Hell Divers V: Captives

by Nicholas Sansbury Smith

  The frightened Cazador soldier glanced from her to Imulah.

  “If you do that, your friend Rodger will become pig food,” Imulah said. He arched a brow. “Do you have pigs on those airships? Did your instructor ever tell you what happens when you starve a pig and then offer it human flesh?”

  He shook his head. “Not pretty, Magnolia. They pick the bones dry.”

  The scribe retreated into the throng of soldiers, and their boots clanked on the metal as they surrounded her.

  “Drop the spear, and we will forget about this,” Imulah said.

  “And what about him?” she asked, looking down at the water.

  “An unfortunate accident, but certainly not the first,” Imulah said. “Come, we have a big day planned.”

  Magnolia considered her options. They might just kill her the moment she dropped the spear. Then again, they could kill her now.

  The other option was to obey the order and wait for a better opportunity. That would give her time to find out where Rodger, Miles, and X were being held. The legendary diver had fought brilliantly, but there wasn’t much one man could do against such overwhelming force.

  “That’s good. Easy now,” Imulah said as she finally lowered the spear.

  She handed back the young soldier’s spear and brushed off his shoulder. Then she smiled warmly and punched him in the diaphragm.

  “That’s for hitting me earlier,” she said.

  The gun barrels swung back up at her, but she knew now that the soldiers’ orders were to keep her alive for their king—ideally, without any holes, bruises, or cuts.

  While the soldier doubled over gasping, she stepped to the railing and looked down at the teal-blue water just as the Sea Wolf passed under the tower and into the storage marina.

  For a fleeting second, she considered following the man she had killed into the water. If she followed X’s teachings, she might live through the fall, but from this height, she was bound to break something.

  No, this was not the moment to try an escape.

  She took in a deep breath and strode past Imulah.

  “Which way?” she asked.

  The soldiers lowered the weapons, and Imulah led the way. He walked back to the open hatch and gestured for her to follow him into a windowless passage lit with sconces.

  It still surprised her that these steel platforms had power, but then again, nothing really amazed her now that she had seen the sun for longer than a few seconds.

  The soldiers continued through the narrow passageways. All the hatches were open, providing glimpses into the lives of the people who lived here. A few peeks were enough to see that the Metal Islands had a stratified society of haves and have-nots, like on the Hive.

  This was definitely the upper decks.

  Women wearing colorful dresses and jewelry attended to children playing with toy boats and seashells on the tile floors. In one room, a family ate dried fish at a wooden table. In another, a man in a gray jacket and matching pants sat at a table, tapping the keys on some old-world device with paper sticking out of it.

  As she passed the living spaces, she noticed more men wearing the same gray suits and the same accessories, right down to the brown leather hats sporting a white feather. And they weren’t the only ones dressed well. The women wore patterned frocks, seashell necklaces, and gold bracelets. They looked up as she passed, some of them shying away from her gaze, others smiling with unsharpened teeth spared from decay.

  The people here were like those on the Hive, with a wide range of skin tones. But unlike on the Hive, she could hear several different languages begin spoken.

  Were the Cazadores more civilized than she thought?

  Imulah turned down another passage. In a big, open room to their right, dozens of servants were setting up several long tables. Goblets, plates, silverware, and bowls were arranged neatly in preparation for a feast. The scene reminded her of the sumptuous meals on the Hive the night before a dive.

  The scribe continued past the room and opened a hatch to a stairwell that wound upward several floors.

  “Where are we going?” Magnolia finally asked.

  The scribe gave her an up-and-down look and said, “To find you something suitable to wear for tonight’s festivities.”

  THREE

  X watched the boy set fresh clothing outside the bars of his cage. The kid, no older than eight, was cute, with big, innocent brown eyes. At first, he had reminded X of Tin as a boy—until the little monster tried to bite him.

  This was not an upright, smart youngster like Tin. The kid appeared to be practically feral.

  Clicking his tongue, the boy stepped away from the cage while fingering the shark’s tooth that hung from a thong around his skinny neck. He clicked his tongue again and pointed at the clothes.

  “They want me to wear that? Hell no, kid.” The loincloth looked like a leather diaper. “I’m an old man, but I’m not that old.”

  The two guards posted outside opened the hatch and walked into the passage, where they waved at the kid to scatter. He ran out of the brig, clicking his tongue.

  “Little rat,” X muttered. He still didn’t know the boy’s name, only that he really didn’t seem to like X. No one did, for that matter, especially the guards.

  The two men made way for two half-naked soldiers who entered the passage, drawing their swords from sheaths on their belts. They wore little more than a leather loincloth like the one the kid had left for X: just that, leather shorts, and simple crossing leather straps that held a shield of animal hide over the back.

  Both had beards and shaved heads.

  “Put them on,” one of them said in English. When X hesitated, he added, “You don’t want us to beat you before your first fight, do you, Immortal?”

  Bending down, X grabbed the clothes and pulled them through the gap between bars. He pulled off his shirt and turned his back to the boy and guards while he changed.

