“I thought the people we came here to save spoke Portuguese.”
“Maybe not all of them,” she said. “And Portuguese sounds a lot like Spanish, only softer.”
“Turn on your NVGs and follow me. I want to check it out.”
Michael crawled out of the chamber into the narrowing tunnel, moving on his knees and hands. It wasn’t long before he saw the pulsing red light of vines winking in the passage. The glow seemed to be coming from a hole in the rocky wall. Several branches from a vine had broken through, curling inside the tunnel.
He pried back the mat of vines to look into a large cavern. No, a huge cavern.
Roots and stems stretched away from the floor and extended into dozens of tunnels in the walls above. All the roots seemed to connect to a bulb the size of a small house on the cavern floor. Helmet-sized barbs covered the mass like huge, spiky warts.
“It’s the heart,” he whispered.
“Heart?” Sofia said.
He got out of the way so she could take a look.
Sofia looked down and then jerked back into the shadows as more voices echoed.
Michael moved over and pulled back the vines again.
Sure enough, to the right of the heart were two naked men, walking with arrows nocked on their bowstrings. He strained for a better look at what appeared to be a steel door in the cavern wall.
“Holy shit,” Michael whispered. “I think this is the back way to the bunker.”
Sofia didn’t say anything, which told him she wasn’t keen on the idea of going down there to check it out.
“This is what we came here for,” he said. “Why our friends died. We have to check it out.”
He thought of Layla and Bray and everyone else back on the airship and the islands. They weren’t the only ones who had spent their lives in the darkness before finding the light. He didn’t know whether the people down there were good or bad, but he had to find out more. For all he knew, the defectors had killed them and his divers. If that was what happened, then his people were likely responsible for the transmission that led the machines here.
“We have to finish what Team Raptor came here for,” Michael said.
A whimpering sound came over the voices in the chamber. Michael checked again but couldn’t see the source.
“Come on,” he whispered.
Sofia hesitated, then followed him down the sloping tunnel. They were descending at a thirty-five-degree angle now, and they had to be careful not to slide along the steep, rocky floor.
As they descended, the whimpering began to sound more like sobbing.
He counted at least three, maybe four, voices over the noise. Another opening in the tunnel wall provided a view inside the chamber.
He turned so he faced up, toward Sofia, who had stopped on her knees. The window into the chamber revealed even more naked men with bows, and they weren’t alone.
Two more men, both in black clothing, hung from ropes around their ankles. Blood dripped from their hair onto the floor.
Michael pulled back into the shadows and let Sofia scoot down for a view.
“Edgar and Arlo,” she whispered.
It made sense now. Their beacons had switched off when these wrinkly men removed their armor.
Michael took another look. Even from a distance, it was obvious the divers were in bad shape. Beaten and possibly cut or stabbed, judging from the sheer amount of blood on their jumpsuits and flesh. Neither appeared to be conscious. The sobs were coming from someone else.
He moved again to check the door to the bunker and saw another group of people huddled together against the wall right below him and Sofia.
The plastic filtration masks they wore hid their faces, but he could tell that most of them were emaciated. He also spotted kids in the group. The entire lot wore gray outfits: jumpsuits, pants, and shirts with a logo of some sort.
The people from the bunker.
But who the hell were the six naked freaks who had taken his divers captive?
Michael thought back to the skin flags he had seen aboveground. He had seen something similar at the fuel outpost, but they also looked like what the defectors left behind in Jamaica.
If the machines weren’t here, then it could only be …
“Skinwalkers,” he whispered.
These naked men had to be part of Horn’s group.
Michael crouched and brought up his laser rifle, zooming in on the biggest of the guards. The guy was a brute, easily Rhino’s size. He held a long needlelike blade and walked around Arlo and Edgar, studying them the way a scientist might look at a caged animal.
Zeroing in on his face, Michael saw what looked like stitches in the wrinkled brown flesh, all the way around the chin and skull. It wasn’t just his face. His entire body was covered in the stitched-on skin—even his damn boots.
Before Michael could react, the man jammed the needle blade into Arlo’s side, but Arlo hardly made a sound.
“No!” Michael blurted in a voice just shy of a shout. His voice echoed, turning several heads among the skinwalkers.
He sank back into the shadows, heart thumping against his ribs.
Sofia, still on her knees, brought up her rifle and trained it on the opening in the wall. They waited several moments, but the arrows and excited shouts never came.
He moved slightly for a look farther down the sloping tunnel. It had to come out somewhere, and he had a feeling it wasn’t far.
“We have to do something,” Sofia said.
Michael was glad they were on the same page. He raised his rifle and said, “Let’s kill these demonic fucks.”
She nodded. “Just tell me when to fire, Comm—”
More voices cut her off. These were louder and seemed to come from new people entering the cavern. He sneaked a glance. The six men had turned into twenty, maybe more. Some were wounded, limping along or clutching wounds in their torsos. Others had armor showing through charred, wrinkled skin.
A man with a horn on his helmet strode into the cavern, carrying two axes. Walking past the heart, he raised one of his blades at Arlo and Edgar. The brute with the stiletto reached up and sliced through the ropes around their ankles, dropping them to the ground.
