Frozen: Heart of Dread, Book One (21 page)

W
ES SWUNG AGAINST THE PIRATE HOLDING
him, and a crowd of slavers fell upon him. Nat screamed, but there was nothing she could do. She couldn’t break the iron bonds holding the rest of the slaves back. Useless. Useless. More slavers joined the fray—Wes was outnumbered—they would beat him until he was dead, make an example of it to the others.

She tried to focus, but she was dizzy with fear and hunger. A pirate fired his gun, and there were more screams, more confusion. Children crying . . .

The slavers were killing Wes . . . they were angry and would not stop until he stopped breathing . . .

If she did nothing, they would kill him . . . She struggled as the pirates held her . . . she was weak . . . she was powerless . . . She heard Wes cry out in pain, and it was his voice that echoed in her head now.
I think you have to embrace it. You can’t fight it. Don’t resist it. You have to accept who you are, Nat. Once you do, you can do anything you want. Or maybe, to tap into your power, all you need to do is think of me.

She smiled at that for a moment.

With all her strength she smashed every iron cuff that held every prisoner.

In a moment, everything changed. Freed from their shackles, the slaves outnumbered their guards two to one.

Without planning or coordination, the freed slaves took up a collective war cry as they went to work on their former tormentors. The marked sent steel crates flying through the air. Tools and buckets became weapons they sent directly at their guards. Daggers were used to stab their owners. A slaver’s gun exploded in his face. Another found an iron cage smashing him against the mast. The mighty steel pole in the middle of the ship flexed with an awful groan. A marked family stood below it—eyes closed, the life pouring from their bodies—as they bent the mast at its base. Eighty feet of steel crashed to the deck. Cages were smashed, the deck was torn apart, and
Titan
listed in the water. The slaves fought hard—they had nothing to lose.

Their victory was short-lived. Bullets peppered the sky and Nat saw freed slaves stumble and cower as the scavengers aboard the
Van Gogh
began firing on the
Titan.
Smoke filled the air along with the sound of gunfire. A grenade exploded behind them, and the back half of the
Titan
roared into a mighty blaze.

“This way!” Wes cried, pulling Nat up from where she had fallen. Liannan was behind him. “Shakes has the boat!” she told them.

They ran toward the end of the deck. Wes stopped. Shakes, Roark, and Brendon were on board good old
Alby
with Farouk. Wes stopped short, glancing from Shakes to their former comrade.

“It’s all right,” Shakes told Wes as he boarded. “Farouk was the one who helped us out of our cages.”

There was no time for questions. Wes nodded to the boy and then turned to help Nat aboard.

“Donnie—your family is here!” she said as soon as she saw the smallmen.

“Where?” Brendon asked. “They’re alive?”

“Yes, they were in the line with us—”

“Come on!” Shakes was yelling, helping Liannan on board.

Wes was at the helm; he started the engines and pushed the throttle to its limit.

“We can’t just leave them!” Nat yelled, and she meant all of them, not just the Rimmels. The slavers had begun to retake control. They were running up and down the deck, executing prisoners one by one.

Wes swung past the
Van Gogh
as they headed for open sea. The way was clear. They were safe. He glanced back at the slave ship. Avo had made it to the
Van Gogh
and had taken charge of the revolt. “WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU’RE GOING?” he screamed at the prisoners.

“BACK IN YER CAGES! BACK IN YER CAGES!” a fat pirate bellowed as he fired into the air.

“Wes!” Nat called.

“I know,
I know.
”

Wes turned the wheel hard and
Alby
groaned as it swung around in a tight arc to face the slave ship. The
Titan
was awash in fire, and its crew had followed Avo to the
Van Gogh,
where they now seemed to have the upper hand. Most of the pilgrims were in the
Titan
’s lifeboats, paddling or motoring as best they could to escape. The Ear’s scavengers, lined up along the bow, were taking shots at the unprotected lifeboats as they tried to escape.

Wes had grown attached to
Alby,
but as he powered toward the slavers, he realized it might be the last weapon in his arsenal. Wes told his crew to hold on and then rammed the
Van Gogh.

There was enough smoke in the air that he caught most of the scavengers off guard when the two vessels collided. Wes just needed to buy time for the escaping slaves to get out beyond the range of the slavers’ guns. The ocean was thick with ice and trash—it wouldn’t take long for the small boats to find cover.

When they collided,
Alby
’s bow made a temporary bridge between the two crafts. Wes leapt up onto the bow and boarded the slave ship, Nat and Shakes at his side, leaving the smallmen, Farouk, and Liannan behind. Half the scavengers were tossed overboard from the impact, and the rest were throwing ropes to their fallen comrades. Wes grabbed a pistol from the hand of a fallen slaver and pointed it at the men. Shakes and Nat followed.

“Time to go for a swim, boys. You can paddle over to that raft of junk and hope some pilgrims find you.”