  “Damn! You got more scars than an old whale,” the soldier said.

  X hardly noticed the scars on his body anymore. They were just a journal of sorts, a chronicle of fights, dives, and brushes with death. He had a feeling that by the end of the night, he would be adding another cut or two to the story.

  But at least the recent wounds were healing. The bottle of gel Imulah had given him was high-quality medicine found in ITC facilities. He had discovered some on his trek across the surface years back, and it worked wonders.

  All his cuts were already scabbed over, the bruises were fading, and he could breathe deeply now without his ribs aching. The only thing that still hurt was the gunshot wound along the outer edge of his foot, but even that was healing nicely.

  Bending down, he applied the rest of the gel to the open wound. Then he pulled off his pants and tossed the filthy garments on the ground.

  Naked, he picked up the leather loincloth and put it on, pulling the ends up through the waist thong in front and back. When it was secure, he put on his tattered boots and stepped up to the bars.

  The two soldiers stood on both sides while the guards unlocked the gate. All four backed away as the door opened, allowing X to step out.

  He raised his arms, stretching them and yawning.

  All four men watched him closely, hands on their weapons.

  “All right,” X said, “so who am I fighting?”

  The soldier that spoke English looked to his compadres and translated. Laughter followed.

  “Hammerhead,” the man replied after a good laugh. “And he’s undefeated.”

  X chuckled and took a step forward, stopping just in front of the soldier’s face. “So am I, asshole.”

  * * * * *

  The USS Zion crested a forty-foot wave, giving Katrina a seemingly endless view of even larger waves, like dark dunes in a desert.

  Katrina was really starting to h
ate the ocean. She grabbed the armrest and braced herself as the warship nosed down and rolled slightly to starboard.

  A warning beeper echoed through the bridge, and several voices called out with reports. Lightning speared the horizon, lighting up the cloud cover. For a fleeting moment, she thought she saw a giant beetle shape in the afterglow. The optical illusion faded away with the blue visual residue.

  She looked back to the monitor, realizing she couldn’t say with any accuracy where they were—only that they were holding a steady east-northeast bearing. Two hours into the storm now, and they were at the mercy of the beast.

  The data on the screens was a scrambled mess.

  “I’m not sure how much more of this we can take,” Eevi said.

  Katrina had flown Deliverance and the Hive through several storms, each one threatening the future of humanity. But the sky was different from the ocean. Down here, you didn’t have just the lightning to worry about; you had to take the swells into account. Down here, you had no way to get above or below the storm, either; you had to plow right through it.

  Another monster wave slammed the port bow. Katrina was going to be ill.

  “If these readings are right, then the storm appears to be growing,” said Alexander, who was serving as meteorologist. “I’m also detecting an increase in lightning strikes, but … I don’t know if any of this data is correct.”

  Katrina looked back down at her monitor. The fifty-mile front appeared to have enlarged around them, but she still didn’t know how long it would take to break through.

  The waves had knocked them off the original course. It could easily take hours, even days, to find their way out, and they weren’t going to last forever out here.

  She had considered turning back, but they were too far in for that to be an option now, especially since the instruments were screwed.

  I have no idea where we are.

  The realization chilled her. Had she doomed her team by bringing them out here?

  All she could do was hope that the warship, built for rough duty, would make it through. But the ship was ancient and had seen no maintenance in over two and a half centuries.

  A lightning strike licked the bow, showering the foredeck with sparks.

  “Holy Siren shit!” Vish yelled out.

  “Everyone, stay calm,” Katrina said, glancing over her shoulder.

  Trey, Vish, Jaideep, Eevi, Alexander, Jed, Sandy, and Edgar were strapped into their various stations on the bridge, eyes glued to the cracked porthole windows letting in cascades of rain.

  She turned back to her monitor. While she scanned the data and looked for a break in the storm, another voice called out.

  “What’s that?” Edgar said.

  Glancing up, she scanned the swells. A flash of lightning illuminated a wall of water.

  Not a wall. A mountain.

  “Dear God,” Katrina whispered as the wave grew in height.

  It had to be near sixty feet tall.

  She took the ship off autopilot and made her way over to the controls two stations over. The warship didn’t have an oak steering wheel like the Hive’s, and she was glad for that at least. She hated that bulky thing and much preferred the cruiser’s smaller black control sticks.

  “Hold on,” she ordered as she strapped herself in. “This is going to get pretty rocky.”

  Working the controls, she turned the ship as fast as it would move to meet the wave head-on. If they could avoid being hit from the side and ride over it, they might have a …

  Shit, we’re not going to make it.

  There wasn’t enough time to orient the vessel to the wave. The colossal wall towered over them, and Katrina watched in horror as the crest began to descend on the ship.

  She continued turning and managed to get them in a slightly better position. Several screams rang out across the bridge as the wave lifted the fifty-thousand-ton warship like a toy. The bow climbed at a dizzying pitch. Water sprayed the cracked windows; blocking her view of the crest the engines were powering them toward.

  And then they were falling fast, like an airborne Siren on the attack.

