Hell Divers III_Deliverance
Page 13
“I still can’t reach Timothy,” Michael said, “so we’re going with plan B.”
“Plan B better not involve boats,” Magnolia said.
“Or man-eating trees,” Rodger said.
Michael turned his binos back to the swamps, scanning for a way across, but only saw small islands barely big enough for one of them to stand. They had already plumbed the water’s depth. Wading wasn’t an option.
They needed transportation. Again he eyed the rusted boat. Judging by the holes in the hull, it wasn’t going anywhere. But maybe there was another way …
“Sorry, but my plan includes both those things,” Michael said.
Layla stepped closer to him and put her slender hand on his shoulder. Things between them had been different since Weaver’s death. She had been burdened with grief, while he had been grappling with the responsibilities of command. It felt good to know she still supported him. He had missed holding her in his arms more than he wanted to admit.
“We’re going to have to head back into the city to find transportation across the water,” Michael said. “I don’t want to hear any protests. Let’s get it done, Team Raptor.”
Normally, he would have asked for opinions, but he already knew what the other divers thought, and there was no time to argue. He waved the group after him, and they set off across the field separating the banks of the swamp from the ruins.
Lightning speared through the sky. In the cold flash of light, Michael glimpsed a Siren. The winged monster sailed under the cloud cover with a vine in its claws. The severed tentacle wriggled like a snake in its grip. An otherworldly call echoed over the island, stopping the divers in their tracks. The beast swooped into a building, where it disappeared.
“Six o’clock,” Rodger said. He raised his pistol toward the sky, where another Siren hunted. It glided back to the south, taking no notice of them.
“Anyone else have eyes?” Michael asked. So far, he had seen only three of the creatures, but the island was surely home or hunting ground to more.
“Got nothin’,” Layla said.
“Me, neither,” said Magnolia.
Michael flashed the signal to advance, and they continued toward the city. He took point and ran in a low hunch along the brick wall of the closest building. He didn’t know where the hell they were going to find a boat, but he wasn’t picky. All he needed was something that would float. If it came down to it, he would swim to find X.
Crouching, he peered around the corner. The vines had writhed back into the broken structures, but he could see spiny branches rising through the tops of several buildings.
“Rodger,” Michael hissed, motioning Rodger forward. Rodger darted over and knelt beside Michael. “I want you to stay here and watch over Layla, okay? She’s injured.”
Rodger hesitated before nodding. Michael knew that he would rather be with Magnolia, but the man’s ridiculous crush didn’t figure into the decision.
Michael moved over to Layla. “I’m sorry, but you’re staying here with Rodger. I’m taking Magnolia.”
She raised a hand to protest, but he cut her off.
“Mags is faster, and you’re hurt. Sorry, babe.”
“If you said you need me to stay here and babysit Rodger, that would make me feel better,” Layla said with a wry smile.
Michael grinned and pressed his helmet against hers. “I love you.”
“Love you, too, Tin,” she said. “Be careful.”
Magnolia crawled over and waited for Michael to give the all clear.
“Just you and me this time,” he said. “Show me how fast you are.”
“Fearless, fast, and—” Rodger began before Michael cut him off.
“Radio silence unless necessary.”
“Sorry,” Rodger said. “Be careful out there, you guys.”
Michael crept around the wall to look for contacts a second time. Seeing the empty street, he tilted his head for Magnolia to follow. She took off running down the street behind him. The nuclear blast had mostly spared this area, but Mother Nature had done what the explosion had failed to do, leaving most of the man-made structures broken.
A raucous thunderclap rattled the ruins as they crossed the street. Michael gritted his teeth and looked up at the swirling beast of a storm above them. He tried to reach Deliverance again.
“Timothy, this is Michael. Do you copy? Over.”
More static. What the hell was going on?
Michael pointed toward a three-story building on the left side of the street. Branches stuck out of the third-floor windows, but the first floor looked clear. He stepped up to the open doorway and peered left, then right. The ceiling had caved in, dumping a bathtub, sink, and toilet on the floor.
“No good,” he said.
They moved on to the next building and continued their search. Inside, the vines and trees had lost their pinkish glow and were a dark brown, camouflaged to blend with the rest of the drab landscape. The vegetation looked dead, but they were careful to avoid it, just in case.
The first block turned up no boats—and, happily, no Sirens. Just the filthy interiors of houses where his ancestors had once lived in peace. He led Magnolia onto the next block, where several shop fronts faced the road. Old-world vehicles rusted under downed power lines. An ash-covered electrical cable stretched across the sidewalk like one of the carnivorous vines.
Michael stepped over a faded sign that read coffee and espresso.
What the hell was espresso?
It was hard to imagine what this place had once looked like. On other dives, he had never paid too much attention to artifacts. His mind was always focused on the dangers, not the treasures.
Today was no different.
He ignored another sign that promised something called “seafood,” and directed Magnolia toward a building across the next street. A large metal door covered the storefront, suggesting that something inside might have survived intact. They ducked into an alleyway to look for a back entrance.
Lightning smacked down a block away. The tremor rumbled across the dirt. Michael braced for the mighty crack that followed, rattling his body and hurting his ears.
