Hell Divers III_Deliverance

by Nicholas Sansbury Smith

  “Aaron Everhart,” Les whispered as he recognized the father and son.

  Erin leaned over and peered inside. “He was a good man.”

  Les nodded. “I was in school with Aaron a long, long time ago. He always wanted to become a Hell Diver. I’m not surprised his son became one, too. My boy, Trey, looked up to Michael. He’s a few years younger, but they liked each other.”

  “Aaron wasn’t just any diver. He was one of the best.” Erin studied the picture. “So was Michael.”

  She stepped away, and Les watched the other new divers shuffling through the contents of their lockers. Tom pulled out a partly charred leg guard with his finger and thumb as if picking up a dead rat.

  “Most of this gear is very old,” Erin said, noticing Tom’s expression. “Divers are expected to take excellent care of their armor and weapons.”

  “This guy did a pretty lousy job,” Tom said. He tossed the piece of armor back inside, shut the door, and moved to another locker.

  Les went back to going through the equipment in Aaron’s old locker. The suit didn’t look all that small when he held it up. The armor, however, would definitely need significant modifications. The chest piece, which should have come down to his belt, came down only as far as his navel.

  Don Olah watched him struggling and laughed. “You’ll be a hell of a target for lightning … and the Sirens.”

  Les chuckled at the first part, but the second made him pause.

  “Won’t be any Sirens where we’re going,” Erin said. She winked at Les as if to say, Trust me.

  He continued struggling with his chest gear, trying to forget the stories about monsters living on the surface. The Hell Divers weren’t supposed to talk about it, but every once in a while, one of them would spill the beans, and the tale would spread through the decks of the Hive.

  “All right,” Erin said. “Close your lockers and join me in the operations room.”

  Les shut the door with a click. He could tell by the look on Erin’s face that she had bad news. The others, some of them halfway out of their new armor, were all looking at her.

  “Screw it, I’m just going to tell you now,” Erin said, running a hand over her short, curly Mohawk. “We have three days to get you ready for something that most divers spend months, even years, training for.”

  “Three days?” Tom asked. “We’re supposed to dive in three frickin’ days?”

  Les didn’t know what to think. He had volunteered to help his family, but he hadn’t figured on ending up dead. His daughter was too young to work, his son was in the brig, and his wife was too sick, which left him as the sole provider.

  “Captain’s orders,” Erin said. “Come on, let’s get moving.”

  Too shocked even to grumble, they finished stowing their new gear in silence. Erin jerked her head at the lockers they were leaving behind. “One hundred and thirteen, if you’re wondering,” she said. “That’s how many divers have come before you.”

  “And they’re all dead?” Jennifer asked.

  Erin nodded. “Everybody but me, Katrina, and the guys in the med ward.”

  “Is that supposed to inspire confidence?” Tom replied. “I would think you’d try to make us feel better or something, especially after you just told us we’re diving in three days.”

  “It’s to put things in perspective,” Erin said.

  They walked past several launch tubes and stopped outside the entrance to the operations room.

  “We’re going to focus on green zones and storm-free skies,” Erin said. “Easy stuff. No Sirens, no giant beetles, no carnivorous plants.”

  Jennifer muttered under her breath, “Shit, there’s plants that eat people?”

  “Will you be diving with us, ma’am?” Olah asked.

  Erin hesitated for a moment and looked over her shoulder. Les assumed she was checking to see whether her dad, Sergeant Jenkins, was in the room.

  “Yes,” Erin said, “I’ll be diving with you. But Command doesn’t know that yet, so keep it between us.”

  Les blinked. He had assumed that Jenkins and Jordan would have worked out some sort of deal to keep Erin safely aboard the Hive. Some said she had been yanked from active Hell Diver duty after her daddy pulled some strings, and he was surprised that she planned to join them on the surface. Surprised—and a little worried. He couldn’t forget the other rumors he had heard about her and the fate of her old team.

