Hell Divers II: Ghosts

by Nicholas Sansbury Smith

“Then how do you explain Captain Ash checking out a book two years after she died?”

  Jason put his finger back on his chin. “Well, I … I’m not sure, but the rational explanation would be that someone used her credentials to check this book out under her name.”

  Layla thanked the old librarian with a polite nod. Then she stepped away from the desk and beckoned Michael to the center of the room.

  “Who would use Captain Ash’s credentials?” he whispered. “And why?”

  “I don’t know. Why does the name Janet Gardner ring a bell?”

  It took Michael a second to remember. “I think she goes by Janga now. I heard she’s a complete nut job.”

  “Janga, as in the woman Weaver kept sneaking off to see?” Frowning, Layla turned back to the circulation desk. “Jason, would you do us a favor?”

  “Certainly, Miss Brower.”

  “If anyone ever asks, please don’t tell them we were here today.”

  Jason took a moment to think on it and then smiled. “I will do this, but in return, I’d like you to bring me some fresh material for the library next time you dive.”

  Michael grinned back. The old man hadn’t struck him as the bargaining type, but on the Hive, everyone wanted to make a deal.

  “Sure thing, sir,” Michael said.

  Layla nudged him toward the door and whispered, “Let’s go.”

  “What? Maybe we should look at the book again to see if we missed something.”

  She smiled, eyes shining. “We didn’t miss anything. That was the clue, Tin. We have to go see Janga.”

  * * * * *

  Sometimes, silence was more effective than swearing. Hands shaking with anger, Captain Leon Jordan grabbed a pen off his desk and bent it in half. Without uttering a word, he swiveled his chair to face Ensign Hunt.

  Hunt took a step back. There was fear in his eyes, and something else that Jordan couldn’t place. He didn’t like making people fear him, but it was necessary. Fear was what kept order on the Hive.

  And someone was threatening that order. Again.

  “I’m sorry, sir,” Hunt said. “It was an honest mistake. I thought Magnolia had discovered X’s transmission in the archives, but it was Janet Gardner.”

  Jordan knew he should feel conflicted over having sent Magnolia to her death, but all he felt was rage—toward someone he should have dealt with a long time ago. She was back to meddling again, and that meddling had cost him a Hell Diver.

  “Are you sure this time?” Jordan asked.

  “Quite, sir. Only certain people on the ship can access the restricted archives. Members of the crew, a few ranking militia soldiers, and Hell Divers. The log-in was from a deceased diver.”

  “Who?”

  “Xavier Rodriguez, sir.”

  Jordan carefully bent the pen back into shape and placed it back on his desk. Hunt looked at it, then back to Jordan, and continued explaining, the words tumbling out.

  “At first I thought it was Magnolia, because Sergeant Jenkins reported one of his soldiers seeing her outside my hatch, eavesdropping. But after I tapped into the archives, I was able to determine where the hack came from: a terminal in communal living space three. The only one there who even understands how to access the system is Janga. Magnolia didn’t know anything.”

  Jordan’s fingers tightened on the edge of his desk. Hunt also had a roll to play in the death of Magnolia. His mistake couldn’t be overlooked.

  “Find Janet Gardner and lock her in the stockade,” Jordan snapped.

  Hunt nodded and began backing away.

  “Hold on,” Jordan said. He had allowed himself a breath to consider his decision. He couldn’t afford to act on emotion. “Make it discreet, Ensign. Janga is old and frail. You need only one guard. Send Sergeant Jenkins, and tell him to keep this quiet. There are those who believe in her ridiculous prophecy. I can’t afford an uprising over this.”

  “Understood, Captain. Um … you won’t cut my rations, will you, sir? Mel and the kids need—”

  “Dismissed.”

  The door to his office closed, and Jordan touched the monitor to continue reviewing Captain Ash’s final logs. Placing the headphones over his ears, he listened to the scratchy voice of a long-dead woman.

