Grease covered the features of a heavyset male who reminded her of Chief Engineer Samson. She walked over and looked down at the guy. He avoided her gaze, keeping his head down.
“We cleared the ship and took these people prisoner,” Alexander said. “But when we were finishing our sweep, we found this …”
He motioned away from the group of prisoners, toward the open doors of a long storage unit. Katrina made her way around one of the doors to find bars covering the entrance. She brought up her flashlight, and the filthy faces of over a dozen men, women, and children looked back at her.
Blankets, sleeping bags, and other filthy garments were spread out across the deck. Her light illuminated metal dishes and a row of buckets near the bars.
Now she knew where the shit-can stench was coming from.
“They don’t speak Spanish,” Alexander said. “Or English.”
Katrina held her light on the prisoners. One of the men moved away from the huddled group at the far end and approached the buckets as if immune to the smell.
He held his hand up to shield his eyes as she moved the beam over his dark skin. Salt-and-pepper black hair and a mostly gray beard clung to his emaciated features. A torn shirt hung from his bony frame.
The man tried to speak, but all that came out were noises. When the other divers directed their beams at his mouth, she saw why.
Someone had cut his tongue from his mouth.
Katrina swallowed hard at the gruesome sight. She moved the light to check the other people, focusing it on several young girls and a middle-aged woman, all with dark complexions. They all were rail thin and looked as if they hadn’t eaten in weeks. Both girls looked away, but the woman glared back at her.
Katrina could only imagine what these people had gone through. She holstered the blaster in an effort to seem less threatening. No need to terrorize these people any further.
“We’re not going to hurt you,” she said, holding up a hand. “We’re going to get you out of there.”
Several voices responded, all in the same foreign tongue. Nothing she recognized.
“Ma’am, there’s something else you should see,” Trey said quietly, as if he didn’t want to show her.
She stepped away from the barred gate and ordered Vish to stand guard. What could they possibly have found that was any worse than the sorry state of these prisoners?
“Steel yourself,” Alexander said. “This ain’t pretty.” He walked to another container, and with a shriek of metal, Trey opened one of the doors.
The sleeve over Katrina’s nostrils did nothing to keep out the rancid smell coming from the container. She shined her beam inside. On a table lay a rusty saw and a bloody hatchet right next to a hunk of …
She almost turned away from the grisly sight of a corpse, both legs sheared off and cauterized at the knee. Straps held down the dead man’s wrists. A carpet of dried blood surrounded the table.
Now she knew what was on the trays she had seen in the cabins earlier. The Cazadores’ final meal had been a feast of human flesh.
She walked back to the Cazador prisoners, fury building inside her. She wanted a closer look at the people capable of such an atrocity. Several of them looked away, but one man broke out in laughter.
She ended his mirth with a kick that broke out several teeth. The other prisoners began to squirm in their restraints, but Trey stilled them by firing a shot into the overhead. The round ricocheted off a wall.
Crying came from the container, but it wasn’t until something wet rolled down her face that Katrina realized she, too, was weeping. She forced her gaze away from the cannibals, back over to the bars of the container.
The man in tattered clothing pointed at the Cazador prisoners and then clenched his fists.
“Is he saying what I think he’s saying?” Trey asked.
“Hell if I know,” Vish replied. “Dude has no freaking tongue. How gross is that?”
Another man emerged from the back of the container and gently helped the old man to the side. This man wasn’t as thin, but Katrina could still count his ribs through his T-shirt.
He opened his mouth and tapped his chest.
“Victor,” he said.
“Captain Katrina DaVita,” she replied.
The man spoke again, pointing at the guy with no tongue. “Ton.”
Katrina nodded and said, “Nice to meet you, Ton.”
The man tried to speak again, but he could make no intelligible sound.
“Victor. Ton. Fight,” Victor said, raising his fists. He pointed at the Cazadores. Then he grabbed the lock in the bars and glared at Katrina.
“Victor. Ton. Fight.”
Alexander stepped up beside her.
“I think he’s saying, if we let them out they’ll help us fight,” she said.
“Ma’am, I’d highly advise against that,” Alexander said quietly. “We don’t know if these people are any better than the Cazadores.”
Katrina took a moment to scrutinize the other captives inside the container. It struck her then that she could just as easily have been staring into the lower decks of the Hive.
These people weren’t murderers. They weren’t cannibals. They just wanted to survive.
“Get them out of there and fed,” she said to Alexander. “I saw boxes of food on the way in.”
“What about the Cazadores?” Trey asked.
Katrina looked over her shoulder at the savages. She had no empathy left for these people. Snorting in disgust, she said, “Maybe those sharks are still hungry.”
NINETEEN
“What do you mean, they attacked Cazador ships?” Michael asked. He was winded, tired, and dealing with the phantom pains again, but the news of Katrina’s battle on the open seas had him and the other two divers stunned.
They were finally back on Deliverance after their fruitless mission to Red Sphere. Apparently, a lot had happened since they entered the facility.
“Is Trey okay?” Les asked.
