New Friends, Old Enemies (Chapter 5)

Marcus gingerly stepped onto the patrol boat’s deck, which had drifted several yards from its usual route, the motor running idly as it remained wedged against the jetty. He scanned the surrounding area with his striking blue gaze, his eyes narrowing as he inspected the boat’s hull, looking for any signs of damage.

Nothing.

Stranded usually salvaged—stole—anything that was remotely useful, so finding the boat completely intact, aside from the crew, was strange.

“Well, they weren’t here for the boat,” Marcus stated, his tone gravelly as always. He glanced over at Baird, who had taken a seat near the bow, watching for a moment as Anya administered first-aid to the gash on the blonde’s head. The sergeant’s boots thumped against the deck as he made his way to the captain’s quarters. He let the weather-beaten door creak open slowly to find Cole crouching next to Jace, inspecting the bodies of his fellow gears. The ex-thrashball star wiped his hands on the legs of his pants as he stood, smearing blood on the worn fabric.

“Man, they slit their throats.” Cole wrinkled his nose at the sight of his blood-stained gloves.

“They wanted to keep quiet,” Marcus observed, noting the absence of bullet casings on the floor. No gunfire. He took note of the intruders’ choice of outerwear as well. Marcus found it reminded him of Commando gear; lightweight, ideal for stealth. He caught himself beginning to lose focus as his thoughts traveled across distant memories.  

Dom, I’m so sorry.

Marcus shook himself from his momentary trance, kneeling over to inspect one of the men, dressed in all black, just as Anya had described minutes ago.

“If you weren’t here for the boat, what the hell did you want?” the dark-haired gear mumbled softly, almost to himself as his eyes at once focused on the sticky red liquid staining the man’s vest. Apparently, the crew had been able to fire off a couple of shots after all.

“These guys aren’t your average Stranded, that’s for sure,” Jace concluded, still lost in thought as he sifted through one of the men’s bags. Marcus grunted his agreement.

“They came for something else,” Cole stated, breaking the short silence. “And aside from these two,” he gestured to the dead men, “I think they got it.”

“They wanted a distraction,” Marcus nodded his head slowly. They’d come for Sam, and apart from the two casualties, their plan had been extremely well executed.

But why Sam? Marcus repeated the question to himself before Anya placed a hand on his arm, causing him to turn.

“Marcus,” she said softly. Her brow furrowed as she turned to Baird, who slumped in his seat, staring at his hands.
“I think he remembers now.” There was fear, a hint of confusion in her eyes.

Marcus followed Anya towards the far side of the boat, leaving Jace and Cole to continue searching the bodies.

“They—those guys,” Baird’s tone was oddly soft; Marcus could tell he was trying to piece the situation together in his head as the words came out. “They were looking for a particular person. They kept asking if she—Sam,” his eyes dropped for a brief moment as he mentioned the female gear, “was ‘the one.’”

“What else did they say?” Marcus asked. “Was there anything that could give us a clue where they came from? Distinctive accent maybe?” The sergeant was pulling at straws, and Baird could tell.

“No,” Baird began slowly, letting the word linger on his lips. “They mentioned ‘their city’ once or twice…”

Marcus’ slightly confused expression slackened as everything began to fall into place. Their city… his city…It couldn’t—

“Marcus,” Jace called, holding a small radio in his hand, which had begun to crackle with static before an all too familiar voice reached the sergeant’s ears. Marcus felt his mouth go dry.

“You might want to hear this.” Jace’s dark eyes held the same shock as his superior’s as he handed the older man the radio.

We’ll settle this another time Fenix. You can count on that, bitch.

Marcus pressed the button, infuriated. “Griffin.”