They struggled for another mile until Rodger finally saw the city limits. His stomach sank at the sight of the brown swamp water slapping the banks of the eroding island. Get torn apart by vines, or drown in something that looked and smelled like sewage? Neither option appealed to him. He was really starting to wish he had stayed on the Hive. He could be eating dinner with his parents right now.
The tree-things pursued them out of the city, but they could reach only so far. The divers lost them as they crossed into an open field. Before them lay the forbidding swampland.
“We’re going to need one of those,” Layla said, pointing at the rusted stern of a boat resting on its side fifty paces away.
Lightning fired the shore nearby, illuminating a dozen holes in the boat’s hull. The team moved along the edge of the water. Tires, a bathtub, chairs, and other junk littered the beach.
Rodger turned to look at the branches behind them. They were twisting and curling, unable to reach any farther. They reminded him of fingers reaching toward them.
They were trapped here between the swamp and a city infested with mutant trees. How else could things go wrong?
An electronic wail answered his thought.
He wasn’t the only one terrified by the sound. The limbs and vines suddenly twisted away, crawling back toward the buildings they had left behind. The red glow faded, leaving the divers alone in the flashing blue light of the storm.
Again came the high-pitched call of a Siren. The divers stood together, armor clinking back to back as they sheathed their blades and pulled their guns. They all knew what was out there, and it was much worse than man-eating trees.
* * * * *
The trading post reeked of body odor, but it also smelled of boiled cabbage and onions, which Jordan loved. His mother had made a cabbage soup that he would never forget. He hadn’t tasted anything that good since he was seven years old, not long before she died.
He walked through the large room with his hands clasped behind his perfectly ironed white uniform. Sergeant Jenkins and Ensign Lore followed close behind. They kept their hands on their batons as they walked.
The lower-deckers made a path when they saw Jordan. He rarely visited this place, but today he had a special reason. He continued through the sea of passengers. Buyers, sellers, and hustlers loitered everywhere he looked. Despite the nostalgic smell of cabbage and onions, he wanted to leave here as quickly as possible to escape the resentful glares from the throng of haggard faces.
Most of them didn’t see the captain who had risked everything to save them from joining the rest of humanity in the graveyards twenty thousand feet below. They saw a privileged elite who didn’t give them enough food, water, or medicine. He had given up trying to win their hearts and minds. He cared only about preserving the ship and providing a future for these people and their descendants, even if they despised him for it.
A woman in a colorful coat stitched together from scraps held out bottles of herbs. “Will cure all of your ailments, only …”
She darted away when she turned to see Jordan and his entourage. Two more loiterers turned and hurried through the crowd as he passed.
“That’s what I thought,” Jordan muttered. He despised the so-called healers peddling their fake medicines. Janga had been one of those. In fact, he thought the multicolored coat might actually have belonged to the old woman. No matter how thoroughly he tried to erase the damage she had done belowdecks, Janga’s legacy kept creeping back.
They passed a makeshift stall where jars of clear liquid were on display. The vendor was trying to hide them under a cloth, but he wasn’t fast enough. Jordan motioned for Ensign Lore. “Go talk to Jimmy and confiscate his supply.”
“Yes, Captain,” Lore said.
The crowd grew thicker, and Jordan was at last obliged to have Jenkins clear the way. The sergeant pulled out his baton and waved it, yelling, “Out of the way, everyone!”
Jordan followed him through the parting throng until they arrived at his destination, a booth with a crooked sign that read dragon. The bulbs had all burned out, leaving the rusted shack draped in shadow. The owner, a man with curly red hair named Dom, stepped up to the counter. He blinked several times as he tried to focus on Jordan in the weak light.
“Oh, uh. Well, hello.” The clearly nervous shop owner smiled unconvincingly. “What can I do for you, sir?”
