Warriors

by Nicholas Sansbury Smith

  A distant bell chimed, notifying the militia and Cazador soldiers that a ship had returned. His hip radio crackled with a message from Lieutenant Wynn.

  X pressed the transmit button. “Copy, Lieutenant.”

  “General Forge has returned with Raven’s Claw from their raiding mission,” Wynn reported.

  X raised the binos again. Two militia war boats pulled away from the marina below and sped east, their mufflers chugging. Lieutenant Wynn piloted the one that had been el Pulpo’s. He had fought valiantly against the machines, and although they lost Elysium in the battle, Wynn had survived with a handful of his best soldiers.

  The two war boats sped through calm waters toward a vessel at the eastern edge of the islands. X zoomed in on the whale-skull figurehead jutting from the warship’s prow.

  And Raven’s Claw wasn’t alone. With it were two smaller ships General Forge had discovered and repaired.

  They would join the fleet X had ordered rebuilt—one of his first decrees since their victories in Aruba and Tanzania. The machines and the skinwalkers were defeated, but that didn’t mean there were no other threats out there. He had learned that hard lesson over his lifetime. You could never let your guard down. Not in a world of wastelands and monsters.

  Everywhere X looked, his people were rebuilding, preparing for the future.

  A fort of sandbags protected three militia guards holding sentry at a machine-gun nest. On an adjacent rig, crops were being sown in the soil that some farmers had salvaged from the attack.

  X walked with Miles along the railing built around the airship’s rooftop, taking in the view. Ton and Victor shadowed him, spears in hand, ever ready to die for him if it came to that.

  They stopped at a platform overlooking the western islands.

  In the distance, an oil tanker had dropped anchor at a new marina built around one of the rigs. The ship had returned from the Outrider with a supply the skinwalkers had barely tapped.

  It wasn’t just oil they needed. The crops had been severely damaged in the attack by the machines. It would take a year to get back to full food production. In the meantime, they were relying on supplies brought back from Africa, and the fleet of fishing trawlers was working overtime.

  The boats were out there now, hauling up the day’s catch. There would be enough for every mouth. X would make sure of that.

  He turned the binos on their true savior.

  The Hive, renamed the Vanguard. The airship sat on the platform Samson and Rodger had built months earlier. But it was no longer secured by beams and bolts. The airship was back in service, and they were going to keep it battle ready just in case they needed it again.

  “She’s like you—an Immortal,” a voice called out.

  Magnolia smiled when X turned. Her hair had grown back, even where her scalp had been charred. It was dyed a light blue, like the water. A good contrast to the matte-black Hell Diver armor she still wore from an early-­morning training with the thirty new recruits.

  “When I die, you’re all going to feel stupid for calling me that,” he said. “I can see the tombstone now: ‘Here lies the Immortal.’ ”

  She smiled back. “You can’t die, X. If you try, I’ll drag you back, kicking and screaming.”

  “Yeah, there’s too much work for me to die, which, I’m guessing, is why you’re here.”

  “You’re right. Raven’s Claw has returned and—”

  “I saw it,” he interrupted. “Looks like they found two new ships, which is a good start, but building a new armada will take years and many trips to the wastes.”

  “That’s not the only reason I’m here.”

  “Oh?”

  “General Forge has called a council meeting in an hour,” she said. “He found something on his journey. Must be classified.”

  “I guess we’ll find out soon,” X said. “Thanks.”

  Magnolia trotted off, but he stayed on the rooftop to enjoy a few minutes of sunshine. It always helped him feel better, but today it wasn’t meant to be.

  A cloud shadow crept across the roof, blocking out the sun for a moment.

  X left the rooftop with his escort of two men and a dog. The walk through the great hall allowed him to pay respects in passing to many they had lost.

  Rodger had been busy carving wooden busts over the past few months to honor the fallen.

  He was here now, chisel in hand, standing on one foot and a peg leg. The mangled foot had been amputated at the ankle, but he still had the other and two of the toes.

  Rodger tucked the chisel into his leather apron.

  “What do you think?” he asked.

  X stepped up to examine the statue of Captain Les Mitchells. The tall man stood with his hands cupped behind his back, his tuft of red hair seeming to blow in the wind.

  “You outdid yourself, Rodgeman,” X said.

  “Can’t dive anymore, so I’ve got to do something with myself when I’m not working for Tin.”

  Rodger wasn’t the only retired diver. While he and Michael still trained the new Hell Diver recruits and volunteers, they were part of the reconstruction team, with Michael taking over for Samson as chief engineer. Soon, Michael would add another title to his résumé: father.

  X continued down the hallway.

  There were other statues among the paintings of Cazador generals and leaders. Katrina DaVita, Captain Maria Ash, and Samson all had been carved out of wood to replace the portraits of Carmela Moreto and el Pulpo.

  Rodger hobbled over to X.

  “You still haven’t told me what you want yours to look like,” he said.

  “Yeah, I did.”

  Rodger tilted his head.

  “I told you I don’t want a damn statue, painting, or anything of the sort,” X said.

  “But . . .”

  “Rodge, there are no buts, only butt-heads. You don’t want to be one of those, do you?”

