Allegiance

by Nicholas Sansbury Smith

  Books by Nicholas Sansbury Smith

  Blackstone Publishing

  The Hell Divers Series

  Hell Divers

  Hell Divers II: Ghosts

  Hell Divers III: Deliverance

  Hell Divers IV: Wolves

  Hell Divers V: Captives

  Hell Divers VI: Allegiance

  Hell Divers VII (coming summer 2020)

  Orbit

  The Extinction Cycle Series

  Extinction Horizon

  Extinction Edge

  Extinction Age

  Extinction Evolution

  Extinction End

  Extinction Aftermath

  Extinction Lost (A Team Ghost short story)

  Extinction War

  Great Wave Ink Publishing

  The Extinction Cycle:

  Dark Age Series

  Extinction Shadow

  Extinction Inferno

  Extinction Ashes (coming January 2020)

  The Trackers Series

  Trackers

  Trackers 2: The Hunted

  Trackers 3: The Storm

  Trackers 4: The Damned

  The Orbs Series

  Solar Storms (An Orbs Prequel)

  White Sands (An Orbs Prequel)

  Red Sands (An Orbs Prequel)

  Orbs

  Orbs II: Stranded

  Orbs III: Redemption

  Orbs IV: Exodus

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  Copyright © 2019 by Nicholas Sansbury Smith

  E-book published in 2019 by Blackstone Publishing

  Cover illustration by K. Jones

  Series design by Kathryn Galloway English

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  The characters and events in this book are fictitious.

  Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental

  and not intended by the author.

  Trade e-book ISBN 978-1-5385-5718-1

  Library e-book ISBN 978-1-5385-5717-4

  Fiction / Science Fiction / Apocalyptic & Post-Apocalyptic

  CIP data for this book is available from the Library of Congress

  Blackstone Publishing

  31 Mistletoe Rd.

  Ashland, OR 97520

  www.BlackstonePublishing.com

  To Arlo Wand. You’re one of a kind, my friend.

  “To fight and conquer in all our battles is not supreme excellence; supreme excellence consists in breaking the enemy’s resistance without fighting.”

  —Sun Tzu

  PROLOGUE

  Michael “Tin” Everhart stood behind the red line on the deck of the launch bay as he armored up for his sixty-fourth jump. He had officially passed the threshold that earned him a spot as one of the most successful Hell Divers in history, and he was the youngest ever to reach the milestone.

  It had cost him—and more than just an arm. He had watched friends and his own father lose their lives in the deadly task of jumping into the wastes. Not many veteran divers remained, but back at their new home, renamed the Vanguard Islands, a new generation had stepped up to meet the challenge. Between missions to find human survivors in the wastes, Michael was helping train them.

  But today was not a training day in the sunny skies of the islands. Today, Team Raptor was diving back into the postapocalyptic hell world beyond the barriers.

  Joining Michael in the launch bay were veteran divers Magnolia Katib and Trey Mitchells, along with a half-dozen support specialists. The divers watched the maelstrom of swirling black clouds outside while the technicians finished their diagnostic tests.

  Alfred, the new lead tech who had replaced Ty, worked on Michael’s wrist computer. The middle-aged engineer was a former computer technician on the Hive, with a wife and a newborn at home.

  Michael thought of Layla, now pregnant with their son, Bray. In a few months, he would join their little family.

  “Looks good,” Alfred said. “Dive safely, Commander.”

  “Always,” Michael said.

  The technicians retreated as they finished their checks. Michael tabbed his wrist monitor, bringing the new drone online. A flurry of chirping came from across the room, where the robot was secured to the bulkhead.

  Michael unlocked the safety bars, and the drone hovered over.

  “Hey, there, Cricket,” Michael said. “How you feeling, buddy?”

  The former ITC utility robot chirped again. Alfred, the only technician left in the launch bay, walked over and confirmed that all systems were operational.

  “Be careful with him out there,” he said. “The new software might be a bit buggy.”

  Michael smiled at his new creation. The three-foot-tall robot flew across the space, its advanced hover nodes glowing red. Team Raptor had discovered the machine in a junk pile at an ITC facility four dives ago, and Michael and Trey had spent many days putting it back together.

  Only three of the four arms attached to the base were functioning, but they would come in handy on the dive—from opening doors to hacking systems, to providing medical support. Michael had even managed to install a blowtorch on one mechanical hand, and a blaster on another. The smooth outer armor sported a freshly painted Raptor logo.

  The drone didn’t have the only fresh paint. On the port side of the launch bay, “Discovery” had been stenciled in glossy black.

  Formerly the ITC Deliverance, the nuclear-powered airship had been completely gutted and rebuilt after a punishing battle with the Cazadores months earlier. This was her first journey back to the wastes, but it was Michael’s twentieth dive since the fight that had cost the lives of so many.

