Dark Resurrection
The convoy's lead tug rumbled onward through the dead-still night. Diesel engines shook the deck under Ryan's boot soles; thick smoke poured from the twin stacks atop the superstructure, enveloping the stern in caustic particulate. Deep breathing was difficult. The smoke burned his one good eye and it left an awful, scorched petrochemical taste in his mouth.
Way nukin' better than rowing, though, Ryan told himself. He'd had enough rowing to last him the rest of his life.
Oars shipped, the Matachìn were powering toward what he figured was their ultimate destination.
The Lantic had turned black-glass-smooth under a starry, moonless sky. In the distance, on the starboard side, its oily surface reflected a narrow band made up of brilliant points of light—white, yellow, red, green—dotting, demarcating an otherwise invisible shoreline. As the bow crested the widely spaced swells, the lights lurched skyward then abruptly dropped. Landfall, the first in more than three weeks, drew inexorably closer.
The lights definitely weren't from fires or torches or anything combustible; Ryan knew that because they didn't flicker or throb. They glowed steadily.
Which mea ... read full excerpt from: Dark Resurrection ebook
