Dawn Experiment

#Day 40 — 09:00

The assault boat sat in its davits, loaded with equipment—pulleys, makeshift crane parts, coils of rope, batteries, the two automated turrets. Engineers checked the lashings. Security checked their weapons. Kim circled the boat, testing the engine, the winch, the grappling hook sockets.

Zhao stood at the rail of the Blue Oasis, the wind pulling at his jacket. Aida was beside him, her hand on his arm. Mei-Lin held his other hand. Vivienne stood slightly apart, her captain’s mask in place, but her eyes kept drifting to the boat, to the people climbing aboard.

Victoria hugged Vivienne first—brief, firm, the kind of hug soldiers give before deployment.

”Don’t miss me too much,” she said.

Then she hugged Zhao. Her arms locked around him, her face pressed to his ear.

”See you on the other side.”

She released him, swung over the rail, and dropped onto the boat.

Kim was already at the helm. Maggie, Saanvi, Helene, Cecilia, and six engineers were aboard, their winter clothing bulky, their faces set.

”First batch is loaded,” Kim called up. ”Second batch in three hours. Don’t be late.”

Vivienne nodded. ”Bring them back.”

The davits lowered the boat into the water. Waves slapped against its hull. Kim started the engine, and the boat pulled away from the Blue Oasis, cutting through the gray sea toward the wreck on the horizon.

Zhao watched it shrink, his hand still raised.

#Day 40 — 09:29

The assault boat slammed into a wave, spray arcing over the bow, drenching the engineers huddled behind the cargo. Kim gripped the throttle, her knuckles white, her eyes fixed on the frigate growing larger. Behind her, the equipment creaked and shifted with each impact.

The wreck of HMS Somerset loomed ahead—its bow angled up, its aft submerged, wedged against a rocky outcrop near a cliff. The hull was scarred, blackened, pockmarked with holes. The starboard side was less damaged than the port side, more railing intact.

Kim circled, finding her approach. Waves crashed against the rocks, sending spray high into the air.

”Hold on!”

She gunned the engine, aiming for a gap between the rocks and the hull. The boat surged forward, then slowed as she cut the throttle.

”Front hook!”

She pressed a button on the control panel. A pneumatic launcher on the bow fired. The grappling hook shot upward, arcing over the railing, and embedded itself in the deck.

The rope tightened, pulling the bow toward the hull.

”Rear hook!”

The second launcher fired. The hook sailed, caught the railing, held.

The rope winched, drawing the boat alongside the frigate. Kim killed the engine.

”Secure it.”

Maggie tied off the ropes, checking the knots. The boat rose and fell with the waves, but the lines held.

”Go!”

Victoria climbed first, her boots finding holds in the damaged hull, her hands pulling on the rope. She reached the railing, swung over, and landed on the deck. A moment later, she dropped a rope ladder over the side.

The crew climbed. Maggie followed Victoria, then the engineers, then Saanvi, then Helene and Cecilia.

Kim came last, her leg still sore from the old bullet wound, her jaw tight.

#Day 40 — 09:42

On the deck, the wind was sharper, colder. The smell of salt and scorched metal hung in the air.

Maggie had the turrets out of their crates—two squat machines on tripods, their sensors blinking. She positioned one facing aft, covering the walkway toward the damaged stern section. The other faced forward, covering the bow.

”Zhao’s design,” she said. ”Don’t walk in front of them. They don’t know friend from foe.”

The engineers began unloading the boat—pulleys, ropes, the makeshift crane. Kim directed them, her voice sharp, her eyes scanning the deck.

Maggie pointed at a walkway cutting across the ship. ”We need a barrier here. Stern side. Wall off the damaged section.”

Helene and Cecilia dragged a heavy metal grate across the walkway, lashing it to the railings. It wasn’t much, but it would slow anything that came from the stern.

”Safe zone established,” Maggie said. ”Engineers, work. Security, with me.”

