Hell Divers II: Ghosts

by Nicholas Sansbury Smith

  He reached out hesitantly and touched Katrina’s arm.

  “I did what I thought was best, and I would do it again if I thought it would save the ship and our baby. That’s why Captain Ash handed the reins to me. She trusted me to make decisions like this. If I let my emotions get in the way, we would have crashed a long time ago.”

  Katrina’s lip quivered, and she looked away, tears welling in her eyes. A knock on the door snapped them both back to attention. She turned her back and wiped the tears away as Jordan opened the door.

  The bridge beyond the conference room was dim, but he could clearly see the disconcerted looks of Hell Divers standing on the platform outside the room. Every diver on the ship had shown up. At the front stood Michael, shoulder-length blond hair pulled into a short ponytail. His blue eyes radiated anger. He was breathing like a wild animal ready to attack.

  The militia soldiers on the bridge looked in Jordan’s direction, but he refrained from calling them over. He could handle the divers on his own. Never in the history of the Hive had a Hell Diver and a captain had anything more than words.

  “Come in, Commander Everhart,” Jordan said curtly. “Bolden and Weaver, too. The rest of you can wait …” He trailed off as he saw Xavier Rodriguez—grizzled beard, square jaw clamped shut. He stood at the end of the line of divers, his crazed eyes locked on Jordan. He had come at last for his revenge.

  Jordan shut his eyes for a second.

  When he opened them again, Rodger Mintel stood where X had been a moment ago.

  The vision sent a chill up Jordan’s spine. He often saw ghosts in his dreams, when X came to kill him in his sleep, but this was the first time Jordan had seen him while awake. Would he start seeing Magnolia’s ghost now, too?

  “Sir,” Katrina said. “Should we get started?”

  Jordan clenched his jaw. He was losing his edge. He had to maintain control.

  “Yes,” he said, more abruptly than he had intended. He saw the hurt and anger in Katrina’s eyes, but he couldn’t apologize now. Couldn’t afford to look weak in front of the Hell Diver commanders.

  He moved to close the door, but Michael stopped him by pressing his palm against it.

  “Layla deserves to be here, Captain.”

  Michael held Jordan’s gaze for a tense moment. The younger man was shorter by half a head, but his shoulders were broad and there was something in the set of his jaw. Jordan quickly calculated the possible outcomes of this scenario. If he forced a confrontation with Michael, the other divers would choose sides, exposing Jordan’s weak position.

  Jordan stepped aside a fraction of an inch.

  Layla stepped inside, and he shut the door behind her. He strode over to the seat that Ash had sat in before him. Katrina took a seat to his right, and Weaver took the chair next to his, but Layla, Michael, and Andrew remained standing.

  “I’m very sorry about Magnolia,” Jordan said.

  “All due respect, but screw that, Captain,” Michael said. “An apology isn’t going to bring her back. What I want is a search party to make sure she’s really dead, or to bring her back if she survived.”

  “If she made it past the turbofans, she could have reached the surface,” Layla said quietly, almost as if she herself didn’t believe it. “Is it possible …?”

  Jordan looked to his XO. Katrina shook her head. “We haven’t confirmed her death, but we aren’t picking up a beacon or any transmissions.”

  Weaver laced his fingers together and bowed his head. “If we haven’t heard from her by now, then we all know she didn’t make it.”

  A voice of reason, Jordan thought. He nodded at the ship’s senior diver.

  “No,” Michael said, “we don’t. The electrical storm could be messing with the signals. It happens all the time. You know that, Weaver.”

  “I want to believe she could be alive,” Weaver said. “I was hard on her, but I cared deeply for Magnolia. But I just don’t see how she could have made it past the turbines. And even if she did, the storm would have finished her.”

  “I didn’t hear or see anything after she got sucked under the ship,” Michael said. “How about you, Layla?”

  Layla, defiant, folded her arms across her chest. “Nope.” Her voice was louder this time.

