Eli pulled a key card and his identification from his pocket. The soldier gave a brusque nod, pulled out his own key card, and waved it over the security panel. The door clicked open.
“Stay in single file,” said the soldier. “And don’t touch anything.”
“Did everybody hear that?” Professor Lana asked.
Tin fell in behind the other ten kids. Unable to see over the heads in front of him, he edged his way around to the side and waited impatiently as the other students slowly filed into the stairwell. As he was about to enter, he spied a man with long black hair and a trench coat across the hall. He seemed to be watching them. Another man, wearing a scarf pulled up to his nose, ambled by and nodded at the lower-decker in the black coat. Tin hovered outside the doorway, scrutinizing the two men from a distance. It wasn’t all that cold in the passage, so why would anyone wear a scarf?
“Let’s go, kid,” the soldier said.
Tin continued into the stairwell and glanced over his shoulder as the guard was closing the door. Then it occurred to him that the two men were interested in the security checkpoint, not in Tin’s class.
This was strange, and it gave Tin an uneasy feeling, but he wasn’t going to let anything distract him from the tour. He looked back up at the other kids. The glow of a single red light spilled over the group as they shuffled noisily up the rungs.
Halfway up the stairs, they stopped. Tin stood on his tiptoes and put his hand on Layla’s back. The two engineers were standing on the second-floor landing, outside the farms, where Eli was talking to another soldier.
“What’s going on?” Tin whispered.
Layla shook her head.
Eli stepped away from the soldier and looked down the stairs. “Today, we have a special treat for you,” he said. “Today, you also get to see the farms. You all can thank Hell Diver Xavier Rodriguez for that. He managed to convince Command to let you sneak a peek.”
Tin couldn’t believe his ears. X had done that? For him? Tin removed his hand from Layla’s back and saw that Andrew was staring down at him. He had an odd look on his face, as if he was sorting something out. He flashed Tin a smile. A real smile, not a cocky I’m-going-to-kick-your-ass-later smile.
The soldier pulled the rusted door open and waved the group forward. The brilliant white glow of the grow lights blasted Tin’s eyes, and he shielded his face. Grow lights were ten times brighter than any other lights on the ship.
He followed the kids in front of him into a plastic bubble room, where his eyes adjusted to the most beautiful sight he had ever seen.
“You’re standing inside the vestibule to the clean room,” Ned said. “All farmers are required to go through a rigorous cleansing process before entering the farm.” He turned and looked through the translucent sides of the bubble. “For two hundred and fifty years, this massive space has provided the Hive with the nutrients to keep our species alive, as it will for the next two hundred and fifty.”
“Feel free to take a look around,” Eli said.
“But remember, don’t touch anything,” Professor Lana added.
The translucent plastic box was the size of their classroom, with sinks set up in the east corner. Tin walked to the northern wall, where the other kids had gathered to look out over the fields.
Ned crowded behind them, and Tin could feel his hot breath on his neck. It stank of ’shine and coffee.
“Pretty great, isn’t it?” Ned said.
Tin nodded and worked his way up to the front of the group, squeezing next to Layla. His eyes swept over the farm. Rows of mature corn, taller than he was, ran from stern to bow. A plot of green beans and spinach grew in the field to the east. The different shades of green practically glowed under the full-spectrum light.
For the first time in his life, he felt the tightness lifting around him, as if he had shed a garment that was too tight. He no longer felt so trapped or isolated.
“The farms are six hundred feet at their longest point and two hundred and twenty feet wide,” Eli said. “We cultivate twenty different vegetables and ten different fruits, all genetically modified to grow in the conditions here. The lights are attached to the ceiling with steel wires that can be lowered and retracted. Somewhere in the central control center, a technician is monitoring exactly how much light the crops have received over the past twenty-four hours. A program will indicate whether they need to be dimmed, brightened, or shut off.”
He pointed to the other end of the room. “Over there is where we raise our livestock.”
