Hell Divers

by Nicholas Sansbury Smith

  “Let’s go,” X said, impatient to get started. He didn’t like waiting, and he really hated being watched. He guided his team across the room to the ladder.

  “Good luck, Raptor!” a voice shouted from the entrance.

  X grabbed the first rung and turned to see Captain Ash hurrying across the room. A few of the other divers echoed Ash’s words as X climbed, but he wasn’t listening. His mind was focused on the mission. Not on the other teams, not on the threat of a riot, or of Ares itself—not even of Tin. All that mattered was what he had to do to keep the Hive aloft.

  The light from a single red LED guided him up the ladder. When he reached the top, he turned the wheel handle on the hatch. It clicked and unlocked, and he heaved it open. Wind screamed into the tunnel, rushing past him. He fought the gust and stared into darkness so thick, it seemed to wrap around the ship and squeeze it.

  When his eyes adjusted, he saw that there was also light above. It was faint—just a trace of gold bleeding through. The sun was up there, hiding behind the dark clouds.

  * * * * *

  Weaver ran through the darkness, his chest heaving in jagged, painful breaths. Slowing only to scoop up the dropped binos, he pounded upward on the slope that led back to the street above. But after only two strides on the collapsed road, he hit a patch of black ice and slid back down in a flurry of ice spicules.

  “No-o-o-o!” he moaned, jumping to his feet. Excited shrieks reverberated from the tunnel behind him. Turning, he saw the first creatures climbing from the pit. Pulling themselves up with talons the length of his tactical knife blade, they raced toward him on all fours, their dorsal spikes swinging from side to side. He scrambled onto the road again, clawing frantically at the ice with his fingers. And again he slid back to the bottom.

  The squalling and the scrabble of talons made him want to curl up and hide, just as he had as a kid when the emergency sirens on Ares started to wail. But now there was no bed to crawl under, no closet to hide in. He was in the open, exposed and vulnerable.

  As they drew nearer, he grabbed his revolver, but it wouldn’t budge from the holster. The tip of the barrel seemed to be frozen to his battery unit.

  His eyes shot back to the eyeless faces and grinning mouths. He worked the grip of the revolver back and forth.

  The Sirens would be on him in seconds. He could see the scabby crests on their skulls—could even see the tiny bristles on their heads.

  Weaver pulled again at the gun with both hands, and it finally freed with an audible crack. The sudden release sent him stumbling backward, and he felt the battery unit come loose. The ring-shaped device flew through the air and landed in the snow between him and the Sirens.

  His suit quickly powered down, and the HUD flickered off. He tried the headlamp, but it, too, was dead.

  He was blind and surrounded by predators.

  A lump of terror congealed in the pit of his stomach. As a Hell Diver, he had given a lot of thought to how he would die. He had always assumed it would be out in the open air, falling through an electrical storm or cratering into the cold, hard ground. Never had he expected to be trapped in darkness, surrounded by sightless monsters.

  Straining to see in the pitch blackness, he pointed the pistol toward the sounds of claws skittering on ice. The creatures were searching for him, too, but their eerie screeching had stopped abruptly the moment his HUD deactivated.

  Their claws scraped through the snow. Closer now. He heard a clatter of plastic and metal. They had found his battery unit. But why would flesh-eating monsters be interested in that?

  Weaver resisted the urge to blindly fire off shots in the direction of popping joints and skittering claws. Not daring to move, he listened to the noise of talons fumbling with his battery unit. There was a sudden grunt that sounded like the snort of a frustrated animal.

  The scratching ceased a moment later, replaced by the sound of the creatures retreating back to their lair.

  Weaver stood there for perhaps fifteen minutes, shaking in his suit, still not budging for fear the monsters would return. He couldn’t see his visor fogging up, but he knew his cold breath was clouding the plate. Without the battery, it wouldn’t take long for the frigid cold to work through the layers of his suit. The battery didn’t power just the HUD; it also powered the tiny heat pads inside his suit.