  “Uh, no, sir.”

  “Good. Keep up the excellent work.”

  X continued down the hallway, with Rodger joining his entourage.

  A Cazador and a militia guard opened the chamber’s double doors.

  The Hell Diver leaders were in their new uniforms, each sporting the red V logo of the Vanguard Islands crest. In the audience sat thirty new divers, most of them survivors from other airships or Rio de Janeiro.

  At first, X hadn’t liked the idea of retiring the old teams, but he realized it would be honoring the memory of those who came before, and looking toward a future under one banner: that of humanity’s vanguard.

  The divers all stood up, boots clicking on the floor, backs straight. Team leaders Edgar, Arlo, Magnolia, and Kade walked up to the council table.

  Layla was already there, only a week from her due date. She slowly rose from her chair with the officers of the airship.

  The new captain, Eevi Corey, saluted, as did her lieutenant, Ada Winslow, who had helped lead the fight against the machines after returning from her exile.

  Miles trotted in front of X to sniff his new friend Jo-Jo, the monkey.

  Pedro and a woman named Cecilia also had seats on the council, representing the people from Rio de Janeiro, Sofia sat on the council as a representative for the Cazadores. Joining them were the leaders of the three airships lured to Mount Kilimanjaro by the machines over the past few decades—Captain Rolo, Captain Fina, and officers Dmitri Vasilev and Olga Novak.

  It was only now that X understood the truth. Captain Maria Ash had received the same signal from the machines, but she had recognized the danger after Captain Rolo never returned.

  Everyone stood as X walked down the aisle to the throne.

  As he climbed the stairs, the doors opened again, admitting General Forge and two of his guards. They had come straight from the marina and now marched to the council table. Forge pounded his ches
t armor and then stood behind his assigned chair. He carried a metal case in hand, and his helmet under his arm.

  Imulah joined X on the platform, along with another translator.

  “Welcome back, General Forge,” X said. “I’m anxious to hear what you found out there that is important enough to call a council meeting.”

  Forge nodded at Imulah and spoke.

  “The general says they raided an old-world port in Panama, where they found the new vessels,” Imulah said. “One is an ITC ship.”

  X narrowed his eyes. “So what’s in the case?” he asked.

  After Imulah interpreted, General Forge set his helmet down and placed the case on the table. He opened it, and X moved closer for a view of the contents, which appeared to be laminated papers.

  Forge unfolded what looked like a map. Not a map, but a blueprint.

  He took it up the steps and handed it to X.

  X wished he had brought his glasses, which he now must use when reading anything. Although he couldn’t read the small print, he could make out the images.

  Forge spoke through Imulah while X studied the blueprints.

  “General Forge says these are blueprints of a weather-modification system that ITC built before the war,” Imulah said. “They are located at the poles and along the equator, and he believes they could be used to reverse the electrical storms.”

  “Michael?” X said.

  The new head of engineering flipped through the blueprints, reading each one carefully.

  “Well?” X asked.

  “I think you should ask our old friend his opinion,” Michael said. He held up his wrist computer and, with a nod from X, tapped the surface.

  A hologram in the shape of Timothy joined them on the platform.

  “Hello, Commander Everhart. How may I assist you?”

  But this wasn’t the same Timothy, nor did it look completely like him. He had shaved his beard, exposing dimples X never knew the AI had.

  The program was indeed Timothy, but it was a backup that lacked most of his memories since leaving the Hilltop Bastion.

  “General Forge brought back blueprints from what we believe are ITC weather-modification facilities,” Michael explained. “We want your opinion.”

  He held them up for the AI to see, one page at a time.

  “General Forge is correct,” Timothy said. “These facilities were named Red Sky and were designed in the year two thousand thirty-six, according to my database. However, I have no record of them ever being activated.”

  “If they were, could it reverse the electrical storms?” Michael asked.

  The room was silent.

  “It is hard to say, Commander. This technology was built to counter the overheating of the planet, but as I said, it was never used.”

  Magnolia gasped.

  X paid her no attention until he saw Layla standing in his peripheral vision.

  “Michael,” Layla stammered.

  “What . . .” Michael turned calmly but then hurried over when the other council members got up.

  “Michael, I think Bray is coming,” Layla said.

  Clear liquid ran down her leg, pooling on the floor. X was no doctor, but even he knew what this meant. Bray was coming early.

  “Get her to the medical ward, and let Dr. Huff know she’s coming!” X shouted. “We’ll finish this conversation later.”

  X rushed out of the chamber with a small group led by Michael, who had scooped Layla up in his arms. He ran down the passage to the stairwell, then up two flights to the medical ward.

  Dr. Huff was waiting outside with a nurse and a wheelchair.

  “Put her in the chair and come with me,” Huff told Michael. “The rest of you, stay here.”

  Michael gently set her down, and Huff gave X the glare that said, You’d better not test my patience today.

  “Good luck!” X called out.

  Layla groaned as Michael pushed her chair down a passage of closed doors. The group vanished around the next corner.

  X stood in the lobby with Magnolia and Rodger while Ton and Victor took up position outside the medical ward’s entrance. Miles remained outside, too, sitting on his hind legs and watching the hallway.

