Hell Divers III_Deliverance

by Nicholas Sansbury Smith

  The accountant gave a toothless grin and limped around the desk. Nelson never let anything go to waste, not even the metal post that served as his prosthetic leg.

  “Follow me, sir,” he said.

  Jordan motioned for the guards to remain at the stairwell. Ryan and Hunt joined him as he followed Nelson through the massive space, navigating mountains of scrap that had been neatly sorted using a system Jordan couldn’t begin to understand. A blue glow came from the other side of the mounds, and the sound of grinding metal filled the space. The air reeked of grease and oil, and it was hot enough to make Jordan sweat through his uniform.

  He hated this place, but he wanted to see what Samson had built for him. When they rounded the next pyramid of scrap, he finally laid eyes on the two metal cylinders, tapered to a rounded point on one end and with four longitudinal fins at the other. A pair of engineers stopped their work and flipped up their face shields. One of them was Samson.

  “Captain,” he said, stopping to cough and wipe his forehead before setting down his welding equipment.

  “I wasn’t expecting you to be here,” Jordan said. “How are the pods coming along?”

  “What the hell are those things?” Hunt asked. He ran his hand across the metal surface, which was covered in drawings of fluffy white clouds. Jordan stepped up and examined the other pod, noting the exterior hatches soldered onto the side. Waves and sea creatures decorated this one.

  “Were these …?” Ryan began to say.

  “The hatches from the upper decks,” Hunt said, glaring at Jordan.

  The captain replied with a proud grin. “We’re going to put them to good use on the next dive.”

  Samson coughed into his glove again and took a drink from the water bottle attached to his duty belt. “They’re almost ready to go, Captain. Each will hold five people, as promised.”

  He opened the hatch and gestured inside.

  “Multiple layers of insulators will protect the divers in the storm,” Samson said. “Once they’re through, the automatic system will deploy chutes.”

  “Genius,” Hunt said. He smiled at Jordan, and for a moment the captain felt a sense of comradeship with the man. Ever since Katrina’s betrayal, Jordan had been without a confidant. Perhaps Hunt could be trusted with the full knowledge of his plans. It would be good to talk it through with someone who understood what Jordan was trying to do and who shared his goal of saving humanity.

  “Sir, there’s something I don’t understand,” Samson said. “You didn’t request boosters for the pods. How will the divers get back up to the Hive?”

  “Leave that up to me,” Jordan said. His smile grew as he touched the side of the pod, tracing his finger over the faded image of the sun hiding behind a cloud.

  If all went to plan, he was going to be the proud owner of a new airship very soon.

  TWENTY-THREE

  When X first saw the airship screaming over the city, he thought it was a dream—until Miles started barking at it.

  The people in the sky were real.

  They had finally returned.

  But the airship wasn’t as he remembered it, and the people in front of him weren’t any he recognized. His dog growled at them, and X trusted Miles more than he did his own faulty memories.

  He brought his rifle up at a Siren swooping in from the east. A pull of the trigger sent a burst that made the beast go limp in midair. It splatted into the pavement, and X used the stolen moment to examine the four newcomers. One was severely injured and screaming in pain.

  “It burns! It burns!” the man kept saying between screams.

  “Hold on, Michael!” replied the female holding him up. Her voice was frantic, and by her tone X could tell she loved this man. After all these years of isolation, the raw emotion in her voice was as foreign to him as the Cazadores’ language.

  But it also helped X understand why he felt compelled to help them now. After watching them cross the city, he decided they weren’t hostile like the bastards that had captured him inside the ITC facility and then tried to cut his throat. These people had come from the sky, and the sky was where his home had once been.

  He went back to scanning the area to look for an escape. Brick-and-steel buildings framed the road on each side, blocking exit routes to north and south. The cage he had set to trap the monsters was blocked by the mound of debris to the west, leaving the humans only one option: to head east, where his home towered above them.

