The ship had finally stopped swinging. Nate stood next to the mainmast, listening to the traumatized carrack creaking and moaning, settling back together. Ahead of him, the empty sea stretched for miles.
Nate felt pretty awesome, all things considered. He’d sunk a helicopter and the blood on his shoulder was already drying in the wind, just another ache to add to the list. He and Sully had fought for their treasure and won it, fair and square.
There was a sound behind him. Nate turned, looked up—
—and there was Braddock, standing at the capstan on the mizzen deck, her bloody hand resting on one of the spokes.
The capstan that holds the anchor in place.
Nate’s heart clutched up. The anchor was probably sunk into the hull, the mechanism wouldn’t work, the chain was broken. He hoped all of the above, fervently.
“Sully,” Nate breathed, looking up into Braddock’s evil, angry face. “You better hang on.”
Braddock grabbed the radio clipped to her vest, keyed it.
“If I lose, so do you,” she said, and dropped the radio. She released the catch on the standing wheel, leaping back as the capstan spun, spokes cracking and Aying off.
Nate turned and ran for the forecastle, faster than he’d ever run, shattered boards Aying under his boots as the three-ton anchor dropped from the back of the Concepción.
* * *
Sully heard Braddock’s spiteful voice, and for a second, nothing happened—
—and then the Halo was fighting to stay up, jerked down and back as the weight was violently redistributed. Outside he heard metal tearing, a high, vicious squeal, and the copter jerked again. The chains of the back harness were bending the wheel plate. One of them snapped free.
“C’mon, not now, we’re so close!”
Sully fought the controls as his bag of gold slid off the co-pilot’s seat and tumbled toward the open deck. Sully snatched for the leather but it was out of reach, and the Concepción’s bow was tipping up, up, the bowsprit rising to point at the belly of the Halo. Behind the groaning ship, a swinging chain had ripped through part of the hull, the mammoth rusting anchor swinging just over the water.
He saw Nate, running for the forecastle up the sharply angled deck, Braddock dashing after him; Sully’s bag was out of reach, inching toward the roaring, open cabin behind him. He was losing their priceless ship, and all he could do was try to keep the bird in the air.
* * *
Nate took off for the bowsprit, heard Braddock gasping after him as the Concepción’s stern dropped, the deck rising to near vertical.
He crawled for the forecastle’s ladder, kicking off what was left of the starboard side’s rail. One of the back chains on the harness let go with a shriek, the heavy links slamming to the tilted deck, knocking another hole through it. The ship dropped and Nate lost his hold and slid sternward, barely managing to grab a rail as the deck came up again, the bowsprit now aimed right at the struggling copter. Loose ropes from the foremast slapped down across the nearly vertical deck.
Out of nowhere, Braddock was suddenly slashing at him with a curved knife, leaning out from a piece of railing just over his head. Nate put his arm up and she sliced into it, then snapped a kick into his gut, driving him backwards.
Nate clawed wildly at the air, caught one of the moss-slick ropes and stumble-fell away, swinging across the tilted boards. He hit the deck by the opposite rail like a ton of bricks. Braddock was on him before he could fully register the pain, grinning like a psycho, knife raised. She propped her foot up on a railing spindle, the better to slaughter him.
“Say hi to your brother for me,” she snarled.
“You’ll see him before I do,” he said, and jammed his heel into the spindle. It splintered away, dropping her a few feet before she caught herself. She was coming for him in a heartbeat, but it was enough time for Nate to get his legs up, trusting his weight to the creaking rope. He kicked her square in the chest and she Aew through the rail, disappearing overboard.
Good riddance, murderer. Nate turned and threw himself at the bow, not sorry that Sam’s killer had forced the issue. He would celebrate later. The boards were popping, cracking under his hands and feet as he scrambled past the foremast, aiming for the narrow, jutting bowsprit.
A heavy crunching sound made him look over his shoulder—one of the supports had snapped off the mainmast—and he saw Braddock crawl back onto the shuddering deck, her knife in her teeth, her bloody hands studded with fresh splinters. She immediately started after him again, scaling the shuddering deck like a spider.
Jesus, she’s a robot!
Nate threw himself forward, focused on the bowsprit’s wavering tip right under the hovering copter. He hugged the ancient wood, wind on all sides of him and the sea glittering below. He threw a look back as he edged higher. Braddock had reached the foremast, her eyes glittering with malice and rage.
Another cable snapped and shot past him, tearing a long, thundering groove across the main deck. The Concepción had lost more than half her support, it was going to be a race to make it to Sully before the last chain broke. Not if Braddock catches me first.
Wrapped around the creaking mast, Nate climbed the circles of petrified rope that led up to the helicopter, Braddock not far behind.
* * *
The Concepción was soon to be toast, and Sully’s backpack trembled on the deck of the chopper, tipped closer and closer to the pitching, open door as the shipping disaster unfolded.
Fuck this. Sully engaged the auto and dove for the bag, even as it slid closer to the cabin door, straps quivering just out of reach.
Sully came up on his hands, shot a look at the dangling ship just to his right, where Nate clung to the bowsprit, impossibly near. He’d climbed to the very tip of the splintering wood, was hanging on to the rolled sail at the top of the small mast. Behind him, Braddock had reached the base of the bowsprit, karambit jammed in her clenched teeth. She started speed-climbing after the kid.
To Sully’s left, the leather backpack—right at the lip of the metal Aooring, straps Aapping into the wind.
“Hey, Sully!” Nate screamed, and Sully turned his head again. Nate was reaching toward the deck, his gaze full of wild hope.
Sully looked at the pack again, stuffed to the seams with artifacts worth millions.
“Sully!” Nate’s shriek was louder, almost as loud as the screech of another ginormous chain busting free, the copter surging, Braddock right at Nate’s heels. The whole ship was suspended by just a few cables now, a single sling.
Well, fuck. Disgusted with himself, Sully crawled forward and reached for the kid’s outstretched hand.
Nate gathered himself and jumped, just as the second-to-last cable snapped.
Nate’s grip was strong, almost as strong as his. At the touch of the kid’s hand, Sully felt a tiny bit better about his decision.
“I got you!” Sully called. He Aattened himself to the deck and hung on, as the Concepción’s weight battled the final chain.