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ample supplies of both.
Operation Tempest, as it had been christened, also had some of the finest
minds from both the civil and military arms of government. Men and women had
been called together under the ultimate control of Zelig to try to help found
a better world and sustain it against the gathering powers of evil and
darkness.
The general made a hasty note on a pad in his left hand, in the neat, angular
writing that had become famous throughout his command. In a leprous green ink.
"How long before Hunters move after
Aquila survivors? Not long?"
He stalked back to his desk and sat down, wincing slightly and rubbing at his
left knee.
He still suffered in cold, damp weather from an overtime injury sustained when
he played running back at West Point.
"Eureka," he muttered. He had a vague memory of having been there on a hiking
vacation, back in the 2020s. A gray place, close to the gray Pacific.
The quakes had caused terrible devastation, interrupting his fragile lines of
communication all down the West Coast. And the winter weather had brought
blizzards farther inland, closing off the tenuous highways for weeks on end.
The word from Dorian Langford indicated that the stolen boat and the sailing
ship were probably taken by some residue of the
Aquila's crew.
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Zelig looked out of one of the windows of his hut, seeing that it had begun to
snow again.
The thought of being on the ocean in a small rowboat didn't sound like the
very best fun in the whole world.
He hoped it was going well.
Chapter Fifteen
The December cold had bitten at Jim Hilton's fingers, blurring his
coordination.
He snatched at the butt of the GPF-555 Ruger, fumbling at the blued steel,
nearly dropping it into the bottom of the rowboat. His eyes seemed mesmerized
by the silent approach of the huge shark, now within spitting distance of
Carrie Princip, who was still trapped deep in sleep.
His mind was also numbed, and he felt confused by the imminence of the danger,
unable to try to decide what he should be doing. Shout or shoot?
The Blackhawk Hunter was finally in his fist, the spurred, checkered hammer
clicking back, the wide trigger smooth under his index finger. The .44-caliber
full-metal-jacket round exploded down the six-inch barrel. The cushioned grips
with the walnut inserts absorbed some of the kinetic energy as he fired at the
looming shark.
Jim put two bullets through the middle of the triangular dorsal fin, aiming as
near the water as he dared for maximum effect. Ragged chunks of flesh
splattered in the calm sea.
The shark veered away from the boat and dived suddenly, its monstrous tail
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rising from the ocean and pounding down with a resounding slap, sending a wave
of spray over everyone.
Sly Romero screamed out in fear at the double boom of the handgun and the
fountain of salt water, holding his hands up over his face, while Heather
Hilton was jerked out of sleep by the freezing shower.
Carrie also came awake, instinctively pulling her hand back into the boat.
"What the fuck
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"Shark," said Jim, carefully standing up, keeping his balance as the frail
vessel rocked backward and forward in the turbulence caused by the creature's
dive. The moonlight danced off the waves, and he couldn't see a thing.
"Where, Dad?" The girl also standing, agile, staring all around them. "Was
that the water?" It had pasted her short blond hair flat against her skull,
reminding Jim for a heart-
stopping moment of how much like her mother the girl was.
"What kind?" asked Carrie, moving to comfort Sly, putting her arm around his
broad shoulders and whispering in his ear.
"Great white, I think," he replied. "About three times the size of the boat."
"Could be under us," said Heather.
Sly had stopped crying, suddenly becoming interested in what had happened.
"Big fish?"
he asked.
"Real big," said Jim, holding the revolver tightly, scanning the sea around
them.
"Fish on dish can skate on plate," chanted Sly, rubbing water from his eyes.
"Quiet," said Jim urgently. "This is dangerous, Sly. The fish is angry, and it
could come after us and try to tip the boat over. So everyone keep still and
quiet. Sit still, kitten&
Heather. Sit down."
Hearing the note of anger in her father's voice, the girl quickly sat down on
one of the thwarts, turning her head from side to side to watch the serene
expanse of ocean that surrounded them. There was no sign of land.
"Sure it was a big white?" said Carrie. She had drawn her own gun, a 6-shot
.22 Smith &
Wesson the 2050 Model with the four-inch barrel.
"Sure I'm sure," Jim said, then paused. "No, I'm not. It was bigger than a
city transit bus.
And I doubt you can put a dent in it with that toy gun."
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EarthBlood
"There," whispered Sly, throwing his right arm out toward the west in a
dramatic gesture.
"Big angry fish comin' this way real speedy."
"Shit a brick," said Carrie, leveling her revolver and then thinking better of
it.
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