Hell Divers Series | Book 8 | King of the Wastes

by Smith, Nicholas Sansbury

  “I have to warn King Xavier,” Kade said. “Stay down here, and if you want to stay alive, keep quiet, for fuck’s sake.”

  * * * * *

  Michael stared out over the water from the hospital on the capitol tower, waiting to see Dr. Stamos. He was only two doors from the room where Layla had given birth to Bray.

  The first scallops of moonlight danced on the water. The rain had stopped and the sky was clear, but his mind was too burdened to enjoy the beauty.

  By now, the Vanguard army’s assault in Panama would be well underway. He waited anxiously for news from Pedro, who continued to monitor the radio for the first reports of the battle.

  Tonight, for the first time in days, he was alone. Ton and Victor were guarding the food hidden in the prison rig. Michael wasn’t scared of an attack on him personally, but he was worried about what would happen if the secret about the food got out.

  As he waited to see Alton and his mom, his thoughts turned to Steve, the only person besides X and his two bodyguards who knew about the food.

  But now he was wondering if taking him there was the right thing. If Charmer, the Cazadores, or virtually anyone found out about the food and thought Michael was withholding it from them, it could cause a civil war.

  You can trust Steve, Michael thought.

  The deputy chief engineer wasn’t far away—just a few floors below, meeting with an engineering team. He was still working despite the late hour, going like a battery that never lost its charge—not bad for a man over seventy years old.

  Michael, on the other hand, was exhausted.

  He pulled out his radio, using the frequency that Pedro had set up to connect with Ton and Victor.

  “Victor, do you copy? Over.” Michael said.

  “Copy, all clear in the dark,” he said, repeating the code word they had established.

  “Copy. Be safe.”

  Michael tucked his radio away, and was nodding off in his chair when a female voice snapped him alert.

  “Sir, you may see her now.”

  Michael got up and followed the nurse into a hallway. Seeing this section of the hospital was a macabre reminder of what had once occurred here.

  Not so long ago, el Pulpo had used this place not to heal people, but to kill them. The room was part of a butcher shop, where the Cazadores skinned and filleted people for food during lean years, when the raids didn’t bring enough back and storms damaged the crops.

  Michael shivered at the thought.

  This was one of the worst years in the Vanguard Islands’ history. And while the population was slightly smaller than when his people first arrived, there were still almost as many mouths to feed, thanks to the addition of the sky people from Tanzania.

  “Here we are,” said the nurse. “Please put on a mask and gown. Kaitlyn is fighting an infection.”

  Michael dressed in the protective gear before stepping up to the door. He knocked and went inside to find Alton sitting on a chair at his mother’s bedside. She was asleep, with tubes connected to both arms.

  He knew just enough about medical treatment and had gleaned just enough from what the nurse said to know that Kaitlyn was fighting for her life.

  Alton stood up and looked at Michael with sad, brown eyes, not much different from the day he first saw him in the machine camp.

  Michael saluted the boy. “At ease, soldier,” he said.

  Alton’s eyes seemed to brighten, but they blurred with tears when Michael approached.

  “Nez was right,” he said sadly. “My mom is dying.”

  Michael shook his head. “You don’t know that, buddy. She’s getting medicine to—”

  “Chief . . .” Kaitlyn whispered.

  “Hey, Kaitlyn,” Michael said. “Just came to see how you’re doing.”

  “Thank you.”

  She took in a deep, rattling breath.

  “Alton,” she said. “Alton, will you give us a few minutes, please, sweetheart?”

  Alton hesitated.

  “Do as your mother says,” Michael said.

  The boy left and closed the door. Kaitlyn reached out to Michael with a bony arm.

  “I know I don’t have long,” she said. “And I know you have your own son now, but, Chief—”

  “Call me Michael, please.”

  She swallowed hard. “Michael, please make sure Alton doesn’t lose his way. Please try and look after him. I asked Kade to do the same, but with him diving again, I worry that Alton won’t have anyone.”

  “I will, you have my word.”

  She laid her head back on the pillow and gave a long sigh of relief, as if a burden had been taken from her shoulders.

  The door to the room opened, and Lieutenant Wynn stepped inside, looking grim. “Sir, can we speak?” he said.

  Michael stood and put a hand on Alton’s shoulder. He nodded at Kaitlyn. “Get some rest,” he said. Then he followed the lieutenant out of the room.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “We just got our first signal from the Immortal,” said the lieutenant. “It’s scrambled, but Pedro is working on clearing it up.”

  Michael rushed to the command center, where Pedro had relocated. He took off the headset.

  “You got it?” Wynn asked.

  Pedro turned to a bank of monitors connected to the radio. He pushed a button and turned up the crackly signal.

  “Vanguard Island Command, this is Captain Two Skulls, sending a distress signal from Panama.”

  White noise surged over the comms.

  Pedro fiddled some more until the channel cleared.

  “We are under attack and have suffered heavy casualties to both troops and vehicles,” said the captain. “King Xavier and General Forge are pinned down by hostile contacts. We are requesting support from the . . .”

  The message cut off.