She and Victoria moved toward the interior, night vision goggles over their eyes, rifles up. Helene and Cecilia stayed behind, guarding the engineers.

#Day 40 — 10:11

The ship’s interior was dark, the emergency lighting long dead. Victoria’s night vision painted everything green—corridors, hatches, the occasional splash of blood on the walls. Her external Dawn Meter glowed green on her wrist. Maggie’s too.

They moved deck by deck, checking corners, listening.

Signs of evacuation everywhere—discarded gear, open lockers, empty weapon racks. Blood, but no bodies. No smell of decay.

”They fought hard,” Victoria murmured.

Maggie nodded. ”And survived. For a while.”

They passed a damage control locker. Victoria pulled it open. Empty. Just a few screwdrivers and a hammer left behind.

”Someone cleaned this out,” she said.

”Or used everything.”

They moved on.

At a junction, Victoria’s external Dawn Meter flickered—green to yellow, then back to green. A fraction of a second.

She stopped. Looked at Maggie’s wrist. Green. Steady.

”Your meter just flickered?”

Maggie shook her head. ”No.”

Victoria stared at her own wrist. Green. Steady.

”Equipment problem,” she said. But she filed it away.

They reached the captain’s sea cabin. The door was open.

Inside, a small desk, a narrow bunk, a closet. Personal photos on the desk—a woman, two children, and a younger Victoria, her arm around a man in uniform. Captain Sheffield.

Victoria picked up the photo. Her throat tightened.

”He remembered me,” she said quietly.

She looked through the closet. A few uniforms, no winter clothing. A few boxes of sidearm ammunition. She stuffed them in her pockets.

A small safe in the corner, its door open. Inside, documents, hard drives. She took everything, stowed them in her backpack.

Maggie was already at the bridge, standing in the doorway.

Victoria joined her.

The bridge was chaos—paper charts scattered across the floor, tools and equipment thrown from their mounts. The windows were cracked but intact. No fire damage. No burn marks. But streaks of blood on the panels, on the floor.

And in the corner, a pile of winter clothing, first aid kits, used bandages. Someone had been treating the wounded here.

”All salvageable,” Maggie said.

Victoria nodded. ”Signal the all-clear.”

Maggie raised her radio. ”Bridge secure. Safe zone established. Engineers to the bridge.”

#Day 40 — 11:43

The engineers swarmed the bridge, pulling panels, cutting wires, dismantling consoles. Nadia worked at the captain’s station, her tablet connected to the ship’s systems. Helene set up defensive positions at the bridge wings, stringing ropes for emergency escape.

Kim was on the main deck, directing the pulley installation on the mast. Two engineers climbed, their tools strapped to their belts, their movements careful on the rungs.

Victoria and Maggie moved to the lower decks.

The pattern continued—evacuation, fighting, blood, no bodies. Repairs everywhere—timber shoring up damaged bulkheads, emergency panels bolted over holes. This ship had fought hard.

About a third of the lower section was flooded. Dark water, still and cold, filled the compartments. Victoria stared at it, imagining what might be hiding beneath the surface.

”Lock it down,” she said.

Maggie sealed the bulkhead doors, spinning the wheel until the dogs bit.

“Whatever’s down there can’t get through steel,” She said.

They found winter clothing in a compartment near the mess—maybe a dozen sets, stacked on a bench, names written on tags. The owners hadn’t come back.

”Fire retardant. Waterproof.” Victoria held one up. ”Better than what we have.”

They took them.

The armory was next. A heavy steel door, a heavy lock. Victoria broke it with a crowbar.

Inside, rows of rifles, shotguns, machine guns. Ammunition boxes stacked to the ceiling.

Victoria’s eyes shone.

”Enough to arm the entire security team to the teeth,” Maggie said.

”No explosives. But this will do.”

They loaded their backpacks—rifles, ammunition, a shotgun for Victoria, a machine gun for Maggie. They would send the rest up later.

