Hell Divers IV: Wolves

by Nicholas Sansbury Smith

  Two of the soldiers on the left boat fell into the water, and three others dropped onto the deck. X lowered his blaster and moved the submachine gun to his right arm, to steady the barrel as he squeezed off bursts at the men on his right.

  Screams and shouts came from both directions, and empty bullet casings arced into the water as X took more calculated shots. When the magazine was empty, he let the gun sag on its sling, holstered his blaster, and took a grenade from his vest. He pulled the pin and tossed it onto the boat on his left, then squeezed the throttle lever.

  The gasoline canisters on the boat to his right lit up almost simultaneously with the detonation of the grenade on the other vessel. The heat hit his back as he shot away on the WaveRunner, and he felt shrapnel whiz past.

  When he was at a safe distance, he slowed the WaveRunner and unslung the bolt-action rifle. Bringing the scope to his eye, he saw several Cazadores burning on the deck, flailing and crashing into one another. Others had been blown into the water or jumped overboard, where they struggled to keep their heads above the surface.

  “Time’s up,” X said, lining up the sights.

  One by one, he fired rounds into their skulls, turning the water around them red. When he had finished with the soldiers in the water, he searched for the third boat, which was now circling the Sea Wolf.

  “You’re about to have company, sir,” Pepper said.

  X pushed the mike bead back to his mouth but didn’t respond. He sat on the WaveRunner as it bobbed on the water. Using his arm as a crutch, he tried his best to steady the carbine.

  The sights danced over the head behind the wheel. Two more men stood next to the pilot, and several more were on the deck.

  X pulled the trigger, but the first bullet hit the windshield, spiderwebbing it. The pilot ducked before X could get off another round.

  “Shit,” he growled. He swung the barrel to one of the soldiers on deck and hit him in the side, dropping him overboard. Return fire flashed from the bow, lancing into the water around the WaveRunner.

  X lowered the rifle, grabbed the handlebar, and steered away. The engine roared, kicking up a strong wake behind the vessel. A round whizzed past his head, hitting the water ahead with a small splash. He turned sharp right, heading back for the billowing smoke of the burning boats.

  The vessel pursuing him turned to intercept. With one hand on the throttle, he switched out magazines in the submachine gun. It took a couple of tries, but he finally managed to slap in the fresh mag without dropping either one into the sea.

  He steadied the craft and chambered a round. Then, letting the weapon hang from the sling over his chest, he used both hands to continue turning the small craft.

  A bullet perforated the back of the WaveRunner, and another cut his boot, grazing his foot. The jolt of pain erased any thrill he was getting from the hunt.

  Just a flesh wound.

  Instead of turning away from the gunfire, X cut hard to the left and into the spray. The rounds kicked up water by his side as he gunned the WaveRunner in a long, wide arc toward the smoke drifting from the wreckage.

  The pursuing Cazadores were about to pass the burning boats. He continued turning the WaveRunner, thumping over the wavelets as he picked up speed.

  Muzzle flashes flickered from the starboard gunwale of the boat. X kept low, hunching down and hugging the frame of the WaveRunner.

  A message from Timothy hissed in his ear, but he couldn’t hear it over the growl of the engine and crash of water on the bow.

  X squeezed the throttle lever all the way and plunged into the wall of drifting smoke. When he was enveloped, he hit the reverse throttle, stopping the craft abruptly. Then he jumped into the water.

  Kicking beneath the waves, he swam as far away as he could from the WaveRunner. He surfaced about seventy-five feet away, poking his head through the surface. It was hard to see through the narrow gap of clear air between the smoke and the ocean surface, but he managed to spot the boat searching for him. The pilot had slowed, and all aboard were peering over the sides.

  Voices called out in Spanish.

  X ducked back under the water and swam for a full minute to come up behind the boat. Taking the other grenade from his vest, he pulled the pin, counted off a couple of seconds, and dropped it onto the deck.