  But thirty Sirens were closing in from all directions, and he didn’t want to lead them back to his lair. In the air, on the ground, climbing out of broken windows—the abominations were everywhere, and they were determined to feed.

  “Conserve your ammo!” X yelled. It had been a decade since he fought alongside anyone, but some things a man never forgot. He fired calculated shots, knowing that each bullet would determine the fate of these people—and, more importantly, of his dog.

  “They’re everywhere!” yelled one of the men.

  “Keep moving,” X said, his voice cracking.

  The gutted building he called home was just ahead, but Sirens circled the structure. These people had brought the monsters right to his doorstep. Why were they even here? To kill him, to save him … or to raid his supplies?

  The distant red flash of the lighthouse reminded him that time was of the essence. They were running out of it—along with bullets.

  “Come!” he yelled, waving his arm.

  They followed him down the final stretch of street, using the center of the road and navigating the maze of old-world vehicles. His dog barked and darted between the rusted heaps of scrap along the familiar route.

  “Wait up!” one of the women yelled.

  The man with the glasses turned to fire a pistol. The shot punched through the chest of a beast that had been perched on the top of the cage, trying to open the gate. Several more carcasses lay inside.

  The trap was one of many set around his home. The next one was just ahead—a mesh net covering the stairs up to the scraper he called home. A pair of Sirens swooped down to cut them off, triggering the cord on the trap. The net twitched up, snaring them inside and pulling them up over the front entrance of the building. They hung there, squirming and struggling. Easy targets.

  Raising his rifle, X fired twice, and the trapped abominations went limp. He brought up the barrel and tracked another Siren sailing around the upper floors of the building. He led it in his sights, and was about to fire when a voice made him hesitate.

  “X—Commander Rodriguez—we have to help Michael now!”

  He turned and tilted his head at the woman propping up the injured man.

  “Please!” she yelled. “Tin is going to die!”

  Tin. The word meant something to him, and he tried to resurrect a memory. The grating shrieks of the abominations pulled him from a memory of a boy wearing a strange, shiny hat.

  Keep moving. Never stop moving! X thought, cursing himself for forgetting his motto.

  These people were going to get him killed if he didn’t pay attention. He squeezed off shots at four more Sirens flapping toward the group with talons extended, ready to scoop them off the ground.

  Motion down the street revealed another three, galloping toward them.

  X aimed his rifle at the pack. “Shoot!” he yelled. “Shoot them!”

  The man with glasses and the other woman squeezed off shots, and he moved over to provide covering fire. They formed a phalanx around the injured man, bullets lancing in all directions.

  X let his rifle strap sag and pulled out his blaster. He shot a flare across the street to keep the creatures on the ground at bay, then fired a shell at a beast sailing overhead. The pellets tore through its wings, and the creature spun away.

  “I’m out,” said the one with glasses. The woman beside him slung her rifle over her shoulder and reached
over his back to draw two curved knives. “Me, too,” she said. As she pulled the blades, X saw the image of a bird on her helmet.

  He stared at the emblem. Raptor, he thought, though he didn’t know why, and that scared him more than any Siren in the sky ever could.

  His eyes flitted away from the logo and back to the Sirens assailing them on the ground. A dozen strong circled them on foot, and another dozen waited to strike from the sky. The woman with the curved blades charged at a beast galloping in on all fours from the left. In two swift strokes, she beheaded the creature and then stabbed a monster on her right, impaling it and using her boot to push the dead monster off her blade.

  Her quick, brutally efficient moves reminded him of someone from his past. An image of a young woman surfaced in his mind. Could it be the same person? He tried to get a better look, but a bandage on her cheek masked her features.

  Keep moving, X!

  The motto snapped him from his past and back to reality. He fought the confusion and brought his rifle to bear on the creatures in the sky, thinning them out while the others killed those on the ground. The thin man with glasses had pulled out a hatchet. He opened a Siren’s belly, screaming, “You won’t take me again, asshole!” Looking in X’s direction, he brought the hatchet back, and flung it through the air.