Magnolia stepped up to a metal door in the brick wall of the alleyway and tried the handle. Locked. She slung her rifle over her back and pulled out her tool kit while Michael stood guard. He couldn’t see much of the sky, and the thunder made hearing difficult, but there was still no sign of the Sirens.
“Layla, how you doing back there?” he asked over the comms.
There was a short wave of white noise. “I’m fine, but Rodger won’t sit still.”
“Take a seat, Rodger Dodger,” Michael ordered.
“Yes, Commander. Whatever you say.”
When he returned, after he and Layla stole a few moments for themselves, he was going to have a talk with Rodger about a few things. The man had no respect for rank, and while he considered Rodger a friend, Michael was also his commander. He needed to know that Rodger would follow orders without questions—or sarcasm.
Michael raised his AK-47 as Magnolia opened the door. He chinned on his NVGs and moved inside, raking the barrel over the damp walls of what had been some sort of workspace. Industrial equipment was mounted on long tables in a room the size of the trading post on the Hive. The ceiling appeared mostly intact, aside from a few holes that had allowed water in. Pools had collected in several places.
He motioned for Magnolia to check the right side of the space while he cleared the left.
They weren’t going to find a boat here, but perhaps there was something that would help them. He spotted a rust-caked sign on the wall. This one didn’t have any text—just the symbol of what looked like a computer.
He stepped around a table stacked with equipment he didn’t recognize, and ducked down to check underneath. Several tools and cans lay on the ground
, but nothing looked useful. He stood and kept moving, checking on Magnolia’s progress.
“Find anything?” he asked over the comm.
“Nothin’. You?”
“Negative.”
They cleared the room in ten minutes and met back at the entrance. Stepping back out into the alley, they moved to the next block, where the recent lightning strike had ignited a pile of trash on the side of the road. Smoke threaded into the sky.
Another large door sealed off the entrance to a building not far from the fire. An old-world pickup truck sat in the driveway, reduced to rust, glass, and cracked rubber. Above the vehicle, a crooked sign beneath an overhang showed pictures of sailboats and palm trees.
Magnolia pointed, her eyes alight, and they bolted across the street to the gate.
“Wait for thunder,” Michael said.
A trident of lightning blazed overhead, and as the thunder boomed, Michael and Magnolia grabbed the handles and lifted the door. The screeching metal was hardly audible over the noise. With the door open, they both stepped back and leveled their rifles at the interior of the garage. It took a moment for Michael’s eyes to adjust to the green hue of his NVGs, but when they did, he saw the mother lode arrayed before them.
The long space housed several fiberglass boats, and others of aluminum. He recognized them from old books and vids in the Hive’s library: canoes, kayaks, and even a sailboat. To the left, surfboards hung from the wall.
“Holy shit!” Magnolia breathed. “We actually found—”
A screech cut her off.
Michael whirled around, looking up, but the alien wail seemed to be coming from all directions.
“You got eyes?” he asked calmly.
Magnolia’s armor hit his with a clank, and her reply came in a garbled mess. “What the shit … Oh, no, not these fucking things again.”
Michael turned back toward the garage and followed the barrel of her rifle toward a bulbous cocoon hanging to the right of the surfboards. Bristles like giant eyelashes covered the central opening.
“Nests,” she whispered.
An eyeless face poked out of one of the openings, and gooey liquid sloshed down the wall. Bony hands widened the gap, allowing the Siren to push its body out past the thick bristles.
Michael watched in horror as more of the nests began to stir and twitch. He counted an even dozen.
“They’re just babies,” Magnolia said quietly. “Maybe we can sneak out before the parents get back.”
Michael unholstered his blaster and flicked the selector to the flare. He had aimed the barrel at the ceiling and prepared to torch the bastards when another conical head suddenly poked through an opening in the roof.
The Siren that looked down at them was no baby. It squeezed its body through the gap and dropped to the floor between the two divers, separating them from the nests—and from the precious boats.
“Watch out!” Magnolia shouted.
Michael aimed the blaster back at the ceiling as the beast folded its wings over its spike-ridged back.
“Fire!” he shouted.
His flare streaked into one of the nests. The blaze ignited the flammable soft tissue and quickly spread to the other cocoons.
The Siren let out a screech louder than thunder, nearly bringing Michael to his knees. Magnolia squeezed the trigger, riddling the pale, stringy flesh with two three-round bursts. The eyeless creature jerked back and forth as bullets ripped through and out its back and peppered the walls, killing the babies crawling out of the nests to escape the flames.
“What’s going on!” Layla shouted over the comms.
The Siren fell back onto a canoe, flopped once or twice, and went still. Michael stepped forward and lifted the end of the boat, dumping the carcass off.
“Get ready to paddle!” Michael replied over the open channel. “We’re getting the hell off this island!”
TWELVE
Jordan sat in his dark office, looking at the ceiling. Whatever remained of his heart had died inside him.
Maybe it’s for the best, he kept telling himself. Maybe this is what you needed to focus you back on your duty to the Hive and humanity.