Ada Winslow, the freckle-faced young ensign, rose from her chair. Her eyes were dull with fatigue, but she still managed to smile politely.
“Everyone on the USS Zion is fine,” Ada said. “Last I talked to Captain DaVita, they were boarding the container ship to search for supplies and neutralize any remaining hostiles. From what she said, it was a slaughter.”
Michael wasn’t sure whether to celebrate or worry. He set his backpack on the deck. A metallic robotic hand stuck out the top. The arm he had brought back from Red Sphere was lighter than it looked.
The backpack slumped over, and the hand clanked on the deck, drawing the eyes of Dave and Bronson.
“The hell is that?” Bronson asked in his gravelly voice.
“That’s all that’s left of the defectors,” Michael replied. “They left Red Sphere before we got there.”
“Where did they go?” Ada asked.
“Good question,” Layla replied.
“Get the captain on the horn,” Michael said. “And get us the hell out of here.”
He looked at the main monitor across the room, which showed an aerial view of Red Sphere. From the sky, it looked a lot like a virus shell and the spikes surrounding it.
The airship vibrated as they began to move. Michael stared at the screen and then held up his hand.
“Hold on,” he said.
“Holding,” Bronson replied.
“Timothy, do we have any shots of what Red Sphere looked like the last time we were here?” Michael asked.
The AI appeared in holographic form.
“Yes, I do, Commander. Bringing it online now.”
Michael got up from his chair and stepped closer to the monitor. “Bring it up side by side with the current image.”
Layla joined him in front of the monitor, and the other officers huddled up behind them. The pictures ca
me online a moment later. It took only a second to see that one of the ships was missing.
Why didn’t I think of this earlier, Michael thought.
“Well, I’ll be dipped in shit,” Les said.
“Is there a way to track that ship?” Michael asked, turning to Timothy.
The AI shook his head. “I’m sorry, Commander, but that is beyond the technology we possess. We don’t even know which direction they sailed.”
“Shit,” Michael muttered. Having the DEF-Nine units out there and hunting down remaining humans was the last thing they needed right now, but he couldn’t focus on that when the Metal Islands were so close. He could only hope the machines weren’t heading there. Although it would neutralize the threat from the Cazadores, it would also destroy the oil rigs and kill his friends.
“Get us out of here,” he said.
The officers went back to their stations, and he moved over to the comms system. Ada smiled politely at him and brought the receiver to her mouth.
“Captain DaVita, this is Ensign Winslow, do you copy? Over.”
Familiar static hissed through the bridge. Michael looked at the mission clock on his wrist computer. They were thirty-six hours and forty minutes out from the rendezvous, which didn’t allow much of a window for surgical attachment of the robotic arm, and almost zero recovery time. But that was where the rapid-healing nanotechnology came in. If it worked, he would be okay to dive. Theoretically …
“How long until we get back to the Hive?” he asked.
Bronson looked over from his monitor. “I’ve plotted several courses, and depending on the weather, the fastest we can get there is five hours.”
Before Michael could reply, a voice came from the comm speakers.
“Ensign Winslow, this is Eevi Corey,” said the voice. “I will patch you through to the captain. She is currently on the Cazador container ship with Alexander, Vish, and Trey.”
Les motioned for the receiver, and Ada handed it back to him.
“Ensign Winslow, good to hear from you,” came a strained voice. “How is everyone on Deliverance?”
“Captain, this is actually Lieutenant Mitchells,” he said. “We’re well and have returned from Red Sphere. Unfortunately, the defectors were gone.”
“Gone …”
“Yes ma’am. They left before we got there, and we have no idea where they are sailing.”
“So the mission was a failure?”
“Not entirely,” Les said, looking over at the robotic arm. “We did manage to find a working laser rifle and something else that might come in handy.”
“That’s good news, Lieutenant.”
“Yes, how about you? We heard you encountered some Cazador vessels.”
“We discovered something terrible on board,” Katrina said. “These cannibalistic bastards were returning from a trip where they found a bunker of survivors.”
More survivors? Michael thought. After all the years in the sky, never finding anyone on the surface, it had seemed almost unthinkable that the Cazadores were out there. And now there were even more people?
“The Cazadores are worse than I thought,” Katrina said, speaking faster, clearly more agitated. “They have been eating these people, piece by piece.”
Layla put a hand to her mouth, covering her lips to hold back a gasp.
The rest of the crew remained silent, taking in the gruesome news better than Michael had expected.
“We did find supplies on this ship to help nurse the survivors back to health,” Katrina said. “Some are even in good enough shape to help us.”
“Help us do what, exactly?” Les asked.
“Fight.” Katrina paused. “I’ve made a decision.”
Michael braced himself for the rest.
“After seeing what I have here, I’ve decided we aren’t going to give el Pulpo a chance to surrender. We will attack him and end his miserable, murdering existence.”
Layla looked over at Michael, clearly concerned. But he actually liked the idea. If they attacked the Cazadores without warning, it could give them a chance to save lives.