  X hardly had enough time to flinch, let alone raise his rifle. All he could think was how stupid he had been to trust these people.

  The hatchet sailed past his visor and crunched into something behind him. An enraged wail sounded, and X turned just as a Siren dropped to the ground, with the cleaver stuck in its skull.

  “You’re welcome!” the skinny man yelled.

  Miles barked wildly as X went back to firing at the beasts in the air, his mind a tumbling mess of past and present. Who were these people from the sky, and why had they come here now after all this time?

  The woman with the blades continued to cut down any beast that made a run at their position. But more of the creatures emerged on the rooftops to the north and south, and even more came from the skies. There was only one way out of this that didn’t end with X, his dog, and these idiotic new humans becoming Siren fodder.

  He reached into his vest and pulled out something he’d been saving since he found it in a military bunker almost five years ago. The grenade felt light in his hand. It was strange that something so small could wreak so much destruction. He fingered the live button twice and shouted, “Everyone down!”

  The others pulled the injured man to safety behind a rusted vehicle just as the explosion rocked the street, blowing pieces of meat in all directions. Smoke and flames burst into the sky. Over the ringing in his ears came the high-pitched wails of the beasts. Those that weren’t dead or dismembered bolted off on foot or took to the air.

  “Hurry,” he said. He stood, but a hand grabbed his arm.

  The injured man gripped him with a blood-soaked glove. “X,” he croaked. “I finally found you.”

  The young man’s face looked familiar. Had he been … a friend? But no, that didn’t make sense. The face X was thinking of belonged to the distant past.

  “Who … who are you?” he asked.

  “It’s me, X. Michael Everhart.”

  When X didn’t react, the diver added, “It’s Tin.”

  The memories crashed over him like a wave. Two tears dripped from his eyes as long-forgotten people and events flooded his mind.

  The monsters retreated, and the humans gathered close around him.

  And X remembered.

  He remembered Tin, and his father, Aaron, and the Hive—the airship they called home. Michael looked so familiar because he resembled his father, who had been X’s best friend. For years, X had given up on this day ever coming, but here it was. This wasn’t a dream.

  “We have to go,” he said in a hoarse voice. “Before they come for us.”

  “The Sirens?” Tin asked.

  X shook his head. “Different monsters. Worse than these.”

  * * * * *

  Les stood in front of his quarters, staring at the militia soldier who stood guard outside the hatch. Del Toro wasn’t letting him in. His family was inside, and Les was prepared to do just about anything to see them before he dived again.

  “Del Toro, if you don’t move, I will rip that helmet off your fat head and beat you with it until you’re dead.”

  Del Toro blinked. “Les, I’m sorry. I want to let you in, but I’m under orders from the cap—”

  Les reached out with both hands, stopping just short of Del Toro’s throat. The soldier flinched but held his ground.

  “Open the goddamn hatch.”

  “I can’t do that.”

  “I’m not going to tell you again, you son of a—”

  A voice on the other side cut him off. “Daddy, is that you?”

  Del Toro wavered at the sound of Phyl’s voice, and Les grabbed him by the shoulder and shoved him out of the way. The guard righted himself and pulled his baton. Les raised his fists, and Del Toro raised his baton.

  Before violence could erupt between them, Captain Jordan came jogging down the corridor, flanked by Lieutenant Hunt and Sergeant Jenkins. In his right hand, Jordan gripped the hilt of his sword. In his left, he carried a small plastic box.

  “Stop this nonsense,” Jordan said. He was looking at Del Toro, not Les. “Put the baton away before you hurt yourself.”

  Puzzled, Les slowly lowered his fist. The militiaman seemed equally confused. Del Toro dropped the baton back into its belt ring.

