The fog moved across the Atlantic like a living thing, clinging to the Horizon Talon’s battered hull as if trying to pull the vessel down with it. Afternoon light filtered through the mist in dim, fractured beams, washing everything in the dull tones of steel and seawater. The air tasted like brine and rust. Somewhere out beyond the wall of gray, Portland waited. If it were still standing.

  Near the helm, Lieutenant Sarah Kade leaned over the sea chart spread between her, Captain Voss, and Lieutenant Bishop. The metal legs of a divider ticked lightly against the paper as she marked out the next leg of their journey, each notch following the Talon’s slow crawl north from the wreckage of Block Island. Moisture warped the chart, and long hours of handling ink-smudged it. A battered magnetic compass and a chipped ceramic mug held it in place. Days earlier, a bullet meant for her had struck the mug.

  The shot had come from the shoreline east of Newport. It was only one round fired from deep brush along the water’s edge. Just the sudden crack of a pistol and a splash of hot coffee as the mug tilted over next to her hand. The round missed her by inches, ricocheted off the helm bulkhead, and vanished into the sea. They never saw the shooter. Never found a trace. Could’ve been one of the pirates they had dropped off with a grudge or some broken survivor who didn’t like the look of a naval silhouette sailing past their patch of ruined coastline. The mug stayed on the helm, half-cracked and useless, a quiet reminder that death didn’t always arrive with a scream and a klaxon. Sometimes, it just tapped you on the shoulder and ruined your coffee.

  “Fifteen nautical miles,” Kade said, her tone even, her gaze still on the chart. “Assuming the sails hold and nobody tries to sink us out of spite.”

  “Let’s not invite trouble,” Bishop replied, stiff as ever, his posture ramrod straight despite the constant pitch of the sea beneath them.

  “Trouble doesn’t need an invitation, Lieutenant,” Voss said, voice rough but steadier now. The bruises along his neck had faded from angry purple to sickly green, but he moved like every step still pulled against torn muscles and cracked ribs. His eyes, though, those were sharper than they had been since his rescue. “It shows up early and drinks all the good liquor.”

  Kade allowed herself a ghost of a smile. “Portland better have both repairs and rum, or I’m quitting.”

  Beneath them, the Talon groaned as if protesting the optimism. The escape from Block Island tore her bowsprit clean off, leaving the forward rigging in shambles and half the forecastle tensioned with emergency lashings. The rudder shaft was bent, forcing the helmsman to fight the wheel with every degree of course correction, and the patchwork repairs to her sails left her limping more than sailing. She could still move, but just barely, and only because the crew knew how to keep broken things going.

  On the second day into their crawl north, the engineers had flagged structural stress in the forward bulkhead. Hairline separations had started to form where the frame joints near the prow were beginning to shift. The initial impact that took the bowsprit had not only sheared timber above the waterline, but it had forced the ribs and stem to flex against their anchors. Now, the hull creaked in heavier swell, and there was no guarantee it would hold together under another blow. The damage was not fatal, not yet, but it would need shoring, reinforcement, and drydock tools they did not have at sea. She could still sail, yes, but she could not fight.

  “Speaking of uninvited guests,” Bishop said, “the crew is still talking about the Simulation message on day seven.”

  “The one that casually informed us humanity’s population had dropped below a billion and turned off the Level Zero Filter? Yeah. Hard to miss,” Kade responded dryly.

  Bishop continued. “Sounded like anyone with a level got access to class selection. Worldwide.”

  “Didn’t make a difference to us,” she said. “Everyone on board was already past five by then. Block Island saw to that.”

  “Still feels like a line in the sand,” Voss said, staring out into the fog. “The moment it decided who lived with purpose and who didn’t.”

  “Or who lived long enough to matter?” Kade muttered. “Hell of a benchmark.”

  For a long moment, there was nothing but the sound of the ocean slipping past the hull and the low hum of overworked engines. Then, from high above, came the lookout’s voice carrying through the damp.

  “Drift formation, starboard side! Three vessels locked together!”

  Kade was already moving before the call finished, turning toward the direction the lookout had called and using the magic of her eyepatch to zoom in on the area. Out of the mist, ghostlike and still, came the first shape. A mid-sized fishing trawler, hull rust-stained and sagging low in the water, her deck partially stripped down to framing beams and jagged metal scars. She was sitting wrong, like something inside had shifted or gone missing entirely. They'd seen more than a few such pre-reboot ghost ships over the past several days.

  A child’s toy dangled from a length of frayed cord, bobbing gently against the schooner’s mast. Kade didn’t want to know how it got there.

