It wouldn’t be long now before the sun rose and all the divers had to be back and grounded to avoid being seen.
The search tonight had failed. And they had lost a diver and Cricket in the bargain. Michael’s jaw clenched in anger.
He let more helium out of the balloon and soared back toward the barrier. By the time he was nearing the border of the islands, all he could think of was Layla. She would be waiting for him in the gardens of the capitol tower.
The journey back took him through several patches of turbulent skies. He didn’t flinch at the lightning strikes, or in the rattle of the thunder. Michael was too focused to be fazed by them. He knew what he had to do now. It was all so clear.
He was so focused, he didn’t realize what had happened when his balloon popped. The glider dropped a hundred feet, picking up speed. The tube from the booster to the balloon whipped the sailcloth of the glider’s wing.
He fought to level out his descent, dropping another two hundred feet before he got his rig under control. Fortunately, he had climbed back up to eight hundred feet earlier, or he would be dangerously close to the water.
But with a mile to go to the barrier, and five miles to the capitol tower, he wouldn’t make it to the rooftop before splashing down. And he didn’t have anything that would help slow his descent now the balloon was flopping behind him like a deflated lung.
He was still losing altitude. Looking back, he saw why.
It wasn’t just his balloon that had been damaged. The tube connected to his booster had smacked the wing so hard, it tore the sailcloth.
Pulling the knife from his boot, he twisted around to cut the helium tube at the back of the rig. But the angle was too awkward, and he couldn’t get to the mounted booster.
So he unbuckled it. The wind sent the booster tumbling away, still connected to the deflated balloon.
He sheathed the knife and put both hands on the control bar. The glider was going down, and nothing he could do would stop it.
If he could just get to the barrier, there would be boats to pick him up after he hit the water—if a shark didn’t find him first.
He checked his HUD, seeing the last location of the boat that had dropped him off. The other divers were already breaking through the barrier on their way to the capitol tower, where they would put down. X was closest, but Michael couldn’t see him on the horizon.
At around four hundred feet, a crosswind slammed into the torn sail, pushing him sideways. He pulled back on the control bar to steady the rig, but it was too late.
Closing in on the barrier, he was on a crash course with the surface. He speared through the remaining clouds until they lightened, and he saw the oil rigs in the green hue of his optics.
He chinned the NVGs off as a thin line of molten gold lit the horizon.
The glider had sunk to three hundred feet above the water.
Michael searched for the closest vessel and finally spotted a boat bobbing in the water about a mile away. He sailed toward it, trying to maintain altitude.
Reaching down, he pulled out his flare gun and fired it at the boat.
At fifty feet above the water, Michael said a prayer to the ancient gods and braced for impact.
All he wanted to do was see Layla and their baby boy. Never in his life had he wanted anything more.
Please, he begged. Please don’t let this be the end.
The whitecaps rose up to meet him, and at the last minute, he unbuckled his harness so he wouldn’t be trapped in the glider. He dropped out and crashed into the water.
He skipped like a flat rock thrown across a pond, before a wave slammed into him. The impact knocked his visor open, and water filled his helmet.
All he could do was hold his breath and try to battle his way back up to the surface. But he was so disoriented, he didn’t know which way was up. The salty water stinging his eyes didn’t help. And everything was so dark.
He kicked and stroked, trying not to panic. Far away, a hint of light beckoned. He kicked toward it.
Layla was waiting for him in the capitol tower gardens, in the first rays of light. She had waited for him on so many missions, worrying, wondering whether he would come home.
He stroked upward, but the weight of his armor and prosthetic arm pulled down on him. Fire burned in his lungs.
The glow above him seemed just in reach, but red swarmed his vision. A vision entered his oxygen-deprived brain. It was just one memory, of the time he had nearly drowned in the Florida swamps.
He tried to kick again, but his legs and his arms failed him.
No! Not like this!
His robotic hand sank with him, the fingers the only thing he could still control. He moved them once more toward the surface before they, too, locked up.
TWENTY-TWO
X held Michael’s limp body in his arms on the boat ride back to the capitol tower.
“Hurry!” he shouted.
Victor pushed the throttle down as far as it would go, resulting in a whining motor and plumes of smoke. Dripping wet and chest heaving, X laid Michael down on the deck with Ton’s help.
They had pulled him from the water not long after Michael crash-landed in the ocean. X had watched him go in while he was returning to the capitol tower on his hang glider.
He had known something was wrong when Michael’s altitude plummeted on his HUD. When that happened, X had let most of the helium out of his balloon and glided over toward Michael at full speed, only to brake at the last instant and drop out of his harness into the water.
Several boats had already arrived at the scene, but by the time they pulled Michael out, he wasn’t breathing.
Now X and Ton stripped off his chest armor, and X started pumping his chest and breathing into his mouth.
“Come on, kid,” X growled. “Don’t leave me like this.”
Miles whined and licked Michael’s face.
X pumped, but with his right arm gone, it wasn’t easy. It had almost gotten him killed on the hang glider, but once again he had survived, and others had not.