Tin followed the man’s finger toward dozens of pens and several long sheds with low roofs. They shifted to the other side of the room, which put him in the back once again. He stood on his toes, trying to see over the other kids’ heads.
“We have chickens, cows, sheep, pigs, rabbits, guinea pigs, dogs, and turkeys,” Eli continued.
“How do you keep healthy populations?” Lana asked.
“The livestock are also genetically engineered. We’ve lost quite a few populations over the years. Needless to say, every single animal in this room is on the endangered-species list.”
Layla nudged Tin in the side. “Makes you wonder what other animals used to live down there, huh?”
Tin nodded and looked into the animal pens, where a dog stared back at them. It had a silver coat, with a dash of chocolate brown circling one of its blue eyes.
The animal stood at the gate, looking directly at the plastic room. A smaller dog with a mane of black fur strolled up beside it, tilting its head and studying their observers.
“That’s Silver and Lilly,” Eli said. “They’re both huskies.”
“But why dogs?” Andrew asked. “It’s not like we eat ’em.”
“Good question,” Eli replied. “Ever heard the saying ‘a dog is man’s best friend’?”
Most of the kids around Tin shook their head or just gave him a blank look.
Eli frowned and said, “Someone must have really loved them back in the day. They come from a long line of huskies that have lived on the ship. Those are the last two, though. And the male is sterile—another example of where genetic engineering failed.”
“Why continue to feed them?” Lana asked. “That’s food that could be used for more productive purposes.”
Silver gave a low, throaty growl, as if he understood her. A farmer inside the pen knelt to calm him, but the dog took off running. He circled the enclosed area, barking as he ran. In the blink of an eye, Lilly started barking excitedly and went chasing after Silver.
“What the hell?” Ned muttered.
Tin saw flashes of motion in the other fenced-in areas. The turkeys were squawking, the cows were pawing and bawling, and the hogs were slamming into their metal barriers. Everywhere he looked, the animals were frantic.
The ship suddenly shook violently, knocking Tin and several of the other kids to the deck. Screams filled the plastic room. Tin reached for something to hold on to as the floor tilted. Sliding across the cold floor, he felt a sharp pain in his forehead as it whacked against the exposed pipe underneath a sink.
A strong tremor rippled through the ship as it leveled back out. Tin sat up and touched the drip of blood from his forehead. The sound of crunching plastic pulled his attention to the entrance of the room. Two farmers unzipped the front door and hurried inside. The woman on the left ripped a white mask away from her mouth and yelled, “Everyone out! Get to the emergency shelters!”
Tin could see the others scrambling to their feet around him, but he couldn’t get up. The sweet scent of the harvested fruit lingered. The majesty of the dogs, and the breathtaking feat of engineering, mingled somehow with the terror he felt from the lurching ship. It was as if his brain couldn’t separate the beauty from the horror.
Tin closed his eyes and felt powerful hands pulling him to his feet. Someone carried him into a stairwell. When he opene
d his eyes again the lights were flickering. His blurred vision cleared enough that he could distinguish Eli’s silver beard in front of him.
“Hold on tight, kid,” he said. “I’m taking you to the med ward.”
Over the discord of the groaning ship and emergency sirens, Tin heard Silver and Lilly barking. A moment later, a hollow thud reverberated through the Hive, and he was shrouded in darkness.
* * * * *
Red light flooded the bridge, and the wail of an emergency siren echoed through the room. Captain Ash cupped her throbbing forehead and pulled away from the medic trying to assist her. There were more important things to worry about than a minor bang on the head.
“What the hell happened?” Ash yelled, making her way down the aisle of monitors to navigation. Jordan was already at Ensign Hunt’s station.
Ryan, the skinny nav ensign, hovered behind them. He met Ash’s searching gaze with a rueful look.
“Captain, the storm—it grew before we could react,” Hunt said. “We were on the border when it swallowed us, like that. He shook his head and looked at his screen.