  “Fuck you, assholes!” he yelled. Then he surface-dived and swam away.

  He could hear the muffled explosion overhead and saw bits of shrapnel and debris hit the water around him. When he surfaced again, several bodies were in the reddening water. One of the Cazadores, a female with a Mohawk, was treading water with a hand on her gut.

  X caught her gaze but swam away, trying not to inhale the smoke still drifting over the surface. He coughed several times despite his efforts.

  Pained voices came from all directions.

  He couldn’t understand them, but he knew a plea for help when he heard it.

  Mercy wasn’t his habit with mortal enemies, especially cannibals. He would show them the same mercy they planned to show to Magnolia or Miles.

  X came upon a dead Cazador lying facedown across a large section of wooden hull. He grabbed a baseball cap and goggles off the head and kept swimming to the WaveRunner. He didn’t want to be around when the sharks started homing in on the slaughter.

  Climbing aboard the WaveRunner, he paused just a moment to look at the image of a jumping fish above the bill of the cap. Then he snugged it down on his head, pulled the goggles down over his eyes, and sped away, leaving any live Cazadores to drown in the smoke-shrouded water.

  This time, his heart remained calm when he saw motion in the water. The dolphins had returned, and they didn’t seem the least bit frightened.

  “Don’t worry, I’m a friend,” X said.

  They swam alongside the WaveRunner, studying him with their dark gray eyes, as if to say, Are you going to save us from those monsters?

  X grunted and twisted the throttle. “I’m going to kill all the monsters.”

  TWENTY-ONE

  Les stood at the helm of the USS Zion, watching a magnificent storm. Lightning cleaved the horizon, streaking through the black like a giant fiery octopus. The residual blue glow remained for several seconds, and the rumble of thunder sounded both distant and close.

  This was the same view his eyes were accustomed to seeing for as long as he could remember. Most of the time, he ignored the sights and sounds of the storms, as someone might have done two and a half centuries ago when strolling through a park or down a city sidewalk.

  The storms were part of life. He had never thought he would know any surroundings other than black sky or blasted surface. Certainly, he had never thought he would see the sun. But in a single month, all that had changed.

  He climbed the ladder to what Captain DaVita had called the “island,” where she stood watching Jaideep and Trey work. They were outside on a mezzanine, using tackle and slings to bring the remains of a sailor down.

  “Still nothing from the Hive or Deliverance,” he reported.

  “Keep trying,” the captain said.

  Everyone was on edge, and having something to do was a good thing. He returned to the bridge and sat back down on the leather chair, which creaked under the weight of his body and armor. Picking up the handset, he scanned to the channel used for communicating with the Hive, and tried to reach Samson.

  Nothing.

  Next, he tried Deliverance.

  Still nothing.

  Finally, he tried the Sea Wolf. Most of the crew didn’t trust the AI, but Timothy was the nearest thing they had to a connection with Magnolia, X, and Miles.

  Static from the radio station filled the bridge with the hollow sound of loneliness.

  Les shook his head, muttering. “Come on …”

  He went through the channels a second and a third time. After an hour of trying to make ra
dio contact, he returned to the ladder, where Trey and Jaideep were carrying the skeletal remains of the dead sailor onto the landing.

  “Careful,” Katrina said behind them.

  They brought what was left of the body down to the bridge and set it on a cleared table.

  “What on earth would he be doing up there?” Jaideep asked.

  “Hiding from something,” Katrina said.

  She looked over to Les, and he answered the question that she need not even ask.

  “Still no contact with the airships or the Sea Wolf, Captain.”

  She sighed and put her hands in her vest pocket, looking down at the remains.

  “He’s been dead a very long time,” Trey said.

  Les walked over for a better look. It was easy to wonder about the long-ago life of each body he saw from the Old World. Who was this man? How had he lived his life? And the most compelling question of all: How did he die?

