Page 69 of The Final Storm
“There’s still AOE on land,” Padmoore says. He looks out at the water. “And probably on water, too. Things haven’t gone according to plan. What do you mean Matthews is dead?”
“I’ve looked at the schematics further north,” Sam says, ignoring his question. “The underground isn’t far.” I’m lost in the conversation again, trying to catch up.
“And?” The captain raises an eyebrow.
“I think my family would be safer there. Dean Riggs, Matthews’ right hand, doesn’t think I know about the tracker. He’s taken control of Thalassa, killed Matthews, and he’s following us.”
“You think highly of yourself,” the captain scoffs. “Where is this intel coming from? Why does he want you?”
“You’ve lost comms with the Thalassa,” I interrupt. I’m the reason we know Matthews is dead and Dean is tracking us, but there’s no good way to explain this to Padmoore. He’ll think we’re insane, and I’ll end up locked in a room like Cecilia. “You know something is wrong over there.”
“And all this has to do with you, Rivera?” Padmoore raises his eyebrows. He continues to redirect the conversation back to Sam. I understand he doesn’t know me, but his dismissal unnerves me. “I’ll admit, I barely scanned your file when this shit came up with your wife, and I am… sorry that went so south. I know what we put your family through, but what the fuck happened with the AOE? Why you?”
“Lieutenant Riggs,” Sam continues. “He’s taking this moment as an opportunity to seize control.”
“Of what?” Padmoore stammers. “It’s nothing but death out there.”
“It’s a low point in civilization, and he’s striking when we’re weak,” I say. “He’s got plans to be… a king.”
Padmoore lets out a chortle, almost brushing off the idea, but he looks out at the water and lets my words settle into his mind. “And how would one do that?” He taps his chin, awaiting our response.
“With the heroin he’s been growing on Thalassa,” I deadpan. Padmoore stills and closes his eyes in understanding.
“He wants us,” Sam continues. “And I can’t tell you more than that. We have a long history, and I’ve put my life on the line for you more than once. I’ve never given you a reason not to believe me.”
A speaker comes to life on Padmoore’s desk. “Sir, you’re needed for the weather briefing.”
Padmoore hits a button on his desk. “On my way.”
“How much time until the storm makes it to us?” Sam asks.
“It’s lingering south, but building strength. They can’t agree on what that fucker is gonna do.” Padmoore stands up, adjusting his shirt. “I know I owe you my life and a few extra favors, so out with it. What do you want, Rivera?”
Sam stands, and I follow suit. I trail them out of the office and down the hall while Sam continues asking about the storms. He hasn’t requested the boat yet, prying the captain for every bit of information before we’re properly told to go to hell.
Padmoore doesn’t hold back, and I wonder how long they’ve known each other. There’s a comfort between the two of them. Sam’s his subordinate, but they don’t treat each other that way. It’s almost… friendly.
I listen as he tells Sam the storm shouldn’t make it this far north, but it’s not looking good. The ships don’t want to get stuck in colder waters, trapped by icebergs. The Titanic comes to mind again, and I internally grumble.
The Galene will hold steady until they’re forced to make a move. They predict this is the final global killer. Those are Padmoore’s words, but I’ve heard them before.
I heard them used with the first storm, a monster that ate up half of North America, leaving nothing but death in its wake. Each one after wasn’t much better, but there wasn’t much left. Devastating weather hit us for years before, but the numbered storms were different. Even if you weren’t in their direct path, the ripples from their strike spanned out across the globe, sending floods and tornados. There was nowhere to hide as they came one after the other, and I don’t know if they ever stopped. We ended up on the boats after the third, waiting out their wrath. Now it seems they’ve caught up to us, trapped us against the edge of the earth.
“Are the comms off both ways?” Sam asks as we enter an elevator.
Padmoore scratches his neck. “They can be.”
“They should be,” Sam tells him. “Riggs will follow her. That won’t help with what he’s already infiltrated. He has men here, men with drugs. Men that took my daughter.”
“Medics have reported some issues with that. Can’t say I’m surprised. I can deal with it if we cut off a supply. Can’t stop it forever, though. We’re doomed to repeat history.”
It’s a solemn truth I’d come to understand. Even global killers won’t stop the desire for control or the circulation of drugs.
“We can make it to the Underground,” Sam says. “And drive Dean in the other direction. Give you time to weed out his men.”
“The underground might be underwater. No one’s heard from them since storm two, and then the last GK…” The captain trails off in thought.
“We have to try,” Sam pleads, and we exit the elevator. The men step out in front, walking fast as I try to keep up. I’m still weaker than I let myself admit, and I’m winded easily.