“How bad’s the damage?” Ash said.
“Not sure, Captain,” Jordan replied. “Engineering hasn’t given me a Sitrep yet.”
“Hunt, how far are we from the storm?”
“Three miles, ma’am.”
“Double that margin,” she ordered.
“Aye, Captain.”
Ash could hardly hear the ensign’s reply over the wail of the sirens, but she could see his strained face in the red glow of the emergency lights.
“Someone get me a goddamn Sitrep from engineering!” Ash shouted. She was furious at herself and everyone else on her team. The storms were unpredictable, but Ryan and Hunt should have seen this coming. And she should never have left the bridge. It was the second disastrous mistake in a week.
“I’m getting a report from Medical,” Jordan said, cupping his palm over his earpiece to listen. “So far, we have four dead, from engineering. They must have been killed belowdecks.”
Ash shuddered at the thought. She had seen only images of the dark, hot, cramped passages, but Mark had been inside them during his training when they were newlyweds. He had said the tunnels were barely large enough to squirm through—and he was not a big man.
What an awful place to die.
“Medical’s reporting multiple injuries, too,” Jordan added.
“How many?”
“I don’t know, Captain. They don’t have an accurate count yet.”
“Video coming back online,” Ryan said.
Ash glanced at the screen. The cams on the Hive’s stern flickered back to life, capturing a live feed of the horizon. Lightning flashes split the darkness, lighting up the billowing cumulus from within. The purple edges of the storm swelled, reaching out as if it were giving chase, and Ash finally saw why it had caught her nav team by surprise. The men hadn’t been asleep at the helm; the storm was expanding faster than any they had ever seen.
“Captain, I’m picking up beacon,” Hunt said. “I think it’s … Wait, that can’t be right.”
“What?” Ash’s hoarse voice barked.
Hunt squinted at his screen and then glanced up at Ash, his eyes wide. “I think it’s Ares’ beacon,” he said.
“Where?” said Ash. “How far?” She hurried down the ramp to the bottom floor, hoping to catch a glimpse of the airship onscreen.
Hunt’s response sounded distant. “From the surface, Captain. The ship is …” His voice trailed off, drowned out by the wailing sirens.
Ash closed her eyes. Her entire body went numb, as if it no longer belonged to her. Her worst fear had finally come true. They were Earth’s last ship.
The Hive was alone.
TEN
X pushed his way through the frantic hubbub outside the med ward. Most people made way when they saw his uniform. One man, however, eyed him with blatant resentment. As if X’s ninety-six jumps didn’t count for dirt. As if X was gaming the system.
Well, he was. But he didn’t care.
Tin was somewhere inside the overcrowded clinic, and X was desperate to find him. He scanned the beds of burned or wounded patients, hesitating every time he saw a kid. Some were almost unrecognizable under the bloody rags covering their wounds.
X grimaced and kept moving.
“Tin!” he yelled, his voice hardening. “Tin, where are you?”
A weak tug on his sleeve pulled him toward a shadowy hallway. Tin’s friend Layla was standing there, her cheeks shiny with tears. “Over here,” she whimpered.
X hurried after her, passing more injured patients. His gut tightened when he saw Tin with a bandage wrapped around his head. He was hunched over an old man’s bedside, hands clamped down over the patient’s thigh.
“Are you hurt?” X said, rushing over.
Tin shook his head and glanced back down at the man. He pushed harder, eliciting a groan of agony.
“Shit,” X said. “Let me.” Brushing Tin’s hands aside, he saw the deep gash and quickly applied pressure. Blood seeped around his palms, staining everything red.
“He’s bleeding out,” X said. “Where the hell are the nurses and docs?”
His words fell on deaf ears. The few medical workers were doing triage—busy saving people they could actually save, and leaving the old, weak, and mortally wounded to die. He knew because in their shoes he would do the same thing. It was the reality of working with limited resources. Life-and-death decisions were made on the fly, and efficient triage meant that some people just weren’t going to make it.