  Kade swept right and picked up the second ship. A schooner, two-masted, gaff-rigged, and heavily modified. Someone had bolted a makeshift salvage crane to the deck near the rail, and the schooner bristled with rigging cables, netting, and scrap-hauling gear. The lines were taut, the equipment secured, but not a soul moved on board. Above her fluttered a red flag emblazoned with an anchor and crossed wrenches. This one practically screamed independent salvage crew or some other industrious-minded folks who had cobbled together something that could operate under the rules of the Simulation. The flag wasn't something she recognized, however.

  Last was the tow launch. A squat, ugly little vessel riding dangerously low at the stern, barely afloat and clearly no longer functional as anything but a buoyant platform.

  Kade shut off the magic of her eyepatch, returning her vision to normal, and turned back to the others. “No movement on any of the decks. The trawler’s half-sunk, the launch is worse, and the schooner looks like a floating scrapyard. Could be a salvage crew. Could be bait.”

  Bishop frowned. “And we’re debating this? The Talon is in no condition for a fight. We’ve got no second chance if something goes wrong.”

  “We’re less than ten miles out from Portland,” Kade said. “If there’s crew aboard, they’ve probably seen the harbor or whatever’s left of it. That flag’s not anything I recognize and doesn't give off pirate vibes. If they’ve been salvaging in the area, they’ve got intel we don’t.”

  Voss ran a hand slowly down his beard, expression unreadable. “Odds they’re friendly?”

  “Fifty-fifty,” Kade replied. “Same as everything else since this reboot. Could be a trap. Could be our next new best friends. Either way, we should check it out. It's your call, Captain.”

  Bishop looked like he wanted to argue, but held his tongue.

  “We go in close. No boarding until Lawson gets eyes on it. If it’s a wreck, we move on. If it’s hostile, we disengage.” Voss said.

  “Ensign, run and fetch Lieutenant Lawson. Tell him I need him and his Marines to the helm. Full gear.”

  Unknown Intent

  Quest Notification! A derelict flotilla appeared adrift ten nautical miles off the coast of Portland. No visible crew. No flags matching known factions. Investigate the vessels, assess potential threat or value, and determine intent or origin.

  Difficulty: Moderate (Variable, based on response)

  Rewards: Variable XP, Potential mission intel regarding Portland

  Accept? Yes/No

  As the Ensign ran below decks to relay the order, Kade accepted the quest as she joined Bishop and Captain Voss in continuing to survey the small flotilla. The wind shifted, pulling a ragged edge of the fog away from the drifting vessels, but revealed no further clues what was taking place onboard.

  Kade tapped the chipped mug once with the back of her knuckle and didn’t look away from the water.

  “One random shot,” she said. “Always enough to ruin your day.” Waiting for Lawson to arrive, she pulled up her status window.

  Name: Sarah Kade

  Class: Corsair

  Level: 8

  Health: 340/340

  Mana: 200/200

  Stats

  Strength: 9

  Dexterity: 7

  Intelligence: 10

  Constitution: 7

  Charisma: 8 (9)

  Abilities

  This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

  Against the Tide

  Blade Whirl

  Command Presence

  Deck Fighter

  Riposte of the Kraken

  Stormwall Stance

  Skills

  Amphibious Combat: 1

  Amphibious Movement: 1

  Dirty Fighting: 11

  Grenadier: 1

  Leadership: 16 (21)

  Light Armor: 5

  Ocean Craft: 10

  Ocean Navigation: 8

  Sailing: 8

  Stealth: 1

  Sword Combat: 14

  Tactical Negotiation: 2

  In the three days since their harrowing escape from Block Island, the crew of the Horizon Talon had avoided any hostile encounters. While this was best for the ship, it did little to provide any sort of personal progress. She had gained several points of Ocean Craft and Ocean Navigation and a point of Leadership, but that had been it. Still, she mused to herself, that was better than being covered in blood or having the ship sink beneath them.

  Boots sounded behind them. Heavy, deliberate. Kade didn’t need to turn to know it was Lawson.

  “Reporting as ordered, Captain,” Lawson said. His voice had changed over the past ten days. Not in pitch or tone, but now carried with weight and confidence that hadn’t been there before Block Island.

  Bishop angled slightly toward him. “We’ve got a drift formation. Three ships lashed together. Dead in the water.”

  “Ghost fleet?” Lawson asked.

  “Possibly,” Voss said. “You and Kade are going to investigate. Small team. Quick look. We don’t know what’s on board, and we’re not in shape for a prolonged fight.”

  “I’ll take Briggs and his squad,” Lawson said without hesitation. “Myers will stay aboard in ready posture with the second squad.”

  “Good,” Voss said. “We’re closing to one hundred yards and holding. Assume minimal resistance, but be ready for anything. The fog makes for good cover and bad decisions.”

  “Understood, sir.”