  “This could take a while,” Magnolia said. “We better get comfortable.”

  Rodger hobbled over and took a chair next to Magnolia, but X couldn’t calm his nerves. He paced on the tile floor. When he was younger, children had scared him more than anything, especially babies. Not the kids themselves, but that he would screw things up around them.

  An hour passed. Another. X lost track of time while they waited. Rodger dozed. Magnolia left and came back with food and water for the three of them.

  After a while, Rodger pulled out an unfinished wood carving and a knife and began carving while Magnolia slept with her head on his shoulder. X couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep. He could only sit there, worrying and playing with a thread that had come loose from the arm of his chair. Finally, when he’d managed to work the thread out to triple its original length, a technician came into the lobby with an update.

  “Layla’s in the final stages of labor now,” he said.

  The man didn’t leave. He stood there looking at X.

  “What?” X finally asked.

  “Michael said you’re welcome to come back,” said the technician. “But you have to put on a mask and scrubs.”

  X looked at Rodger, then Magnolia.

  “What are ya waitin’ for, X?” Rodger said.

  “Go,” Magnolia said, swatting air at him as she might a pesky bug.

  Just as he was about to leave, the doors opened and Katherine walked into the lobby with Phyl. The girl clutched a new doll that looked like a giraffe.

  “We were told Layla’s in labor and to come up here,” Katherine said almost sheepishly.

  Phyl glanced up timidly.

  Since losing Les, neither of them had been the same. X had shared several meals with them and had taken Phyl out to fish, but broken hearts mended slowly.

  X’s did, too. The captain, Hell Diver, electrician, and engineer was as good a man as X had ever met. Les deserved to be here with them far more than X did.

  “I’m going back with Michael,” he said.

  “Have a seat,” Magnolia said, patting the chair next to her and smiling.

  Katherine and Phyl sat down, and X followed the technician to a room where he changed into scrubs and a mask. He froze at screams that echoed through the medical ward.

  The technician grinned. “It’s normal. Follow me, King Xavier.”

  They put on their masks and went to a room filled with staff surrounding Layla. She looked at X and yelled, “Shut the damn door!”

  X hurried inside the room but hesitated at the sight of blood on the sheets. He had seen boatloads of blood over the years, but for some reason this made him queasy.

  “Come here,” Michael said, waving a gloved hand.

  X took a few steps and swallowed hard.

  “Almost there, Layla, great work,” Huff said encouragingly.

  “A few more pushes,” Michael said. “You’ve got this!”

  She gripped his hand and grunted.

  “Good job, kid,” X said, not knowing what else to say.

  The room started to spin around him. The screaming, the blood—it was like a damn battlefield! He held in a breath and blinked, trying to get control.

  Another hour of screams, grunts, and heavy breathing passed. The nurse and doctor leaned closer.

  “One more hard push,” Huff said.

  Layla roared, and X looked away, wincing. He heard voices but didn’t comprehend the words. He did feel someone pulling on his arm.

  When he turned back to the table, Huff held a wet child in his hands. Unlike other babies, this one wasn’t crying.


  The doctor went over to another table, where they cleaned the child and wrapped it in a blanket. Layla and Michael watched, still hand in hand. They spoke, but X still didn’t hear a thing.

  The baby was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

  Huff wrapped the boy up in a towel and brought him over to Layla and Michael. She was crying tears of joy.

  X moved closer to the bed, still mesmerized by the tiny fingers and toes and the matted gossamer hair.

  “He’s perfect,” X said.

  Layla looked up. “Isn’t he?”

  Michael stared, too, every bit as dumbstruck as X.

  “Congratulations,” X said, leaning down. “Hey, there, little buddy.”

  Layla clutched Bray against her chest, and Michael bent down and kissed them both on the forehead. They held him for several minutes.

  “We can move to your room when you’re ready,” Huff said.

  Layla nodded.

  X left, his heart full but also aching for all the people who hadn’t lived to see this.

  Back at the lobby, everyone stood to greet him.

  “Well?” Magnolia asked.

  “He’s a healthy boy,” X said. “Almost eight pounds.”

  Rodger and Magnolia embraced, and Katherine smiled warmly.

  “Can I hold him?” Phyl asked.

  “Soon, I’m sure,” X said. “Dr. Huff is getting them settled in a room, but then we can all go back and see them.”

  An hour later, a nurse came and brought them back. She took them to a room at the end of a hall, with a view of the ocean.

  Layla was sitting up in her bed, slowly rocking Bray with Michael by her side. The sun streamed through the windows.

  “Wow,” Phyl said. She walked over, grinning from ear to ear.

  Layla and Michael held the baby up together.

  “We present Bray Leslie Everhart,” she said.

  Katherine put a hand over her mouth, and Phyl looked up at her mom.

  “We wanted to honor him,” Layla said. “He meant so much to both of us.”

  Katherine didn’t bother trying to hold back the tears. “Thank you,” she managed to say. “He would be honored.”

  Michael took Bray and held him over for Katherine and Phyl to see up close. Phyl chuckled, and Katherine wiped away a tear. The baby slowly opened both eyelids.