  Erin clapped her hands together. “Let’s get to it. In three days, we’re diving to an ITC facility that’s apparently flush with fuel cells and other parts the Hive desperately needs. There’s a lot to do before then.”

  Jennifer raised a skeptical brow at Les. He grinned back at her. He didn’t know Jennifer well, but he could tell they were going to get along—even if it wasn’t for very long.

  Olah, eager as ever, looked at the other divers. “You heard her, let’s move it, people.”

  Les wasn’t sure about the militiaman. He seemed to have some grandiose idea about dying for the Hive out of duty. Not Les. He was more like Tom and Jennifer, who were here to help their families. The idea was not to get killed.

  For the next several hours, in the ops room, they ran through the module training that simulated a typical dive. It turned out diving involved much more math than Les had originally thought. That was okay; he was pretty good with numbers.

  “Running calculations while diving through a storm is not easy,” Erin said. “In fact, it’s next to impossible, especially when your HUD is offline. That’s a heads-up display, in case you didn’t know. You won’t be able to communicate or use your night-vision goggles. You must use this.” She tapped her skull.

  “Our suits will protect us from lightning, right?” Jennifer asked.

  “There’s a synthetic layer built in that will help deflect electricity, but it won’t save you from a direct strike. We’re not diving through the really bad storms, so you won’t have to worry about that.”

  The launch bay doors creaked open, and the divers all turned to look out the ops room window. Two militia soldiers walked into the bay with Captain Jordan.

  “I’ll be right back,” Erin said. “Run through the simulation again while I’m gone.”

  She left the divers behind to sit and stare at the screens.

  “Three days before our first dive?” Jennifer said after a moment, flipping a dreadlock over her shoulder. “This is fucking crazy.”

  Tom tapped the table. “I hope they include firearms training, because the only weapon I’ve ever used is a knife, and that’s only to butcher guinea pigs and chickens in the kitchen.”

  Jennifer snorted. “I didn’t sign up to die in three days. I thought it would be a while before we actually dived.”

  “We’re going to be fine,” Olah said. “I’m trained on many different weapons, and I’ll show you how to use them. I don’t know about you, but I personally plan on breaking Xavier Rodriguez’s and Rick Weaver’s records. Look at this as an opportunity, not a death sentence.”

  Les wanted to laugh, but he managed to keep a straight face. He wanted to tell Olah the truth: that the overeager ex-militiaman would likely be the first to splatter on the surface or get torn apart by some mutant beast.

  In his experience, people who wanted to be heroes usually ended up dead.

  * * * * *

  “Your parents think you’re a hero, Rodger Dodger,” Magnolia said. “Try to stop worrying. You will see ’em again.”

  “You can’t know that.” He sulked for a moment longer, then looked up and said, “I miss my parents so much, and I still can’t believe Jordan used me. That worm-eaten pile of goat shit!”

  Magnolia looked over her shoulder as they walked down the passage. “Doesn’t surprise me in the slightest. Bastard tried to kill me by cutting my chute.”

  “I’m going to wring his n
eck,” Rodger growled, bringing his hands together around an imaginary throat.

  Magnolia halted in the dark passage and turned. “No one touches Jordan but me,” she said, poking Rodger in the chest. “You got it?”

  Rodger swallowed and nodded. Not that Magnolia scared him, but he didn’t want to do anything to upset her. She finally seemed to be warming to him, and he didn’t want to blow it now. The elephant he had carved for her peeked out from a side pocket of the small pack she carried over her shoulders, and he eyed it with a smile.

  Nice work, Rodgeman. Nice work, indeed.

  She walked away, and Rodger did his best not to gaze at her backside as he followed her into another wing of the ship. Clusters of crew quarters branched off from the main corridor. They would need to search them all, for a prize could await behind any one of these doors.

  “I don’t understand why the residents of the Hilltop Bastion didn’t retrofit this ship and take it into the sky,” he said.

  Magnolia smirked. “Really, man? You’re smarter than that. It’s pretty clear to me why.”

