The Raven (A Jane Harper Horror Novel) (13 page)

“That happened?” Nate says, the wind taken out of his sails. “With your friend?”

Willem answers for me. “We left that out of our reports. Didn’t think it would help anyone believe us.”

“Sure enough,” Talbot says, though it sounds more like “Shore ’nuff.”

“Jane, look,” Nate says. “Before you agree with everything the cowboy says, you should know who he is.” The kid lays his smartphone on the table, swipes the screen on, turns it around, and slides it across the table to me.

The screen shows a shrunk-down version of a website. But the image at the top of the screen is easy to see. It’s Talbot, wearing a cowboy hat and a cocky grin. But that’s not the weird part. What catches my eye is the hokey-looking alien head rising up behind him. It’s a crude CGI version of the little gray guys with big black eyes. Its little mouth is curled up in a smile, and it has a three-fingered
hand resting on Talbot’s shoulder. A logo to the right reads “Space Cowboy.”

For shit’s sake.

I turn the screen to Talbot. “Thought you were a Ranger?”

“I was,” he says. “They fired me. Five years ago.”

I shove the phone at him. “Because of this?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Does Jakob know who you really are?” I ask.

To my surprise, Talbot nods. “Didn’t seem to mind one bit. Like you, he’s undecided on where they come from. S’pose he didn’t mind having someone knowledgeable about extraworldly things on board.”

I turn to Willem. “Did you know?”

He nods.

Helena leans forward so she can see me around Willem’s broad shoulders. “We all know.”

I let out a slow sigh. “Is there anything else I should know about our crew?”

The group looks at each other while searching their minds for an answer.

“I think Klein might be gay,” Helena says. When I give her an “Are you serious?” look, she adds, “He doesn’t look at me. Or you.”

“Honey,” I say, “that someone may or may not be gay is one of the most normal things anyone has said to me in the last three days.”

She sits back, deflated.

Nate giggles and shakes his head, and I swear he says something like “rawful.” I’m not sure what he’s saying, but I’m pretty sure it’s web speak. “Kid, you’re in the middle of the North Atlantic on board a ship running away from a pod of zombie-whales. There
isn’t a Viking, cowboy, or me not capable of throwing your ass overboard. You’re smart. You made some good points. But by God start showing some respect.”

The kid shrinks but can’t keep his mouth shut. “But you—”

“Being a sarcastic bitch is my job.” I stand and push in my chair. “So is being the first mate. So right now, I need everyone who doesn’t already have orders from the captain to go to their quarters and sleep. You’re going to need your energy in the morning. Hell, you’re going to need more than that. So go. Now.”

I wait. One by one, they file from the room without another word to me or each other. When they’re gone, only Willem remains. He puts his hand on my shoulder, and I feel all the spitfire and hardness of my words melt away.

“You’re getting good at giving orders,” he says.

“I’ve always been good at giving orders,” I reply. “People just didn’t have a reason to listen to me before.”

He smiles but takes his hand off my shoulder. “You going to follow those orders, too?”

Before I can answer, he’s out the door. I stand alone in the mess hall, surrounded by dirty dishes and my own thoughts. “Damnit,” I say and start collecting dishes. Regardless of what I’ve just told everyone to do, I won’t be sleeping anytime soon.

J
ane,” a voice says in the darkness. “We remember you. We remember everything.”

A tightness grips my arm. Half buried in the meat of my shoulder is a foot-long segmented white worm. The Queen! The skin of my shoulder bulges where the baseball-size head, which I know sports two beady black eyes and pin-like teeth, slides toward my torso. If it reaches my insides, it will control me. Turn me into Muninn, Odin’s raven who hungered for blood and brains. Queen of the parasites.

Maybe I never escaped the undead whale? Maybe everything that happened after I was swallowed was some kind of parasite-induced hallucination designed to educate them about who we are and what we’re up to.

I grip the tail end of the oversize maggot and pull. Pain lances through my shoulder, drawing a scream from my mouth.

“You can’t have me!” I scream.

“You promised,” the voice says, and I realize it’s not a sound at all. It’s in my head! “You offered yourself to us. We remember. We remember you, Jane!”

I scream and squeeze hard. Too hard. The crushed parasite body snaps in half, allowing the front portion to slip fully inside my body.
The pain in my shoulder is intense. I clench my eyes shut, pushing tears over my cheeks.