  She wasn’t sure what happened next, but the USS Zion managed to stay upright when they went over the backside of the wave. The angle, though … It didn’t feel right …

  Katrina felt her stomach float upward inside her. Then the bow slammed into the trough of the next wave, the already cracked windows shattering from the force. Water flooded the bridge, and warning sensors and screams rang out on all sides.

  She felt the sting of saltwater in her eyes, but the harness held her where she sat. Shielding her face from the spray, she looked out through the gap where the windows had been, expecting to see another monster wave about to swallow the vessel whole, like a whale sucking in a shoal of fish.

  In the intermittent lightning bursts, she could see something out there. Not a rogue wave and not a sea monster—a landmass.

  She steered the ship toward the island. Rain beat the inside of the now windowless bridge, adding to the inches of seawater sloshing on the deck. She tapped the monitor and closed the windows’ steel hatches to protect the equipment. The shutters lowered, cutting off her view of the island.

  She didn’t know where they were, but it definitely wasn’t the Metal Islands. There was no sign of the sun, only storm clouds.

  A grinding and vibration shook the deck below her boots, and the lights flickered. Her eyes flitted to the monitor, her heart quickening when she realized the source of the noise.

  The ancient ship had taken too many hits, and now, finally, the lights were about to go out on the USS Zion. Power levels dropped rapidly as monitors flickered on and off. A grinding noise echoed through the bridge.

  They were close to the lee shore now, and the storm waves were much smaller. Katrina unbuckled her harness and checked in with her crew.

  “Is everyone okay?” she asked.

  Several voices responded, barely intelligible over the click click of the shutters in the wind.

  “Jaideep … He’s hurt bad,” someone said.

  Katrina crossed the space, boots slapping in standing water, to find the young diver slumped in his chair beside his brother. Vish unbuckled his harness and went to do the same for Jaideep, but Katrina stopped him.

  “No, don’t move him,” she said. “Might make things worse.”

  Vish looked up at her, fear in his eyes.

  The other divers all circled around, and Katrina gave them orders one at a time.

  “Jed, Sandy, give me a sitrep on all critical systems. Edgar, try and figure out where the hell we are. Trey and Alexander, gear up. I want you on patrol just in case that island is inhabited. Vish, Eevi, you help me with Jaideep here.”

  As the others went off on their appointed tasks, Katrina leaned back down to Jaideep. He had a bad gash on his forehead from hitting the bulkhead. Blood flowed freely from the nasty wound, but a touch to his neck confirmed he had a pulse. He was breathing, too.

  Her main concern was a broken back or, heaven forbid, a broken neck. Especially after seeing that head wound. Despite the risk, they had to move him.

  “Help me with him,” she said to Vish and Eevi.

  The three of them gently moved him onto the table where they had eaten earlier.

  Thunder boomed overhead, rattling the steel shutters, and the ship continued to groan and shake as they pushed through the waves. The power levels were holding for now.

  A crackling noise came over the comm station.

  “Is someone trying to hail us?” Edgar said.

  “We’ll take care of Jaideep,” Eevi said. “Go check that radio.”

  Katrina gave Eevi a nod and stepped carefully over to where Edgar sat. The water had drained through the scuppers, but the deck was still slick. She picked up the handset and hit the call button.
<
br />   “USS Zion, this is Lieutenant Les Mitchells of Deliverance. Does anyone copy, over?”

  Katrina almost smiled when she heard her XO’s concerned voice. Finally, they were having some luck.

  “Dad!” Trey said, rushing over.

  “Copy, LT, this is Captain DaVita,” Katrina said into the receiver. “What’s your status?”

  “Damn good to hear your voice, Captain,” Les replied. “We docked with the Hive two days ago and have been awaiting orders.” There was a short pause. “What is your situation, Captain?”

  The lights flickered again, and several monitors blinked out.

  “Not good,” Katrina said. “We’ve broken through a storm and sustained some damage.”

  “What’s your location?”

  “I’m … not sure,” Katrina said.

  “Have you taken on water?”

  “Not much, but we’re not sure how bad the damage is yet. We’re working on reports.”

  There was a pause, then the crackle of static.

  “No, no, no,” Katrina said as the radio fluttered.

  The power held, and she quickly sent another message.

  “How are the airships? How’s recruitment going for that fighting force I requested?”

  Another pause.

  “Les, do you copy?”

  “The ships are okay, but rumors are causing a problem,” he replied. “Talk of the Metal Islands has spread like wildfire. I’m working with Sergeant Sloan to recruit your fighting force from the militia, but there aren’t enough soldiers, and I don’t feel right about recruiting from the passengers until we tell everyone the truth about the Cazadores.”

  Katrina had feared this all along, but the idea of telling everyone had her on edge. Doing so could create panic. But it sounded as though they didn’t have a choice.

  “You should also know, we sent a recommendation to Samson for reactivating Timothy Pepper on the Hive.”

  “What!” Katrina barked. “On what grounds?”

  “We needed his help, and after learning that his counterpart helped X and Mags reach the Metal Islands, we think we can trust him.”