  Finding it was his only hope. Like a blind dog in unfamiliar surroundings, he moved tentatively across the ground on all fours. After a few moments of searching, he bumped something with his knee, and it rattled over the ice. He fumbled about some more and finally wrapped a finger around the familiar toroidal shape. Feeling a wash of relief, he carefully inserted it back into his armor.

  His HUD activated with a warm glow.

  He had never in his life been so happy to see the artificial green of the NVG optics.

  The sight sparked an epiphany, a theory forming in his mind. Energy. They’re drawn to energy.

  He had always assumed that the Sirens were drawn to movement, but now he finally understood. The beasts must be attracted to the energy that his battery unit produced. Perhaps they could see after all, with some sort of infrared vision that homed in on his suit.

  The display suddenly flickered. He checked the stream of data in the subscreen. It flashed a second time, then a third.

  “No,” he muttered. “Useless piece of crap.” He tapped the side of his helmet.

  The Sirens must have damaged the unit. He raised his wrist and cleared the screen on his minicomputer. Then he deactivated the heaters inside his suit and rerouted all power to his HUD. That would buy him some time to survive long enough to find the wreckage of Ares. He wouldn’t let the monsters feed on the corpses of his family and friends.

  Glancing up from his wrist computer, he scanned the darkness. The tunnel was still clear. The creatures had returned to their lair. He pulled his knife and studied the collapsed road for footholds. Grabbing a jutting piece of rebar with one hand, he jammed his blade into the ice with the other hand, then looked for any rough, ice-free surface that his boot would stick on.

  As he climbed up the slope, he concentrated on a new mission—one he had to complete before returning to Ares: find one of his dead divers and salvage their battery unit. If he was really lucky, maybe he would even get a blaster and some water, too.

  THIRTEEN

  Tin found Layla waiting for him in the hallway, chewing on a fingernail.

  “Looks like we have some time before the lights go out,” she said. “Let’s stop by the trading post. My mom gave me a few credits to buy a cookie. I’ll split it with you.” She seemed to scan his face for a reaction.

  “Aren’t you scared?” Tin asked.

  Layla’s eyebrows scrunched together. “About what?”

  “The ship’s in trouble.”

  “Wake up, Tin. The ship’s always in trouble.”

  Looking up and down the hallway, he saw life going on as it always did. People ambled to their workstations or apartments at the same casual speed. He caught snippets of conversations about a dive and Ares, but for the most part, people went about their day as if shutting off the lights were just another inconvenience to take in stride. And indeed, Tin couldn’t remember a time when the Hive hadn’t been in some sort of danger. Most of the other passengers probably weren’t any more frightened now than they had been a month ago, during the last electrical storm.

  But Tin knew better. This time, the threat to the ship scared him more than it ever had before. And with Ares gone, he felt an emptiness that he didn’t quite understand.

  They walked along in silence until Tin saw Andrew in the crowd ahead.

  “Don’t worry,” Layla said. “I think he’s going to leave you alone now.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Because of X. They know he was the reason we got to see the farms, and …”

  He ha
lted in the middle of the corridor. “And what?”

  “I kinda kicked Andrew in the marbles the other day. The other boys saw him cry.”

  Tin laughed. The sound was so unfamiliar to his ears, it almost made him stop.

  Layla’s smile broadened. “Yeah, I don’t think he’s going to be bothering anyone for a while.”

  Tin’s amusement turned to confusion. He scratched his forehead and squinted. “Layla?”

  “Yes,” she replied as they started walking ahead.

  “Why are you my friend?”

  She smiled and shrugged. “Because you’re my person. You’re smart. Funny, too—when you actually talk, that is. And … I don’t know, I always wanted a little brother.”

  Tin chuckled again. “Thanks. I guess I always wanted a sister, too.”

  “Cool. Then I guess that makes us stepbrother and stepsister by default. Now, come on,” she said. “I want one of those cookies before they flip the switches.”