  “And no one else did, either,” Michael said. “You have to send a team down there to look for her. Every single one of the divers has already volunteered.”

  “We have to try,” Layla said. “I’m with Michael.”

  Andrew nodded. “Least we could do, Cap.”

  Katrina cracked a smile and didn’t bother hiding it from Jordan.

  “I hate to be the old man here,” Weaver said, “but we need to be cautious. The radiation levels in this area are sky high, and there will be creatures down there. We know that from the transmission.”

  “What transmission?” Michael asked.

  Jordan pushed the captain’s chair away from the table and put his palms flat on the surface again. “Listen, I know losing Magnolia is incredibly difficult for everyone. She was one of the best. Her final act was a truly noble sacrifice. She’s a hero.”

  “No,” Michael said. “She’s a Hell Diver. That’s what we do. You’d know that if you ever left—”

  “Watch yourself,” Jordan said. “I’ve been helping keep this ship in the sky since the days when you were wearing a tinfoil hat.”

  Layla and Andrew stood behind Michael, their expressions thunderous. Weaver looked between the two groups and slowly ran two fingers over his gray handlebar mustache.

  “What transmission?” Michael asked again. His voice was calm, steady, but Jordan could see he had gotten under the diver’s skin with the last jab.

  There was no way to avoid telling them now. Better to let them in on part of the truth than risk their digging into the rest of his secrets. “A few hours ago, Ensign Hunt picked up a radio transmission from the surface. It was a distress call from someplace called Hilltop Bastion.”

  Layla reached over and grabbed Michael’s hand. The gesture made Jordan glance in Katrina’s direction. She still wouldn’t look him in the eye. Instead, she leaned over the table and activated the monitor. A holographic display emerged over the table. She typed at the keyboard, and a topographic map of Charleston spread over the white surface.

  Michael, Layla, and Andrew all took seats and studied the blue contour lines that described the location of Hilltop Bastion.

  Jordan couldn’t believe he was considering a mission to scout the coordinates. He tried to keep his face expressionless as he cut in before anyone could ask the questions he knew were coming.

  “Captain Maria Ash listed the settlement as one of many potential areas where there could be survivors. But we all know, the odds are next to nothing. We’re talking two hundred and sixty years, folks. No one could survive on the surface that long.”

  “We’ve been in the air that long,” Michael said. “What makes you think people couldn’t survive underground if we can up here?”

  “Because we don’t have monsters in the sky,” Jordan replied. He nodded at his XO. “Go ahead and play the audio file, Katrina.”

  She typed in a command, and the wall speakers crackled.

  “This is Governor Rhonda Meredith of the Hilltop Bastion, requesting support from anyone out there. The—”

  Static.

  “We’re low on food and ammunition. We can’t keep them back much longer. Please, please send support to the following coordinates …”

  Jordan raised his hand, and the audio stopped.

  “Ensign Hunt was able to decipher the rest of the message and provide the coordinates,” Katrina said, “but we have no idea how old this SOS is.”

  “Even if the people are gone, this place sounds like a potential treasure trove of supplies and fuel cells,” Layla said.

  “And po
tential threats.” Jordan looked at each diver in turn. “You heard the audio. Something was trying to get in.”

  He gave the team leaders a moment to digest the information, hoping they would change their minds about the mission. But he could see they were ready to climb into their launch tubes.

  Michael and Weaver exchanged looks. “Worth a shot,” the older diver said.

  Jordan stood and pulled on his cuffs. Everyone else stood up in unison.

  “I’ve made my decision,” he said. “I’ll agree to send two—and only two—divers to the surface to scout the facility for supplies.”

  “I’d like to volunteer, sir,” Michael said immediately. “I can look for Magnolia while I’m down there.”

  “Then I’m going, too,” Layla added.

  Jordan shook his head. “That’s precisely why I’m sending Weaver and Bolden.”

  “Sir, please,” Michael said. “It’s the right thing to do. If there’s even a small chance that Magnolia could still be alive, then we have to look for her. Like we should have done for X.”