  Since then, the Hive had carried Team Raptor to locations to search for survivors, but so far, the only thing the divers had found, other than some much-needed fuel cells, was Cricket. Michael wasn’t giving up hope on finding humans, though. If the Cazadores had found inhabited bunkers, then so could his divers.

  The airship continued to transmit a message of hope over the radio waves: “If you’re listening, don’t be afraid. We are the last humans, and we are in the skies, looking for you. If you’re out there, respond to this message. We will never stop diving for humanity.”

  Until a few days ago, they had heard nothing. It wasn’t until they transferred from the Hive to the repaired and refitted Discovery that they had detected a signal, coming from an island called Jamaica. It wasn’t a message or even an SOS—just garbled noises in response to their own transmission.

  According to Cazador records, their navy had never raided the location, which meant there could be survivors. But it was also dangerously close to Red Sphere—not even two hundred miles from where they had dropped the nuke on the facility.

  The techs closed the launch bay’s hatch to the hallway. As soon as it was sealed, a message came over the public address system from the airship’s new captain, Les Mitchells.

  “Green light to dive, Team Raptor,” he said in a voice tinged with worry. “Good luck, and stay sharp.”

  Trey Mitchells seemed confident as ever. On the past few dives, he had taken some unnecessary risks to prove himself, which was probably why his dad sounded concerned.

  “Keep tight once we land,�
� Michael said. “There’s nobody to impress down there, and anyway, the most impressive thing you can do is stay alive.”

  “I know,” Trey said. “Don’t worry, Commander.”

  Michael nodded and hit a button. The launch-bay doors opened to a dark sky. The platform extended away from the ship as the divers walked out into the wind.

  He didn’t waste a second studying the drop zone—just gave a nod to Magnolia. This time, she could yell the motto, but he was still the first to step off the extended platform, into the clouds.

  For a moment, he felt the sensation of pure weightlessness, like a feather caught in a gale. The forces of wind and gravity seemed caught in a struggle over his body.

  A glance over his shoulder confirmed that the other two divers had followed him out of the belly of the airship. Cricket, still hovering in the launch bay, would wait a few moments before joining them in the darkness.

  Michael studied the cloud cover and surrendered to the pull of forces on his suit. Anxious to get a view of the ground, he stretched his arms and legs out into a hard arch, then broke into a stable free-fall position.

  Could this really be the location of more survivors—a place where people had managed to scratch out a living from the toxic earth over the past two and a half centuries?

  A wind shear slammed him, and the sky went topsy-turvy.

  At the first dazzling flash of lightning, habit took over, and he straightened his legs and drew his arms in against his body, pulling himself into a nosedive. The electrical storm appeared to be a safe distance away, but he wasn’t taking any chances in this turbulence.

  Wind whistled over his armor as he broke through the mattress of cold air pushing up on him. Two beacons blinked on the translucent subscreen of his heads-up display, or HUD.

  Magnolia and Trey were still above him but closing fast. After Michael, Mags was the most experienced diver in the world, but Trey was learning fast.

  Over the past few months, the two young men had bonded, becoming closer than ever, and after protesting long and loud, the captain had at last agreed to let his son dive on this risky mission.

  Watching Les say goodbye to Trey before the dive had reminded Michael of how he used to feel when his father dived over a decade ago.

  But this would be different. Trey was coming back to his family. And Michael was glad to have him along for the dive. Cricket was also an excellent addition to the roster, bringing an entirely new element to the team. Still in his nosedive, Michael looked up beyond his feet to the red nodes of the robot plummeting through the clouds.

  Magnolia had also maneuvered into a “suicide dive,” as they called it, and was coming up fast. A moment later, she was rocketing down beside Michael, the glow of her battery unit illuminating her slender but muscular form. She glanced over, and though he couldn’t see her face behind the mirrored visor, he knew she was grinning.

  “This isn’t a race,” he said over the comms.

  “Nope, but I’m going to beat you to the ground anyway.” She moved her helmet downward and continued past him, blasting through a cloud that enveloped her in darkness.

  At ten thousand feet, going this speed, they were only a minute from the ground. Soon, he would be able to see the surface and their target—a former prison, according to the database on Discovery.

  Michael remembered, as a kid, reading about the search for alien life on other planets. Now he had an inkling of what scientists must have felt back then when looking for evidence of life in the distant stars.

  In a way, the divers had found modern aliens in the mutant creatures on the surface, which would have fascinated scientists from the past. But who would have thought that finding humans would be a far greater challenge?

  At eight thousand feet, Michael checked over his shoulder again. Trey had angled into a nosedive as well, his lanky form spearing through the darkness. To the west, a flash lit up the belly of a storm cloud.

  With the electrical storm moving in, Team Raptor would have to work fast. It was one of two reasons they had dived rather than risk taking Discovery down to the surface. The second reason was simple: Michael didn’t want anyone to know they were coming, and three divers were harder to detect than an airship.

