"He wants you, Lucia," the last living Cromite gurgled, making her entire body tense.
She leapt up, reaching the mortal, then gripped his bloody head. Broken neck day, paying it forward.
"Wants Lucia av - "
She twisted, gazing at the ceiling as satisfaction rushed through her. Every time she slew one of these followers, she imagined the Broken Bloody One felt the pain.
And that was just a hint, husband. I'm about to teach you what misery is....
With effort, MacRieve turned to her. "We could've used him for information."
"My temper got the best of me. Sorry," she said, returning to his side. She hated lying to MacRieve, but she was so close to keeping her secret buried forever. And somehow her motives for secrecy had shifted from concealing her shame to protecting her Scot.
"Lousha... think one o' these bullets is inching to my heart. Might pass out for a bit. You stay out o' trou - " He went unconscious.
Banging sounded on the door, and Travis yelled, "I'm about to blow this f**ker down!"
"You'll hit us," Lucia called. "Just give us a second. We're fine."
Yes, fine, yet with gored bodies to get rid of. Can't get discovered now! She was already in enough trouble. How to get rid... how to get rid...?
Her gaze fell to one of the busted windows. Rain forest garbage disposal. She hastened to the lead Cromite's body, maneuvering it to the opening. Then she tossed it over the side.
Floating, floating.
Travis began assailing the barricaded door with what sounded like the butt of his shotgun. He'd break through soon.
Come on, fish!
She exhaled in relief when the piranhas boiled up in a feeding frenzy to consume the man. Two more Cromites to go. She made fast work of them, carefully extracting the bomb belt from the last one before dumping him to the fish.
"Clever girl," MacRieve rasped, opening one eye.
She whispered, "So what do I do with the bomb?"
"Sink it... weigh it down."
She peered around for something heavy to tie it to, coming up with nothing... Then she narrowed her eyes on the second busted window, on the air-conditioning unit drooping from it.
Lucia hauled it back into the salon, then punched the center out. Digging out the guts of the machine, she cautiously buried the bomb inside. Then she lobbed the whole contraption into the river, watching it sink with satisfaction.
By the time Travis broke down the door shortly after, Lucia was kneeling beside a semi-conscious MacRieve, having just tied the embroidered coffee-station tablecloth around his chest to conceal the worst of his wounds.
As the captain's weary gaze took in the scene, Lucia glanced around, trying to see it from his eyes. His late wife's embroidery now served as a bandage. Air conditioner parts littered the floor. Copious amounts of blood had spurted from the Cromites' jugulars when MacRieve had attacked. Yet there were no robed men to be found.
"I think I need a drink," Travis drawled, sinking down on his stool. "Every damned trip gets weirder than the last."
Oh, if he only knew half the weirdness aboard his ship.
"Where the hell did those men go?"
"They escaped," she lied baldly. "Darn them!"
Nodding slowly, he said, "The one without his head - did he make tracks too?"
"They took him with them. Madcap fanatics!"
"What did they want?"
"An artifact we own. It had a religious meaning to them. End of the world, doomsday type of stuff."
"I saw MacRieve catch at least two bullets before you shoved me out," Travis said, "but he looks like he's just taking a nap."
"Scottish men are... hardy?"
The captain rubbed his hand over his face. "See, what I think happened is this - "
I can't believe I'm doing this. "Charlie was patching a hole when we came in. Looked pretty bad."
Izabel quickly added, "Capitão, your head's bleeding again. I'll put you back in bed, then go help Charlie. We'll get the Contessa under way in no time."
Lucia waited for Travis to bark that no one could improve anything. Instead, he gazed down at Izabel and muttered, "What would I do without you two?"
Izabel, in turn, looked crestfallen. And now Lucia understood why. Okay, perhaps they do have a decent-sized barrier between them.
Just then, Schecter came running into the cabin. One of the lenses in his glasses was cracked, and his cowlick had finally deflated. "Uh, there's a beam wedged against the engine room hatch."