sank, how it made me seize up. The days have been getting a little warmer, but I doubt the water’s changed much. We won’t last long.

“They’ll come after us if they haven’t already,” Sammy yells back. “So we jump, the boat blows up, and anyone trailing us sees the explosion and thinks we’re goners.”

Bree reappears with Harvey and Emma.

“Okay, that’s the signal!” I have no clue what Clipper’s referring to. “On three. One . . . two . . . three!”

We throw ourselves over the side of the boat. The impact is a viscous sting across my face, a claw at my side. I’m thrown about in the freezing water, gasping for air, momentarily uncertain which way is up. I resurface, my clothes heavy and my teeth already knocking. Not far away is the flaming shell of our boat. Smoke drifts up like a bonfire as the Gulf swallows it.

I swim, following Sammy. There’s another boat just ahead, one strikingly similar to the Catherine. It’s killed all its lights and I’m half-amazed we didn’t crash right into it. A rope ladder comes over the side. I guess the team had a back-up plan all along.