MoonRush

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Other Works by Carolyn McCray and Ben Hopkin

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PROLOGUE

The meteor swirled through space, trailing frozen vapors like streamers of iridescent glory. It hurled itself, unheeding and uncaring, toward the glowing orb partially shadowed by the larger, bluer sphere beyond it. Some of its smaller traveling companions sped past the silvery surface, heading toward the lapis-and-milk
-
swirled planet face beyond. The larger rock sped into the shadowy darkness, a jagged shard of the heavens poised to wreak havoc on the terrain below.

The impact was immense.

Ribbons of smaller debris arced out in spiraling waves across the almost nonexistent atmosphere. Glittering shards dispersed themselves gradually, spreading out in even thinner bands.

The crater carved in the moon’s surface by the massive stone dwarfed the others surrounding it. It was ostentatious, like newfound wealth amidst old money. Reverberations from the impact were felt by the stones on the opposite side of the cold globe, disturbing footprints from a famous walk now decades old.

The sun broke over the edge of one of the bands, refracting the minerals deposited by the collision of meteor and moon. Rainbows sparked, multiplying moment by moment until the previously dark strip now evoked images of ancient otherworldly glory. Atlantis. Valhalla. Olympus.

Above in the cold void, lights winked in counterpoint to the fiery display below. The satellite coolly observed, taking it in.

CHAPTER 1

24º 30
'
N, 77º 30
'
W

Tongue of the Ocean

March 18, 2049

0900 hours
,
EST

A sparkle glimmered in the space between Jarod and the sandy expanse before him. His feet dragged through the silt on the ocean bed, stirring up puffs of grains and clouding the water—as well as disturbing the occasional occupant. Rainbows of fish schooled past his vision, darting away from the perceived danger of this overworld intruder.

Jarod tapped a button on the glowing instrument strapped to his wrist. Almost there. The holographic GPS display surrounded him, mirroring his slow progress with miniscule changes in the projected map that represented his location. If
his
calculations were correct
,
in a minute more, he’d be upon the object of his desire.

The holographic display wavered and created bright sparks all around. Even the brave fish swam to safety. He had been experiencing interference issues with the equipment all day. Hence, the silence in his earpiece. He’d only had spotty contact with his ship,
R
ogues’
Gamble,
anchored above for the past half hour. But Jarod didn’t mind. The holographic finally fritzed out altogether, and he was left in the timelessness of the underwater topography. He may have tons of cutting-edge gadgets, but right now, it might as well be the fifteen hundreds. Just how Jarod liked it.

As if to challenge his thoughts, the blunt face of a hammerhead shark entered the periphery of his vision, its progress effortless through the suddenly fishless waters. Jarod’s heartbeat increased, albeit marginally. Sharks were just part of the landscape. Even hammerheads usually did not attack unless aggravated.
This big guy was probably just
trolling the neighborhood
and c
hecking out the new kid on the block, attracted by the agitation of the bubbles from Jarod’s scuba gear.

Once they saw that Jarod wasn’t a tasty seal or other morsel, sharks usually went on their way.

Which was exactly what this one looked like
it
was going to do. That is, until its skin glistened in the rippled light as it veered from its path, cutting straight for Jarod.

Its jaws gaped open, revealing row upon row of broken-glass teeth poised to rip Jarod’s flesh asunder. With a skill only born of experience, Jarod brought his shark prod up to bear. Its design was patented by the Rogues’ own marine biologist. The electric discharge caused pain, and was specifically calibrated to enter the fish’s brain, activating the area governing the flight response.

Jarod hit the button on the handle, but only a faint shower of sparks came out. He hit it again. Damn it! Where were the fireworks? The hammerhead surged forward powered by that enormous tail.

Hauling back, Jarod brought the prod forward, slamming the metal smack-dab into the center of the hammerhead’s elongated snout. Maybe the blow didn’t have all the bells and whistles it was supposed to, but the shark still slashed left, fleeing the confrontation.

Like Jarod said, he didn’t mind going medieval on their ass.

But it was time to get back to business. Jarod crested another rise in the ocean floor, coming abruptly across a half-buried beam of rotting wood, marine plant life surrounding it like some kind of bizarre forest. This was it! Jarod’s adrenaline spiked in a way a shark attack never could.

He turned to his left. “Hey, Ch …” The terrain’s emptiness choked the words in his throat. The brother who should have been right there
—
as he had always been
—
was not.

The speakers in his ears crackled to life. A clipped, British voice spoke inside his head, “Is everything all right, Jarod?”

“Yeah. Of course.”

“It sounded like you called out.”

Jarod forced a chuckle. “Uh-huh. I think I found something.”

“Good. Your gauges are reading below the red line for oxygen.”

Tell him something that he didn’t already know. Jarod should have gone topside fifteen minutes ago, but he couldn’t stop. Not yet. This might be their last chance at this site after today. Their permits ran out, and getting another set from the Bahamian government was about as likely as Jarod driving under sixty-five.

With renewed conviction, Jarod pushed farther over the ridge of sand and stumbled to a stop. There it was—laid out before him. The skeletal form of the shipwreck stretched out a hundred yards from his perch, as if waiting all these centuries just for him. Its beauty eclipsed Venus herself, at least for Jarod.

A pristine Spanish galleon. She was like a lover he’d dreamt of his entire life, elusive and unattainable until he met her on a street corner. Or, in Jarod’s case, a shark- infested, seismically active ocean valley.

Just beyond the site, the seascape suddenly ended, and a black stretch of ocean appeared immediately beyond. The ravine. The Tongue of the Ocean.

A tremor ran up Jarod’s boots, resonating in his knees, his chest, and his head. Sand shifted crazily below his feet. The crevasse yawned—its black mouth was open, ready to engulf Jarod’s prize, but he breathed through it, keeping his breaths slow and steady. They’d felt aftershocks all day. He couldn’t get this close to his life’s work and then hyperventilate himself into unconsciousness.

Once the ground stabilized, Jarod headed out. Taking measured steps, he made his way to the wreckage. As the last tremors died down, Jarod pushed aside the sand covering the ancient wood. The rotten beams crumbled under his fingers. Just as well. He didn’t want the planking. He wanted what was
inside
the planking. With more and more urgency, his air gauge dipping far into the red, Jarod shoved the silt aside until he felt his glove bump up against something solid. The sand moved in concert with the buried object. A golden flash gleamed in the rippling water.