He shook his head and closed his eyes. He had hoped Katrina would give birth to a boy who would carry on his legacy as captain, that eventually their son would create his own family. Generations of Jordans would continue aboard the Hive until the day it was finally safe to return to the surface.
But his dream was not to be.
His child was lost, and Katrina was, too. It was her fault the baby had died. She had refused to eat, refused to care for herself. She had killed their child as surely as if she had driven a knife into her own belly.
He opened his eyes and stalked over to the door, stopping momentarily to look at the sword hanging on the bulkhead. He turned on the overhead light to examine the one piece of history that he would not be removing from the ship.
Since the launch of the Hive, the blade had been handed down from captain to captain. It was a ceremonial weapon, but there were stories of a captain actually using it in a rebellion a century ago. Since then, the sword had remained on the wall in the captain’s quarters. His predecessor, Maria Ash, had never liked it, which made Jordan appreciate it even more. It had hung useless on the wall for too long. It was time for a captain to carry it again.
He reached out and took the metal sheath in both hands, raising it from the wall mount. Using a clip on the sheath, he fixed it to his belt. Then he pulled the sword out, holding the blade aloft in the overhead lights.
He traced a finger along its edge. The blade was as dull as a dinner plate. Harmless, he mused as he sheathed the blade. But that could be fixed.
He flicked off the lights and walked out onto the bridge. Several officers, including Hunt, looked in his direction, their eyes flitting to the sword and then back to his face.
He wasn’t sure how many of them knew about Katrina, but it didn’t matter. They all would know soon.
“Hunt, you have the bridge,” Jordan said. “Radio me if you need anything.”
Ensigns Del Toro and Lore were waiting for him on the platform near the exit.
“Sir,” they said in unison.
“Let’s go,” Jordan said. “I’m headed to the library and then to the launch bay.”
Lore’s thin lips moved as he if wanted to reply, but he stiffened and nodded silently instead.
“Is there a problem with that?” Jordan asked, looking at Del Toro. He had more spine than Lore.
“Sir,” Del Toro said. The thickset officer drew in a deep breath through his nostrils, as if he needed to gather his courage. “It’s not safe to go to the lower decks right now without a squad. I’m sure Sergeant Jenkins would agree.”
“I would,” said a voice.
Jenkins ducked through the open hatch and joined them on the platform overlooking the bridge.
“We’ve got a major problem, Captain,” Jenkins said. He wiped his nose, smearing blood on the brown sleeve of his uniform. “The raid on the library did not go well. The librarian put up quite the fight.”
“Jason Matthis?” Jordan raised a brow. “He’s an old man, and practically blind! Explain to me how he put up a fight.”
Jenkins lowered his hand to his side, and Jordan noticed the scraped and bleeding knuckles.
“What the hell happened, Sergeant?” Jordan said.
“Sir, with all due respect, what did you think was going to happen when our crews started taking down paintings and pulping books? The people are rising up.”
Jordan took three steps until he was inches from Jenkins’ face. Fueled by rage and grief, he didn’t even try to hold back.
“I didn’t ask you for your fucking opinion, Sergeant. I asked you what the hell happened.” The sergeant held his ground and the captain’s gaze.
�
�Do you not remember the oath you swore to the Hive? Do you not see where you are right now? You’re on the fucking bridge!” Jordan gestured with his arms wide. “You are not here to question me. You exist to follow my orders.”
Jordan felt the gaze of every officer burning into his back. He turned away from Jenkins and yelled, “Get back to work!”
All faces dropped back down to their stations, and Jordan turned back to Jenkins.
“I’d ask you again what the hell happened, but I’m going to see for myself.” And with that, he brushed past, his sword sheath bumping the sergeant in the side.
Footfalls echoed across the platform, which told Jordan his guards were following. He halted right before he reached the open hatch.
“Put an edge on this.” Jordan unfastened the sheath from his belt and handed it to Del Toro. “I want it sharp enough to shave with. Then bring it back to me.”
* * * * *
Sergeant Jenkins pulled out a key and unlocked the armory. He wore his matte-black padded armor and carried his helmet in the crook of his arm.
Don Olah was first to walk into the room. The other divers followed, with Les Mitchells ducking under the overhead. A bank of lights clicked on, illuminating racks of weapons mounted to the bulkheads.
“Holy shit,” Jennifer said.
Rifles, crossbows, pistols, blasters, and shotguns were lined up neatly on the racks, but most of the mesh lockers were empty. Only a few helmets and armor suits remained inside. Several of the weapons racks were also empty. Most of them were in the hands of militia soldiers. On the way to the armory, Les had spotted dozens of them patrolling the corridors, armed to the teeth and outfitted in full riot gear. For now, the ship was quiet, but he feared that an uprising was near. Purging the history had caused an uproar the likes of which Les hadn’t seen in over a decade.
The hatch behind them closed, and the soldier on the other side locked it with a click.
“Welcome to weapons training,” Erin said. She gestured to her father, who glowered at them with his burly arms folded across this chest. For an old guy, he was buffed. “Sergeant Jenkins will be taking over this portion of your training.”