Hell Divers Series | Book 8 | King of the Wastes

by Smith, Nicholas Sansbury

  “You have done your best, Chief Everhart,” Imulah said, “but the fate of these islands is outside of your hands now. You must keep blood from spilling.”

  Wynn returned a minute later. “My men said the Wave Riders are mobilizing and heading out into the storm.”

  Michael cursed and looked at Imulah. “So much for not spilling blood.”

  “You think they are a threat?” Wynn asked.

  “We’re going to find out. Gather five of your best soldiers and meet me at the marina.”

  “What about Ton and Victor?”

  Michael couldn’t tell him where they were, but if he was right about the Wave Riders, they would all know soon enough.

  “Imulah, stay here with Pedro and let me know if you hear anything from X, okay?”

  The scribe nodded and hurried off into the rain.

  Michael rushed down to the marina with his backpack. He looked at the Sea Wolf but decided on something faster. He selected the war boat el Pulpo had used, which now belonged to King Xavier.

  While waiting for Wynn, Michael pulled out the radio again. “Victor, do you copy?”

  “Yes, all clear in the dark,” he said.

  “Keep an eye out. We might have a problem.”

  “Okay.”

  A few minutes later, Wynn showed up with five other militia soldiers, in armor and carrying rifles. They were all former citizens of the Hive, which made Michael more comfortable with having them along.

  Steve arrived next, holding a wrecking bar. A long rifle with a scope was slung over his shoulder. He had swapped out his green sunglasses for a pair of ski goggles.

  “We are heading out to track the Wave Riders,” Michael said. “I have reason to believe they are mobilizing for unsavory purposes, and we can’t let them. I’m sorry I can’t tell you more, but for now you must trust me.”

  “I trust you,” Wynn said.

  “Me, too,” Steve agreed.

  Nods all around.

  “Let’s go,” Michael said.

  He got aboard the boat and went to the cockpit, where he dropped his backpack. Out of it he pulled the only laser rifle still at the islands.

  Steve lowered the boat on the lift, and Michael fired up the engines. The soldiers boarded in drizzling rain, crowding under a canopy in the back with their rifles.

  Running to the door of the enclosed marina, Steve hauled on the rope, opening it. Then he jumped from the dock onto the boat.

  Michael steered out of the marina and into the night. Rain pounded the windshield as he turned the boat into the waves.

  Rig 9 was only a fifteen-minute boat ride at normal speeds, but Michael didn’t plan on going a normal speed. He pushed the throttle down, and the engines roared, powering the boat through the waves.

  By the time he was within view of the rig, he could see the glow of headlights on the horizon. Six of them. The Wave Riders had already taken off, and they were headed exactly where he thought they would go: toward the prison rig.

  Michael steered away from the rig, but he could see torches and candles burning on the different levels. Hundreds of Cazadores were still awake, and they weren’t just sitting around. Some of them were carrying spears, swords, bows, and guns.

  Flipping off the beams, Michael cruised by the rig, staring at what looked like a population mobilizing for war. The sight sent a chill through him, and his thoughts went straight to Layla, Bray, and Rhino Jr.

  “The transmission from Panama is spreading,” Steve said. “There is only one explanation for this, partner, and it ain’t good.”

  “And that is what?”

  “The Cazadores are preparing for an empty throne.”

  Michael said, “Lieutenant, tell your men to get ready to intercept the Wave Riders.”

  “Sir, all due respect, but I still don’t understand what’s going on,” Wynn replied. “Does this have to do with them intercepting the radio signal?”

  “Partly, but it’s what they are after.”

  Wynn raised his voice over the engines. “Chief, I can’t help if you don’t tell me what’s going on.”

  Michael exchanged a glance with Steve, who nodded.

  Gripping the wheel in his robotic arm, Michael stared at the Jet Skis that seemed to be bouncing over the waves, their beams flitting up and down. He knew what would happen if they discovered the food or if X died in Panama. There would be a fight for the crown—a fight that would determine the future of the islands.