  And Hell Divers were also easier to replace.

  At six thousand feet, a web of lightning forked across his dive zone. He stared at the shifting clouds, trying to determine the best route through the hidden storm. With almost zero time to react, he cut left and was greeted by another wind shear that sent him spinning.

  He fought to bring the heavy robotic limb back to his side, and finally managed to center his mass into a stable nosedive. At five thousand feet, he checked the digital map on his HUD and saw they were off target for the drop zone.

  He adjusted his trajectory, cutting through the sky diagonally, working his way back toward the area indicated on his minimap. The altimeter was quickly ticking down to four thousand feet.

  The clouds seemed to lighten as he closed in on three thousand feet. He was now slicing through the clouds at over 160 miles per hour. A few beats later, he got his first glimpse of the surface, which looked like a desert of black dunes.

  Using his chin, he bumped on his night-vision goggles. After a few blinks, his eyes adjusted to the green hue, and he realized that the surface wasn’t a desert at all, but rather the ocean.

  The divers sailed toward the landmass once known as Jamaica. Ja-may-ka, he thought, trying to picture what this place had once looked like.

  Blue light came up on his left as Trey joined him. Magnolia moved in on his right flank.

  At two thousand feet, the divers maneuvered from their nosedive into stable position with their backs to the sky, knees and elbows bent at ninety degrees. Trey nodded several times at the shoreline as they prepared to sail over.

  Michael peered down, trying to see what had caught his attention. He didn’t see anything at first but finally spotted several large craft that looked like beached whales—ships anchored in a bay.

  No way those have been there since the war.

  The shoreline vanished as the divers sailed over charred and blasted terrain. There wasn’t much to look at in the final seconds of the dive—just another dead, colorless landscape that dampened any hope of finding people here.

  At twelve hundred feet, Michael reached down to his thigh and pulled his pilot chute, holding it out for a second before releasing it to haul out the main canopy. The other divers did the same, their suspension lines coming taut, giving them the sensation of being yanked back up into the sky.

  He grabbed his toggles, careful not to squeeze too hard with the robotic hand. He steered toward fields of black that really did seem like a desert now that the divers were farther inland.

  The black landscape undulated with mounds and humps as far as he could see. For the first few seconds under canopy, he didn’t see anything in the desolate landscape. Flitting his gaze from the ground to his HUD, he finally identified their target.

  The concrete prison complex was tucked away in the bleak terrain of seemingly endless bare dirt, and he picked it out only by matching up his view with the target on his HUD. Then he saw the radiation levels that Cricket was already reporting from the ground.

  Michael swallowed hard at the readings. The sensors on Discovery had placed the area somewhere between green and yellow, but as he sailed toward the drop zone, he saw that the rad levels were closer to yellow, which lowered the prospects of finding anyone alive.

  And it was likely his fault. The nuke they dropped on Red Sphere had caused the increase in radiation levels, perhaps dooming any humans who had managed to survive under the ground all these years.

  Michael focused back on the digital map. There was no sign of the road marked on the translucent subscreen of his HUD, and the only buildings aside from their target were eroded down to the foundations.
<
br />   Another bad sign was the rusted girders of larger buildings on the horizon—more evidence that a nuclear blast had torn through this area, killing everything in its path.

  Michael wondered whether this signal, dubious from the outset, would prove to be a waste of time. But it was too late to turn around now, with the ground rising up to meet his boots. Magnolia and Trey were right alongside him, nose to the slight sea breeze. When they were about to hit the square of dirt, they pulled on the toggles to slow their descent.

  Michael performed a two-stage flare. Dust puffed up under his feet on impact with the solid ground. He ran out the momentum and came to a stop. They were about a mile from their target.

  Cricket flew over, red hover nodes whirling. At some point, Michael had to get the thrusters on the back working so it could fly faster.

  The divers quickly stowed their gear and their chutes, which they would reuse on the next dive. Once they were packed away safely, Michael pulled out his laser rifle and scanned the landscape for any sign of hostile life. Nothing came back on infrared besides insects and what was perhaps a rat. The small animal ducked into a hole.

  “Place looks pretty barren,” Magnolia said, checking the battery of her laser weapon. Trey palmed a magazine into his assault rifle. With their weapons ready, they covered their battery units with leather flaps—a design of Rodger Mintel’s that helped lessen the glow and avoid detection by Sirens.

  Michael thought of his friend back at the Vanguard Islands. Rodger’s diving days were on hold due to injuries he had received from the Cazadores, but X had put him to work on other vital projects.

  “Let’s go,” Michael said.

  Cricket took point, and the three divers moved out, fast and low. There was nothing out here, not even the barbed plants or glowing trees that had spread across much of the terrain in other locations.

  Michael flashed hand signals directing the team toward a hill. Then he used his wrist computer to give Cricket orders. The robot hovered up the rocky slope to do a scan.