“An order of your famous orange noodles,” Jordan said, looking over his shoulder, “and make it quick.” A group of lower-deckers were gathering nearby, watching him. He motioned for Jenkins, who stepped out with his baton, slapping the stick against his palm.
“Go back to your business,” Jenkins said.
Jordan focused on Dom, who had retreated into the booth. He turned on a stove burner, grabbed a skillet and pot, and set them over the flames.
“Just a few minutes, Captain,” Dom said.
Jordan nodded and folded his arms across his chest, waiting impatiently.
“Didn’t know you were a fan of my noodles,” Dom said.
“I’m not,” Jordan replied. “These are for … a friend.”
Dom nodded and peeled a small orange, dropping the sections into a pot with freshly cut vegetables.
“Your friend got a name?” he asked, reaching up for a jar of spices. “I know most of my customers, and I remember exactly how they like their noodles. Some like crunchy, some like soft, some like—”
“Katrina,” Jordan said, cutting off his chatter.
Dom glanced over, holding the skillet in one hand. “Ah. How is she? I haven’t seen her for a while.”
“She’s been busy,” Jordan said. He turned to see how Jenkins was holding up.
The busy marketplace had grown subdued since their arrival. Gone were the shouts from hawkers and hustlers, replaced by hushed voices and glares from resentful passengers, all of them focused on Jordan and his bodyguard.
“Hurry up,” Jordan said to Dom.
“Katrina likes her noodles crunchy. If I hurry, they’re going to be too soft. She’s like X—very particular about the consistency.”
“What did you say?” Jordan snapped.
Dom flipped the veggies in the skillet without looking at him. “I said Katrina likes her noodles crunchy.”
“After that.”
“She’s very particular—”
Jordan cut Dom off a second time. “Why are you talking about X? He’s been gone for a decade.”
Dom froze in midflip, losing several vegetable bits in the process. Onions and other ingredients sizzled on the stove, and several fell to the filthy deck. Cursing, he scrambled to put the burner out.
Jordan let out a sigh as he watched Dom try to salvage the meal. When he had finished cleaning up, he apologized and said, “Sir, I didn’t mean to upset you. I …”
“Just give me the food so I can be on my way.”
Dom handed Jordan a small container of the steaming noodles. “This one’s on me, sir,” he said.
Jordan didn’t bother thanking the man. After that fiasco, Dom was lucky he didn’t lose his food license.
“Let’s go, Sergeant,” Jordan said. He followed the soldier out of the trading post, ignoring the onlookers.
By the time they reached the brig, Jordan had started to calm down. But the thought of X remained on his mind as he walked through the corridors and steeled himself for what came next.
At the brig, Sloan stood guard at the metal station inside the lobby. She straightened her hunched back when she saw Jordan and Jenkins arrive.
“I’m here to see Katrina,” Jordan said.
Sloan ran a hand over her shaved scalp. Her lazy eye made her hard to read, but she looked shifty today. Something was wrong.
“Is that going to be a problem?” Jordan asked.
“Yes, Captain. I’m sorry, but she’s been transfer
red to the medical ward.”
“What? When did this happen?”
“A few hours ago.”
“Why?” Jordan snapped. “What’s wrong with her? Is it the baby?”
Sloan hesitated, her hard features softening. “She had a miscarriage, Captain. I’m really sorry.”
Jordan stared at Sloan for a moment, the words not seeming to quite sink in. She bent down with Jenkins to pick something up from the ground. Looking down, Jordan saw the mess of noodles he had dropped on the floor.
ELEVEN
Two years earlier
X was being pulled deeper and deeper into the filthy swamp water. He glimpsed the mud-caked bones of buildings and houses forming an underwater city all around him. He slashed at the reptilian coils gripping his body, but they continued to tighten, squeezing his armor against his ribs. The pressure made breathing difficult. Blood sang in his ears. The breathing apparatus in his helmet kept him from drowning, but that wouldn’t matter if he couldn’t breathe or if his helmet took on water.
