He dodged the thrust, dodged another, and ducked under a swipe. Miles ran out, barking, distracting the beast. The pincer darted out, and X ran out after his dog.
“miles!” he shouted.
The genetically enhanced husky was old but still fast. He bolted away from the claw, which plunged into the dirt where he had stood. X fired a flurry of bolts into the long arm as it cocked for another stab.
Slayer ducked into the building with Forge and Bromista while X pounded the beast with laser fire. Bolts slammed into its face, and the mammoth creature stumbled.
X rushed back into the shelter to find Slayer strapping the boosters on the other men.
“You’re a crazy, insubordinate asshole, Slayer, you know that?” X said.
“Yes, sir, I do.”
They moved Bromista and Forge into the back room, where a hole in the ceiling provided a doorway to the sky. The ground rumbled with each of the massive creature’s footfalls outside.
“Help me with Miles,” X said.
Slayer picked up the dog and used a sling to secure him to X. Then Slayer began to remove his own bulky armor and the armor still attached to Bromista.
Miles squirmed as X stood, his back aching from the weight. “Go,” X said. “Go now!”
Slayer turned, and X punched the booster over his shoulder. He backed away as the balloon filled and lifted the men off the ground. They rose up in nothing but their suits between skewed I-beams and into the sky.
Next, X grabbed Forge and pulled hard to get him on his feet.
“Gracias, Inmortal,” the general said quietly. “Stay alive.”
“I always do,” X said.
He hit the button on Forge’s booster, launching the balloon that lifted Forge into the sky. X waited a minute before bumping on the command channel.
“Captain, fire on my position now,” X said.
“Copy that, sir,” replied Two Skulls. “I hope you get the hell out of there.”
Lifting his slung rifle, X walked back into the building with Miles secured against his chest, to watch the soldiers rise into the sky.
A shriek thundered over the rows of debris on the right side of the ravine. The monstrous beast clattered across the street and swiped at Forge, who had the presence of mind to pull up his knees.
“Over here, asshole!” X yelled.
Eyes flitting back and forth, the creature clambered toward them, silhouetted in a flurry of lighting over the ruined city.
X fired at the bulbous eyes, bursting two of them. Then he hit the booster. The balloon filled but pulled them lazily in the air.
Their weight was too much with his heavy armor still attached.
Miles barked as they slowly rose skyward, the creature clambering toward them and swiping at the air.
X hated to discard his weapon with that abomination coming at him, but he had no choice. He tossed it and then unstrapped his chest armor in quick movements, jettisoning it along with his shin guards. The balloon finally started to pick up speed.
The creature charged toward them, and X realized they would not get high enough in time. Miles must have realized it, too, because he squirmed to get free.
“Fuck,” X said. He held onto Miles, realizing he had doomed them both. “I’m sor—”
An explosion cut X off. He gripped his dog tighter, shielding him from a blast behind the beast.
The rubble pile where the supply crate had landed went up in a cloud of dust and debris.
The creature whirled toward the impact.
The balloon pulled its overweight burden higher, now maybe twenty-
five feet off the ground.
Another rocket streaked through the sky, pounding the ground and blasting grit into the air. A second and third landed right behind the monster, blowing off a rear leg.
It let out an earsplitting roar and reached up with its claws toward X and Miles.
The fourth rocket hit the back of its shell, blowing out a hunk the size of a rowboat. Blood and gore slopped out of the riven carapace.
The monster finally collapsed in a heap beneath them.
“Hold fire!” X shouted into the comms.
“Copy!” replied Two Skulls.
Two more rockets hit the ground, blowing the rest of the beast into simmering hunks of meat.
“I got you, boy,” X said to Miles.
They looked down at the carcass of the creature that had nearly killed them.
X let out a long breath and scanned the wastes. From this vantage point, he could see the smoking bodies of the breeders, now dead along with hundreds of their spawn.
He gazed out at the shoreline and the ships anchored there.
They had won the day and would clear the canal and set up an outpost, but the win had come at a heavy cost.
Finally, X looked up to see the airship lowering through the clouds.
The bottom reentry hatch was open and General Forge was already inside, hanging from his balloon. He held up a hand as they floated up next to him. Slayer was holding on to Bromista, who was limp but breathing.
The floor closed and sealed beneath their boots. Gas hissed from vents around them, kicking off the quarantine process.
After a few minutes, the top reentry hatch opened above, and the bottom hatch rose flush with the deck. Exhausted, X sank to his knees inside the dome as the gases were vented out.
Teams Raptor and Wrangler were outside the dome, but not everyone was present.
X waited a few more minutes until an overhead crane lifted the dome away.
“Where’s Ada?” he asked. “And Jo-Jo?”
Kade walked over and shook his head. “They didn’t make it back.”
There was a moment of silence before Magnolia strode out of the group and pulled two maps from her vest. She handed them to X.
He took them and saw the trident symbol marking a place called the Great Barrier Reef. His mind was a mess, but a memory surfaced of the sword from the man the Cazadores killed in Colón.