  “There are two certainties in my life. The first is that the cancer will kill me. I don’t have long now. The second and most frightening, however, is not my own death, but the death of my people—and, with them, the extinction of the human race. What I have learned has me questioning every belief I ever held.”

  Jordan skipped to the next log. He couldn’t count the number of times he had listened to her ramblings. She had been crazy, and the mission he authorized to find the Hilltop Bastion was the only way to prove it to those who still believed in her dream.

  “I’ve spent my entire career searching for a place for the Hive to put down, a habitable spot that would allow our species to start over, to right the wrongs of our ancestors. I’ve scoured the archives for information on locations abroad that might have been spared from the horrors of World War Three, but every ITC ship that risked the journey across the ocean reported seeing the same destruction. In some cases, the radiation and electrical storms were even worse than in North America.

  “For several years, I kept in contact with Captain Sean Rolo of the Victory. He had made it across the Atlantic and was searching Africa, where he located a place called Mount Kilimanjaro that looked promising. No electrical storms, minimal radiation. Sometimes, they could even see the sun there. He made the decision to set the ship down, but shortly afterward, his transmissions stopped. That was over a decade ago. I never told anyone about it.

  “I believe that Captain Rolo intended to set down and start over. However, I also believe that the monsters were already there. That’s why I’ve decided to search for strongholds belowground that could house the population of the Hive and allow us to endure until it’s safe to return to the surface.

  “I’ve put together a list of bunkers that ITC built deep under the earth—places that could house and feed every member of the Hive, where we wouldn’t have to fear electrical storms, monsters, famine, or the radiation that poisons our bodies. I’ve included the list at the end of this log for my second in command, Lieutenant Leon Jordan, to carry on this mission.

  “Our future is no longer in the sky. Our future is underground.”

  Jordan could still remember the first time he read the log. It had seemed crazy then, and it seemed crazy now. Every single one of the locations in her list, including the Hilltop Bastion, was in a red zone. Their enemies had dropped bombs on the underground ITC facilities. Even if the bunkers had survived, the surface above them was a radioactive wasteland.

  That was why none of the previous captains of the Hive had gone down there to start over belowground. It was suicide.

  In her final years, Captain Ash had gone from single-minded determination to delusion. Jordan had not only decided to contravene her orders; he had decided to keep them a secret.

  But he could keep them secret for only so long before curious people such as Janet Gardner started to ask questions. He could feel his control of the ship slipping away, like water dripping from a clenched fist.

  A rap sounded on the hatchway. He hurriedly shut off his computer and straightened his uniform.

  “Come in,” he said.

  Katrina walked in. She had that look again, the one that told him he would be sleeping on the floor tonight.

  “Have you heard from the divers yet?” he asked.

  Avoiding his gaze, she took a seat in front of his desk. He shut off his monitor and turned to face her.

  “What?” Jordan asked, anxious. Whatever she had to say, it wasn’t about the mission on the surface. She wiped her eyes and sniffed. Had she been crying? That wasn’t like her, either. Katrina was a strong woman w
ho rarely displayed emotion. It was one of the things he admired most about her. But he had seen her cry twice in one day now.

  He got up and walked over to kneel in front of her. He put a hand on her calf and said quietly, “What’s wrong?”

  She put her hand on her stomach. “The baby. I think …”

  Jordan sprang up. “What? Is there something wrong? Are you not feeling well? Have you been to Dr. Free?”

  Her sharp eyes met his. He couldn’t read them.

  “Katrina, what aren’t you telling me?”

  She glanced down at her stomach as tears streamed from her eyes.

  “I’m not sure I want to have this child,” she choked out. “I’m not sure I want to bring it into this doomed world.”

  * * * * *

  Magnolia and Weaver followed the trail at a fast clip. Andrew had lost a lot of blood already, but he was strong—probably the strongest, toughest man on the Hive.

  He was still alive; she could feel it. But he needed their help.

