Hell Divers (Book 7): Warriors

by Smith, Nicholas Sansbury

  “You’re going to make it,” Sloan said.

  He gripped her wrist harder. “Just promise.”

  She glared at him and then nodded. “Okay, I promise.”

  He let go of her wrist and reached down to Miles. The dog licked his hand, and X closed his eyes and the let darkness swallow him again.

  “Oh, and, Lieutenant, watch out for bird lady,” X said. He opened his eyes, suddenly feeling vulnerable. “I don’t want her slitting my throat while I sleep.”

  “You have my word, sir.”

  He looked out the window at the warship one last time, but he was no longer thinking about Moreto. He was thinking about Ada, alone on the ocean.

  FOUR

  The massive radioactive ship’s rusted bow plowed through the water. Ada had fled when she first saw the vessel heading straight at her small boat.

  Panicking, she cranked the small motor, burning through some of the gas. She had been convinced it was Cazadores, defectors, or maybe unknown pirates.

  But the rusted monster was nothing more than a ghost ship, drifting aimlessly with no one at the helm.

  Looking at the vessel in the distance, she confirmed again: it was real and abandoned.

  From what she could see earlier, no one was on the weather deck, and the command center appeared dark.

  As the vessel drifted farther and farther across the horizon, she had decided to pursue it, hoping to salvage something for her journey.

  Her little boat was now closing in on the ghost ship’s stern, near enough that she could see several faded letters, though she couldn’t make out a word or name.

  She checked her wrist monitor for radiation levels. It was in the yellow-zone range—not immediately deadly, but enough to pose a threat if there was long-term exposure.

  Still, she wanted to search the ship for anything useful, and she could use a break from bobbing up and down like a bathtub toy.

  If she was really lucky, there might be a weapon, although she doubted she would find any gas or ammunition that would work.

  As she closed in, she began to question her decision.

  Suck it up, Ada. You got nothing to lose.

  “Except your life,” she said aloud.

  She pushed down on the throttle. The engine rumbled, and smoke billowed from the little motor.

  If there was anyone out there, they would definitely hear her coming, but she would never catch up using the oars.

  With the engine at full throttle, it took only a few minutes to catch up. She came alongside the stern and glanced up, struck again by the sheer size of the ship.

  She wasn’t sure what it had been used for, but it wasn’t a fishing vessel or one of the cruise ships that had carried thousands of tourists on vacation. It didn’t look military, either, though it had a crane and a domed structure on the deck, along with multiple satellite dishes.

  Perhaps it was a scientific research vessel.

  She drew parallel with the starboard hull, chugging along under broken porthole windows festooned with dried vegetation. More branches clung to the rail far above her.

  She took one hand off the wheel to pick up a coiled rope. The remains of a rusted ladder hung from the hull just ahead, stretching all the way down to a waterline marked by barnacles and a pink mosslike growth.

  After checking the rusted rungs, she decided to tether her boat to something else. She motored along, scanning for a way to secure her craft.

  Two steel booms from a broken crane hung over the rail near the bow. Both appeared to be sheared off and hung over the hull like broken arms.

  It struck her then. The ship had been moored at some port, where vegetation had overgrown it at one point, only to die off after the vessel broke free and was swept out to sea.

  Perhaps the ship had slipped its moorings in a yellow or red zone and was still radioactive. She hoped that was the case and that nothing on board was causing the readings.

  She steered around the broken booms, which hung low enough to block the way. Once past them, she pushed the throttle and motored toward the bow.

  She was steering closer to the ship when a wave slapped her boat right into the towering steel hull. The boat caromed off, and, for a beat, she thought she would capsize.

  The stacked gear inside her enclosure clanked to the deck behind her, but she kept her gaze on the water and her hands on the wheel.

  Heart pounding, she steadied her craft and again got parallel with the ghost ship. The massive rusting hulk drifted on as if nothing had happened, the only evidence a patch of barnacles scuffed away.

  Her boat had sustained a large dent on the bow and a loose stanchion.

  For another fleeting moment, she considered abandoning her plan and just heading back to her route. That would be the safe thing to do. The smart thing. But she had come this far and wasn’t ready to give up quite yet. There could be something useful on the ship, and she could use the rest. And as long as she wore her suit, she would be protected from the minimal radiation.

  Having found no better spot to tether the boat, she steered back toward the ladder, waiting for a calm stretch. Then, holding her coiled rope in one hand, she swung the grappling iron at the ladder.