“Cut the head off the snake, and the body will die,” he said.
“I’m also changing the rendezvous point,” Katrina said. “I want the Hive and Deliverance to come to our location. It’s a green zone.”
“What’s your plan once we get there?” Les asked.
“We’ll transfer all noncritical personnel to the container ship. Then we will fly the Hive and Deliverance to the Metal Islands. Militia soldiers, dressed in Cazador armor, will sail on a fishing trawler we have captured, and I will attack in the USS Zion.”
Michael liked that idea, too. It gave them more options and the element of surprise.
“We don’t have the defectors,” Katrina said, “but we have more ships and more people than before. I’ll send the coordinates over shortly. Until I see you all again, good luck and Godspeed.”
“You, too, Captain,” Les said.
“Ensign White, plot a new course,” Michael said. “And make sure you’ve got the radar searching the ocean for any other ships—just in case we stumble upon the defectors.”
“You got it, Commander.”
Michael watched the team go to work and then drew in a breath, preparing himself for what came next.
“If anyone needs me, I’ll be in the medical bay,” he said. “Timothy, I’ll need your help. You, too, Layla.”
“Hold up,” Les said.
Michael walked with the lieutenant to the front of the bridge. Layla joined them near the main monitor, which still showed a view of Red Sphere below.
“There’s something I think we should do before leaving,” Les said.
“And what’s that?” Michael asked.
Les jerked his head at the screen. “I think we should take it out.”
“Take it out?” Layla asked.
“Nuke it from above,” Les replied. “There’s nothing left down there that is not evil.”
“I’m good with that,” Michael said.
Layla thought on it and then nodded. “Me, too.”
Michael walked off the bridge, contemplating the orders. He had never liked having the nukes on board and hated what they represented. But dropping one on Red Sphere seemed the right thing to do.
He grabbed Layla’s hand as they walked down the passage toward the medical ward, leaving the officers to carry out the task.
The battle for the Metal Islands was quickly approaching, and without question there would be blood. He needed to be ready to fight.
* * * * *
Magnolia hadn’t slept since arriving back at the capitol tower. She waited at her window, breathing the salty breeze, searching the sky for airships, and whispering something she had never thought she would say.
“Please, don’t come.”
She could barely believe she was saying this, but life in the sky was better than life in cages, and there was no telling what el Pulpo would do to her people.
Myriad lights flickered across the surface of the ocean, like the reflection of the star-filled sky. Only these weren’t stars. They were boats. More of them on the open water than usual. Some looked like fishing vessels; others were larger yachts. All of them seemed to be heading toward an armada forming in the distance.
A horn pierced the quiet, and bells chimed in the distance, shattering the stillness and waking people below and above her in the tower. Lights in the rooms flicked on, and residents opened their windows to see what was happening.
One by one, torches flickered to life on the docks below. There were people down there. More than normal. In the glow of the flames, she saw that these weren’t just servants and dockhands. There were soldiers—dozens of them, wearing armor and carrying weapons.
Something was afoot.
She tri
ed to get a better view by leaning out of the window. The Sea Wolf was docked below, right where they had moored it after her journey earlier in the evening. But it wasn’t alone.
The entrance to the underwater marina had opened to release a black boat with a long, narrow platform and planing hull. A spike the length of a man jutted like a spear off the pointed bow.
The long, sleek hull was unlike that of any other vessel she had seen in her captivity. Even from above, she could see the gleaming surface and the image of a purple octopus painted on the bow. Some sort of machine gun was mounted just over the image.
Aft of the bow was an enclosed turret with two gun barrels pointed skyward. Amidships, a glass windscreen surrounded the single cabin and several seats.
Two men stood at the helm, carefully guiding the craft out of the marina. Equipped with three powerful engines and a row of exhaust mufflers on the back, the boat looked as if it were heading out to a race.
But Magnolia knew better. This was no race boat; it was a war boat.
She looked closer, not wanting to believe what she was seeing. From each side of the bow hung nets filled with human bones, and two skulls rode proudly atop the windshield posts.
It was obvious this vessel belonged to Lord Pulpo. The sick bastard was parading the remains of his enemies, for all to see.
Smoke coughed from the twin stacks as the boat maneuvered alongside the torch-lit dock. The soldiers standing there cheered and beat their chests.
Three more black vessels left the storage marina, and the warriors threw up their fists, chanting “¡El Pulpo!” over and over.
Each of the new boats was also fitted with a machine-gun turret and had a sharp ram jutting from the prow. But unlike the first vessel, these didn’t have fancy paint jobs. Rusted armor covered the hulls, and the gunwales were festooned with razor wire.
All across the tower, people opened their windows or came out on their balconies. Unlike the soldiers, these Cazadores weren’t cheering. They watched the ships in silence.
The dockhands worked quickly to fill the vessels with supplies. The light from the torches captured several scribes waiting with their hands clasped behind their robes. They brought their hands out and formed a pyramid as a group of soldiers knelt before them, their armored helmets bowed. Were they praying?
Hell Divers V: Captives Page 23