I gasp, opening my eyes. Everything is different. It’s still dark, but I feel free. Then the tightness on my shoulder returns.

“Jane.”

I flinch away from the sound and slap at my shoulder. I strike warm flesh but quickly recognize the shape and feel of a human hand.

“Raven,” Jakob says. “You are safe.”

I sit up in bed. My confusion is fading with the dream. “Next time turn on the light.”

There’s a click, and the room fills with yellow light. I turn away from the lamp and cover my eyes. “Damnit.”

Jakob sits on the side of the bed. “I have nightmares almost every night. About Torstein. The Draugar. And Willem. Mostly Willem.”

“I feel left out,” I say, forcing a half smile.

“My dreams of you are rarely nightmares, Raven.”

I know Jakob is trying to have a Kodak moment here, but I can’t resist. I smack him on the shoulder and say, “You dirty old man.”

The captain chuckles. “It is good to be with you again, Jane. You lift my spirits.” His smile fades quickly. “We’ll face our nightmares soon enough. Then we will be free of them.”

“One way or another,” I say.

He nods. “One way or another.”

I rub the sleep from my eyes. “So, Dr. Phil. What brings you to my bedside?”

He straightens. “Duty. Yours. It’s three in the morning. Time for your shift on the bridge.”

“Wonderful,” I say, sliding to the edge of the bed beside Jakob. I’m still dressed from the day before, so I’m already good to go. Well, almost. I’ll have to grab about a pint of coffee on my way to the bridge.

“The whales,” he says. “They will reach us close to eight thirty. Wake me at seven thirty. Wake everyone.”

I nod but ask, “Is that enough sleep for you?”

“It’s more than I get most nights.”

His statement makes me notice the dark rings below his eyes. He looks tired. He looks beat.

I stand and do my best to look ready and competent. I’ve never been a captain, but I can imagine how much every detail and every life under Jakob’s care must weigh on his shoulders. I try to put him at ease. “Don’t worry about anything. I’ll take care of the ship. Just get some sleep.”

He lies down on my bed. “I’ll stay here, if you don’t mind.”

“Knock yourself out,” I say, heading for the door. I stop before leaving. “Who’s on the bridge with me?” I’m fairly competent with navigating a ship, but I’m far from an expert, and if things go wonky while I’m up there, I’ll need some help.

I see a slight smile form on Jakob’s lips as he closes his eyes.

“Who do you think, Raven?”

Willem.
I know it’s Willem. There’s no doubt. Jakob would probably plan our wedding if he could.

I reach out to the lamp and shut it off. “Good night, Sleeping Beauty.”

A snore is his only reply.

I rush for the stairs, eager to see Willem again, but by the time I reach the top step I’m feeling tired again, not to mention annoyed with myself. I’ve had boyfriends before. Lovers, too. But I’ve never
had that giddy kind of schoolgirl crush that makes my stomach flip-flop. Not even with Willem. So what’s different now? Maybe it’s because I’m fairly certain I’m going to die? Can certain death crumble emotional defenses? Probably. But maybe it’s just that I’ve spent so much time away from him when I really didn’t want to. Maybe this is the real deal?

“Ugh,” I say, a little disgusted with my thought process. I definitely need some caffeine, and not just to keep my inner monologue from sounding like an episode of
Desperate Housewives
; the countdown has begun. Five hours…

Five hours and then we’ll face Jakob’s and my mutual nightmare. Again. Maybe for the last time.

W
hen I arrive on the bridge, it’s dark and quiet. Most of the interior lights have been turned off. Only a few small LED lights, part of larger systems on standby, remain lit. The green glow of the radar screen intermittently pulses slightly brighter, signifying that it’s still tracking the whales chasing us.

The sea is at that sweet spot between tides when the waves seem to just fade away. Without a breeze to speak of, the water is nearly placid. I step up to the front window and admire the moonlit scene. I used to love this view. The endlessness of it. The mystery. Say what you will about my lack of antiwhaling passion, I love the ocean. Always have.

Not so much anymore.

Even the world’s most gentle giants have been turned against us. When I look at the waves now, I see death, for hundreds of miles in every direction—death.

Fuck, I’m a buzzkill.

“Hey.”

