He looked toward his dog. “You think it tastes good?”
Miles trotted over, sniffed the body through the breathing filter around his muzzle, and walked away, uninterested.
“Yeah, me neither,” X said. He pushed the carcass back into the hole and pointed the rifle barrel into the green-hued darkness. The lizard-like monster hit the bottom a few seconds later, the thump and crunch echoing up from the hole. The sound faded away, leaving the man and the dog once again alone in the downpour.
X lowered his gun and walked over to the shelter of the bluff, where he took off his rucksack and rested it on the ground. He checked his rad meter again, and seeing that the area was still a green zone, he took off his helmet. Then he bent down and removed Miles’ helmet for him. Next, he pulled out three foot-long stakes attached to the side of his backpack and handed one of them to the dog.
Miles gripped the stake in his mouth and trotted off into the pouring rain. X followed with the other two stakes. Working together, they stuck the poles into the dirt at three different locations, forming a triangle around their camp. When they finished, X raised his wrist computer and activated the network. If anything tried to sneak into the area, a warning alarm would sound on his HUD, beeping in his helmet.
He checked the data on his wrist monitor, and seeing that everything looked good, he returned to his pack and pulled out his metal pot. Next, he put his ministove on the ground and ignited the flame powered by a long-lasting fuel cell.
X walked out from beneath the overhang and put the pot on the ground, then shook open the telescoping catchment funnel and set it over the pot. Rain began to trickle down the broad conical structure and in minutes the pot was full. He brought it back to the stove and set it on the burner. Then he dropped in a pill that would purify the water of radiation and kill any toxins that weren’t boiled away. He was running low on the precious pills, but he and Miles had to eat.
Finally, he pulled out a block of synthetic food from his pack. Using his knife, he lopped off a chunk of the bar and dropped it into the water. The brown block expanded into something that looked like a nest of snakes. A few minutes later, they had a pot of noodles and broth.
X sat his aching bones down on a smooth boulder. He waited for the contents of the pot to cool, then reached inside with his gloved fingers. He pulled out a strand and handed it to Miles, who wolfed it down without bothering to chew.
With the dog’s blue eyes locked on his, X raised another noodle to his lips and sucked it down. A memory flashed through his mind. He was in his old quarters on the airship he had once called home, sharing a meal with a boy wearing a tinfoil hat. The son of his best friend. Aaron, he remembered. Aaron Everhart and his son, Michael Everhart.
In the memory, X had watched Michael, who went by “Tin,” slurping down a plate of food. But as with most of the memories, the boy’s features were blurry, like a broken video screen.
X pulled out his journal and jotted down the memory anyway. It quickly faded in his mind, like all the others, but this time he was able to capture it on the page.
A new memory emerged as he finished writing the first one down. It was the moment Tin had handed him a piece of paper, just before that last dive stranded X on the surface.
Face your future …
X winced. The scars on his body stretched over his tired muscles.
“Without fear,” he said with an exhale, finishing the quote as he wrote it into his journal.
Times like this, when he could remember what someone had said, or the words scrawled on a piece of paper, were rare. So rare that he couldn’t recall the last time he’d had such a vivid memory.
Lightning webbed across the sky in the distance, and a third memory surfaced. This one he had no trouble recalling, for it haunted him often as he tried to fall asleep in this blasted wasteland. He felt himself falling through the clouds, a Siren’s leathery wings wrapped around him. He saw blue battery units—the beating heart of a Hell Diver. Three featureless faces looking down at him—fellow divers, one of them the woman he once loved—as they ascended toward the Hive and he fell back toward hell.
It wasn’t a memory he wanted to put in his journal.
X growled as the memories faded away like the afterimage of the lightning. He put his book back into its sleeve and finished his dinner. Then he rolled out the blanket attached to the bottom of his backpack, and Miles curled up beside him.
“Good night, boy,” X said. He reached for his helmet and brought it over by the blanket, catching a glimpse of his reflection in the mirrored visor. The flickering fire illuminated a haggard face he almost didn’t recognize.