The galley was nearly empty. A few bags of grain, some oil, butter. And in the freezer, meat—half-frozen, not yet spoiled.

”This evacuation was recent,” Victoria said. ”Days, not weeks.”

”How did they survive the virus?” Maggie asked. ”Do they have a vector on board?”

Victoria didn’t answer.

They moved toward the medical bay.

#Day 40 — 12:15

The medical bay smelled of blood and antiseptic. Dried blood on the operating table, on the floor. Used bandages, surgical tools scattered. A laptop sat on the counter, still plugged in.

Victoria took it, stowed it in her backpack.

A briefcase lay open on the floor. Empty. Foam lining with holes—cylindrical, like vials. One broken vial nearby, white liquid dried on the deck.

”Don’t touch that,” Victoria said.

Maggie stepped around it.

Under the operating table, a single intact vial. White liquid inside. Victoria used her gloved hand to lift it, examined it, and carefully placed it in her backpack.

They heard the clank.

Both froze.

Victoria’s hand moved to her rifle. Maggie’s followed.

The sound came again—metal on metal. Distant. Echoing.

Their Dawn Meters held steady. No spike. No yellow.

They moved toward the sound, slow, silent. The corridor was empty. The sound stopped.

”Maybe the ship settling,” Maggie whispered.

Victoria didn’t answer. She looked at the bulkhead door to the flooded section. Still sealed.

They returned to the medical bay, finished their sweep, and climbed back to the main deck.

#Day 40 — 13:05

The all-clear signal went out. Engineers in the assault boat below passed up supplies through a rope line, their breath visible in the cold air, their bodies shivering without proper winter gear. Zhao, bundled in his bulky winter clothing, climbed aboard the wreck, hauling a heavy equipment case. He nodded to the engineers who remained boat-bound, watching as they loaded the first salvaged components into the vessel’s hold.

He found Kim on the main deck, directing the pulley system. The mast was rigged, the first components already being lowered.

”Good timing,” Kim said. ”We’ve got most of the antenna array. The receivers are next.”

Zhao looked up at the mast, at the engineers working high above, at the gray sky pressing down.

”Wind’s picking up,” he said.

”I know. We work fast.”

Saanvi had already set up in the bridge, the laptop from the medical bay connected to her portable power supply. NUWA was working on it—lines of code scrolling across the screen, the woman with the snake’s body watching patiently.

Nadia was at the captain’s station, wires trailing from an open panel, her tablet showing schematics.

”This panel connects to the main power bus,” she said. ”If we wire it to the battery pack, we can run the bridge systems for hours.”

”Do it,” Zhao said.

He turned to the missile launcher tubes visible through the bridge windows. Empty. All of them.

”They launched everything,” he said. ”Fought something substantial. Another warship, probably.”

He watched Nadia work, then noticed the panel in front of the captain’s chair—untouched.

”Hold off on that one,” he said. ”Can you wire it to the battery?”

Nadia nodded, rerouting cables.

When the screen flickered to life, Zhao sat in the captain’s chair and began searching the files.

Victoria appeared beside him. ”What did you find?”

”Last recorded video.”

He played it.

Captain Sheffield sat in this same chair, his face pale, blood staining his shoulder. He spoke to the camera, his voice steady despite the pain.

”Fired all available weapons. Covered the crew’s retreat. They took them one by one.” He paused. ”I stayed behind expecting to die first. But I may be the last.”

Another pause. His eyes moved to something off-screen, then back.

”Sorry, family. Wherever you are.”

He drew his sidearm, pressed it to his temple, and pulled the trigger.

The recording continued for several minutes—just the empty bridge, the sound of the sea—then cut off.

Zhao looked at the blood spatter to the left of the chair. Consistent with the video.

Victoria’s spine went cold.

”His body should be here,” she said.