  Michael said, “King Xavier found a supply of food on the Immortal supercarrier and had it secretly moved to the prison rig,” Michael said.

  “Food?”

  “Months’ worth. For the entire Vanguard population.”

  Wynn seemed to have a question, but he remained quiet.

  “We can’t let that food be discovered, or everyone is going to be fighting over it,” Michael said. “It’s for the worst-case situation.”

  “Sir, you understand what will happen if people like Charmer find out we’ve been hiding something like that? And you understand what happens if we end up fighting with the Wave Riders?”

  “Yes, and I’m hoping it doesn’t come to that, but we must be ready.”

  “I’m with you, sir, you know that, I’m just—”

  “We must trust each other,” Michael said. “Can I trust you?”

  “Yes,” Wynn said. He reached into his pocket and started pumping shotgun shells into his weapon.

  “I’m with you, partner,” Steve said.

  Wynn said, “I’ll inform my men.” He opened the hatch and went outside to his team.

  Michael watched the distant beams, his eyes flitting from the Jet Skis to the map. They were actually turning, he realized.

  He quickly pegged their new destination: oil rig 15.

  But why would the Wave Riders be heading to the rig housing the sky people from Kilimanjaro?

  Michael narrowed his eyes, trying to make sense of things. He kept the boat’s running lights off and eased back the throttle as they closed on the rig.

  “Steve, tell Lieutenant Wynn to contact his men on rig fifteen,” Michael said.

  Steve went outside and returned with Wynn a few moments later.

  “Sir, I can’t reach them on the comms,” Wynn said.

  Michael cursed, remembering the conversation with Charmer about the Kilimanjaro sky people not needing the soldiers. He explained that conversation to Wynn, who confirmed that militia soldiers under his command did indeed remain on active duty at that rig.

  “Something’s wrong,” Michael said. “Something’s really wrong.”

  In the distance, the Jet Skis had reached the marina at the bottom of rig 15. Torches burned under metal awnings, and a group of people had gathered on the docks.

  Michael stopped the boat and went out on the bow with Wynn and the other soldiers. Steve joined them, handing Michael a pair of binoculars.

  Not surprisingly, Charmer was right there on the dock. The Cazador soldiers dismounted their Jet Skis and approached him. Each of them carried crates and supplies.

  “What are those?” Michael asked.

  He watched Jamal, the sergeant with the Wave Riders, go up to Charmer, who stuck out a hand. Jamal looked down at it and then shook.

  The Wave Runner squad walked past them and stacked the crates on the dock. Oliver opened one and pulled out a rifle, aiming it at the sky to check the scope. Then he held it out to Charmer.

  “Son of a bitch,” Michael said. “The Cazadores are arming them. Where did they even get more weapons?”

  “I don’t know,” Wynn said. “What should we do?”

  “We should pray X survives,” Steve said.

  “For now, we get back to the capitol tower,” Michael said. “If they want a fight, we make them come to us.”

  Thir
ty-Two

  “Stay with me, General,” X said. “We’re going to get you back to the ship.”

  Somehow, General Forge was still conscious. He lay on the floor of the tank, covered in bandages that had already soaked through with blood. Slayer and Bromista attended to him while X received a sitrep over the command channel.

  The report wasn’t good, and he cursed under his breath. Miles looked over at him, tail down.

  “It’s going to be okay,” X said.

  He hated lying to his dog. The situation was bad and deteriorating by the second. Only half the vehicles and just over half the soldiers had made it back to the landing craft. The other half were either dead or pinned down like X and his comrades in the tank.

  “Sir, I will send back the landing craft with an APC as soon as it docks,” Captain Two Skulls said over the channel.

  “No,” X grunted. “It’s suicide. Don’t send anyone after us right now.”

  Static crackled from the radio.

  “Sir, we’re not leaving you.”