The phrase is simple, nonthreatening, and from the one person I was hoping to see right now, but he’s caught me in the midst of a doom-and-gloom-a-thon. I flinch away from the window and let
out a yelp. My fear turns to amusement when Willem steps out of the shadows. “Asshole.”

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” he says, stepping closer.

“Yeah, well, I’m feeling a little more jumpy than us—”

He closes the distance between us with one long stride, wraps an arm around my back, and pulls me against him. His lips find mine a moment later. I resist for a moment—aren’t we supposed to have some kind of heart-to-heart first? Aren’t I supposed to say something like, “Sorry I screwed up our relationship,” “Sorry I drowned myself in booze while you plotted to save the world,” or even just a simple “Sorry for being a douche”?

When his tongue finds mine, I give in.
Fuck it.
This is the Viking way after all, right? Quick to fight. Quick to forgive. Do everything with passion—something Willem is excelling at right now, his hands exploring my body.

Good God, I’ve spent too much time alone.

If we were in my bedroom and not the bridge, I’d have shed my clothes like they were on fire. Since we’re on the bridge, we’ll have to do this a little more discreetly and creatively.

The captain’s chair? Doesn’t feel right.

The floor? Too cold.

The map room? I open my eyes and glance at the room. I can see that the dimly lit table is empty.
That will work.

Willem lifts me up, and I wrap my legs around his waist. I look down into his eyes and wonder why I ever stayed away.

Then everything changes.

The glow from the radar screen casts his face in green light, beckoning me to look. I try not to turn but can’t resist. My glance is quick. Just a fraction of a second. But long enough to register the green blobs that seem impossibly close to the center of the screen.

I do a double take. There are five splotches of green on the lower portion of the screen, maybe two inches from the center, still a few miles away but closer than I would prefer.

Willem sees what I see. His embrace loosens. When I unwrap my legs, he places me down gently. We watch the radar circle the screen. When it glows green again, there are just four spots, but not one of them is the same as before. Each of the nine different pings is a separate whale.

“Sorry,” I say.

“It was probably a bad idea, anyway,” he says.

“About everything, I mean.”

He turns toward me. “Jane…”

“Just say it’s okay and let’s be done with it,” I say. “I think I’ve had to apologize to nearly everyone on this boat at one point or another. I’m getting sick of it.”

He smiles at me. “Jane, I’m sorry.”

I cross my arms and nearly bust out a Nell Carter–like “Gimme a break.” But instead I say, “What the hell for?”

“For letting you go,” he says.

“You couldn’t have stopped me,” I say, feeling annoyed by his subtle arrogance and our little heart-to-heart.

“Sure about that?” he asks.

“I preferred the make-out version of making up,” I say. “If I agree that everything was your fault, can we move on?”

He laughs, pulls me toward him, and kisses my forehead.

Then it’s like nothing happened. He moves to the radar screen, watching the pulsating targets.
The hell?
If I survive this mess I think I’ll write a book,
Men Are from Mars, Women Are from Venus, and Norsemen Are from Effing Alpha Centauri
. Guaranteed to be a best seller north of the Arctic Circle. Still, it’s better than the alternative.

I step up next to him at the radar screen. “Well, now that I’m squared away with the crew, I’m ready to die. How about you? Did you prepare your soul and all that?”

“Not funny, Jane,” he says with a glance in my direction.

“Wasn’t totally a joke.”

He turns to me. “We’re
not
going to die.”

I don’t really have any quips about the subject, mostly because I wholeheartedly disagree. I don’t see how we can survive. We barely survived an island of human Draugar, never mind the fifty-six-ton variety.

“We’re not,” Willem repeats.

We fall silent after that and make ourselves busy. Willem checks the course and makes occasional adjustments that probably aren’t even necessary. I keep watch on the radar and on the ocean ahead. When we’re not busy, we stand next to each other, shoulders rubbing, sometimes hands. It’s like I’m with Peter Jacoby again, my thirteen-year-old summertime crush, except I’m pretty sure this relationship won’t end with the Colonel laying his pistol on the tabletop and counting backward from ten. Peter was a fast runner.

The sky to our left lightens to a dark purple. The sun will rise soon. I inhale a sharp breath. In this part of the world, in October, the sun rises at seven thirty. “Time to wake up the crew,” I say.