  They stopped in the middle of the hallway. The corridor was a tide of variously colored coveralls. Layla slipped ahead in the crowd, and Tin tried his best to keep up. She was slender and fast. She would make a great Hell Diver.

  “Look at that,” Layla said. She stopped in a three-way intersection and pointed to the citizens waiting for their food rations. Four Militia soldiers in gray riot gear hovered around the crowd. Their faces were hidden behind mirrored visors, and they gripped the handles of their batons and waved them whenever one of the lower-deckers got too rowdy.

  “I’m lucky my mom works in engineering,” she whispered. “I’d hate to wait like those people.”

  A woman in faded brown coveralls at the front of the crowd caught Tin’s attention. She clutched an empty bag under her arm. The duty officer handing out rations eyed her and the two girls she had in tow. Both looked like four or five years old. The younger one scratched at her nose. Tin’s heart sank when he saw the cherry-size red lump that hung over her right eyelid. Deformities were common in children belowdecks, but every time he saw them his heart ached.

  The duty officer looked at his clipboard and marked it with his pen. Then he turned to a second worker at the bins of fresh produce and said, “Two potatoes, three tomatoes, and three measures of spinach.”

  “That’s it?” the woman protested. She held out her bag. “That won’t last us a day!”

  The young girl caught Tin staring, and he turned away. He was ashamed. Like Layla, he had grown up privileged. Neither of them knew what it was like to be truly hungry or to live with deformities or pain. He always went to bed with a full stomach. These people fought over scraps, and scraps couldn’t keep them alive forever. Everywhere he looked, he saw sunken faces and desperate eyes. It wasn’t right.

  “Let’s go,” Tin said.

  She grabbed his hand and worked her way back into the flow of traffic. They walked that way all the way to trading post.

  “Which merchant?” he asked.

  Layla shook her head. “I don’t know. My mom said some noodle vendor made cookies and was selling them for three credits apiece.”

  “I bet I know who it is.”

  Vendors touted their wares as they walked by. Some customers stopped to barter, handing over soap or homemade goods. Tin blocked them out until he saw the woman from the food ration line and her little girls again.

  The girl with the lump over her eye tugged on her mom’s sleeve, whining, “Mama, I’m hungry.”

  Her mother didn’t respond. Instead, she pulled her kids toward a booth. Reaching into her bag, she handed one of the merchants a potato in exchange for a tiny bag. Tin stopped, and Layla’s hand slipped from his. It wasn’t the first time he had seen someone trade their rations for drugs, but he had never seen a mother do it.

  “What’s wrong?” Layla asked.

  Tin didn’t reply. He spied the painted dragon on the booth, walked over, and tapped the countertop.

  The shop owner turned and looked out over the crowd.

  “Down here,” Tin said, tapping again on the counter.

  Dom glanced down and smiled. “Ah, Tin. Good to see you, my little friend. I was just about to close for the curfew. Shouldn’t you kids be in your bunks?”

  “We were on our way,” Tin said. He put his hands on the counter and whispered, “But we heard you might have some cookies.”

  “Ah, you heard that, did you?”

  Tin nodded.

  “I did have cookies,” Dom finally replied. “But they went fast.”

  Tin sighed. “Oh, well, maybe next time.”

  “Wait,” Dom said, holding up a hand. He disappeared inside his shack and returned, holding out both fists. “Maybe I have some left, but you have to play the game.”

  Layla stepped up to the counter. She studied both hands, eyes shifting left to right.

  “I pick …”

  “Choose wisely,” Dom said with a grin.

  “Left.” She paused as he began to open his left hand. “Wait,” she said, shaking her head. “Right.”

  Dom opened his right hand to reveal two triangular cookies.

  “How much?” she asked.

  He looked over his shoulder, then quickly handed her the cookies. “Free, but don’t tell my wife.”

  Tin cocked an eyebrow and looked up at Dom. Nothing was ever free. The word had almost lost its meaning over the years.

  “Are you sure?” Layla asked.

  “Yes. Now, please, take ’em before my wife comes back.”