A stranger, a ghost.
X brought his gloved fingers up to the thick, graying beard over a square jawline. With his finger, he traced over a scar forming a ravine up his right cheek and through his eyebrow. Dark eyes framed by crow’s-feet stared back at him, the irises almost lost to the fathomless black pupils.
He set the helmet down, unable to look at himself anymore. Bones aching, he grunted as he rested his head on the blanket. The glow of the fire filled the cracks in the stone overhang. Rain pattered down outside their shelter. The sound was calming, and he didn’t fight the wave of fatigue sweeping over him.
Minutes later, he was asleep, dreaming of events and people from his past. But not even in his dreams could he remember faces or voices. The dreams, like reality, were mostly just fragments.
A beeping sound entered his dream. His eyes sprang open to darkness as the chirp of the alarm snapped him awake. He saw a silhouette to his left. Miles stood growling and staring out beyond the perimeter.
X fumbled for his helmet, cursing his stupidity. He had forgotten to put it back on before drifting off to sleep. As soon as he slipped it over his head, he saw several contacts on the minimap in the upper-right corner. They were what had set off the alarm.
Cursing, he grabbed his rifle and angled it out toward the abandoned settlement, scanning for targets. His eyes flitted from the map on his HUD to the green hue of the terrain, but nothing moved in the sheets of rain.
What the hell?
Miles growled behind X, but the dog wasn’t looking at the settlement. He was glaring, teeth bared, at the wall behind them.
X slowly raised his rifle at the tower of stone, half expecting a Siren or some other beast to come skittering down the side.
“What is it, boy?” he whispered. He checked his HUD again. The contacts were coming from the right. Miles continued growling at the rock, and X moved slowly, rifle shouldered, over to examine the sloped wall.
A crunching sounded, and a cascade of rocks crumbled down the side. He gasped as a pair of massive eyeballs blinked from inside what appeared to be a solid wall. A limb the size of a man reached directly out of the rock. Then a chest emerged, followed by the rest of the body.
Swallowing hard, X scrambled backward as the beast peeled away from the wall and dropped down. The impact of the seven-foot-tall monstrosity shook the ground as dust puffed around its hooves.
“Run!” X shouted.
Miles turned and ran as the beast staggered toward X. He raised his rifle and aimed at the creature’s chest. Three rounds smashed through the rocklike armor covering flesh and vital organs.
The rock monster let out a deep howl and swiped with a long arm. Its massive paw hit the muzzle of the gun and knocked it free. X staggered backward and reached to pull his blaster from the holster on his thigh, like a gunslinger preparing for a showdown.
He pointed the gun at the beast’s forehead and pulled the trigger.
Click.
His heart thumped against his ribs. Contacts beeped on his HUD. More of the monsters were out there, awakening from their hibernation.
The creature in front of X took another step forward and raised its thick, muscular arms. The flesh looked exactly like weathered stone. X continued to
retreat from the camp. He flipped open the break of his blaster but then decided just to run.
The beast followed, opening its wide maw and releasing a roar that boomed like thunder. The rocky ledge shook as four more of the beasts dropped to the ground.
Miles barked at them and then looked to X for orders. He eyed the rifle, then the rucksack still tucked against the wall. They would have to come back later for the gear.
“Go, Miles!” X shouted. He motioned for the dog to follow him into the toxic rain. They could fight another day.
TWO
Present day
The launch bay reeked of sweat and fear. Captain Leon Jordan hated that smell. It was the bouquet of the Hive—a scent he had breathed his entire life.
Normally, technicians, engineers, and Hell Divers preparing for a descent to the poisoned surface would have crowded the bay. But today there were no flashing lights or countdowns warning of an imminent launch. That didn’t mean the space was empty, though—far from it.