Immortality seemed more a curse than a blessing.
He kept pumping, trying to bring Michael back before it was too late. Every passing second brought him closer to forever losing the young man who seemed like a son.
My life for yours, kid.
Ton crouched down, making a clicking sound with what remained of his tongue.
“What?” X said.
Ton gently pushed X out of the way and took over.
Miles nudged Michael’s limp body, and X used his left arm to pull the dog back, holding him tight. Instead of feeling comfort from the dog, he felt an overwhelming flood of dread.
As the boat bumped and skidded over the waves, X gripped the commander’s limp hand.
“Come on, kid,” X muttered. He glanced at the orange glow of the sun.
They had lost Alberto and Cricket, and now they were losing Michael. And for what? The skinwalkers were still out there, and so were the defectors.
It was supposed to be safe here. The islands were supposed to be the vanguard for humanity, but X had failed to bring peace to the rigs and failed to protect his people. He wanted to scream at the top of his lungs, but grief sucked the anger out of him. Ton kept pumping Michael’s chest, but X knew that the chances of his coming back now were slim to none.
He closed his eyes, squeezing out a trickle of tears. He opened them again just as something jumped alongside the boat. A flash of gray hit the water with a splash.
X’s first thought was of submarines, but then he heard dolphins calling. Several more arced up from the water.
Miles barked excitedly as the magnificent creatures followed all the way to the piers, jumping and gamboling in the water.
On the docks, a group of people waited for the boat. One was a woman with a swollen belly.
X was in such a trance, he hardly heard the vocal clicking sounds. Turning, he saw Ton grinning as he helped Michael sit up.
Miles nudged up against him, tail whipping.
Michael blinked, then leaned forward and vomited a bellyful of water. He wiped his mouth and then mumbled, “Layla.”
“Kid!” X yelled. He bent down and grabbed Michael, pulling him tight.
Miles brushed up against them, licking the salt off them.
“It’s okay, Tin,” X said. “We’re almost back home.”
“Layla,” he mumbled.
“She’s waiting for us on the docks.” X let go of Michael and gave him some space so he could throw up the rest of the water.
“Good job, man,” X said, clapping Ton on the back.
Ton nodded proudly.
Victor coasted up to the docks, where several hands pulled the boat in.
“Tin!” Layla cried.
X helped Michael up and out of the boat. He broke free and ran to meet Layla. When they were ten feet apart, Michael went down on one knee.
But he hadn’t fallen.
Panting to catch his breath, he reached into his vest and pulled out the ring that Rodger had made for him several days earlier.
X hurried over with Ton and Victor while others moored the boat and started unloading the gliders.
Miles barked happily as he trotted over with X to stand behind Michael. Michael held the ring in a shaky hand.
“When I was out there in the darkness, all I could think about was you and Bray,” he said. “I want to be with you two forever.”
He held up the ring. “Will you marry me, Layla?”
She cupped her hands over her face and nodded.
“Of course I will,” she said.
They embraced while applause broke out all around.
X almost burst into tears. As the sun rose over the Vanguard Islands, he wanted to collapse in his bed with Miles and sleep for a day. But the skinwalkers were still out there, and he had to plan more defenses and arrange for several more funerals.
The elevator across the dock clanked down with the Hell Divers who had landed on the rooftop earlier. Hector, Edgar, Ted, Lena, Arlo, Rodger, and Magnolia ran over to see what the commotion was about.
The chugging of motors drew X’s eye to the docks, where several boats had just arrived. Sergeant Wynn hopped out of one with a radio in his hand and ran over. He clearly wasn’t here to celebrate.
“Sir, a boat’s been spotted on the eastern border,” Wynn said, panting. “Should I sound the alarms?”
“What kind of boat?”
“It’s small, sir, definitely not a warship,” Wynn replied. “I’ve dispatched several of our vessels to intercept.”
“Don’t sound the damned alarms,” X said. “I don’t want to frighten people over one boat. Just make sure everyone’s ready for another attack.”
“Got it, sir.” Wynn relayed the orders over the radio.
X bent down to Miles. “Sorry, boy, but this time you really have to stay here.”
Miles went down on his haunches, but he didn’t whine when X took off for his armored speedboat. Mac and Felipe fired up another boat, pulling away a moment later.
Ton and Victor jumped with Wynn into the war boat that once belonged to el Pulpo. It would be a fitting end to his son, X thought, to kill the bastard with the mounted machine guns. He would proudly hang the skinwalker’s bullet-riddled corpse on the prow if that happened.
But he had a feeling it wasn’t Horn who had breached the border in a small craft.
X climbed aboard, standing next to Wynn.
“Wait!” Magnolia yelled from the docks. She ran over with Rodger, Edgar, and Arlo. Michael and Layla also joined them but stopped shy of getting on the boat.
X caught Michael’s gaze and saw the reluctance this time. He turned to the other divers to make sure Michael didn’t try to follow.
“Stay here with Michael and Layla!” X yelled. “I’m not losing any more Hell Divers today.”