And then the realization hit him. The Great Barrier Reef was once a coral kingdom.
“The Coral Castle,” he whispered.
Magnolia nodded.
“Ada didn’t die in vain, King Xavier,” she said.
* * * * *
On the horizon sailed a single boat, with a light flashing on the bow, above the mid-deck cabin, and another on the stern. It was a trawler, its crew no doubt exhausted after working late to bring home more fish.
The sight was a reminder that most of the people here on the Vanguard Islands were doing their part to keep things running, to make a future for all.
But there were opportunists in the postapocalypse—always were and always would be. Men and women who put their own needs before those of the collective whole. They were the biggest danger to the future of humanity.
Michael had seen it time and time again. In his mind, there was no room for people like that, and now he was in charge of dealing with them.
He stood under the forest canopy on the capitol tower rooftop. More militia soldiers and volunteers were showing up by the minute. People he had known his entire life. Most were asking questions, but some carried weapons, as had the Cazadores he saw earlier.
The Vanguard army’s message from the Panama Canal had spread as he expected it to, burning from rig to rig, faster than a plague.
Michael wasn’t sure what would happen if, come morning, they didn’t get good news. An hour earlier, he had deployed Imulah and Steve to figure out what was going on at the other rigs.
Two decks below, Pedro was still working to reestablish a connection with the Vanguard army, but so far, he had failed. The storms were interfering with the drones, and sending the fragile flyers through the storms was simply too dangerous.
And it wasn’t just the mission in Panama
he was worried about.
Michael still wasn’t sure if anyone besides Wynn and Steve knew about the food stash.
What Michael did know was that Charmer had made a deal to acquire weapons from the Wave Riders. And if Charmer found out there were stored food reserves, he might very well rally his people to seize them.
Michael couldn’t let that happen.
Charmer was an opportunist. He would use any situation to further his own selfish ends.
Pulling out his radio, Michael tuned to the frequency to connect with his guards at the prison rig.
“Victor, do you copy?” Michael said.
A few seconds passed before the sleepy voice replied.
“Copy, sir. All clear in the dark.”
“Good,” Michael said.
He walked out of the forest to another rooftop lookout.
Wynn stood like a statue behind the sandbags positioned around a machine gun with half a belt of ammunition. He used night-vision goggles to scan the waters.
“It’s quiet out there, Chief,” Wynn said.
“Quiet is good,” Michael replied. “I’m heading down to the command center. Keep me apprised.”
“Yes, sir.”
Michael slung his rifle and headed downstairs to the enclosed lookout. Pedro was chewing on a calorie-infused herb stick, his tactical bow propped against the wall beside him. He leaned down close to the radio equipment, listening with headphones that were falling apart.
Walking over, Michael put his robotic hand down on the table.
Pedro turned, blinking tired eyes.
“I have tapped into all frequencies at other rigs,” he said. “É quase nada, but I am pick up maybe a code word . . . A guerra—in English, ‘the war.’ ”
“They are talking about the war, or about going to war?”
“That’s what isn’t clear to me,” Pedro said.
“Michael . . .”
Michael turned to the open doorway, where his wife held Bray in one arm and Rhino Jr. in the other.
“Layla, I told you to stay put!” he practically shouted.
The anger in his voice seemed to shock both of them.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to raise my voice.”
Both infants stared at him with curious but sleepy eyes.
“What do you mean, war? Is X okay?” she asked. “Are we still safe here?”
“Yes, you’re safe here, but with the mission in Panama taking a turn for the worse, we’re taking all precautions. As far as I know, King Xavier is still alive.”
“Have you heard more?”
“No, but Pedro is trying to make contact.”
Michael reached out to Layla, and she handed him Bray.
“It’s okay,” he said soothingly. “Everything’s going to be okay.”
The baby looked up at him, meeting his gaze. Holding his son was a reminder not only of what was at stake, but also of just how fragile their world was, even here in seeming paradise.
Footsteps echoed down the hallway, and Wynn appeared, panting and sweating.
“Chief, there’s a boat approaching, and it’s not one of ours,” he said.
Michael handed Bray back to Layla.
“Keep the kids here,” he said. “You’re safe, I promise.”
Layla hesitated, then nodded. “I trust you.”
It was exactly what Michael needed to hear. He kissed her and then Bray and put a finger on Rhino Jr.’s chubby right arm. He thought of the boy’s father, who had died protecting X.
Now it was their time to protect the little man.
Michael went into the hallway and stopped to talk to the guards.
“You guard this room with your lives, understand?”
“Yes, sir,” they both replied.
Michael rushed back up to the rooftop with Wynn. They went to a lookout on the western side of the rooftop, where the long spear was aimed down at the water.
“There,” Wynn said, pointing. He handed Michael his night-vision goggles, and Michael slipped them on, following the lieutenant’s finger.
Sure enough, a single boat powered across the waves.