  “That’s an order, Captain. Enough men and women have already died.” X shut off the channel and swallowed hard. “I got us into this, and I’m getting us out,” he said.

  Slayer scooted over to look through Martin’s viewport. Miles nestled up to X, watching the tide of shelled creatures surge out of tunnels and holes across the city block.

  Cries of pain and sporadic gunshots rang out through the night as the beasts found injured soldiers who couldn’t make it back to the ships.

  And soon, they would find the tank, and a way inside.

  “We have to go out on foot,” X said. “We have no choice.”

  “Those things are everywhere, King Xavier,” Martin whispered. “If we move on foot, they’re going to be all over us.”

  He gave General Forge a doubtful glance and Bromista nodded as if he understood.

  “Martin’s right,” Slayer murmured. “We can’t move the general like this.”

  They were speaking softly, and X was surprised when the old warrior opened his eye and mumbled, “Leave me, King Xavier . . .”

  “I said you can’t die, and I meant it,” X said. “You do not have permission to give up, do you understand?”

  “Sí, comprendo.”

  “Good, because I think I just thought of a plan to get us out of here.”

  X switched to the airship’s frequency.

  “Captain Rolo, do you copy?”

  After a brief pause, Rolo’s voice came in. “Copy, King Xavier.”

  That was good, at least—they were still in the air.

  “Captain, I need you to hover over my coordinates if possible, and drop a supply crate with boosters. We’re pinned down and will use them to get into the sky.”

  “With that thing out there?”

  “It is no longer a problem,” X replied. “Now send down a damn crate with boosters.”

  “Copy.”

  X grunted as the channel shut off. He was really starting to dislike Rolo, but he couldn’t exactly blame the guy for being cautious.

  “Let’s get ready to move,” X said.

  Martin climbed out of his seat and grabbed his laser rifle while Slayer readied their gear. Clanking resonated as Bromista picked up his crossbow, but this wasn’t the clatter of a weapon on armor. This was coming from outside.

  Miles barked and stepped up to the hatch.

  X grabbed Miles to silence him, but it didn’t matter. The beasts had found them.

  Scratching traveled along the outside of the tank, followed by a thump on the top.

  The men all looked up.

  “Quiet,” X whispered.

  A screech came from the rear hatch. Claws scratched the metal, prodding and probing for any weakness. Miles followed the shriek of the metal, baring his teeth and growling.

  X bent down in front of the viewports as another wave of the chitinous animals skittered over the mounds of concrete, twisted I-beams, and glass shards on their way to the beach.

  He turned from the glass and motioned for Miles to keep still.

  They sat there in silence, trying to keep as quiet as possible.

  The pack of beasts moved on, their clatter and chirping squeals growing distant.

  A sense of calm descended on the battlefield, and X realized he hadn’t heard any gunfire or screams for a while now. The only sound was Forge’s raspy breath.

  X put a hand on his bandaged arm. “Hang on, my friend,” he said.

  Forge managed a nod.

  Miles went rigid just as a thump sounded against the rear hatch. A second thud hit the left, then a third on the right side of the tank.

  Another pack had found them.

  X climbed up into the turret.

  “Sir,” Slayer whispered.

  “Don’t worry. I got it.”

  X unlatched the turret and reached down to thumb the keeper loop off his hatchet. Pressing his shoulder plate up against the unlocked turret, he raised the blade to meet the open jaws of the man-size beast climbing up over the left track.

  “Get off my tank!” he shouted.

  A blow to the face severed the tip of its curved beaklike snout. The thing chittered in agony or rage and swiped at him with a pincer, which he parried with his metal fist. Using his other hand, he swung the axe down on the crest of the skull, cracking through shell and into whatever brain the mutant creature had.

  He threw the hatchet end-over-end at the beast on the cannon, sinking the bit square between its forward pair of eyes.

  Two more of the beasts darted out of a hole X hadn’t seen. He raised his laser rifle and spun to fire, when an explosion between the two monsters blew the limbs from their shells.