He nodded to Wynn, and the sergeant turned the wheel and pushed the throttle down, blowing a wave of water against the pier.
Several clouds rolled across the morning sky, threatening to block out the sunshine. Lately, nothing good seemed to last long. All the losses came crashing over X.
A small armada of vessels joined the speedboat on the journey to the barrier between worlds. X looked out over the waves. The warriors’ faces seemed stoical, each man and woman ready to face whatever awaited them.
Ton and Victor, holding rifles instead of spears, gazed at the horizon. Sergeant Wynn stared ahead, too, gripping the wheel with one hand and holding the radio up to his ear with the other.
“It’s one of our boats,” he called out. “Probably why the divers missed it earlier.”
“So it’s just drifting out there all this time?” X asked. “How’s that possible?”
“I don’t know, sir.”
“Because it’s not possible,” X said.
There was no way they had missed it on their scans, and boats didn’t just show up out of nowhere.
“Keep everyone back,” X said to Wynn.
“We’re already forming a perimeter, sir.”
X pulled out his pistol. Something felt wrong about this boat. His gut told him this was another trap.
“Make sure Colonel Forge keeps Shadow positioned between the Hive and the capitol tower,” he said. “We need all the firepower there we can get.”
Wynn relayed the order to their liaison working with Forge.
In calmer waters, the boat picked up speed. Ton and Victor shouldered their rifles as they approached the loose ring of boats surrounding the mystery boat.
X saw the red Vanguard logo on the side. Bullet holes perforated the militia boat’s hull and enclosed cabin above the waterline.
“Everyone, keep sharp,” X said. “Wynn, you’re with me.”
“Sir, leave this to us,” Wynn said. “It’s too dangerous for you to go.”
Victor pointed at the deck. “You stay here, King.” He said something to Ton in their native language, and Ton moved over to grab the wheel.
“Fuck that,” X said. “I’m going.”
“Sir, all due respect, but this could be another trap,” Wynn said. “What if the boat is loaded with explosives?”
The sergeant was right, which meant anyone who set foot on the deck was at risk of being blown into fish chum.
But what choice did they have? With Cricket gone, they had no way to board without risking lives.
The speedboat cruised to a stop, and X stared at the shot-up militia boat.
“We need volunteers,” he said. “Make sure they know the risk.”
Wynn raised the handset to his mouth and put out the request.
“I go,” Victor said, pounding his chest.
“No,” X said. “You stay with me.”
Wynn listened to a transmission and then looked to X. “Mac has volunteered to go with Felipe,” he said. “They’re waiting for your permission, sir.”
“Send them in,” X replied. “Then pull everyone else back a good distance.”
The cordon of boats pushed back, except one. A fishing boat with nets draped over the side cruised forward with Mac at the helm.
X grabbed a pair of binoculars to watch their advance, alternating between their boat and the militia vessel. When they were close, Felipe leaped from the bow to the mystery boat’s hull, grabbed the rail, and swung over.
He quickly tethered the two boats together. Once they were connected, he helped Mac aboard. The old Barracuda leader drew his sword. Felipe unslung a shotgun, training it on the hatch to the enclosed cabin.
It swung open without resistance, and both men disappeared inside.
X braced himself, but the only explosion was pain where his right arm no longer was. He lowered the binos in a shaky hand.
“King,” Victor said.
“I’m fine,” X replied through clenched teeth, trying to ignore the pain. It wasn’t until he saw motion on the boat again that it dissipated.
X pushed the binos back up and centered them on the young Cazador warrior, who was waving in the air.
“He’s signaling us,” X said. “Take us in, Sergeant.”
“They haven’t searched the entire boat yet,” Wynn replied. “I still think we should stay back, sir.”
“And I think you should remember who is in charge here.”
Wynn moved his jaw, but X didn’t give him a chance to protest. Nudging Wynn aside, he took the wheel and gunned it toward the militia boat.
Mac also reemerged on the deck. He sheathed his sword—another sign that there were no apparent threats on board.
X eased off the gas and coasted cautiously forward.
Felipe threw Victor a rope, and they came up alongside the shot-up hull.
The two Barracudas’ sour looks told X they had found something after all.
“King Xavier,” Mac said, “there’s something you need to see below.”
He led X down into the cabin while Victor and Felipe remained on deck. The stench wafting out of the open hatch hit X so hard, halfway down the ladder he covered his face with his arm.
Mac went first, ducking low into the living quarters. In the small space, three skinned corpses lay on the deck. The bodies had been here since the battle, and with the heat and little air flow, the place was ripe with rot.
Mac held a handkerchief up to his nose as he bent down and grabbed something that was stuffed into the flayed hand of the middle body.
Mac unfolded the note he had plucked from one of the hands. X crouched down beside the bodies. They were skinned to the muscle and bone, but he already knew who they were.
X almost gagged, as much from the sight as from the smell. The bodies were so badly mutilated that he identified the one in the middle as Lieutenant Sloan only by the rank insignia someone had pinned through the flesh on her back.
Warriors Page 26