For the first time in the documented history of the Hive, there weren’t enough Hell Divers to make a jump. Only three remained. Two of them were in the sick bay—one with a broken back from a mission years ago, and the other with cancer. The third diver, Jordan’s former lover Katrina, sat in the brig.
Instead of the predive bustle, hundreds of citizens had squeezed into the launch bay to mourn the loss of the men and women who hadn’t returned from the last dive. They all stared across the room at the smooth plastic domes like giant eggs covering the launch tubes.
Only a few knew that the divers hadn’t all perished at the Hilltop Bastion and that Jordan had chosen to leave them behind. The divers might very well have still been alive when he gave the order to leave them down there. But the traitors had made their choice—and paid the price.
“Today, we gather to honor the divers who gave their lives on the last dive to the Hilltop Bastion,” Jordan said, his voice booming through the vaulted room.
Every face turned in his direction as he stepped out from the crowd and walked toward the launch tubes. Stopping at the first plastic dome, he turned and scrutinized those gathered.
At the front of the crowd, Lieutenant Hunt, Jordan’s new XO, and Ensign Ryan both stood stiffly. They knew the truth about what had happened at the Hilltop Bastion, but as loyal soldiers, they would protect the truth with their lies or face the consequences. There were several others who knew what had happened. Men such as Ty Parker, who were not so trustworthy as Ryan and Hunt. The technician was now cooling his heels several cells down from Katrina. Jordan still wasn’t sure just what Chief Engineer Samson knew, but the man had remained loyal so far, and he was far too valuable to throw into the brig—or jettison out of an air lock.
Jordan continued his scan of the crowd. Right of Lieutenant Hunt stood Sergeant Leonard Jenkins, commander of the militia. He also knew the truth. In fact, he knew more than any of Jordan’s crew—especially about the false prophet, Janga. And while he had been loyal thus far, Jordan was starting to suspect that Jenkins didn’t like the way he was running the ship. It was in the subtle things—the vaguely insolent slouch in his stance, the second of hesitation before following an order.
He would need to do something about Jenkins, but first he had to get everyone else in line. After letting out a rueful sigh that could be heard throughout the room, Jordan began the speech he had been planning for several days.
“Commander Michael ‘Tin’ Everhart, Commander Rick Weaver, Magnolia Katib, Rodger ‘Dodger’ Mintel, Layla Brower, and Andrew ‘Pipe’ Bolden might not have returned with fuel cells or supplies for the Hive, nor did they find a habitable place for us to set down, but their sacrifice was not without worth. Their loss, though regrettable in the utmost, proves a point that many of us have had a difficult time accepting.”
He waited a few seconds before continuing. “They proved there is nothing down there awaiting humanity besides death. No miraculous green zone—no radiation-free area where we can sow new crops. Nothing … but … death.”
He paused again to let the words sink in. Among the crowd were several lower-deckers, as evidenced by their poor hygiene and tattered clothing. A few of them shed tears; others held their heads high, choosing to honor the memory of the divers without showing any emotion. Jordan respected them for that. He had never trusted anyone who was overly emotional. People like Captain Ash, who put her heart before her brain. Doing so compromised a person, making it impossible to be rational.
One thing was certain: he had the unwavering attention of everyone in the room. Good. He was sick of the traitors, thieves, and snakes. The only way humanity would continue to survive on the Hive was through complete obedience. He would tolerate nothing less. The time for niceties was over.
“If anyone in this launch bay still believes there is something down there for us, feel free to step forward. I will happily instruct our technicians to give you a one-way ticket to the surface so that you may investigate further.” Jordan gestured toward the launch tubes.
“Does this mean we’re giving up the search entirely?” asked a deep voice.
Jordan searched the crowd to find the man who had interrupted him, but he saw no one obvious. “Step forward if you wish to speak,” he commanded.
The sea of passengers parted down the middle to disgorge a haggard-looking Cole Mintel.
“Are you saying my son gave his life just to prove a point?” he asked.
