Or they had been hit by something on purpose.
“I’m sorry, Miss Wroth. There were no other survivors,” the Admiral said
.
KRYSTY WASN’T BUYING the story Poseidon was selling. If Ryan was truly dead, she would know it. The bond they shared went way beyond physical—it was mental and spiritual and even had a bit of mysticism mixed in. Thanks to her mutant abilities and heightened awareness, both of which were returning to her faster and faster now that she was up and around, she just knew.
Other than the blow to the head she’d suffered, Krysty had experienced no other wounds, to either the body or the soul. That’s how she knew Ryan wasn’t dead. If he had died, the result of his passing would be like having a baseball-sized chunk of her own insides ripped out.
Still, the Admiral was in control of the situation.
For now, Krysty and Jak were going to have to play along. Both were feeling better now that their clothing had been returned to them. “Freshly laundered,” Poseidon had announced. Krysty’s long black fur coat was missing, but she really didn’t mind for the time being. The weather outside was quite warm.
She was told her coat, along with her Smith & Wesson and other personal effects, was in storage, to be returned when she was ready to leave. Jak was in the same predicament. His prized .357 Magnum Colt Python and assorted blades, including the hidden leaf-bladed knives, were also being held.
“For safekeeping,” Poseidon told them. “I wouldn’t want you to be distracted from the tour.”
A second sec man with an AK-47 had joined the first one as Poseidon led Jak and Krysty out of the base hospital. Krysty was surprised at how well everything was maintained—the walkways connecting the various buildings were clear, the grass—and there was plenty of it—was cut short. There were no broken windows or debris.
At least, in this part of the base. Within her line of vision, buildings could be seen in much worse repair. Poseidon pointed those out first.
“In time, those will be restored. It’s a miracle this installation survived at all. There was an error somewhere that kept Kings Point from being pummeled with nuclear fire during the last dark days of the United States.”
He stopped and saluted a brightly colored red, white and blue American flag that was snapping above them. The flag was tethered to a white metal flagpole. The two sec men also saluted, but not as crisply or as intently as Poseidon. Both men kept watchful eyes on their “tour group.”
“We’ve got electric power for all of these sections,” Poseidon bragged as he walked them over to a long, high-domed building on the edge of the coastline. “Armory, dormitory, briefing and tactical, hospital and, of course, the overlook arch for the submarine pens.”
As the group passed other men, Krysty noticed only a few in proper naval attire similar to what Poseidon was wearing. Most were dressed in an amalgam of various styles of salvaged clothing similar to her own. She spotted leather, denim, cotton and flannel. The men in the civilian garb were also a striking mix of faces and nationalities, whereas the ones in uniforms were all clean-cut, square-jawed white men.
“Why some in fancy duds and others not?” Jak queried, echoing Krysty’s thoughts.
“Only enlisted men can attain rank and position,” the Admiral replied. “They are the elite who have the sanctioned right to wear the colors and insignia of the naval corps. The others you see are hired security.”
“Grunts,” Jak said. “Muscle.”
“Precisely. They are well paid to do exactly as I tell them, with the promise of going higher if they exhibit the type of mind and character I am seeking for my navy. My followers grow in number each day as word spreads about the opportunity I offer here. I’m constantly amazed at how many men and women are just looking for the chance to improve themselves. There’s not much in the field of career opportunities in this day and age.”
The group entered the long building. Poseidon led the way down a flight of metal steps to the wide, half-enclosed areas open for docking ships or submarines.