At least Miles had escaped. Although it wouldn’t matter if X didn’t survive. The genetic modifications enabled the dog to survive in harsh conditions, but without X, he wouldn’t be able to get food or water.
X twisted and squirmed to no avail. The only way out of this was to fight. He had maneuvered his knife around and was sawing away at the thick hide when he noticed flashes of movement in the cloudy muck. The struggle had attracted other creatures.
Sucking in what little air he could get into his lungs, X fought back with the last of his strength. He angled the tip of his blade into the gap between the coils and his chest armor before it could tighten even more. He had barely nicked the gigantic snake, but it suddenly unwrapped itself, leaving him to sink slowly through the water. He filled his lungs with a long breath as the tail whipped away, vanishing into the cloudy depths.
Something massive and covered in gray scales rushed through the murk in front of him, churning the water and hitting him with a wake that knocked him backward. He drifted, still trying to catch his breath.
There was something else down here—something worse than the snakelike monster.
Pulling with his arms, X kicked toward the surface. He wasn’t the best swimmer, but fear inspired him. If the snake thing was retreating, then it wasn’t the top of the food chain here—and X had no illusions about where he fit in, which had to be somewhere near the bottom.
It took him an entire minute to haul himself back up to the surface. When he finally broke through, he wasn’t even close to land. The snake had pulled him deep into the swamp. Five hundred feet away, Miles paced and barked at the water’s edge.
I’m coming, boy. Hang on.
He swam toward the embankment. The quake had churned the calm water into scum-choked waves that slapped the shoreline and knocked him about. The armor weighed him down, and the radiation suit clung to him, impeding his movement in the water.
He sank below the surface for a moment, kicked back up, and kept swimming. Every few strokes, he would force his body back into a horizontal plane by kicking hard with his boots. But even adrenaline and determination couldn’t keep him above water for long. Halfway to shore, he continued to struggle, dragged downward again and again by his armor, boots, and helmet.
Thunder boomed and lightning sizzled as he treaded water to catch his breath. He glanced over his shoulder just as a reptilian head and upper body slid through the surface fifty feet behind him. Maybe it was the same one that had tried to kill him, not that it mattered. For a moment, the eyes seemed to fix on his, but then it was sucked back down into the water as if by an unseen force.
The creature gave a loud hiss before it vanished in the churning brown foam. A massive dorsal fin sliced through the waves. X flung himself toward the shore. The time for rest was over.
He straightened his body and timed his strokes and kicks, trying to get a rhythm going. Swimming was a part of Hell Diver training, and though he was rusty, the thought of becoming fish food kept his aching body moving.
As X narrowed the distance to shore, Miles, unable to help himself, jumped into the water, trying to meet him halfway.
X saw movement in his peripheral vision, but he didn’t turn. After pulling a few more yards, he spotted the dorsal fin up ahead. It appeared to be moving toward shore.
Toward Miles …
X stopped to tread water and wave his hands in the air.
“Over here!” he shouted. “Come get me, you slimy bastard!”
The fin changed tack, heading right for X. He continued treading water. Water had leaked into his helmet, and it smelled worse than any shit pot aboard the airship he once called home.
Of all the things to remember, he thought.
X didn’t have time to celebrate having resurrected the name of the ship from his desolate memory banks. He pulled his knife out and faced the wide, scaly back of the abomination barreling toward him. The tail rose up and then slapped down on the surface. The fin alone was the size of his body, but he couldn’t see the rest of the monster.
Just as it was about to reach him, he dived below the surface and rolled to look up. At last, he could see the monster’s head. It had a bony face with mandibles where teeth should be. Those serrated jaws would crush him, armor and all.
He thrust the knife upward into the pale gray belly passing overhead. The blade skittered across scales tougher than his own armor.
The huge tail fin whipped, hitting him so hard he choked on a mouthful of the putrid water in his helmet. He kicked back to the surface and pulled for shore, still a hundred feet away.