  Down on the main deck, Briggs’ squad was already forming up in the well of the ship, checking gear and running quiet comms checks. The Marines moved like a pack that had been through fire together, hardened by too many close calls and not enough sleep. Briggs moved among his team, checking their gear and providing boarding instructions.

  The second squad, led by Sergeant Myers, stood off to one side in reserve, light armor plates gleaming dully under damp canvas ponchos. Myers watched the water and the fog as if they expected it to fight back.

  “Deck crew is prepping the longboat now,” Bishop said. “She’ll be in the water in five.”

  Kade grimaced, but kept her eyes on the ghostly formation ahead. As they drew closer, more detail emerged. Debris floated loosely in the water around the trio of ships. Lifejackets, barrels, the skeletal remains of snapped rigging drifting in lazy spirals. A crate bobbed just off the bow, half-submerged but still legible. The faded black anchor-and-wrench logo was on the wood.

  The trawler sat lowest, half her hull buried below the surface, her deck gutted and stripped down to rusted ribs. She’d taken damage in the opening days of the Cataclysm, no question. No crew. No lights. Just the stinking silence of a vessel someone had picked clean or bled out.

  The tow launch looked worse. Her rear hull was crumpled in and dragging. She shouldn’t have still been floating, but something was keeping her barely above the line. Probably trapped air or a lucky bulkhead seal.

  The schooner, by contrast, had the look of something rebuilt with purpose. Her two masts stood tall and intact. Salvage crane mounted starboard midships. Cargo netting hung from the crane, currently latched onto the trawler’s deck. Loose coils of line ran between the ships, tensioned just enough to hold them in place. The red flag fluttered limply, anchored with lines that hadn’t seen fresh knots in at least a day.

  “It’s looking more and more like two separate groups,” Kade said, zooming back out with her eyepatch. “The trawler and the tow launch didn’t make it through the first wave. The schooner came later to pick their bones.”

  Lawson stepped up beside her, studying the scene without speaking. His jaw tightened slightly as the longboat was lowered into the water with a splash.

  “Still nothing on deck?” he asked.

  “Not a twitch,” Kade said. “No flags we know, no visible defenses, no signs of life. But if there’s a trap, it’s a good one.”

  “Won’t be the first time we’ve sprung one,” Lawson said.

  She gave him a sideways glance. “Try not to make a habit of it.”

  “I’m working on it.”

  Voss stepped back from the rail and looked at Kade. “Your op, Lieutenant. You’re cleared to lead the approach. If something feels off, we pull back. Fast. We're in no shape for a protracted battle.”

  “Understood,” Kade said. She rested one hand on her cutlass, watching the way the schooner shifted slightly in the current, still and indifferent. It didn’t look threatening. But neither had the cargo ship they boarded during the first day of the cataclysm until it bared its teeth.

  "Lawson, Briggs, let's do this," Kade said as she boarded the longboat.

  The longboat slid across the water in near silence, oars dipping rhythmically through the fog-choked sea. The Talon loomed behind them, half-lost in the mist now, her hull a muted shadow. Up ahead, the derelict flotilla waited.

  Kade sat near the bow, watching the schooner grow larger with each stroke. The vessel wasn’t listing. No visible breaches. Whoever had repurposed her knew what they were doing. That crane could haul serious weight, and the net still hanging between the schooner and the trawler looked fresh enough to suggest it had seen recent use.

  Lawson sat to her left, pike pole resting across his lap. He hadn’t said much since they launched. That was fine. Kade preferred silence over nervous chatter, and Lawson wasn’t the nervous type anymore. Whatever he’d been before Block Island, that version of him had burned away. What remained had the cold focus of someone who’d seen the Simulation at its worst and didn’t plan to blink next time it showed its teeth.

  Briggs sat across from them, muttering something to one of his Marines that Kade didn’t catch. Probably a joke. Probably awful. She didn’t ask.

  The longboat bumped softly against the side of the schooner. Lines were cast, tied off. Kade rose, hooked a gloved hand on the rail, and pulled herself up first. Her boots thudded lightly on the deck.

  Still no movement.

  The rest of the team followed in silence. Lawson came up behind her, Briggs just after, and then the four Marines bringing up the rear. Each one fanned out with disciplined spacing, clearing arcs and scanning for threats. The schooner’s deck was a mess of equipment and half-finished work. Spools of salvage line, water bottles rolling in the scuppers, a pry bar wedged under a cracked deck plate. A half-eaten ration pouch lay beneath the crane controls, contents leaking down the wood like someone had set it down mid-bite and never picked it up again.

  No crew or bodies. Not yet.

  “Clear this section,” Kade said, voice low but carrying.

  Lawson peeled off to the trawler. Briggs grunted and moved aft on the schooner with two of his men, leaving Kade and the rest to sweep forward.