  The first throw fell short, and the second bounced off the ladder’s rail. On the third toss, a fluke caught and wedged between a rung and the rail. Tying her end to the bow, she snugged the grappling hook tight, then pulled over to the hull. The rope felt secure, but she decided to run a stern line as well since she didn’t really know what she was doing.

  After securing the stern line, she turned off the engine, picked up her rifle, and moved back into her shelter to grab her gear. Three crates had fallen over, but nothing appeared broken. She would clean it up later.

  She put on her backpack, then slung the rifle strap over her shoulder. But as she started to leave, she felt as though something was missing.

  “Oh, yeah,” she muttered, grabbing a sheathed machete and hooking it to her duty belt. It might come in handy with all that vegetation on board. Armed and equipped, she crawled out of the shelter and shut the hatch.

  The hull towered like a cliff above her boat, and again she reconsidered her decision.

  “Come on, Ada,” she said. “Whattaya got to lose?”

  Your life.

  She jumped up to grab the first rung. Her sore palms hurt like hell, but she didn’t let that stop her. She began the climb, rifle smacking against the backpack, machete slapping against her thigh.

  The ladder was rusty, but the rungs seemed secure. She was halfway up before one cracked under her weight.

  A yelp escaped her, but she held her grip on the ladder’s rail and pushed off the hull with her boots to keep climbing.

  At the top, she poked her helmet up and looked around. Crates and rusted equipment littered the deck, and dead vines snaked through the debris.

  The large domed structure in the middle of the deck had a hole in the center.

  Vines cobwebbed up from the hole and spilled out the opening.

  In the stern, the command tower also had foliage covering the hull. The top level was crushed, as if something big had fallen onto it.

  Ada swung her legs over the railing and jumped down onto the deck. After checking that her boat was secured below, she pulled her headlamp from her backpack and strapped it around her helmet. The beam shot out like a white saber through the darkness.

  The first thing she checked out was the dome structure. The wheel hatch would hardly budge at first, but she got it to turn and it finally popped open.

  She raked the light over a device angled toward the opening in the ceiling. So it wasn’t damage that had caused the hole.

  A telescope pointed at the sky. She walked over to it with her light centered on the tube. A plaque was mounted to the side. She brushed off the dust and dead leaves.
>
  Nebula Chaser.

  She glanced up at the telescope, wondering what people had once seen through its optics. A star-filled sky, the moon, a meteor shower. Now the only thing to see was storms.

  She walked around the telescope, stepping over the vegetation that covered the deck and wrapped around the observatory like a giant snake.

  Like every kid growing up, she had always wondered what the Old World was like. She marveled at human engineering, wishing she had been born at a time before the war, so she could experience things that were now nothing but rust and dirt and historical archives.

  Coming out here may have been a death sentence, but it allowed her to discover things like this telescope.

  She left the structure and continued with machete in hand, eager to uncover other mysteries. Moving through the maze of empty boxes and crates that littered the path, she stopped at an open hatch in the deck.

  The window gave her a view of the level below her boots. She bent down near the edge and shined her light inside.

  Standing water had pooled below, hiding whatever was down there.

  The hatch that led to the command center was closed, and when she tried the handle, it was locked. The rusted hull didn’t appear to have any other entry points.

  Sheathing the machete, she backed up a few steps and unslung her rifle. A round was already chambered, so she flicked off the safety and aimed at the lock.

  It wasn’t her first time firing a gun, but she felt oddly nervous. Moving her finger to the trigger, she held a breath in and squeezed. The crack echoed like thunder, and sparks flew from the impact.

  She pulled a fresh cartridge off the bandolier and chambered it. The handle on the hatch budged slightly, but that was all.

  She would fire one more, and if that didn’t work, she must find another route.

  Taking a few steps back, she lined up the sights and fired again.

  This time, the round punched through the lock, and the hatch clicked open. She slung her rifle and entered.

  The beam from her headlamp revealed more standing water and vegetation. The growth was thick here, webbing across the passage and through several hatches.

  She hacked through it easily, the dead vines breaking away like dust.

  The first hatch revealed an office with broken picture frames still on the bulkheads. She searched the drawers of a rusted metal cabinet but found nothing besides a few screws and a plastic pen.

  She shined the light into the passage. Four more open hatches led to other quarters beyond the wall of vegetation blocking off the route.

  She went to work with the machete, hacking while her light flickered off the bulkheads. When she finally broke through, she saw something unexpected. The steel deck had erupted, like a puffball releasing its spores.