  Flashbacks from the massacre of her team back in Hades surfaced in her mind. Those images had haunted her for a decade, and she was damned if she would let the creatures do the same to Andrew.

  What a crazy-ass day, she mused as her flashlight beam swept over Weaver’s back. His armored shoulders were covered in dust and the plant goo that she had accidentally smeared on him. She hoped the shit wasn’t toxic, but down here, anything was possible.

  He hugged the shadows, back hunched, scope at eye level, sweeping the darkness for contacts. Magnolia had never mastered the combat skills of divers such as Weaver, but she made up for it in speed and stealth.

  “Hey, Mags,” Rodger said. He was walking beside her with his rifle cradled, looking almost relaxed.

  “What?” she snapped.

  He leaned over, his arm brushing hers. “Most everyone up there pegged you for dead, but I knew you weren’t. That’s why I insisted on coming. I figured you needed my help.”

  She snorted. “I’m very much not dead. Not for lack of effort, though. Somebody up there must be feeling pretty disappointed right now.”

  “What? Why would anyone want you to die?”

  Before she could explain, Weaver raised a fist as they neared the first junction. They all halted.

  “Shut the hell up, you two,” he said.

  Magnolia thought about blaming the conversation on Rodger, but she kept silent. She still hadn’t had the opportunity to tell Weaver about her sabotaged chute, and this wasn’t the time for that conversation, either. She wasn’t even sure she should tell Weaver. What if he had been in on it?

  He saved your life back there. You can trust him.

  She shook off the paranoia and swept her rifle over the hallway while Weaver raised his wrist computer. A screech sounded from deep inside the facility, echoing down the narrow passages, its source impossible to determine.

  “This place is immense,” Weaver said. He tapped his monitor. “I don’t even understand what I’m looking at. The tunnels look like a network of veins, but I can’t find an access point for the actual facility.”

  He moved the monitor from side to side and cursed. “We’re never going to find Pipe unless we split up.”

  Rodger nodded. “Good call, Commander. That will give me a chance to complete my other mission.”

  Weaver tilted his helmet ever so slightly. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

  Rodger pulled something out of his vest and trained his flashlight on the square of plastic bearing the ITC logo.

  “The only way Captain Jordan would agree to let me come look for Magnolia was if I did something for him on the surface. He wants me to find a cryogenics chamber. He gave me this card and said it would access the room.”

  “I got that,” Weaver said. “But why? What the hell are you supposed to do there?”

  Rodger shrugged. “He said to locate it and go inside, and that’s it.”

  Weaver exchanged a glance with Magnolia. She didn’t know a lot about cryogenics, only what she had discovered in the archives, but she knew enough to form a theory about the “survivors” they were looking for.

  “Maybe the people who sought refuge here after the war froze themselves,” she said. “Maybe they’re still sleeping down here, waiting for the radiation to fade and the skies to clear.”

  Weaver let out a huff that crackled over the comm channel. “You’re both crazy, you know that?”

  Another nonhuman screech rang out, followed by a human scream that pierced Magnolia’s heart. Weaver walked to the junction and looked left and right. He returned with a coin in his palm.

  “Heads for right and tails for left,” he said. “You call it, Magnolia.”

  She stared back incredulously. “Really? You flip a coin to make up your mind?”

  “Superstition. Now, call it. We’re running out of time.”

  Weaver flipped the coin, and Magnolia watched it spin upward in the air.

  “Heads,” she said.

  He caught it in his palm. “Heads it is. You and Rodger take a right. I’ll follow the trail left and keep searching for Pipe. Stay on the comms and report anything you find. But like I said, I doubt we’ll find anyone down here, frozen or otherwise. Our best hope is to get Pipe out alive and maybe locate some fuel cells or other supplies.”

  “Aye, aye, Commander,” Rodger said, throwing a lazy salute.

  Magnolia wanted to insist on going with Weaver, but she wouldn’t complain about getting stuck with Rodger on a wild-goose chase. Nope, she nodded like a good girl and patted Weaver on the back.

