CHAPTER 23: THE INTERCEPTOR'S LAST STAND
The ground team split off toward the caves. I was supposed to go with them.
Instead, I found myself on the Interceptor.
It happened fast—a change of plans, a whispered conversation between Jack and Norrington's officer. Jack needed the ground team lean and silent. He needed me elsewhere.
"The crew," he said, eyes sharp in the moonlight. "Gibbs, Anamaria, the others. They're on the Interceptor, engaging the Pearl as diversion. Someone needs to keep them alive."
"You want me to—"
"I want you to do what you do. See danger. Save lives." His hand gripped my shoulder. "I can handle Barbossa. But if our crew dies while I'm in that cave, we have no ship, no escape, no future."
He's right, I thought. The Interceptor is destroyed in the original story. Most of the crew survives, but casualties happen. If I'm there...
"Go," Jack said. "I'll find you when it's done."
I went.
The Interceptor found me through chaos.
A naval launch deposited me on her deck as cannon fire erupted across the water. The Black Pearl had engaged—massive, dark, her cursed crew screaming challenges across the waves.
"Micke!" Gibbs grabbed my arm. "Where in blazes did you come from?"
"Long story. Where's Anamaria?"
"On the guns. Where else?"
The battle was already desperate. The Pearl's cannon spoke with thunderous authority, and the Interceptor shuddered with each impact. We were outgunned, outmanned, and facing a crew that literally couldn't die.
But we had one advantage.
Me.
My precognition screamed as I crossed the deck. Left—cannon strike incoming. I tackled a gunner sideways, and the rail where he'd stood exploded into splinters.
Above—rigging about to fall. I shoved two sailors clear, and rope crashed down where they'd been.
Behind—
I spun. A grappling hook had caught the rail, and cursed pirates were already climbing. I didn't fight—couldn't kill them anyway—but I could delay.
"Grapple! Starboard quarter!"
Marines responded, hacking at ropes, pushing bodies back over the side. The cursed pirates would come again—they always came again—but we'd bought seconds.
Seconds mattered.
"MICKE!"
Anamaria's voice cut through the chaos. She was at her gun station, feeding powder, working with desperate efficiency. I fought my way toward her.
"You came back." Her eyes were wild. "Where were you? Where's Jack?"
"Caves. Ritual. Long story."
"Stories later." She rammed home a charge. "Fight now."
I fought.
The battle became blur.
Cannon fire. Screaming. The crash of wood and the splash of bodies. My precognition ran hot, warning of dangers faster than I could process them.
Cotton—boom swinging. I caught him, pulled him down, watched the massive timber sweep where his head had been. His parrot squawked what might have been thanks.
Young gunner—deck collapse. I grabbed his collar, yanked him back, felt the boards splinter under where he'd stood.
Sailor I didn't know—sniper. I tackled him, felt the musket ball whistle past, heard his curse of surprise transform into gratitude.
The crew noticed. They couldn't help but notice. A man who always seemed to be in the right place, who always knew where danger would strike.
But they were too busy surviving to question.
"She's going down!" Gibbs's voice carried across the carnage. "The Interceptor—she's taking on too much water!"
I looked around. The ship I'd come to love was dying. Hull breached in a dozen places, mast cracked, deck slick with blood and seawater. The Pearl's assault had been too much.
"Evacuate!" I grabbed Anamaria's arm. "Everyone off! Now!"
"But—"
"The ship's lost. The crew isn't. Move!"
We organized the retreat in the middle of combat. Gibbs coordinated the longboats while I ran interference—guiding people away from danger, calling out threats before they materialized. The cursed pirates had boarded now, skeletal forms in the moonlight, and we were simply trying to survive long enough to escape.
Anamaria gripped my arm so hard it bruised. "You're not human."
"Later."
"You knew. Every time. You knew."
"Later."
We went over the side together, hitting water that ran red with battle. The Interceptor was sinking behind us, her proud shape becoming wreckage.
I treaded water, looking around. Survivors clustered near the longboats—Gibbs, Cotton, Anamaria, others I recognized. Fewer than I'd feared. More than I'd hoped.
But not enough. Never enough.
"The cave," I gasped, pointing toward the island. "We need to get to the cave."
"You're mad," Anamaria said.
"Jack's in there. Will's in there. The ritual—"
"Is happening right now." She pointed.
I turned.
The cave entrance was visible from here—a dark mouth in the island's face. And from within it, golden light pulsed like a heartbeat accelerating.
The ritual was reaching its climax.
And I was in the water, covered in smoke and blood, watching helplessly as history unfolded without me.
"We have to move." I started swimming toward shore. "Now. Before it's too late."
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