  “Here,” Jordan said, handing the box to Les. “My sincere apologies for the delay. There was a mix-up about the medicine. When you’re done giving it to your family, meet us in the launch bay. We’re preparing for the dive.”

  Les took the box, eyeing it suspiciously. Was this some sick game, or was the captain being sincere? He didn’t trust the man; that much was certain. But it didn’t matter right now. He was just anxious to get the medicine to his family.

  Del Toro, frowning, backed away from the hatch, and Les hurried inside his quarters. Phyl was waiting there and grabbed him around the waist, hugging him tightly, but Katherine remained in bed, hardly able to raise a hand in greeting.

  “Les,” she croaked. “Is that you?”

  “Shhh,” he said, moving over to her bedside. He opened the box and pulled out two vials of blue liquid, handing one to Katherine. “Drink this. It’ll make you better.”

  Katherine downed the vial, and Les helped Phyl do the same. When they had finished, he sat next to his wife on the bed and, for the first time in a month, bent down and kissed her on the lips.

  “Everything’s going to be fine, baby,” he said, even though his pounding heart told him things were still far from okay. In a few hours, he was going to dive again, and this time he wasn’t heading to a green zone.

  * * * * *

  Magnolia waited on the landing inside the gutted tower, listening for any sign of Sirens or the other monsters X had mentioned on the street. Rodger and X carried Michael up the next flight of stairs, with Layla trying to keep it together behind them. On rear guard, Magnolia twirled the blades, ready to slice anything that followed them.

  The dog waited with her, and she could see the tail wagging inside its suit whenever she looked down at it. It reminded her of Silver and Lilly, the two huskies from the Hive that had died years ago, the last of their line. She never thought she would see another dog.

  She hadn’t been sure she would actually see X again, despite Michael’s faith in their mission, but here he was, alive and, from what she could see, reasonably lucid.

  Moving left, she peered through an open door on the landing and down the connecting corridor. Doors lined the hallway, and a window at the end flashed red from the distant lighthouse. A Siren flapped by, its leathery hide obscuring the view for a second.

>   Magnolia jogged up the stairs to catch up with the others. The dog loped beside her, anxious to rejoin its master. The group had stopped on the next landing, and X motioned for Layla to open a steel door with a key he pulled from his vest. Her hands were shaking so badly, she dropped the key on the floor. She scrambled to pick it up and inserted it in the lock.

  X mumbled something to Michael, but Magnolia couldn’t hear it. He still hadn’t said a word to her. Did X not remember her?

  Sure, she was a few years older and had laid off the black-market makeup she used to wear, but she hadn’t changed so much that her old friend wouldn’t recognize her, even with her short-cropped hair and the bandage on her face.

  Unless he really is crazy.

  Layla opened the door to reveal a tiled room with plastic curtains covering the walls. A row of showerheads hung from the ceiling. Rodger and X helped carry Michael inside and laid him gently on the floor.

  “Can’t …” He reached up, wheezing. “Can’t breathe.”

  Layla started to take off his helmet, but X reached out to stop her. “Everyone has to rinse off first.”

  “No,” Layla said. “We’ve got to get Tin stabilized before the poison stops his heart!”

  Michael squirmed on the ground, clutching his leg, barely lucid. He gasped for air as the poison began to affect his lungs.

  “Decon first,” X said. “Keep your voices low. They know we’re here now.”

  He turned a knob on the wall, and a line running up to the showerheads filled with a white liquid. It sprayed down in a mist that coated their bodies and dripped onto the tile floor, running into the floor drain along with Michael’s blood. He let out a cry, his whole body jerking.

  “Tin,” Layla said, eyes pleading to X for help. “We’re losing him. You have to help him right now.”

  Bending down, X pulled back the patch and dressing that Layla had covered the wound with. The flesh around the cut looked foul, already turning orange and leaking pus. He tossed the bloodied patch on the floor and took a syringe from his vest.

  “Gotta risk it,” X muttered.