Up From The Deep Vaughn Jackson (book club suggestions TXT) 📖

and the man turned around, his icy eyes regarding her with irritation.

“Ain’t right to touch a man’s tool without his permission,” he said with a thick southern accent. “Least of all to start banging up on his shit while he’s up doing God’s work with ten thousand degrees of heat. Might get a man killed that way.”

“Sorry,” Skylar started, “I tried calling up to you—”

“Might try waiting next time.”

“I don’t have time to wait,” Skylar said, “I need to know who’s in charge here.”

“Well now you do,” he said with a lopsided smirk.

“You?”

“Me.”

Great, Skylar thought. “The general sent me down to—”

“I know,” he said, wiping the sweat from his forehead, but smearing grease across it in the process. “General sent down a memo. What’s your name, ma’am?”

“Just call me Skylar.”

The man took out a folded-up piece of paper from his cargo pant pocket and read over it. “Says here I’m supposed to work with a Doctor O’Hara?”

“Yes, Doctor Skylar O’Hara, me,” Skylar said, frustrated.

“Pleased to meet you, Doctor O’Hara. Gunner Kaine, but everyone here just calls me ‘Boss’,” he said, extending a hand. Skylar shook it, a shiver running down her spine as grease and sweat clung to her hand on contact. She waited for the man to turn away before wiping her hand on her jeans. “What can me and my boys do for you today?”

#

Despite his demeanor, Gunner Kaine was exceptionally intelligent and polite in his own way, Skylar realized. He’d taken her around the hangar and introduced her to the rest of his team, mostly by nicknames. Skid, a thin streak of a man; Bunk, heavier than the rest, but the most well-spoken, Tungsten, who’d lost a finger due to an unfortunate choice of wedding ring, and Jet, who used to be a fighter pilot, but couldn’t stand being in the air after witnessing the events of 9/11 from Ground Zero. Gunner swore the nickname was around before the phobia, and Jet confirmed that it was his old air force call sign. He mostly found the irony funny at this point he had told her.

“So wait, you’re telling me you need us to make giant…staples?” Skid said, scratching his armpit before wiping his face on the stained wifebeater that clung loosely to his wiry frame.

“To hold that giant monster,” Tungsten added. He rubbed at what Skylar thought was 5 o’clock shadow but turned out to be a fine spread of dirt on his face. “In Vegas?”

“Effectively, yes,” Skylar said, “we need to pin the creature long enough to fully dehydrate it.”

“Goddamn,” Jet said. “We’re talking at least a hundred metric tons of carbon steel. You’d need a fleet of helicopters to transport these things.”

“Is it possible?” Skylar asked. “We have the steel.”

“With all due respect, ma’am, we’re welders,” Gunner said, “we can damn well do anything you need with the right amount of steel.”

Someone hemmed at Skylar’s back. She turned to see General MacPherson standing in front of a staggeringly diverse group of people.

“Doctor O’Hara,” MacPherson said, “the shipments of steel are waiting outside the hangar door.” She gestured at the crowd of men and women around her. “And here are all of the welders, blacksmiths, and engineers we could claim from the surrounding facilities.”

Skid spat on the floor of the hangar. “Look at all that new blood. Good thing too, I was worried we’d be shorthanded.” He grinned his nearly toothless grin. “Welcome to the Mechanic Corps, you lot, hope you like cyborgs ‘cause after all this you might well be one.”

Skylar turned to Gunner. “Can I leave them in your hands?”

“Don’t need no supervision here. This is just a Tuesday for us. You can run along and do whatever you need to do.”

Skylar extended a hand. Gunner took it and shook it with a firm grip.

“We’re counting on you,” she said.

#

As soon as Devonte entered the fluorescent lit infirmary, a moon-faced nurse recognized him and ushered him down a long hallway lined with numbered doors until they came to one marked “54”.

“I think he’s awake,” the nurse said, opening the door for him, “go on in.”

Inside, Brannigan sat up on the hospital bed, bandages wrapped around his head, chest and one of his wrists. “Hey, if it isn’t my favorite nerd!”

“You know, you should keep the wrappings. Hide that face out of respect for those around you,” Devonte said with a laugh.

“Oh, too soon man, too soon,” Brannigan said, clutching his ribs with a grimace as he laughed.

“Seriously though, what the fuck happened to you?”

“I made the Russian strongman very angry. Turns out I didn’t like him very much when he was angry,” Brannigan said. “Lots of broken bones. Maybe a spleen or two.”

Devonte rolled his eyes but couldn’t suppress a chuckle. “But you won?”

“He’s dead. Very dead,” Brannigan said. “I made sure this time.”

“I’m glad you’re okay.”

“Hey, me too. How is your shoulder?”

“I’ve been able to sneak in a little bit of physical therapy here and there to keep it from locking up. I can almost move it without wanting to cry now.”

“Progress!”

Devonte flashed a toothy smile. “Yeah.”

“So what have I missed?”

“Didn’t you hear?” Devonte asked.

Brannigan pointed at the wrap around his head that covered one ear completely and halfway covered another one. “It’s a bit hard at the moment.”

“The creature is heading to Las Vegas. Tempest recreated our device.”

Brannigan started to get out of the bed and get dressed. He fumbled and coughed, clutching at his sides before collapsing back on the cot.

“What are you doing?”

“You lot sound like you need help, so I’m coming back with you.”

“No, dude, you’re real banged up, you need to rest.”

Brannigan didn’t stop. Devonte searched the room for the emergency call button. He slammed it, and almost instantly a nurse and two soldiers rushed into the room.

Brannigan narrowed his eyes at Devonte. “Motherfucker.”

The three attendants were able to wrestle Brannigan as gently as possible back onto the bed and strap him down. The captain pulled at the straps, eliciting a pained gasp from the captain. Brannigan didn’t