  “Requesting support from the what?” Michael asked.

  Pedro messed with the buttons again but got only static from the speakers.

  “Isso é tudo,” he said. “That it, no more come through.”

  “Try and reestablish the connection,” Michael said.

  “I have, Chief, but nada come through.”

  Turning, Michael looked out the viewports over the water and the rigs. He felt a cold lump forming in the pit of his stomach. If the mission had failed and X was . . .

  Michael shook away the thought as the radio chirped.

  “Espera . . . Hold on,” Pedro said. He put on his headset and spoke into the minimike. “Stand by,” he said.

  Whirling in his chair, he looked up at Michael.

  “I have Sergeant Jamal, with the Wave Riders,” he said. “He ask for clarification on transmission from the Immortal.”

  Michael cursed. Jamal was Gran Jefe’s cousin.

  “How did they tap into it?” he asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  The implications made Michael uneasy. If this got out, it could rush through the islands like a hurricane, causing more chaos than any storm.

  “Lieutenant, how many men can you spare?” Michael asked.

  “None,” Wynn said. “We are hanging on by a thread. Almost every able fighter besides the Wave Riders and a few teams specializing in fighting on the water is in Panama.”

  It wasn’t just the Cazadores who had seen Michael go to the prison rig that had him worried. The sky people from the machine camp were already starting to show signs of civil unrest. If they knew that the mission to Panama was failing, there was no telling what they might do.

  “Keep everyone on high alert,” Michael said. “And tell everyone to keep a cool head. We don’t need more problems with some trigger-happy soldier.”

  “Understood, sir.” Wynn turned to Pedro. “Tell them that transmission was confidential and to keep it that
way.”

  “I’m going to check on my family and come right back,” Michael said. He stepped into the hallway and started into a stairwell. Halfway up the stairs to his apartment, he pulled out his radio and tuned to the channel he had established for his bodyguards.

  “Victor, do you copy? Over.”

  Static.

  Michael tried again, then again, to no avail. He pounded up the stairs, trying a few more times as he got higher, but the weather was interfering with the transmission. Or maybe . . .

  Again Michael shook away his dark thoughts.

  He took a deep focusing breath outside his apartment door. When his heart rate had settled, he opened the door to find Layla sitting in a chair, with Bray in one arm and Rhino Jr. in the other.

  She stood and handed Bray off to Michael.

  “What’s wrong?” she said. “And don’t lie to me.”

  Michael told her everything about the mission to Panama and what he knew so far. When he was done, she sank back in the chair.

  “It’s bad, but we don’t know if the mission has failed,” Michael said. “X isn’t dead—I know it—and he will come back.”

  “What if he doesn’t, Michael?”

  “He will.”

  “And if not?”

  “He will, God damn it.”

  Bray stirred in his arms, whimpering.

  “I’m sorry,” Michael said, hushing the baby.

  Layla glared at him.

  “Tin, I’m sorry for saying it, but you need to prepare yourself for what happens if X doesn’t come back this time,” she said. “You’re smart, loyal, and strong, but if X dies, we are going to face the biggest challenge of our lives.”

  Michael reached out to his wife. “And we will face that future without fear.”

  She held his gaze.

  “Don’t worry, Layla, we’ll get through this.”

  He handed Bray back to her and turned to the door.

  “Where are you going?” she asked.

  “To buy King Xavier time to win this battle and prevent the islands from falling into anarchy.”

  Thirty

  “Take cover!” Forge shouted over the open channel.

  X looked through the tank scope, trying to find the new beast. They had taken out four of the five breeders with tanks and artillery, but now something else was out there.

  Martin drove the tank down an alley lined with rubble, following General Forge’s tank. Three Cazador soldiers rode on the square back behind the turret.

  They were all searching for cover, but there wasn’t much of it out here, and the spawn were still beneath them. It was only a matter of time before they emerged from tunnels and holes.

  But it wasn’t the offspring that had X worried.

  A new mega monster sailed overhead, releasing an ethereal shriek. It flapped up into the sky, giving X his first view of an even larger creature than the breeders. This thing was the size of an airship!

  “What in the name of God is that?” X asked.

  “I don’t know, sir, but it came from the city,” Slayer said.

  Bromista pulled a small plastic case out of his bag and opened it to reveal a dozen explosive arrow tips. “El diablo que escupe,” he said.

  Slayer nodded. “The spitting devil.”

  “I kill with dis.” Bromista screwed one of the explosive heads onto a bolt and loaded it into his crossbow.

  The flying abomination hurtled through the air, its beetle wings buzzing like turbofans as it belched out more glowing green blobs over the ruins of the city.

  As it climbed back into the sky, X tensed up with realization. If this thing was as big as an airship, it could down an airship.

  He bumped on the command channel to Captain Rolo.

  “Captain, do you copy? This is X, over.”

  After a few anxious moments of static popping in his helmet, he finally heard the rough, old voice of Captain Rolo.

  “Copy, King Xavier.”

  “What’s your location? We got a new . . . Well, I don’t know what the fuck it is out there, Captain.”

