Hell Divers III_Deliverance

by Nicholas Sansbury Smith

It was a man and a dog.

  TWENTY-TWO

  Les had planned to see his family first thing after he returned to the Hive. He had imagined scooping up his daughter, gently embracing his wife, even holding his son Trey’s hand through the hatch of the cell.

  Instead, he found himself desperately searching for the nearest head.

  The single-hole bathroom was just barely big enough for him to fit inside. He closed the hatch, bent down, and threw up into the bowl. As soon as he caught a drift of what was plastered to the tube, he gagged and tossed up the rest of his last meal.

  He wiped his mouth and stood, banging his noggin against the overhead.

  The moment he stepped back out into the corridor, he was faced by a crowd of over a dozen people. They all watched him with curious eyes. Hushed voices spoke of the dive and the loot that Team Phoenix had brought back.

  Roberto, a short, bearded fellow who lived near Les’ family, smiled and said, “Good job down there, Giraffe!”

  “I heard you found some cancer meds,” said Crystal, a farm worker who was good friends with Katherine.

  “Did you find any antibiotics?” someone asked.

  “How about yarn?” another yelled. “Or bulbs—did you get any bulbs?”

  “Any fuel cells?” asked another.

  Les moved away in a daze, not answering any of the questions or responding to the praise. His height, along with his distinctive red coveralls, apparently made him an easy target.

  “Did you see any Sirens?” someone asked.

  The question made his guts churn. He turned around and said, “Leave me alone. All of you.”

  Several people backed off, but some continued to follow him down the corridor. His quarters weren’t far, and he broke into a jog after he rounded the next corner. That was when he noticed the bulkheads. Where there had been murals and graffiti, there was now matte-gray metal. Jordan had done it after all. He had ordered the entire ship scrubbed clean.

  He knows I know, Les thought. Jordan knows I’m lying.

  More passengers blocked his way in the next hallway, almost all of them firing off questions that he wouldn’t—couldn’t—answer.

  He looked around for a different route home. Instead, he saw militia guards. Two of them, hanging back but focused on him. Watching him. Following him?

  It was paranoid to think the captain would have him followed, but if everything Ty had said was true, then maybe he was being watched.

  “Everyone get back!” one of the militia soldiers yelled.

  Les shoved his way through the small crowd and bolted down the corridor. He lost the guards in the next hallway, squeezing through an old shortcut between some pipes. When he finally got to his quarters, he drew in a breath, ran a hand through his thinning red hair, and stepped inside.

  The single lightbulb blinked on in the center of the room, illuminating his wife and daughter. Katherine was in bed with her back propped up against the bulkhead. Phyl got up from the bedside chair and toddled over to Les, wrapping her arms around his waist.

  “You’re back,” Katherine said, her voice cracking.

  The feelings of darkness and worry evaporated at the sight of his girls, and Les felt a sense of peace now that he was back with his family.

  “Baby, I missed you so much,” he said. He crouched down to kiss her on the cheek, but she pulled back and coughed into her hand. A deep rattle crackled in her chest.

  “Don’t,” she protested.

  Then Phyl started coughing, too.

  Oh, God, no, Les thought.

  The respiratory illness wasn’t terribly contagious, and he had hoped his daughter’s immune system would fend off the infection.

  “You’re going to be just fine,” Les said.

  “I’m so glad to see you,” Katherine said. “I was so worried you wouldn’t come back.”

  “We lost two divers,” Les whispered.

  Phyl looked up at him. “They got lost down there? Why didn’t someone go and find them?”

  Les hesitated. He knew she was old enough to understand, but he spared her the details. No other words need be said. Les knew by the look in his wife’s eyes how frightened she was. And for good reason. Without treatment, the cough could eventually kill them. If he wanted to save his family, he had no choice but to keep diving.

  “Who knows about Phyl?”

  “No one, I think,” Katherine replied.