Michael counted another dozen soldiers flooding into the cavern behind the leader with the axes.
“Siren shit,” he whispered.
The man with the horn spoke rapidly in a muffled voice. Burned skin hung loosely off his helmet. He wiped a shred away from his eyes.
“What’s he saying?” Michael asked.
“He says to kill the rest of these people and skin them, then head back to their boat. It’s time …” Sofia’s words trailed off.
“Time for what?”
“To go to the Metal Islands and take the throne from el Pulpo,” Sofia said. “He must not know that X is king.”
“We have to stop him,” Michael said.
“But so many …”
“I know, but we have guns and they don’t,” Michael said. “You stay and shoot from here. I’ll head down and fire from the floor, okay?”
She hesitated, then nodded.
“Thanks for sticking with me,” Michael said. “Good luck.”
“Good luck.”
He squirmed around and moved back down the tunnel. As he suspected, there was another opening in the wall, this one much bigger than the others.
A skinwalker stood on the other side, facing the group of people from the bunker. Michael pulled the knife from his sheath and jammed it through the back of the man’s neck, up into the brain.
He slumped over, and Michael raised his laser rifle, choosing his first target, the big bastard who had stabbed Arlo. He now had an axe in hand and was preparing to bring it down on Arlo’s neck.
Lining up the sights, Michael whispered, “Hello and g
oodbye, asshole.”
The brilliant line of blue light flashed through the man’s helmet and into the rock wall. He dropped with a thud onto the ground between Arlo and Edgar.
Michael roved to the next target, who was nocking an arrow on his bowstring. The laser ripped through his neck. The next bolt sizzled into another helmet.
In just over ten seconds, Michael had killed four men, but the others quickly homed in on his position. Arrows flew, and gunshots rang out from Sofia’s position.
More gunfire joined the echoing din. Michael cursed their luck. These fuckers had guns too, and that changed the calculus. He expected rounds to start pinging off the wall over his head, but none came.
Not only gunfire but also laser bolts were coming from the other side of the chamber.
Oh, hell yes!
Magnolia and Rodger must have been stalking this second group. That explained why some of them were injured. But where was the rest of their team?
He helped them by laying down covering fire.
The skinwalkers fanned out, launching arrows in all directions. The people from the bunker tried to wriggle away, but they were all bound with rope.
Michael slid down into the chamber and started to cut their bonds. He freed a man and handed him a knife, motioning to cut the others free. The guy understood and went to work.
Another prisoner had already broken out of his restraints somehow and ran with outstretched hands at a skinwalker. The soldier turned and loosed an arrow into the guy’s gray suit.
Michael took the shooter down with a laser bolt that cut his bow in half and flashed through his chest. Then he looked for the leader with the unicorn helmet. He was making his way toward Arlo and Edgar, both axes in hand.
“No, you don’t,” Michael said, firing a bolt that sent one of the axes spinning away.
Screams echoed through the chamber as two skinwalkers ran at Michael with swords drawn. He cut them down with laser bolts; then his gun overheated again.
Michael drew the pistol X had given him and aimed for the leader, but by the time he spotted the man again, his men were trying to pull him away. A third joined in, grabbing him while Michael fired several bullets.
The group of skinwalkers fell in behind them, shooting arrows and guns to cover their leader’s retreat. Michael got down to avoid the fire. He squeezed off more shots, thinning out the rear guard, but they whisked the leader away into a side tunnel.
Across the chamber, another ally had joined Magnolia and Rodger. The tall figure fired an assault rifle, picking off stragglers.
Michael got up and ran over to Arlo and Edgar, changing the magazine of his pistol along the way. When he got to them, Edgar was unconscious, but Arlo was awake. He drooled blood and looked up, his perfect smile ruined by several missing teeth.
“You came back,” he mumbled.
Michael ripped into his med pack and began pulling out dressings to stop the bleeding from Arlo’s side.
“You’re going to be fine, man. Just hang on.”
“I’m sorry,” Arlo said with quivering blue lips. “I screwed up.”
“You screwed up only if you die.” Michael pushed gauze against the wound and taped off the sides. “Just breathe, okay?”
Arlo nodded. “Sir …”
“Don’t talk.”
“But, sir … I really wanted a new nickname.”
“If you live, I’ll give you one,” Michael said.
Sofia ran over to help Arlo and Edgar, giving Michael an opportunity to call in support. He bumped on his comms for the first time on the mission.
“Captain Mitchells, this is Raptor One,” he said. “We need evac as soon as possible. We have multiple wounded, and …” He looked at the survivors on the ground behind him. “… at least thirty people who need transport, over. Maybe a few more.”
“I’m already here,” said a voice.
Michael looked across the chamber, past the glowing floral “heart.” The tall figure he had seen earlier was wearing Hell Diver armor.
“Captain,” Michael said. “You’re a sight for sore eyes.”
Magnolia and Rodger ran over.
“The airship is topside,” Les said. “We have to get everyone out of here fast, before the monsters come back.”