  Bones darkened by a lightning strike lay on the table in front of the divers. The elements hadn’t left much to examine. The uniform and suit were almost entirely gone—only a few brittle swatches hanging off a twisted duty belt.

  Katrina gently took off the helmet to reveal a mummified face of shrunken skin stretched over cheekbones. The eyes looked like raisins, and the lips were just as shriveled.

  She walked away from the table with the helmet and held it under a light.

  “Les, you think you can get this helmet cam to work?” she asked.

  He joined her under the light and took the helmet, turning it over. A camera was mounted on the top, right above the faded flag of the United States of America.

  “I’m not sure,” he said, “but I’ll give it a go.”

  The radio suddenly crackled behind them, drawing everyone’s attention away from the helmet and remains.

  “Captain DaVita …” A flurry of white noise followed, then, “Captain DaVita, this is Chief Engineer Samson. Do you …”

  Katrina and Les rushed over to the radio equipment. She took a seat in the chair and grabbed the receiver.

  “Copy, Samson, this is Katrina.”

  “Where the hell you been, Cap?” he replied.

  Katrina closed her eyes and let out a sigh of relief. “We’ve been busy. Very busy. It’s a long story, but as you may already know, Red Sphere was an ambush. We escaped in a navy ship called the USS Zion and are sailing for the Virgin Islands to render aid to the Sea Wolf.” She paused before adding, “They found the Metal Islands, Samson. They are real.”

  “Are you freaking kidding me?” Samson replied, his voice breaking up from the bad connection. “You shouldn’t play jokes on an old man, Cap.”

  “This is real,” Katrina replied. “Contact Ensign White aboard Deliverance and tell him to meet us at the following coordinates. I’m sending some of the divers back up to the ship. They are then to dock with the Hive, where Lieutenant Les Mitchells will recruit an army.”

  “An army?” Samson asked. “Whatever the hell for?”

  “To help X and Magnolia if they are still alive, and to take the Metal Islands from the Cazadores.”

  Les swallowed at the implications. All this was new to him, and he exchanged a look with his son, who seemed shaken by the assertion that they were going to war.

  Hell, Les was terrified of the idea, but was now the time to argue? He decided it was. “Captain, all due respect, but most of the people aboard the Hive are in no shape to fight.”

  “And your job is to find the people who can fight,” Katrina said. “I don’t need a huge army because I have something the Cazadores don’t have.” She paused again. “We have weapons of war aboard Deliverance and the USS Zion.”

  “I’m of the same mind as Lieutenant Mitchells,” Samson said. “Most of our passengers have never held a weapon any deadlier than a potato rake. They’re not used to violence, nor have the heart for it. These Cazadores, from what I know, are brutes.”

  Katrina seemed to ponder his words for a moment. It gave Les time to consider what lay ahead.

  “You have your orders, Samson, and I expect you to follow them. I’ll have Les send you the coordinates shortly. I’ve found a break in the storm, about ten miles from here. Deliverance will hover over the clouds there, and we will send up our injured. I will continue with the USS Zion to the Metal Islands, where Deliverance will meet us when we’re ready to attack.”

  “What about the Hive?” Samson asked.

  “We will bring her, but keep her out of view,” Katrina replied.

  Les expected the chief engineer to protest the plan, but to his surprise, Samson replied with, “I hope you know what you’re doing, Captain.”

  Static drowned out his transmission, but his voice came back over the speakers a moment later. His tone had suddenly changed.

  “I can’t wait to see them,” Samson said.

  “See what?” Katrina asked.

  “Those islands. Our new home. I just hope we don’t have to pay too dearly for this place.”

  * * * * *

  The salt breeze carried another scent—a citrus smell that reminded Magnolia of the farm on the Hive. But this was different, more potent than anything on the airship.

  She crawled over to the bars to see the next oil rig that the pilot of the boat was heading for. It wasn’t just a rig like the other metal platforms rising from the sea. Unlike the shanties built on the other platforms, this structure was like an ancient castle, with turrets and towers of metal, and pointy tops reaching for the sky. Even more impressive, rooftop-mounted solar panels angled toward the bright sun on turrets. They had to be on some sort of tracking system to get the most out of the light.