Realizing now that his efforts were futile, X let up on the gushing wound. The man stared at the ceiling with blank eyes. His chest moved up and down twice more before his gasps for air weakened to nothing.
X wiped his blood-soaked hands on his red uniform, looked at Tin, and frowned. “Sorry, kid.”
The boy didn’t reply. He bent over and grabbed something from below the bed that X couldn’t see.
“Commander!” a voice boomed above the confusion.
He turned to see a Militia soldier in gray fatigues, running down the hallway. The mirrored visor on his riot helmet was flipped up, and X saw the urgency in his eyes.
“Commander, Captain Ash has requested all Hell Divers meet on the bridge immediately.”
“I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
“Sir, my orders are to escort you to—”
“I said I’ll be there,” X snarled.
The soldier nodded and hurried away. Looking down at Tin, X missed his best friend more than ever. The boy had removed his bandage and replaced it with the tinfoil hat.
“You sure you’re okay?” X asked, looking into his eyes, checking the pupils.
Tin nodded and straightened his hat. But his eyes couldn’t hide the truth: that he had just seen someone die and that he wasn’t okay. After everything the kid had been through, X wasn’t sure he would ever be okay again.
“You stay with Layla and her family until I get back, okay?”
Tin nodded again.
X imagined Rhonda’s disapproving frown as he patted the boy on the shoulder and turned to double-time it back to the bridge. She never did understand the oath he had sworn to the Hive. Or, perhaps selfishly, she didn’t want to. Aaron would have understood, though. For a Hell Diver, duty to the ship came before everything else.
* * * * *
If not for the mission clock on his HUD, Weaver wouldn’t have known that night had fallen. He sat with his legs hanging off a pile of rubble, watching Ares burn in the distance. Tendrils of flames reached toward the sky.
His body felt numb—whether from the fatigue, the cold, or the emotions swirling through him, he couldn’t say. He remembered wondering what it would be like to be the last man on earth. Now he knew. Even if the Hive was
still out there, he was the only man on the surface.
The cries of the Sirens reverberated through the city, but he paid them little attention. If they came now, he wouldn’t run. There was no reason to carry on. Everything had changed when Ares came crashing down to earth. His wife and kids were gone, along with every human he had ever known.
Before this dive, he had been thinking about asking for a transfer to the Militia so he could spend more time with his family. Usually, Hell Divers kept jumping until their luck finally ran out. But if Weaver were to die, his experience would die with him. He had done this his entire life. He had put his time in, fulfilled his duty. That would have been his pitch to Captain Willis.
An explosion ripped through the burning debris—a painful reminder that none of that mattered now. The glare dazzled him momentarily, and he closed his eyes to block out the nightmare for a few seconds—only to have a memory of his family reassemble in his mind.
He could see Kayla and Cassie vividly. Both girls sat on the living room floor of his cramped apartment, their freckled faces bright in the glow of candles from Jennifer’s birthday cake.
Another blast roared in the distance, but Weaver kept his eyes closed, trying to stay back in the sky with his family as long as he could. After a few minutes, he was only vaguely aware of the burning ship.
“Happy birthday, beautiful.” Weaver heard his own voice in his head and saw his wife turn and smile that same perfect smile he had fallen in love with twenty years ago.
“Come over and help me blow out these candles!” he remembered her saying.
In the memory, Weaver walked to the table and put his arms around his daughters. Jennifer blew out a weak breath and frowned, looking to Kayla and Cassie.
“Can you girls help me?” she said.
His daughters leaned in and blew with every bit of breath in their lungs. Weaver recalled his own smile, and how odd it had felt at the time.
Kayla and Cassie had laughed and looked up at him. But something was different now. There was something wrong with the cake in his memory. The candles were burning out of control, the wax leaking onto the vanilla frosting. He could see Jennifer’s smile relax with the rest of her features, and then her cheeks contorted, her skin melting and falling away from her jaw.
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