  The farther in she moved, the worse it looked. There were no signs of a fight, but the stillness felt off. Wrong. It wasn’t the calm of abandonment. It was the kind of hush that came when something had gone sideways and the noise hadn’t caught up yet.

  Near the starboard railing, a smear of blood trailed downward toward the gunwale. It wasn’t much. A few feet, a broken trail. But it was fresh enough to glisten in the gray light. Kade crouched, touched the edge of the stain with two fingers, then wiped them off on the rail.

  “Lawson,” she called. “Talk to me.”

  He came into view seconds later, one hand raised in signal. “We’ve got bodies. Multiple. Some fresh, some not.” He said.

  Kade moved to him without speaking. The others fell in behind her, forming a loose perimeter as they all moved to the trawler.

  The trawler deck told the rest of the story. Three bodies lay slumped near the bulkhead hatch. To wearing makeshift scavenger rigs, the third in heavier armor that looked too intact to be from the original trawler crew. Dried blood crusted the deck beneath them. One had a head wound, the kind you didn’t get in a fall. Another had clearly bled out through a long gash across the ribs. The third was missing most of one hand, the arm twisted beneath the torso at an unnatural angle.

  More ominously, the door to the lower deck was partially ajar. A smear of blood crossed the frame there, too. Though this blood was older, darkened to near black.

  Kade had seen corpses before. Had made a few herself. But the quiet here wasn’t post-battle. It was interrupted. Something had started, then stopped. Mid-scream.

  “Two fights,” Lawson said, crouching beside one of the bodies. “These two went down together. Same wounds, same time. The one in armor? Different angle. Different blood pattern.”

  Kade nodded slowly. “Someone fought for this ship. Then someone else came later and fought again.”

  “Winner didn’t stay long,” Briggs said. “Deck’s too fresh to have sat in the sun more than a day.”

  Kade stood and looked back toward the Talon, barely visible through the fog. If this were salvage, something interrupted it. If it were piracy, they hadn’t finished the job.

  “Mark it,” she said, turning back to the squad. “We clear below deck on these ships. I want answers.”

  Then the deck creaked faintly, as if someone was walking below deck. It was the only sound beyond the wash of the sea and the distant calls of gulls echoing through the mist. No one moved. Near the railing of the trawler, lashed to the schooner, Kade stood watching the blood-slicked hatch leading below. No one answered her order to clear the rest of the vessel. Lawson and Briggs hadn’t stepped off yet. Neither had she.

  Something about the situation had shifted.

  The fog no longer felt passive. It pressed in heavier now, the light flattening to a dull gray void that swallowed edges and made distances hard to judge. The air had grown colder too, subtly, like the ocean had taken a breath beneath them and held it.

  Briggs adjusted his position, weight shifting slightly as he glanced toward the lower deck. “Hear that?” he asked, voice low.

  Kade didn’t answer.

  Water slapped against the hull below. It was louder than it should have been. Not wave-driven. Not natural.

  From the far side of the tow vessel, something dragged itself into view, followed by another.

  The first rose slowly over the edge, one clawed hand gripping the railing, then another. A pale, bloated shape hauled itself up, water streaming from its limbs in heavy rivulets. At first glance, it looked human. That illusion lasted exactly two seconds.

  [Analyze] Drowned Raider | Level: 9 | Status: Hostile | Class: Fighter

  [Analyze] Drowned Siren | Level: 10 | Status: Hostile | Class: Tempest Mage

  The proportions were wrong. Arms too long. Spine bent in a way that no vertebrae should allow. The head hung forward on a neck too thin to support it, and long, stringy hair clung to a skull that shimmered with wet film and brine. Seaweed dangled from its mouth like a drowned tongue.

  Kade’s hand went to her cutlass, drawing it in one smooth motion.

  Another form emerged beside it, clawed fingers curling over the railing. Female. Similar bloated frame, but its movements were smoother, more fluid. The water around her shimmered faintly with arcane static, a distortion like heat rising off sunlit stone.

  She counted three more shapes rising from the water, two from the netting and one from the wrecked launch. Then, from the shadows of the trawler’s lower deck, came the sound. It was a long primal shriek like pierced the soul like the sound of nails on a chalkboard.

  Lawson swore under his breath.

  From the direction of the towed launch, something moved inside the gutted wheelhouse. A face appeared in the shadows. It was milky-eyed, lipless, jaw slack and torn at the hinge. It crawled from the wreck like it had never walked upright in its life.

  Then came the sound again. It echoed up through the hatch Kade had been watching seconds ago, followed by the dull thud of something hitting the bulkhead below.

  Briggs spat over the rail. “Great. It is the waterlogged zombie things again. Just what I wanted on a foggy goddamn Tuesday.”

  If you want to read ahead, the first ten chapters of this new voyage are already available over on Patreon.

  Hang on to your boots, because this book is going to blow your socks off.