It was an old yacht, with no one on the deck but plenty of room below to hold a boarding party of a dozen men.
“Who is it?” Michael asked.
“I don’t know,” Wynn said.
The mounted spear gun, aimed right at the yacht, had a projectile big enough to do major damage—probably even sink it.
It wasn’t just the spear pointed at the yacht. A dozen sniper rifles and crossbows were also trained on it.
The craft approached closer to the marina, but Michael still didn’t see any movement above the decks. It finally stopped about two hundred yards out from the dock.
A hatch opened, and a single man emerged.
Michael’s laser rifle scope zoomed in on an eye patch.
“Charmer,” he said.
Two more men joined him on the deck. Both wore militia armor but were unarmed.
“Your men,” Michael said. “He’s taken them hostage.”
“That sorry pile of Siren shit,” Wynn said.
He turned to his men, shouting orders to hold fire.
Michael took off, with Wynn calling out after him.
“Chief, where are you going?”
“To figure out what this asshole wants,” Michael said. “If he so much as moves the wrong way, knock that other eye out.”
“Copy that, sir.”
Michael took the elevator down to the marina. A dozen soldiers were already there, with weapons aimed at the yacht.
Charmer held up his hands, a smile on his face. “Lower your weapons,” he yelled. “I mean no harm!”
“Keep your weapons up,” Michael said. He walked out down the dock, a group of men following him.
“That’s no way to treat a mate, but I suppose I should have seen this coming,” Charmer said. “Sad, considering I brought your men back to you.”
He motioned toward the two militia soldiers.
As Michael approached the end of the dock, he saw movement behind the windows of the yacht. There were more men inside and on the aft deck.
One of them stepped out wearing a black coat and holding an automatic rifle with animal bones woven into the sling.
A Cazador rifle.
They approached, and Michael saw that it was Oliver.
“What do you want?” Michael asked.
“Right now? Nothing,” Charmer said. “I got what I wanted—or needed, rather—and now I’ve come bearing gifts.”
He reached out, and Oliver handed him the rifle. Charmer kept it cradled, cautious not to aim it at Michael.
“You see, we made a deal with the parts you didn’t need for some weapons,” Charmer said. “We can handle our own security now, so you can have your boys back. Let our boat approach and I’ll drop ’em off, unless you want them to swim.”
Michael wasn’t sure what kind of game Charmer was playing, but he had the man outgunned fifty to one, and there was no other boat on the water.
He brought up his laser rifle and nodded.
Charmer turned toward the windows of the command room and nodded. The engines powered on, and the boat chugged over the choppy water.
Michael moved his finger inside the trigger guard, waiting for men to storm out of the boat and open fire, but none came. The stern inched closer until it bumped into the tires cushioning the edge of the dock.
Both militia soldiers hopped off and ran over. Charmer came to the stern, only ten feet from the dock.
Oliver stepped up to Charmer, glaring at Michael.
“Vanguard victory!” screamed a voice.
They all looked up at the command center far above. A window was open, and Pedro’s head was sticki
ng out.
“King Xavier defeated os monstros at the canal and is very much alive!” he shouted.
“Well isn’t that some amazing timing,” Charmer said. He flashed his shit-eating grin. “Long live the King of the Wastes.”
Michael didn’t reply as Charmer turned and walked back to the hatch. Oliver remained on the deck, even as the boat turned and headed back toward their rig.
Pulling out his radio, Michael watched them go before sending a message to Pedro.
“Get me a line to every rig,” Michael said. “I want to make an announcement.”
“Yes, sir.”
When Michael got to the elevator, he radioed Victor and Ton with news of the victory in Panama.
“Ah, thank the gods,” Victor said.
“It’s almost over,” Michael said. “I’ll see you soon.”
“Copy, sir.”
The elevator clanked to the top, and he stepped out onto the rooftop and hurried to the command center. It was bustling with people. Layla waited in the hallway, sitting in a chair with the babies.
“Is it over?” she asked.
“For now,” Michael said. “Go back home and get some sleep, I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
She stood and put her head against his.
“I know,” he said. “I love you, too. Everything’s going to be okay.”
Michael went into the command room with a smile that seemed to be infecting everyone. Pedro’s grin stretched ear to ear.
“The emergency broadcast system está pronto. Ready for you, Chief,” he said.
Michael went over to the equipment but stopped at the viewports. The yacht with Charmer on it motored off into the night.
This wasn’t the last of their problems with the man, but Michael would deal with him soon enough.
“Ready when you are,” Pedro said.
He flipped the switch after Michael sat down in front of the mike that would bring his voice to every rig out there.
“Citizens of the Vanguard Islands, this is Chief Engineer Michael Everhart with news of the Vanguard victory in Panama,” he said. “The army has cleared all hostiles, and King Xavier is alive and unhurt. Tonight, we can rest knowing that hope is alive and that much-needed supplies will be coming to us. Tomorrow, we rise and continue to rebuild, together.”
Hell Divers Series | Book 8 | King of the Wastes Page 44