  “I’ve got it on radar,” Rolo said, “and we’re keeping our distance. Personally, I’d like to get as far away as possible, though.”

  “I’m sure you would, but we need you up there. Just steer clear; that’s an order.”

  “Watch out!” Slayer shouted.

  Martin slammed on the brakes, bringing the tank to a halt.

  The flying creature swooped down, launching a salvo of green vomit over the street. It landed on a partially collapsed two-story building, knocking a wall of brick rubble down in front of General Forge’s tank.

  The driver managed to stop before the avalanche of bricks buried it. Smoke rose off the sizzling pile, and steel from the building’s girders waterfalled down in a bright, molten stream.

  “Shit, we’re trapped,” Martin said. “We got to back up.”

  The men on the back hopped off the back of the tank, shouldering their rifles and firing laser bolts.

  A beat later, X saw what they were firing on. A pack of the spawn came scuttling out of a hole. Three of them collapsed under the onslaught of laser bolts, but the others stormed ahead, toward the soldiers.

  X motioned for Miles to stay and then climbed back into the turret.

  “King Xavier!” Slayer shouted. “Stop!”

  “My ass!” he yelled back.

  Popping the turret hatch, he grabbed the .50-caliber machine gun and swung the barrel at the beasts, trying to get a clear shot. They hacked through the thick Cazador armor with pincer claws that may as well have been tinsnips. He saw at least three downed soldiers. Two of the men were already dead, their mangled bodies recognizable as human only by the distinctive metal-and-bone armor.

  “I’m sorry,” X whispered.

  He lined up the sights on the surviving man’s helmet first, and pulled the trigger, ending his suffering. Then he turned the barrel on the monsters, destroying the pack in two bursts.

  But it was too late for the three Cazador warriors.

  “Back up!” X yelled.

  The tanks reversed and pulled onto another street.

  Using his NVGs, X located a building where dozens of infantry were firing from cover. Over the comms came an updated report of casualties—over thirty dead, with dozens more injured or MIA.

  And it was about to get worse. The spawn were charging across the terrain now, hundreds of them searching for prey.

  “We have contacts everywhere, sir,” Slayer said.

  X stared in shock from the turret as the city block flooded with the little domed beasts.

  The tide had turned. Now it was the Vanguard army being slaughtered.

  “Fall back!” X said. “Tell everyone to fall back!”

  A whirring sounded from the sky, and X looked up, expecting to see the airship Vanguard. Instead, he saw the winged monstrosity.

  “I think we found the big daddy,” X said to the command channel. “How do you want to handle it, General?”

  Forge, who was back in the turret of his own tank, tracked the monster with his binos.

  “With bait,” he said. “Seal up, King Xavier, and follow me.”

  X grunted his assent but remained in the turret. He couldn’t button up the tank just yet—not with soldiers to save and an entire belt of ammunition to burn through.

  The infantry ran out of the ruined structures. Some were already making it back to the trucks and APCs parked at the bottom of the scree slope.

  Behind them, the flamethrower teams were laying down elongated bursts of fire into the encroaching beasts. They wailed and shrieked as the fire steamed them in their shells.

  But the flames didn’t stop more from coming. Hundreds climbed out of underground passages and charged the vehicles.

&n
bsp; X kept busy with the .50, splitting shells open and blowing off limbs.

  “Get to the trucks!” he shouted. “Go, go, go!”

  “Incoming!” Slayer yelled again.

  X stared up as the flying monster swooped low, jaws opening to release a shriek. With its pincered front claws, it snatched a truck off the ground, rending it in half as it flew back into the sky.

  Soldiers fell out of the troop hold, their armor and bones shattering on the ground, where the youngsters found them.

  Two of the other trucks took off, and the six APCs began to lurch away from the debris. X turned the turret and strafed the beasts chasing them.

  The creature in the sky circled for another pass.

  “Suck on this!” X shouted, turning the muzzle on the mammoth target.

  Tracer rounds streaked into the insectile eyes, bursting several of them. The creature roared and dived on the tank, wings beating the air.

  X ducked as it sailed overhead, the draft shaking the vehicle. When he got up, it belched glowing green fluid through its open jaws, onto one of the trucks ahead.

  The truck ground to a stop, the tires on fire and the metal glowing. Soldiers fell to the ground in puddles of molten metal and flesh.

  Within seconds, the vehicle and everyone who had been inside it were reduced to smoldering masses of melted armor. X raised the machine gun’s muzzle back toward the monster that Bromista called the spitting devil.

  They had to take it out, or no one would make it back to the ships. He led the beast with the muzzle and fired. The rounds pounded the shell but had no visible effect on the armor. Lowering his aim, he focused his fire on the wings as it swooped back over the fleeing soldiers, dropping another burst of the superheated green goo on a squad of men with flamethrowers.

  They went up in a green flash, which faded away to reveal nothing but charred bones and armor.

  X kept firing from the turret. General Forge was doing the same with his .50.

  “Aim for the wings!” X shouted over the command channel.

  The two men unleashed a salvo of bullets into the massive metallic-

  colored wings. Finally, it roared in pain and flapped away, shrieking.