She ran to the overlook, shouting down to Kim. ”Get everyone inside the bridge. Now. All engineers, all security. Move.”

Kim didn’t ask questions. She blew her whistle, waved her arms. The engineers on the mast climbed down faster than Zhao thought possible.

On the deck, Helene and Cecilia herded the crew toward the bridge. Maggie was already inside, her rifle up, her eyes scanning the windows.

The bulkhead door slammed shut. Dogs spun. Locked.

Kim pushed through the crowd to Victoria. ”What’s happening?”

Victoria showed her the blood on the floor. ”Captain Sheffield killed himself in this chair. His body should be here. It’s not. He was the last man onboard.”

Kim’s face went pale.

“He turned?”

Victoria nodded.

”We have a crawler on board,” Victoria said. ”And it’s not like the ones we’ve seen before.”

Saanvi looked up from the laptop. ”Why hasn’t it attacked? We’ve been here for hours.”

Victoria met her eyes. ”Because it’s not mindless. It’s a hunter. It’s choosing its prey. Stalking us. Waiting for us to split up, to get tired, to make a mistake.”

Maggie’s voice was flat. ”We’re not dealing with a level one crawler.”

”No. Blanc was level four. Impervious to small arms. It took sex drugs, grenades, and constant fire to drive it off. And it wasn’t even dead when it jumped.”

Maggie’s jaw tightened. ”I lost ten of my best people to Blanc. I’m not losing anyone here.”

Kim shook her head. ”We’re close. One more day. We can get the critical components.”

”One more day is too long,” Maggie said. ”If Blanc’s level four, this thing could be worse. And Zhao is here. If he dies, the Blue Oasis is done.”

Zhao stepped between them. ”There might be a way to hurt it. Maybe even kill it.”

Victoria turned to him. ”How?”

”Alexis and Carmona. The milk we’ve been storing—Carmona’s milk with Alexis’s aphrodisiac. It works like the sex drugs. If a concentrated dose weakened Blanc, a high enough dosage delivered directly into the crawler’s body might kill it.”

”Delivered how?”

Zhao pointed at the sniper rifle leaning against the bridge wall. ”Note can make customized hollow-point bullets. Fill the tips with frozen shards of the concentrated milk. When the bullet hits, it shatters inside. Maximum damage. Maximum dosage.”

Victoria looked at the rifle, then at Zhao. ”We have more winter clothing now. We can send a team from the Blue Oasis with the ammunition. But we need time.”

Kim checked her watch. ”How long to make the bullets?”

Zhao pulled out his radio. ”Note. How fast can you produce hollow-points with the frozen milk?”

Note’s voice crackled back. ”The printer is calibrated. Give me six hours for a batch of twenty.”

”You heard her,” Zhao said. ”Two hours.”

Victoria turned to the security team. ”We hold the bridge until the ammunition arrives. Then we hunt.”

Maggie began distributing weapons—rifles to the engineers who could shoot, pistols to the rest. Helene and Cecilia took positions at the bridge wings, their rifles aimed at the deck below.

Victoria pulled on the salvaged winter coat—fire retardant, waterproof, better than the improvised gear they had worn. She strapped on her gas mask, the filters fresh.

”The crawler’s body will emit high concentrations of viral particles,” she said. ”Level four and above. The mask will help—reduce what you breathe in. But the virus can still enter through other routes. Less effectively, but still. Don’t get bit. Don’t get clawed. Don’t get its blood in your eyes.”

She checked her rifle. Loaded. Safety on.

”Two hours,” she said. ”Then we go hunting.”

The crew settled into their positions. Engineers worked quietly, dismantling panels, cutting wires, loading salvaged components onto the pulley. Security watched the windows, the doors, the dark.

Zhao stood near the captain’s chair, his hand on the back of it, staring at the blood on the floor. Somewhere in this ship, something was watching them. Waiting.

He checked his bracelet. His pulse was steady.

For now.