  “Thanks again,” she said. “You saved me. I won’t forget that.”

  Weaver nodded slightly and brought his wrist monitor back up. “We rally outside in three hours, with or without Pipe. Understood?”

  Magnolia and Rodger both nodded. She wondered what was going through Rodger’s mind, but decided she didn’t want to know. He’d been giving her a weird vibe lately, and she wasn’t sure how to respond. Usually, when a guy was interested in her, he would buy her a mug of shine and then invite her back to his quarters for a little fun. Rodger was different, and she didn’t know how to behave around him.

  Get it together, she told herself. You’re on a mission, not a date.

  “Good.” Weaver lowered his monitor and nestled the butt of his rifle against his shoulder. He strode toward the junction, then stopped just as he was about to round the corner. He looked back at Magnolia.

  “You’re welcome about saving your ass, princess, but I still ain’t giving you two hundred credits when we get back to the ship. Now, move out!”

  * * * * *

  Michael had hated coming to the lower decks when he was younger. Back then, he and Layla hadn’t understood why things were the way they were. They hadn’t understood why people had to live like this, and Michael hadn’t been able to grasp why a lower-decker such as Travis Eddie had resorted to brutal violence and attempted mutiny.

  After the events on the farm a decade ago, Michael had forced himself to come down here with Layla a few times a week. Captain Ash had joined them on many occasions. It hadn’t taken much time with these people for Michael to understand their plight. Travis hadn’t been a bad man—just desperate for a better life. Michael didn’t respect his tactics, but now he respected his sacrifice. Instead of meting out punishments after the failed coup, Captain Ash had agreed to provide extra rations and better health care to Travis’ people. Things were still pretty bad, but they were better.

  Today, Michael and Layla didn’t have time to stop and share rations or play games with the children. He hurried after her, through the maze of packed aisles and shanty quarters. A few voices called out after them, but they didn’t break stride until they entered the third communal living space. This was the worst area on the ship, the place where the undesirables lived. Some
of these people had mutations from exposure to radiation, and some were petty criminals. Others were exiles from the upper decks or the other communal spaces. Scents of boiling cabbage and human feces drifted in the air.

  Layla stopped at a stall with faded red curtains. The glow from a candle flickered in the gap.

  “Hi,” said a voice.

  Michael turned to see a little boy and girl across the aisle.

  “Hey, Rex and Julie,” he said.

  “Did you come to play with us?” Julie asked.

  “Not today, but I will soon, I promise,” Michael replied.

  Rex put his head on his sister’s shoulder and frowned, but he didn’t complain. These kids never complained, even though they had nothing. That was what had struck Michael the most when he started coming down here.

  Across the narrow aisle, Layla knocked on the pole holding up the curtain rod. The red drapes parted, and a wizened face appeared, eyed their Hell Diver uniforms, and grumbled, “What do you want?”

  “Hi, Janet,” Layla said.

  “No one by that name here.” The old woman went to close the curtains, but Michael stepped up to Layla’s side and cleared his throat.

  “Janga,” he said, “I’m Commander Michael Everhart. I was very close with Captain Maria Ash. I believe you served with her on the bridge?”

  Janga gave him the once-over, then pulled the curtains shut.

  “Hold on,” Layla said, pulling them back open. “We need to ask you some questions, and we don’t have much time.”

  “Hell Divers and their questions,” Janga mumbled. She retreated into her tiny living space and sat on the edge of her bed.

  “What do you mean by that?” Michael took a step into her quarters, which were furnished with bed, table, chair, and a shelf stocked with bottles full of herbs.

  “What do I mean by what?” Janga said.

  “Look, Janga,” Michael said, “we’re not here to bother you or harm you. But we need your help.”

  He took another cautious step into her dwelling and held out the note from Captain Ash. Janga pushed her matted white locks back over her shoulders and leaned forward to read through cataract-clouded eyes.