Jordan considered his response for a moment. The last thing he wanted was to make a scene with the disgruntled father of a dead Hell Diver. Besides, Rodger had played his part perfectly, using the Industrial Tech Corporation card Jordan had given him to reveal what was really down there.
“Your son died for far more than that, sir,” Jordan said, opting for the truth. “Your son died by discovering what awaits anyone who sets foot on the surface.”
Cole folded his muscular forearms, honed by countless hours of woodworking, across his chest. Confused faces centered on Jordan. He still had their attention. He was in control of the crowd, but to keep it, he would have to tell more of the truth than he had planned on. The truth about the world they feared, and the idea of a home that some still believed possible.
“Rodger and the other Hell Divers entered the Hilltop Bastion because of bogus information from Captain Ash,” Jordan said. “Their deaths are on her shoulders, not mine. She had hoped that the Hilltop Bastion might be an area we could turn into a new home, but as I suspected, the bunker was nothing more than a tomb overrun by creatures out of a nightmare.”
Cole remained standing in front of the crowd, with his dark eyes locked on Jordan. It was going to take more than this cryptic explanation to convince the father that his son had died for a noble cause.
Running his hand over the smooth plastic surface of a launch tube, Jordan said, “Captain Ash was right, in a way. The Hilltop Bastion was a good place for humans to wait for the radiation to clear on the surface. But then the Sirens and other mutated beasts claimed it as their own home. Thanks to the information your son and his fellow divers retrieved, we can now focus on avoiding places like this and surviving in the skies.”
“If you knew there were these Sirens down there, why did you send my boy?” Cole growled, lowering his arms and clenching his fists.
“You misunderstand,” Jordan said. “I didn’t know for sure.” His eyes flitted to Sergeant Jenkins, who glared at Cole, ready to silence the man at a moment’s notice. Jordan didn’t want it to come to that. He wouldn’t let anything disturb the fragile peace aboard the ship. The loss of so many divers at once had united the upper and lower decks for the first time in as long as he could remember.
“I’m truly sorry for the loss of your son,” Jordan said, “but Rodger’s death has reaffirmed what most of us already believed. Life will continue in the sky for the next two hundred and fifty years, until the radiation and
electrical storms have finally abated.”
He patted the launch tube one last time. Once, it had dropped the very bombs that destroyed the surface. Now it dropped the men and women who kept the ship in the air.
After a half minute of silence, Jordan forced a smile. “I was going to keep this confidential, but your son sent a final message to the Hive.”
Cole squinted at him as if looking for the lie. “What did my son say?”
“He wanted his discovery of the monsters at the Hilltop Bastion to embolden us. He said he wanted more men and women to follow his lead and fight tooth and nail for the future of humanity.”
Jordan waited a beat and then added, “Rodger knew that his death and the deaths of the other divers would leave a void, but in his final moments he sent a message of courage—and a challenge to those of us still breathing.”
Jordan saw the bob of Cole’s Adam’s apple as he swallowed. His balled fists fell limply to his sides, and he slipped his callused hands into his pockets.
Jordan almost smiled. He had turned the tide with yet another beautiful lie. He pressed his advantage.
“Today, we’re gathered not only to mourn the lost Hell Divers but to honor them as well. And in keeping with Rodger Mintel’s final request, I humbly ask for volunteers. Who of you will accept his challenge? Who will step forward and become a Hell Diver?”
* * * * *
If the airship had a nerve center, Michael Everhart was sitting directly in the middle of it.
The smooth charcoal-gray bulkheads rumbled quietly throughout the bridge of the ITC airship Deliverance. Monitors and touch screens flashed data all around him. The bridge was a third the size of the Hive’s, and instead of split levels, it consisted of a singular circular space, with all stations positioned around a central island that served as a desk.
Bulkhead-mounted monitors surrounded the space, and a single leather chair sat facing the largest screen, at the helm, with a row of chairs behind the captain’s. The one thing Michael missed from his old home was the ship’s oak wheel. Here, there were modern flight controls for the captain and supporting pilots.
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