  Jordan glanced at Michael. Was that a dig to pay him back for the foil-hat comment, or did Michael actually know something about X?

  “I saw X die,” Weaver said. “So did Magnolia and Katrina. You think we didn’t do everything we could?”

  Katrina hugged herself, her eyes shining.

  “I know …” Michael said, his voice trailing off.

  Jordan scrutinized the young man for a second. He could read people well, and his instincts told him that Michael didn’t know anything.

  “I can’t risk you two going on a futile search for Magnolia. She’s dead. So is X. The dead don’t come back. Is that understood?”

  The room fell silent, the words stinging everyone in it. Jordan cursed himself. He had slipped, and badly. He had to mitigate the damage he had just caused with his insensitive words.

  “If Weaver picks up her beacon after he lands,” Jordan said, “then he has permission to look for her. But that is not the primary mission. We’re already on an energy curtailment, Commander. Weaver’s priority is to find fuel cells.”

  “With all due respect—” Michael began again.

  Jordan held up his hand. The diver might not wear his ridiculous tinfoil hat anymore, but he was still barely more than a child. “Commander Everhart, I recommend that you not finish that sentence.”

  “I’ll check out the coordinates, Captain,” Weaver said. He scratched at his gray mustache. “If there are supplies down there, I’ll find ’em.”

  “Good.” Jordan looked toward the door and said, “Dismissed.”

  Michael was the last to leave. He hesitated in the doorway.

  “That is all, Commander,” Jordan said.

  “Captain, I’m talking to you man to man here. Do you promise me that if Weaver finds her beacon, he can search for her?”

  “I’m a man of my word,” Jordan said with a brusque nod.

  “Thank you, sir,” Michael said.

  He shut the door, leaving Jordan alone to contemplate the mission. As Captain, Jordan prided himself on his word, and on keeping the secrets that kept the ship in the sky. Sometimes, those things conflicted, but not today. Weaver was welcome to search for Magnolia, but he wouldn’t find her alive.

  EIGHT

  Michael placed his helmet in his locker and traced his finger over the Raptor logo. Nothing in his young life had ever meant so much to him. The symbol represented more than his team—it was the seal that bound the divers together in life and death. His father and X had been Raptors, and when Michael dived, he felt as if they were with him.

  He shut the door and looked for Layla. The launch bay was teeming with activity, and it took him a moment to find her, standing at the edge of the growing crowd of techs and divers. Michael wasn’t the only one anxious to get back out there. He caught her eye and waved her over to the lockers.

  “We should be going,” she said. “Not Weaver and definitely not Andrew. She’s our teammate, not theirs. They don’t care if she lives or dies.”

  He shook his head. “They care.”

  She reached out and grazed his arm with her fingers. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. I know they care. I’m just so frustrated and confused.”

  They stood there in silence for a few moments, watching the activity in the bay. It had been a few weeks since the launch tubes last opened. Divers tended to get antsy between dives. Everyone here was on edge and eager to get started. Even the civilians in the corridor beyond the launch bay were asking questions—questions that no one was going to answer.

  While Weaver and Andrew geared up, Michael made his decision. He might not be able to rescue Magnolia, but there was something he had to do.

  He kissed Layla on the cheek and turned away.

  “You’re not going to stick around?” she asked. She scuffed the floor with her boot, and her eyes flicked upward. Layla didn’t play poker with the other divers, but if she ever did, Michael would be able to read her like a book.

  He knew what was coming next.

  “You’re running away, aren’t you? Going wherever it is you go when you’re upset. Without me. You should be telling Jordan to fuck himself and then leading a full team to the surface.” She was speaking faster now. “You’re the commander of Team Raptor, Michael.”

  Michael closed his eyes to rein in his temper. It always came back to some variation on the same old fight. Layla was passionate and impulsive. She did whatever she believed was right, and thought about the consequences later if she thought about them at all. He admired that about her, but sometimes it made him want to scream. Disobeying the captain could result in their both being recalled from duty—or worse, get them a stint in the stockade.