  “Thanks!” She took the cookies and handed one to Tin.

  “You’re the best, Dom,” Tin said. Smiling, he closed his fingers around the warm cookie.

  “Be safe!” Dom shouted as they left.

  Tin looked over his shoulder and nodded as Layla pulled him to a small common area with a dozen tables.

  “How about here?” she said. She took a seat several chairs away from a mother and her small boy.

  Tin examined them from a distance. They both wore the same threadbare brown clothes as other lower-deckers. An empty bowl sat in front of them. The boy’s face was grimy, and his wild hair spiked out in all directions. Tin could smell them from where he stood.

  “Come on,” Layla said, “I’m hungry!”

  “Shouldn’t we get to our bunks?”

  She rolled her eyes. “We have plenty of time. Look around. There’s still a lot of people in here.”

  Tin reluctantly sat down beside her. He eyed the mother and child a second time. This time, she caught his gaze and quickly shied away.

  “These aren’t normal cookies,” Tin said. “They’re fortune cookies. Go on, crack it open.”

  Layla looked confused, but she broke the cookie in half. The little boy at the other table watched curiously, his eyes locked onto the two pieces she had laid on the table.

  Tin broke his open over the table and pulled out the sliver of yellow paper. The last time X had brought the cookies home, Tin could hardly read Dom’s handwriting, but this fortune was surprisingly legible.

  Accept your past without regrets. Handle your present with confidence. Face your future without fear.

  “What’s yours say?” Layla asked.

  “I can’t tell you, or it won’t come true.”

  Layla held her paper in front of her and said, “Oh.” Then she scooped up the pieces of the cookie and popped them in her mouth.

  Tin tucked the fortune into his shirt pocket and cupped the cookie parts in his hand. He thought about the words. They made a lot of sense. He had treated X like crap since the day his dad died. And he had let his fear of the future rule him. Well, all that was about to change.

  “Ready?” he asked.

  Layla was still chewing her cookie. She smiled, revealing small chunks stuck in her teeth. Tin led the way this time, stopping at the end of the table. �
�Here,” he said, offering the two halves of broken cookie to the boy. The child’s eyes brightened, and he let out a coo of excitement as his grubby little fingers reached out.

  “Go ahead, Jed,” his mother said. She looked up at Tin and said, “Thank you so much.”

  The young boy took the pieces and stuffed them into his mouth, his eyes never leaving Tin.

  “You’re most welcome,” Tin said.

  He grabbed Layla’s hand and led her out of the warehouse. At the exit, he looked back to see the boy waving at them. Tin waved back, wishing he could also have given cookies to the two girls he’d seen earlier. Layla stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. Her smile was gone. “I should have given him mine, too, huh?”

  Before Tin could reply, someone plowed into him, knocking him to the floor, where he banged his elbow.

  “Hey!” Tin shouted. He looked up to see four men. The one who had run into him had long black dreadlocks hanging over his shoulders. Tin recognized him instantly. He had seen him loitering outside the farm, with the same men. He wore the shabby clothes of a lower-decker but had the build of someone from the upper decks.

  A bearded bald man with him said, “Why don’t you watch where you’re goin’, little man.” He chuckled and said, “Let’s go, Trav.”

  Travis glanced down at Tin and Layla. “You kids better get to your shelter, where it’s safe.”

  * * * * *

  Travis had felt something inside him break when he left his brother in the brig. Seeing Raphael like that was unbearable, and then when Captain Ash announced the new power shortage, it was the last straw. All the pain and heartbreak over the years had stewed inside him and was about to boil over. It was finally time to act—finally time to force some changes.

  He waited with his back to the wall, outside the trading post entrance, and watched the boy with the funny hat and his friend with cookie crumbs on her shirt walk down the hallway. Both were upper-deckers. He could tell by their skin. It wasn’t filthy and pallid like most of the kids living below his feet. One day long ago, he had walked in their shoes, oblivious to the plight of those belowdecks. He hardly remembered those days now.