He swam until his feet hit the muddy lake bed. Righting himself, he waded as fast as the sticky muck would allow. The fish lurked in deeper water, watching. It finally slapped the water with its tail and turned to swim through the shallows. As it got closer, the fearsome mandibles opened. It could consume X in a single bite.
Panting and trying not to retch into his helmet, he slogged up onto the shore and motioned for Miles. He moved up the slope. Behind him, ten feet from shore, the monster beached on the shallow bottom. A wave hit the shore in a spray of brown muck as the beast struggled to free its massive body.
After putting some distance between himself and the shore, X collapsed onto his back. Miles nudged up against him and tucked his helmeted head under X’s arm. The floundering monster clacked its mandibles together, staring at X with eyeballs the size of porthole covers, before it finally broke free of the mire and vanished.
He wasn’t sure how long he lay on the road, but at some point after dumping the swamp water from his helmet, he dragged himself up and continued his trek toward the bunker on his map, limping and grunting like an injured beast. Despite the pain, he had no choice but to keep going. He walked in a daze, unsure of anything except the stark reality that if he stopped moving, he might never get up again.
Three days after the earthquake and the attack from the swamp creatures, X finally found the refuge under an old airfield. Using his wrist monitor, he hacked his way in. A long tunnel led him to a garage, but he ignored the old-world vehicles and searched the rest of the small bunker. When he finally sat down and peeled back the bandages covering the wound on his leg, he could see that it was infected. And he had developed a fever from swallowing the fetid swamp water. Adding to his misery, his throat was now so raw, he had trouble swallowing.
He found water and preserved food, all of it engineered to last for ages. That didn’t mean the food tasted good, but he didn’t care. Once he had fed Miles, he unfolded a cot and collapsed on it. He rested there, breathing heavily, his lungs crackling and his shaking body covered in a sheen of sweat. Miles licked the salt off his skin.
“I’m okay, boy. I’m okay.”
X downed some antibiotic pills he found in the bunker’s medical supply, hoping they would break the fever. When he was well enough, the
y would cross the final stretch of land to the ocean. After reaching that goal, if he was to die, then so be it.
Through the open door, he looked out over the garage. It was one of three rooms in the smallest bunker X had ever found in his journey across the ruined United States. Several old-world motorcycles and armored vehicles sat in the dark space, waiting for drivers long since dead.
His eyes went to the map, which showed a network of old roads leading to the coast. Then he looked back to the vehicles.
One of them will take you there.
As soon as he could sit up without blacking out, he would start restoring one of them. If he could get a working motor vehicle, it would make the final leg of his journey much easier. But first, he had to survive the fever.
Shivering, he swallowed a sip of water, his throat burning as the liquid ran down his swollen throat. A wave of lightness washed over him, and for a moment he had that weightless sensation he used to feel during the first seconds of a dive. He laid his head back and closed his eyes, hoping he wouldn’t dream of monsters or memories.
* * * * *
Present day
Michael kicked a rock. It skidded across the dirt and dropped into the swamp with a plop.
“Dangers on all sides,” he muttered, looking out over the water. His gaze shifted to the city. The mutant foliage had retreated, but the Sirens were out there, stalking them.
The mission to find X had gotten off to a lousy start. They were still alive, though, and they hadn’t wasted any ammo. He scanned the sky to the south, where Timothy had dropped them, and wondered what X would do in his shoes.
He would fight. He would do what it takes to survive.
Michael looked over at Layla’s profile. Every decision he made affected her, Mags, and Rodger. They were his friends, his family. And they all were looking for him to lead them through this wasteland.
He chinned on the radio frequency for Deliverance. “Timothy, this is Michael, do you copy? Over.”
Static crackled into his helmet. Either the storm was blocking the signal, or Timothy wasn’t responding. Either way, they were stranded without an evac.
Hell Divers III_Deliverance Page 12