Wes put a slug through the shoulder of the biggest scavenger, nicking a chunk of flesh from his arm. He’d survive, but the wound would smart for a few weeks. The slaver glared and began to climb down, followed by the last of his men. “You’ll be fine.” Wes smiled as he tossed the ropes overboard. His joking words hid his anger. He had to force himself not to fire on them again.

Brendon’s parents were among the smallkind who had commandeered one of the small motorboats. They pulled up next to Wes’s ship.

“Donnie! Donnie!” his mother cried.

“I’m all right, Mum, come on, I’m okay.” Brendon laughed.

“Take the lifeboat to the port of New Crete. My people will find you, and lead you home,” Liannan told them.

“Right then, hop on board, boys,” Cadmael said.

“We’re going with our crew,” Roark said.

“Don’t worry, Mum, we’ll be right behind, I’m their new navigator,” Brendon shouted. “I can’t leave my ship.”

“What!” his mother cried, but his father looked proud. “We’ll see you in Vallonis.” He nodded. “Magda, let’s go.”

Roark and Brendon helped the rest of the team scramble back onto
Alby.
Nat stumbled as she fell on board, Shakes revved the engine, and the boat began to pull away.

“Wait!” she cried. “Where’s Wes?” She turned to see Wes still on the deck of the
Van Gogh.
He’d stayed behind to make sure everyone got on board safely.

“Shakes! Turn back!” Nat yelled. “Wes is still back there!”

She saw Wes making a run to leap on board when someone grabbed him from behind and he fell back. Avo Hubik and a dozen other slavers surrounded him. Seeing
Alby
return, the pirates began firing on them, bullets whizzing through the air, pummeling the ship’s hull.

Brendon yelped as a bullet grazed his arm, and another plugged Shakes in the shoulder. Wes’s crew tried to return fire, but they were badly outnumbered.

“WHAT ARE YOU GUYS DOING? GO! GET OUT OF HERE!” Wes yelled, even as Avo held a gun to his temple.

The slaver laughed. “Surrender, or I will make him eat his own fingers when I send him to the flesh markets.”

Shakes hesitated and killed the engine, unsure what to do.

“GET LOST! TAKE THE SHIP AND GET OUT OF HERE! NOW!” Wes screamed in fury, as the bullets continued to fly, one dangerously close to hitting Nat in the head. There was little cover on deck from the shower of gunfire.

“We can’t save him,” Farouk said. If they stayed any longer, the slavers would overtake them, and they would be back where they began, but in worse circumstances. The slavers didn’t take too kindly to slaves who tried to escape.

“No,” Shakes said. “No! We’re not leaving him.”

“But we’ll all get captured.”

“SURRENDER!” Avo screamed.

“GO ON! MOVE, YOU IDIOTS!” Wes yelled again.

That did it. Shakes tugged at the wheel and gunned the engine.

Nat remained on deck, her eyes fixed on Wes, surrounded by slavers.

“Bring the acid. Get him ready for the knives,” Avo ordered.

Wes shook his head at her. “Remember our deal,” he mouthed.

She knew what was in store for him. The flesh markets. The flaying. He would die slowly and horribly, as they skinned him alive, as they stripped the skin from his body; they would force him to experience every second of his own terrible death.

Nat felt tears spring to her eyes.
No. No.

The slavers were upon him now. Three of them held him back as he stood on the deck, while another brought the bucket of acid to blind him, the beginning of the torture.

Alby
was pulling away as the slavers kept firing on the ship. Nat had only a moment to act, a moment to decide.

Wes kept his eyes on her the whole time. “What did I say, Nat, I told you it wouldn’t come to this.” He smiled.
There are worse things than getting shot, worse things in the world than dying quickly.

She knew what he was asking her to do.

But he was right. She wouldn’t let it come to this. There was a way she could save him and save them all.

Nat grabbed a sidearm from one of the boys. She remembered what Liannan had said the other night. She could feel the otherworldly strength rushing through her spirit as she locked eyes with Wes.

Her eyes filled with tears of hope.

“Do it,” he mouthed. “Hurry.”

The slaver held a bucket of acid over his head.

There was no time and no other way to find out.

Please, let this work. Please let them have been wrong about me.

Then she shot Wes through the heart.

C
HAOS EXPLODED ON THE DECK OF THE
Van Gogh.
Avo Hubik stared at the fallen body of Ryan Wesson as if he couldn’t quite believe what had happened. The slavers looked stunned, and the pirate holding the bucket of acid dropped it on his own foot, causing more confusion.

Aboard the
Alby,
Nat collapsed to her knees, shaking, and the smallmen howled in grief. “What happened? What happened?” Shakes yelled.

“She shot him—Nat shot him—” Brendon whispered.

“WHAT?” Shakes turned white. “WHAT DID SHE DO?”

Farouk stood next to him, stunned. “Wes is dead?” he whispered.