  Rodger didn’t like her condescending tone. “Why’s that, then?”

  “Everyone was already living belowground. And they didn’t need a warship, because the whole world was already destroyed.”

  “Oh.” Rodger shook his head. “So Deliverance just sat there waiting all these years, still armed with enough bombs to blow up the world a second time?”

  Magnolia raised a brow. “Yup. Now, come on. We have to get to work. You take the hatches on the left; I’ll take the right.”

  Rodger threw a salute and grinned, but Magnolia didn’t return either gesture. Clearly annoyed, she walked over to the closest hatch and spun the wheel until it clicked open.

  “Good luck,” she said.

  “You, too.”

  Rodger opened the first hatch on the left. He entered, took in a draft of stale air, and flipped on the bank of overhead lights. Only one bulb flickered to life, revealing a small room furnished with a desk, bed frame, and couch. The desk drawers were already open, and the bed had been stripped of sheets. He checked the closet, pulling back a drape to find two metal cases, both of them open and empty.

  It looked as though someone had already raided these quarters. But how was that possible? Rodger went back out to the passage and tried the next hatch, with the same result. The third and fourth were also empty—not so much as a towel or pillowcase left.

  The fifth hatch was stuck. He braced his shoulder against the metal and pushed with all his strength. Inside, something groaned and scraped, like the sound of metal grinding against metal.

  “Come on, Rodgeman,” he whispered.

  Grunting, he shoved the hatch open and stumbled into the room. The entrance had been blocked off from inside with the desk, bed frame, and several chairs. He flipped on the light. The grate covering the vent had been removed and lay in the center of the floor. Bending down, he examined some deep parallel gouges in the floor. It was as if someone had dragged a pitchfork over the metal.

  Feeling uneasy, Rodger stood and backed out of the room. The next room was also blockaded, and he could shove the hatch open barely more than inch. He peered inside. A streak of something brown was smeared across the floor, and he decided that he didn’t want to get inside after all.

  “Mags, I found something you got to see,” Rodger called out.

  When she didn’t reply, he jogged down the final stretch of passage and rounded the corner. Magnolia stood outside another hatch, grunting as she tried to twist the wheel.

  “Help me with this,” she said, her face red from the strain.

  “Hold on, I found something back—”

  “Just help me, Rodger Dodger.”

  He hurried over, grabbed the handle, and tried to spin the wheel. It wouldn’t budge.

  “There must be something good in here,” Magnolia said. “Something worth protecting.” She stepped away from the hatch and looked up at the overhead. “Hey, Timothy, can you unlock this hatch?”

  Timothy’s hologram suddenly appeared. He approached the bulkhead to examine the dusty number.

  “Room ninety-one,” he said quietly. “I … I remember this place.”

  Magnolia exchanged a glance with Rodger.

  The locking mechanisms clanked inside the hatch. Timothy stepped to the side and gestured for the divers to enter.

  “If you would, please,” he said. There was something else in his tone beyond politeness. It made Rodger hesitate.

  Magnolia grabbed the wheel handle and spun it until the hatch clicked open. The draft of air that came from the room smelled slightly different from the stale scent of the other quarters.

  When Rodger turned on the lights, he quickly saw why. He took a step backward from the human remains and bumped into Magnolia so hard, she slapped the back of his shoulder in protest.

  “Ouch!” he grunted.

  Her eyes widened when she saw why he had stumbled into her. Timothy drifted into the room, brows crunched together.

  Rodger moved out of the way so that Magnolia and Timothy could have a full view of the three dried-out bodies lying facedown on the floor. They were clothed, but their skin and flesh had shriveled over the years. To the right, the legs of a smaller body protruded from under one of the beds. Something dark had spattered the bulkheads.

  “I told you I found something,” Rodger said. “The Sirens, or maybe something even worse, must have found a way onto the ship, and some of the residents in the Hilltop Bastion must have hidden in this cabin. Maybe we should get out of here.”