  His daughter coughed again, and he forced a smile in her direction. “It’s okay, baby. You’re going to be just fine, I promise.” He turned back to his wife and kept his voice low. “Did they bring you your first dose when I was on the dive?”

  Katherine shook her head. “Dr. Huff said medicine wasn’t going to be authorized until you came back.”

  “What!” Les said in a voice loud enough to scare Phyl.

  Her eyes widened and Les reassured her with another forced smile. He clenched his jaw to hold back his anger at the broken promise. The medicine was supposed to have been delivered to his wife the moment he stepped into a launch tube. He dived, so his family survived. That was the deal.

  “Must have been some sort of a mistake,” he said calmly, not wanting to alarm his family. “I’ll find out what’s going on.”

  Katherine coughed into her ragged sleeve. It sounded worse than before, crackling as if her lungs had fluid in them.

  “Have either of you eaten today?” Les asked.

  Phyl shook her head, and Katherine stared blankly at the overhead. “We’re out of our rations,” she said quietly. “The baby’s hungry, and I …”

  Her voice trailed off. Les knew he was close to losing her, and now his little girl was sick, too. The decisions he made in the next few hours would determine whether they lived or died.

  Where there should have been raw fear, he felt determination. He was going to get them the medicine they deserved, even if he had to fight and dive and kill for it.

  “I’m going to the medical ward and then to the trading post to get you something to eat,” he said. “I’ll stop by and see Trey, too.”

  “I want to go, Daddy. I haven’t seen Trey for …” Phyl looked up at the dangling lightbulb, then back at Les. “I don’t know how many days.”

  “You have to stay here, sweetie,” he said.

  “Come here,” Katherine said, reaching out.

  The girl shook her head. “No, I want to go with Daddy.”

  Les met his wife’s gaze. He longed to hold her, but he couldn’t risk getting sick—assuming he wasn’t already. They needed him healthy for what came next.

  “I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he said. He opened the hatch and kept going, knowing that looking back would break him. He hurried through the halls, ignoring everyone and everything—even the fear of being followed.

  His first stop was the medical center, where he demanded to meet Dr. Huff. The man didn’t look happy to see Les when he stepped out into the lobby. He carried a clipboard under his arm.

  “Where’s the medicine for my wife?” Les asked before the doctor could say anything. “It was supposed to be delivered already. I want it, and I want it right now.”

  Huff pulled out the clipboard and flipped through the pages. “Ah, yes. I see there’s a supply meant for your wife, but command has yet to authorize it … No, wait. That’s odd.”

  “What’s odd?”

  Huff looked up from the paper. “The medicine was authorized but then put on hold. I’m sorry, Les, but I can’t give you anything until Command reverses the hold.”

  “Son of a bitch,” Les muttered.

  “Take this up with Lieutenant Hunt. I’m sure it’s just a misunderstanding.” Huff began to walk away, but Les grabbed his arm. The doctor’s eyes flitted to his hand, and then up to meet his gaze.

  “Please let go of me,” Huff said, clearly ag
itated.

  Les took a deep breath and let go of Huff’s arm. “Fine, Doc. I’ll go see Hunt.”

  “Good luck,” Huff said.

  Yeah right, Les thought as he turned away. He raced through the corridors toward the bridge. A trio of guards armed with crossbows were waiting outside the black hatch. Ensign Del Toro raised his hand, and Les slowed his approach.

  “Can I help you?” Del Toro asked.

  “I’d like to see Lieutenant Hunt,” Les said, trying to sound polite.

  Del Toro pushed a mike to his lips and relayed a message.

  A few minutes later, the doors whispered open and the XO walked out. “Why are you—”

  “I’m here to get the medicine my family was promised,” Les said, cutting the lieutenant off.

  Hunt blinked but didn’t reply.

  “Jordan made me a promise. If I dived, my wife would get medicine for her cough and I would get my boy out of the brig. Neither of those things have happened. So where is the medicine?”

  “Captain Jordan modified the agreement after you returned.”