  “I’m talking to you, Michael Everhart,” Layla said.

  “And you’re being unreasonable, Layla Brower. We have to pick our battles. You and I both agreed to that.”

  Apparently, his calm, logical approach had been the wrong tactic. Her eyes were bright with anger, but she didn’t answer.

  “There’s something I have to do,” he said, running out of both time and patience. “I’ll be back in an hour or so.”

  “Whatever,” Layla said. Her eyes homed in on her launch tube. That made Michael pause. He couldn’t leave her here. No doubt, she would bribe one of the techs to let her dive, or stow away in one of the drop crates, or do something else equally rash.

  “You want to come with me?”

  Layla’s eyes flitted to his. “Where are you going?”

  “Trust me?”

  She hesitated less than a second. “Yes.”

  He smiled, relieved. “Okay. I … okay. Let’s get out of here.”

  They walked through a throng of variously colored coveralls: engineers in red, technicians in yellow, Hell Divers in black. Several militia soldiers stood at the doors, but a crowd was already forming outside. Launches were always off-limits to civilians, but that didn’t stop them from trying to sneak a glance.

  Michael scanned the room for Captain Jordan. It appeared that he hadn’t shown up for this one. Unlike Captain Ash, he didn’t like venturing outside the bridge, especially to the lower decks or the launch bay. Michael couldn’t even remember the last time the captain had been present for a launch.

  In Captain Jordan’s place, Katrina walked into the bay and ordered the doors shut. She was an older version of Layla: tough, smart, and stubborn. He had heard that Katrina was once romantically involved with X, but looking at her now, in her sleek white uniform and with her hair pulled back in a severe braid, Michael couldn’t imagine it.

  He and Layla walked around a cluster of technicians working on Weaver’s tube. Weaver was loading a shell into the open break of his blaster. Extra shells and magazines for his assault rifle stuck out of his vest. Michael didn’t need to ask why he
looked as if he was preparing to go to war. They all had heard the audio from the Hilltop Bastion.

  Weaver regarded them both with a nod. He dropped a flare into the weapon and snapped the break shut.

  “Don’t worry,” he said. “If Magnolia’s down there, I’ll find her. But don’t hold your breath. Even if she survived the turbofans …”

  Layla dropped Michael’s hand and cut Weaver off. “She’s alive, I know it. I can feel it in my heart.”

  Weaver holstered the blaster and scratched the back of his ear. “I hope you’re right.”

  Michael reached out to shake Weaver’s hand. “Good luck, sir.”

  “Damn, I hate it when people say that. Son, it’s not luck. It’s experience.”

  Michael wanted to remind Weaver how his father had died, how X had been lost despite being the most experienced Hell Diver in the history of the Hive, but now wasn’t the time.

  They shook hands and parted. A few tubes down, Andrew was bending over a box of supplies. He held up an assault rifle with the Raptor logo on the side.

  “Yo, Mikey. Mind if I borrow your gun?”

  “As long as you bring it back,” Michael said. He didn’t really want to say yes. He hadn’t forgotten the way Andrew used to bully him when they were kids. Then again, if Andrew hadn’t kept flicking Michael’s tinfoil hat off his head, Layla wouldn’t have lost her temper and kicked him in the nuts. Michael almost smiled at the memory. That had been the day he realized that Layla liked him.

  They all had matured over the past decade. Mostly. Andrew was still a meathead, but they were all Hell Divers now. Diving had a way of bringing them closer together. They trusted the man or woman in the next drop tube with their lives. Magnolia had proved that when she chose to sever the rope rather than pull them all down.

  Andrew was pulling extra magazines from the crate and stuffing them into his vest as Michael and Layla approached.

  “You think there are Sirens down there?” he asked.

  “Something’s down there,” Michael said. “Let me check one thing before you go.”