  “These people died a very long time ago,” Magnolia said. “Whatever did this is long gone.”

  Timothy knelt in the center of the room, a few feet from the boots of the first victim.

  “I recognize this place,” he said. His normally smooth, calculated voice sounded strained. “I know these people.”

  The AI glanced over his shoulder at Rodger and Magnolia. “I knew them.”

  Magnolia nudged Rodger gently in the side and widened her eyes as if to ask, Is he all right?

  “Can you please help me?” Timothy’s holographic form flickered. “Can one of you turn these people over?”

  Rodger pulled his gloves out of his back pocket and put them on as he walked over. Bending down, he moved the first corpse with the utmost care, revealing the mummified face of a dark-skinned woman. At least, that’s what it looked like, though the body was so old it was hard to tell. Wispy hair tangled around her head. Her eyes were gone, and she had a small bullet hole in the center of her forehead.

  Timothy let out a whimper as he leaned closer to the woman. Rodger hesitated but then flipped the next body. It was another woman, this one much younger than the other but with the same dark skin.

  “No,” Timothy moaned. “It can’t be.”

  Rodger had studied the science of AIs aboard the Hive, so he knew they were capable of displaying emotion, but this seemed over the top. He looked at Magnolia, who stood wide-eyed in the doorway.

  “Please,” Timothy said, lips trembling. “Show me the faces of the others.”

  Rodger grabbed the small shoes of the body under the bed and pulled it out into the light with a horrible crackling sound. It was a child, maybe eight or nine years old.

  Timothy let out a wail, his hands coming up to his mouth.

  Rodger looked at Magnolia. She gave him a wary nod. He continued to the fourth body. It was larger than the rest, dressed in dark pants and a button-down shirt. In its bony hand, the corpse gripped a pistol.

  When he turned the body over, Rodger gasped.

  Although the face was shriveled, there was no mistaking the perfectly groomed beard. Rodger quickly scooted away, looking from Timothy to the body and then back again.

  “It’s … That’s …” Rodger tried to say.

&nbs
p; “Me,” Timothy replied. “This was my family. This is where we died.”

  SIX

  Four years earlier

  X awoke to the scent of something burning. He had a thudding headache. Beyond the ringing in his ears came a sound that snapped him alert. The distant wail of emergency sirens was bad enough, but an even more troubling noise came from inside the Stryker: the yelp of an injured dog.

  Frantic, he tried to stand up, earning himself a jolt of pain in his right shoulder. The crash had dislocated it.

  “Shit,” he grumbled. Sucking in deep breaths to manage the pain, he grabbed the harness with his other hand. The belt around his chest armor had saved him from smashing into the controls across the room.

  Thunder boomed, rattling the bulkheads. Blood sang in his ears, and his head continued to pound, but he finally managed to focus on the immediate space around him. What he saw made no sense. The floor was now the ceiling. The truck had landed upside down. He blinked away the stars and glanced over at the seat next to him, and then at the ceiling—now the floor—where Miles sat on his haunches. Blood trickled from the husky’s muzzle and down the front of his white coat.

  “It’s okay, boy,” X whispered. He didn’t like lying to the dog, but there was no sense in scaring him.

  Miraculously, one of the emergency candles had survived the crash without going out, and still filled the compartment with an orange glow. But as his vision cleared, he saw that it wasn’t just the light of a single candle. The book where he kept his memories was on fire, too. The flames had already charred the outside edge of the pages.

  “NO!” he yelled.

  With his left hand, X unbuckled his belt. The fall to the ceiling wasn’t far, but he cried out in pain when he hit the metal overhead. The impact had done the trick, at least, and popped his shoulder back into place. But the fall had also caused another problem. The metallic taste of blood filled his mouth. He had bitten right through the side of his tongue.

  Miles limped over and licked X’s face as he heaved himself up onto his knees. He crawled away from the dog and grabbed the book, the flames licking his gloves. He blew on the cover, but that only made the flames grow stronger.