We spend the next sixty seconds getting oriented with our current location and the terrain, while zig-zagging at the greatest speed the latter allows to keep the mine from reaching us. Because it came from the direction we were originally heading, we have to significantly alter course to reach Port Canaveral. Our primary focus now is to avoid getting blown to pieces, while slowly decreasing the distance to shore. But Lamer is still in pursuit, and worse yet, somehow he's gaining on us.
The commander's relentless hounding makes me almost think that he's yet unaware of the mines' existence. It's a foolish assumption given Lamer's professional background and current leadership position, but right now, it's the only excuse for his dogged push to catch up. I can't even imagine what he hopes to do when he has finally closed the gap between the two ferries until we're faced with that exact scenario just two miles off the coast of Port Canaveral.
"Brace for impact!" I yell when it becomes clear that the approaching dot on the radar isn't slowing as it nears our stern. Even then, the warning doesn't come fast enough as the ferry rocks from the sudden contact.
"Did that fucker just ram into us from behind?" Ray asks, his voice higher pitched than usual from disbelief.
I open my mouth to confirm before realizing that the question was probably rhetorical. It's a good thing because Ray's sudden evasive action to keep us from crashing to the seabed puts us once again directly in the mine's path.
"Shit," I mutter, momentarily torn between which threat is greater: Lamer's ferry or the explosive device. Ray appears similarly confused, switching his attention from the electronic displays to the view outside the window and back again as he hauls our sitting duck asses through the murky water.
No amount of training has prepared us for such a scenario. Although we have studied defensive tactics, they were primarily against natural obstacles: rip currents, undersea volcanoes, or aggressive marine life. Hungry Great Whites we could handle. But never were we taught how to avoid an enemy—much less two concurrently—actively trying to kill us.
One thing Ray and I both know is that whatever is going to happen, it's about to happen very soon. We're now only about a mile off shore and if we don't do something about the mine in the next thirty seconds, we're going to have to change course.
As luck—or perhaps misfortune—would have it, fate makes the choice for us.
Out of nowhere, a shrill alarm sounds. I've never heard anything similar and it takes me a beat to find a visual indicator of its source. Above the radar display, a previously dark field has now lit up and is incessantly flashing in red.
Missile Lock Detected. Blink. Missile Lock Detected. Blink. Missile Lock Detected.
"Shit, shit, shit, shit, shiiiiiit," I mutter, feeling more helpless than ever. It was one thing for the mine to be somewhat haphazardly following us. It's another for it to officially lock its homing capabilities onto our position. It means it's not only close enough now to do so, but also that evading it just became that much more difficult. Perhaps even impossible.
"What do I do, Will? Help me out here, buddy," Ray urges, snapping me back to the present as he rolls the ferry first port and then starboard in an attempt to confuse the tracking system. It doesn't work. The alarm is still blaring, the light is still blinking, and Lamer's trailing ferry has advanced enough for me to get a naked-eye visual through the window.
My hands are now shaking. "I don't know, man. I—"
"Oh, fu—" Ray interjects, but even he can't finish the swear as a looming mass of steel blocks our path.
Amid our harried criss-crossing, the silt fog, the howling alarm, and the blinking radar indicators, we'd both failed to notice the approaching wreck. Well, it wasn't approaching. How could it have? It's a huge ship—either a cargo or luxury passenger vessel—sunk decades ago, like the sailboat we'd passed. But it's certainly in our way, and we would have definitely crashed right into it if Ray hadn't pulled back the yoke to its full extent.
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Vanguard | Post-Apocalyptic YA
Science FictionMost days, life 1,500 ft below the sea is peaceful or even predictable. But this isn't one of those days. * * * Will Scott has never seen daylight. He was born eighteen years ago aboard Vanguard, an undersea base where the remaining members of huma...