  After several hours of traveling slowly through the Cazador-controlled territory, she was finally here, at the end of the voyage.

  She took in the view in awe, almost forgetting the fear and dread boiling up inside of her guts. The gray towers were decorated with paintings, but she was still too far out to see the designs and pictures. What she could see were horizontal wings stretching out from the levels near the top. About thirty floors up, a central platform, jutting outward from the rest of the structure, held a garden of actual green trees.

  Someone was standing there, watching the boat approach, but they were too high up for her to make out any facial features.

  A king overlooking his realm.

  This was not just another oil rig. This was the capital of the Metal Islands city-state.

  The Cazadores standing next to the cage suddenly pounded their chests and made the same clacking sound with their teeth that she had heard from the citizens. Some sort of homage to their king, she supposed.

  The driver slowed the boat and directed it toward a dock at the bottom of the towers. A massive door under the structure opened, revealing other boats docked there.

  Magnolia glanced over her shoulder at the dozens of other oil rigs they had left behind. How was X supposed to find her and Miles now? And how was X supposed to fight through so many of these barbarians?

  She turned back to the tower looming overhead and noticed something she had missed earlier. A dome-shaped roof crested the very top, right below the clouds. There, illuminated in golden sunlight, were the smooth lines of an airship.

  For a moment, she thought the Hive had descended from the clouds to land on the castle. But this ship hadn’t flown in ages; she could tell by the forest growing on the rooftop. Hundreds of trees and plants basked in the sunlight, their branches thick with leaves and fruit.

  Now she knew the source of the citrus smell.

  The intoxicating perfume of oranges, limes, and other, unknown fruits wafted on the salt breeze. She took in a deep breath, wondering whether this might be one of her last.

  “¡Arriba!” one of the men shouted at her. “¡Arriba!”

  The boat drifted toward a dock, wher
e dozens more Cazadores stood waiting. Many of them were armed with guns or blades, but several, wearing brown robes, stood with their hands clasped behind their backs.

  She stood and shielded Miles behind her back. Her swollen eyelids provided only a narrow view of the men who did not look like the others. Their shaved heads glistened in the sun. Like the Cazadores, some were as light-skinned as Magnolia, others darker.

  Were these men some sort of servants?

  There were also two middle-aged Cazadores in green suit jackets and pants to match. Unlike the filthy soldiers, these two had well-trimmed beards and wrinkle-free clothes that reminded her of Timothy Pepper. One of the guys pushed eyeglasses up on his nose and studied her, then looked down at a piece of paper clipped to a metal board. He used a pen to write something as he spoke to the other man.

  The boat bumped the dock, and two dockhands in shorts threw out a mooring rope. Magnolia remained in the cage, Miles standing behind her and growling. Her tattered shirt blew in the wind as the soldiers opened the cage.

  “It’s okay, boy,” she whispered, although she knew that it was anything but. This was it, the moment she had been dreading. Fear weighted her heart, and no matter how hard she tried to be strong, she was almost paralyzed by what she was about to face. Never in her life had she felt so alone and exposed. She covered her chest with her arm.

  The pilot of the boat, a man with long hair, walked over and directed the other two soldiers to grab her. They both grinned as they ducked down to enter the cage.

  Miles barked and growled, coming out in front of Magnolia. One of the men pointed a long weapon with a spear-like muzzle at the dog.

  “No!” she shouted, trying to move in front of the weapon.

  Blue flashed from the barrel, and Miles hit the cage floor, jerking and vibrating. His blue eyes, masked by fear, looked up to meet hers.

  “No,” Magnolia sobbed, getting down on her knees beside Miles. She picked his limp body up, the fur and flesh warm to the touch. A tear fell from her eye onto his bloody forehead.