  “You have to be fucking kidding me,” Les said. “My wife is fading away, and my daughter—”

  Hunt raised a brow. “Is she sick now, too?”

  “Yes,” Les replied, knowing he had no option but to tell the truth. “They need those meds.”

  “I’ll see what I can do.” Hunt started to turn away but hesitated. His stiff manner relaxed a fraction, and there was genuine sympathy in his eyes. “I’m sorry about Katherine and Phyl.”

  Les and Hunt had grown up on the same corridor, and despite their very different positions on the ship these days, Les trusted the man to be as good as his word. Hunt was just following orders—just like everyone else who obeyed Jordan’s commands out of fear for their own families.

  “I’ll talk to the captain as soon as he has a few minutes,” Hunt said. “Go spend time with your family, but make sure you follow the proper protocols. We can’t afford you getting sick, too.”

  Exhausted, angry, and starving, Les turned and made his way back through the ship. They had let him go home, at least. For a second, he was worried they would keep him from his family.

  No way in hell they are keeping me from my baby and my wife.

  His mind churned with the things Ty had told him on the surface. Jordan wasn’t just a lousy captain—he was a liar and a murderer. The Hive would be better off without him. In fact, his reign was a threat to the very future of humanity.

  But every way he could think of to overthrow Jordan ended the same way: with Les joining his son in the brig, and his wife and daughter dead.

  He needed help, someone he could trust, if he was going to try to take the captain down. Someone in the militia or in Command. But who? Hunt was too highly placed, and a childhood friendship was insufficient reason to commit mutiny. He snapped from the thoughts when he reached the brig. Sloan, the stone-faced woman posted at the front counter, frowned.

  “What do you want?”

  “I’m here to see my boy, Trey.”

  “It’s not on the register,” Sloan replied, not bothering even to look at the paper on her desk.

  “I was promised a visit after my dive. Don’t tell me you didn’t get the message, because I’m having a really bad fucking day.”

  Sloan finally looked up. She seemed to stare at his red coveralls for a moment, then her lazy eye roved toward the hatch. She unlocked it and led him down the dark passage until they got to the second-to-last cell.

  “Arms up,” Sloan said.

  Les did as ordered and allowed the guard to pat him down. When she had finished, she unlocked the hatch.

  “You’ve got ten minutes.” She flipped on a light inside the cell. It spread over the thin silhouette of Trey, his fourteen-year-old son.

  He stood and whispered, “Dad, is that you?” Then his eyes widened. “Is that a Hell Diver jumpsuit?”

  Les nodded. “Yeah. Had my first dive today.”

  “Don’t tell me you joined because of me.”

  “How are they treating you?” Les asked in an effort to change the subject. “Do you have enough to eat?”

  “I’m fine, Dad, and I’m really sorry.”

  “Stop, Trey. You stole to help our family, and I’m diving to help us now. I’m going to make sure you get out of here soon.”

  Trey sat back on his bunk and laced his fingers together. “How’s Mom and Phyl?”

  Les looked at his boots.

  “Dad?”

  “They’re sick. Both of them now.”

  Trey cupped his head in his hands and shook it from side to side before looking back up at Les. Tears streaked down his filthy face.

  “I need to get out of here. I should be with them.”

  “Let me worry about that,” Les said. “Don’t lose hope. I promise I’ll get you out. Now, come give me a hug before Sloan drags me out of here.”

  “Sloan? She’s harmless. Honestly, she treats me better than anyone. Katrina too, before …”

  Les resisted the urge to look over his shoulder to see whether Sloan was watching. Knowing she was being good to his son helped ease some of his concern.

  Trey wrapped his arms around Les, and Les squeezed his son hard. It felt as though the lad had lost weight from his already skinny frame.

  Clanking came from the corridor outside the cell. Les looked out the small porthole to see Sergeant Jenkins pushing a female prisoner down the passage.

  It was Katrina. Back from the medical ward, apparently.

  “Just kill me!” she shouted. “Jordan sure doesn’t have the balls to do it.”