  Bromista stood outside the tank with his crossbow. After cranking the string back, he seated another shaft in the channel.

  The smoking bodies hissed and steamed as X searched for new targets. Finding nothing, he wrenched his axe from the beast’s head and ducked back inside the tank, sealing the hatch after him.

  “Okay, we’re clear,” X said. “Get him ready to move.”

  Slayer and Martin helped the general put on a rad suit while X went to Miles.

  “Okay, pal,” he said, “we’re going to go outside in a few minutes. You ready?”

  The dog wagged his tail.

  A tap came at the back hatch.

  Slayer whirled toward it, then looked at X.

  The tapping came again. It didn’t sound like the claws of the shelled beasts. X scrambled over and grabbed the handle. He lifted the lever, and Bromista pointed his crossbow into the face of a Cazador soldier.

  “No shoot,” the man said.

  Bromista lowered the weapon.

  “Get in. We . . .” X said.

  His words trailed off at the sight of another pack of shelled beasts that had followed the soldier. They came so fast, X barely had time to grab the man by one hand.

  A massive juvenile beast thrust a pincer deep into his armor, crunching through the shoulder. The claw broke out the front, painting X with blood.

  The man screamed in agony, but X held on tight.

  “Don’t let go!” he shouted.

  The creature pulled back, yanking the Cazador out of the hatch, along with X, who held on. Bromista grabbed his legs, tugging him back into the tank.

  A second creature scrambled up from the left side of the hatch, pincer claws up. X held on to the screaming soldier and closed his eyes. One second later, he felt the weight of the man release, but when he opened his eyes, he was still gripping a hand attached to nothing else.

  Bromista dragged X back into the tank and shut the hatch. He fell on his back, still clutching the amputated hand.

  Crackling came over the command channel, followed by the voice of Captain Rolo, but X was hardly liste
ning. He was staring at the severed hand and forearm he was gripping.

  The beasts skittered away with their food, their shrieks and whistles growing distant.

  “King Xavier, do you copy?” Rolo said again.

  X moved to the radio. “Copy,” he said, his heart still racing.

  “We are in position,” Rolo said. “Dropping the crate in a moment. We will be waiting for you in the sky.”

  They shut off the radio and sat in silence for a few more minutes until Slayer confirmed that the second pack had gone.

  X watched his HUD until the beacon appeared. The supply crate was under the canopy and descending toward their position.

  “I see it,” said Slayer.

  “What do you mean . . .” X saw the red streak of a flare through the viewport. “Son of a bitch,” he said. “If we can see it, so can those beasts.”

  He tilted his helmet toward the back hatch.

  “Let’s move while we still can.”

  X got under General Forge and helped him up. He knew it had to hurt like hell, but the warrior made no sound.

  As they climbed down onto the dirt, Forge reached out. “Give me a gun,” he said.

  X handed the general a blaster.

  Bromista opened the hatch and was the first outside. The supply crate had landed on a collapsed building not far from their position.

  Miles trotted away from the tanks and down to the lower level of the building, then led the way into a ravine between destroyed buildings. Two creatures scrambled ahead and vanished into piles of rubble.

  X kept moving, keeping low and trying to keep Forge upright. The general staggered and stumbled on the uneven ground.

  At the end of the street, they found the crate atop a four-story pile of ruins, its red flare still guttering.

  “Fuckin A,” X muttered. “Why don’t they just put a target on our backs.”

  They made their way through the ravine, glass crunching under their boots. Miles stopped ahead and looked back to X, who spotted what had made the dog halt. From behind a slab of concrete jutted the booted legs of a Cazador soldier.

  Bromista took point, moving ahead of the dog.

  X handed Forge off to Slayer and joined Bromista to have a look.

  Shouldering his rifle and resting the barrel on his metal arm, X moved around the slab. There lay half a body, cut off at the waist. The entrails lay in a pile of slop a few feet away.