Michael wasn’t sure which monsters he was talking about this time: human or mutant.
He looked back at the bunker survivors, huddled in their gray jumpsuits and staring at the Hell Divers as if they were gods, like the statue they had passed on the dive in.
To a society that had known only demons, perhaps they were.
TWENTY-SEVEN
The trading post was doing a brisk business. It swarmed with people of all ages. Young and old browsed the offerings of stalls packed with fresh produce and fish. Neat rows of sea bass were displayed in one booth, under an overhang protecting them from the warming temperatures. Buckets of live shrimp and lobster made up the next stall. Antennae stuck above the rims, waving back and forth as if beckoning potential customers.
A woman with a hatchet cut the head off a chicken that continued to squirm and flap on her chopping block. Another seller handed lettuce and radishes to a sky person who had come to shop.
Rhino looked away, distracted by thoughts of Sofia. She was still alive out in the wastes, and he held on to hope that she was going to come home safely. If he wanted to see her again, he needed to focus.
Just focus on the plan.
They had already modified it once after coming up a ladder to an interior passage guarded by a patrol of grunt Cazador warriors. That forced them into the open trading areas. Rhino tried to stick close to a group of scribes and monks wearing the same clothing as the Barracudas. The sky people in the crowd, wearing longer clothing to cover their sensitive skin, also helped them blend in.
But Rhino didn’t like being out in the open with the masses. His size could give him away, even without his armor. At least, he had managed to fit his double-headed spear in two pieces beneath his robe. Carrying it would have gotten him a lot of looks and whispers.
The scribes went left down a passage, and Mac led the team into another alley. He navigated the familiar corridors for the group, and Felipe followed, grinning. The young man was happy to be away from Elysium for a few days and eager for his first kill.
Rhino kept a reasonable distance, and X trailed just behind, head down.
They worked their way through the third floor, toward a stairwell that would take them down to the outer booths of the main trading floor. Most of the cages here were empty today, but several contained indentured servants who hadn’t sold in last night’s auction.
A group of potential buyers had already gathered to inspect them. The skinny men were going to be a tough sell. In this shape, they wouldn’t make good laborers or warriors. If they were lucky, they would end up on a fishing trawler or working in a garden.
Mac entered a stairwell and led the team to the first floor, and from there to an alley between some of the less popular booths. It was close to the area where Rhino had found him a few days ago.
Signs hung from the bulkheads and shop fronts in the next passage, which intersected with another alleyway. Mac stopped to buy a skewer of seasoned shrimp. He bit one off and handed the skewer to Felipe, whose sharp teeth stripped off another shrimp.
“They got shine here?” X asked, stepping up beside Rhino.
“Not the type you’re probably used to.”
“If you’re talking about wine, you’re right,” X said. “Tastes good, but it’s basically old fruit juice if you ask me.”
“I’m sure we both will need a drink or ten after this is over.”
“But can you keep up?” X raised a brow. “Nah, highly unlikely.”
You’d be surprised, Rhino thought. He felt relieved that the king wasn’t holding a grudge, but now w
as not the time for jokes.
Mac took them past tin-roofed shacks to a corridor the size of an old-world street. Shop fronts framed both sides on the first level, but the three floors above were mostly apartments and single-family dwellings.
Open shutters revealed potted flowers and herbs growing on windowsills. An elderly woman sucked on a cigarette, watching the Barracudas.
Rhino spotted Isaiah through an open window, wearing a hood that shadowed his eyes and covered his greasy hair. He nodded as Rhino passed underneath.
Ahead, Mac opened a hatch to an interior hallway. As the four men entered, Rhino got a view of two Praetorian Guards standing sentry under a crooked wooden sign that read, “The Purple Pearl.”
Though helmetless, the Cazador soldiers wore full armor and held spears. Swords hung from their belts, and red capes draped their shoulders.
Rhino recognized both scarred faces and steeled himself. These warriors knew how to wield sword and spear. The men inside would as well, but they would be no match for Isaiah’s arrows, the Immortal, and the Barracudas.
Mac and Felipe stopped just before the intersection with the next alley. After sneaking a glance around the edge, Mac held up three fingers, indicating the number of Praetorian Guards at the back entrance of the Purple Pearl.
Rhino squeezed past Felipe. “I’ll lead the way,” he said. Opening his robe, he pulled out the two shafts of his double-headed spear and joined them together with a click.
Mac hit a button on his cane, bringing out the blade, and X unsheathed his sword.
Rhino gave the nod. This was it. Time to kill that bag of shark chum.
Felipe came strolling around the corner—just a guy heading for the brothel.
“¡Alto ahí!” shouted one of the three guards.
Footsteps clanked on the metal deck, and two guards strode through the intersection, spears in hand.
“Hey, bub,” X said. “That whorehouse clean?”
Both guards stopped and peered into the shadowed alley. Rhino thrust his spear through the chest of the guard on the left, and X slashed the other across the neck. Blood spurted out, painting both Rhino and the king.
Felipe had turned and came running back. He threw both of his daggers. Rhino heard a muffled cry, then another thud.
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