  Les reluctantly let his son go and patted him on the shoulder, but the boy seemed to be paying more attention to the small window in the cell hatch.

  “Jordan is a monster,” Trey whispered, “and Sloan and other members of the militia know it.”

  Les kept his hand on his shoulder. “You heard her say that?”

  “Not in so many words, but basically.”

  “Keep this to yourself. And be strong, son.”

  A nod.

  “I love you, Trey, and I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  Trey wiped a tear away and nodded back. The hatch opened a moment later, and Les left his boy inside the dark room. As Sloan escorted him out of the brig, an idea stirred in his mind. Maybe there was someone who would help him after all. Maybe there were people who hated the captain even more than he did. All he had to do was find a way to get Katrina out of here and enlist the help of some of the militia to help him cut out the cancer.

  * * * * *

  For a third time, Jordan studied the maps spread across the desk in his quarters.

  “They’re trying to find, X, those sons of bitches,” he said, looking up at Hunt and Ryan. “You’re sure this is where they landed?”

  Lieutenant Hunt nodded firmly. “Almost certainly. Ensign Ryan triangulated the signal, and—”

  “Almost?” Jordan said, holding up his hand. “I’m not interested in almost. I want the precise location.”

  Ryan stepped up to the maps. “The other ship is—”

  “Deliverance,” Jordan interrupted. “She’s called Deliverance.”

  “Yes, sir.” Ryan waited a second before continuing. “Deliverance has been put down in the ruins of Miami. It does not appear to have moved for several hours.”

  “How’s that possible?” Hunt asked. He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “Most of Miami is a red zone, and the storms there are severe.”

  “Deliverance is far more advanced than the Hive,” Jordan said. “She can handle heavier storms and radiation. That’s why I want her.”

  “Well, we’d better hurry,” Hunt said, “because my guess is, they won’t be in Miami for long. Even if the ship can survive the radiation, t
hey can’t.”

  “How long until we can get there?”

  “It’s about a day’s flight, Captain,” Ryan said. “That’s at our current speed. I could have Samson push the engines, but he won’t like it.”

  “I don’t give a damn what Samson likes.”

  Ryan and Hunt exchanged an uneasy glance, but Jordan didn’t blame them. Ryan had drawn a red circle around Miami, indicating the size of the storm. It was massive—one of the biggest he had ever seen.

  “We can’t fly through it,” Jordan said. “So we’ll have to go above it. That’s one of Ash’s old strategies that actually worked.”

  “And then what?” Hunt asked. “We can’t send divers through those clouds to the surface.”

  Ryan nodded aggressively. “No one could survive that in a free fall.”

  “They aren’t going to dive,” Jordan said. “I’m sending them down in the pods.”

  “Pods?” Hunt asked.

  Jordan smiled. “Follow me, gentlemen.”

  They left his office with a team of militia soldiers. Jordan checked his watch while they navigated the corridors, ignoring the onlookers.

  Right on time.

  They descended a stairwell into a compartment connected with Engineering. The sound of machinery filled the narrow passage. Jordan loosened his collar, feeling the heat of the lower deck. At the bottom landing, he opened a hatch and stepped into an expansive cargo bay. Flickering lights illuminated piles of spare parts, plastic, metal, and trash.

  It was, essentially, the Hive’s junkyard, and it was run by a lone man named Nelson, who carefully recorded every piece of scrap that entered or left his domain. For that reason, he had been given the nickname “the Accountant.” He sat behind a desk, gray wispy hair falling over his forehead as he checked a column of numbers.

  “Ten, fifteen, nineteen,” he muttered. “Not fifteen. Fourteen.”

  Jordan snapped his fingers, drawing Nelson’s attention. The thin man shot out of his chair and threw a salute. Grubby brown overalls covered his grubby body.

  “Hello, sir,” Nelson said. “I wasn’t expecting visitors, but it’s a pleasure to see you. How can I assist?”

  “I’m here to see the new pods,” Jordan said.