“ICEHOLE!” Avo said, kicking Wes’s body overboard. “WHAT ARE YOU MORONS WAITING FOR—GET THEM!” he yelled, and the slavers reloaded their guns and resumed firing on
Alby.

“Help me,” Nat said. Wes’s body was floating facedown in the water by their ship, and she leaned over to reach for him. The smallmen lent a hand, holding on to her as she pulled him out of the water.

“Got him?” Shakes yelled.

“Yes,” Nat said, cradling Wes in her arms. He was already cold and stiff. “Let’s go, Shakes!”

The team ducked for cover, and it looked like the slavers would take their boat, but Shakes finally got the engine running and they sped away.

When
Alby
was out of range the slavers’ gunfire stopped, and the
Van Gogh
headed back toward its course to the Blue. On the deck, Nat cradled Wes’s body in her arms. “Wes, wake up, wake up,” she whispered. “Wake up, come on, wake up!”

“Wake up? You shot him in the heart! He’s dead!” Farouk exclaimed.

“No,” she said. “No,” she whispered when Wes did not stir. He was so very cold. “This wasn’t what was supposed to happen.”

Liannan knelt next to her and put a hand on her shoulder. “I think he’s gone,” she said quietly. “I’m so sorry.”

“NO!” Nat screamed. This was not the way it was supposed to end. No. Not like this. Not now. Not after everything they had done to survive. After everything they meant to each other.

“Let’s get out of here,” Liannan told Shakes. She looked sorrowfully at Nat. “It wasn’t meant to be.”

“What’s going on?” Shakes asked.

Liannan shook her head. “I’ll explain later.”

Nat held Wes in her arms and continued to sob. She’d believed she could save him. She had thought she could save them all. She hadn’t meant for this to happen . . . She hadn’t meant to
kill
him . . . She had thought . . . she had thought she was saving him . . . that she was saving them all . . .

They were right about me, then
, she thought dully.

Subject has no heart.

That’s what they told her at MacArthur.

She was only a weapon, a vessel for fire and pain. She had no heart. There was a cold, dead space where it was supposed to be. She was not human. She was marked. She was a monster.

Subject is unable to love. Unable to feel. Subject is perfect for our needs.

She had believed they were wrong. She had believed her feelings for him were real, that what she felt for Wes was true . . .

She had believed she could save him as he had saved her. When he had kissed her before the traders came, when he had saved her from the white priests.

But she was wrong.

Subject unable to love.
She did not love him and so she could not save him.

Brendon handed her his handkerchief, and Roark put a hand on her shoulder. Both of them were crying quietly.

Nat felt numb.

She thought she had been so clever. She had gambled and lost.

And now Wes was dead.

A few minutes later Shakes walked out of the bridge and knelt by his friend. “I kept telling him he’d get himself killed one day.”

“Shakes—”

He brushed off her hand, too upset to even speak.
Don’t worry, I’ve never lost him yet,
he had told Nat in the Trash Pile. Her fault . . . this was all her fault . . . she was such a fool to think . . . to think that she was different . . . and to hope that she could . . .

They brought Wes down to the captain’s quarters and laid him out on his bed. His face was gray and the bullet she had put in his chest left a neat, round hole.

Shakes staggered out of the room, as if he had no more strength even to walk. The smallmen followed after him.

Liannan entered.

“I killed him,” Nat whispered. “This is my fault.”

“Better that you had, or the slavers would have killed him and his death would have been worse than a thousand agonies. Plus, if it’s any consolation, you saved the rest of us. Can you do this?” she asked. “Get him ready for burial?”

Nat nodded and wiped her eyes. Together, the two of them wound his body in a sheet, wrapping him and blessing his forehead with oil. She put a hand on his cold cheek. He was so handsome and so brave.

“We will keep him here for a little while, let everyone have a chance to say good-bye, before we give him back to the ocean,” the sylph said.

Nat nodded. She walked back out to the bridge. There was no more sign of either the
Titan
or the
Van Gogh.

The lifeboats were bobbing in the sea, on their way to the port at New Crete.

She found Farouk at the helm, looking lost and confused, his eyes red-rimmed from crying.

“Where’s Shakes?” she asked.

“Dunno,” the young soldier sniffed. “He looked like he wanted to murder somebody.”

From below, they could hear Shakes pummeling the walls of the cabin. Liannan joined them on the bridge. “I think we need to leave him alone for now. He doesn’t blame you, Nat, but he’s angry. He’s angry that he couldn’t save his friend.”

Brendon and Roark huddled with them as well. “None of us blame you; you did a brave thing,” Roark said.

Her heart was broken, but Nat held herself together and fought the tears back. Getting away was only one part of the plan.

“What do we do now?” Farouk asked.

“The same thing we did when we set out from New Vegas,” she told him. “We need to get to the Blue. The RSA is heading there. We need to stop them from entering the doorway. Liannan, you know the way?”

The sylph nodded. “Yes. Brendon, help me—we need to plot a course.”