  She switched from the machete back to her rifle and plucked a cartridge from the bandolier. There were still six left. She had more in the boat, which suddenly seemed very far away.

  Ada started to chamber the round when a distant clanking sounded. She froze in place, listening as the noise faded away.

  It came again a moment later. This wasn’t a creaking hull, or flotsam sloshing about in the standing water below. This noise was animal in nature.

  Pushing the cartridge into the open chamber, she managed to drop it. The round clattered to the deck and rolled through the opening in the torn metal. It pinged and clattered a dozen more times before finally stopping.

  A screech answered. She wasn’t the only living thing on this ship after all.

  * * * * *

  Michael crouched in front of Layla at her station on the bridge.

  “It’s going to be okay,” he said. “We’re only going outside for a few hours, and Cricket will do most of the work.”

  “Can’t you just let Alfred’s techs and the engineers fix the thrusters, Tin? Why do you always have to be the hero?”

  “I’m not trying to be the hero, but someone’s got to guard them, and we’re down to just four divers and three militia soldiers in fighting condition.”

  Layla drew in a deep breath, her chest rising above her swollen belly.

  “I’m not going to lie to you,” she said. “Bray and I can’t take much more of this. First the snakes at the fuel outpost, then the monsters and skinwalkers in Rio de Janeiro. What’s next?”

  “Hopefully nothing,” Michael said. He looked over his shoulder. “Timothy, have you been able to bring your sensors back online?”

  The hologram stood with his hands clasped behind his back, not far from the captain’s chair. He held up a finger to indicate he would be with Michael after finishing his hushed conversation with Captain Mitchells.

  “I want to hear this,” Layla said.

  Michael took a seat in the chair beside her and listened to the captain and the AI discuss the state of the airship. He already knew most of it, but it was a good reminder of what they were facing.

  “Life support is at fifty-two percent,” Timothy said. “I’d like to get that closer to the eighty range now that we have our new passengers.”

  “Number’s definitely moving in the right direction,” Les replied.

  “Oxygen flow is back to optimal levels.”

  “Good work,” Les said. “Now we just have to get the thrusters working again. How far are we from our target?”

  “About an hour, sir, give or take. Hard to say without the thrusters.”

  “And the sensors Commander Everhart asked about?”

  “I have not been able to get the biological life scanners online, unfortunately,” said Timothy, “but I should be able to determine the radiation levels once we get closer to the suggested landing zone.”

  “What about scans for defectors?” Michael asked.

  “I should be able to detect any exhaust plumes if they are present,” Timothy said. “In the meantime, here’s a map of the best LZ I could find in our databases.”

  The main wall-mounted screen came online with a map of what looked like an old-world airport.

  “What are we looking at?” Les asked.

  “Grantley International Airport, Barbados,” Timothy said. “The runways are probably going to be rough, but if they are clear of hostiles, we’ll call them perfect.”

  “Ensign Corey, how is the weather looking over this potential LZ?” Les asked.

  Eevi hunched with droopy eyes over her monitor. She tapped it a few times before giving her report. “There is a storm just east of the airport,” she said. “Skies might be rough in that area, but it’s hard to say.”

  “Don’t forget, we’ve sustained massive damage to three of the outer shields, thanks in part to those Sirens,” Layla said. “A direct lightning hit to any of those areas could be the end of Discovery.”

  “True,” Timothy said, “but once we put down, it won’t take long to get the thrusters online. We just need to replace wiring and relays that got fried in each one during the surge. Two hours max for both if Alfred and his team work fast. The odds of a lightning hit in that span of time are statistically insignificant.”

  “Timothy, take us down to five hundred feet,” Les said. “Commander Everhart, round up the divers, militia, and Cazador soldiers. We’re going to need you all to keep our techs and engineers safe.”

  Michael got out of his chair and bent down to Layla. “I’ll be gone a few hours max, promise,” he said.

  They shared a soft kiss that lasted a few seconds longer than normal. Michael then wrapped her up in a hug.

  “It’s okay, I promise,” he said.

  “Good luck, Commander,” Les said.

  Michael left the bridge and didn’t stop until he got to the bottommost compartment of the airship, which served as a second launch bay. The space was already filling with crew members.

  Magnolia and Rodger had beaten him here. Both were
already in their Hell Diver armor. Alfred and two of his technicians were standing with two engineers at bulkhead-mounted screens. On the display were blueprints of the thrusters.

  Banks and the other militia arrived a moment later. They had traded out their crossbows for submachine guns.

  “You sure these are going to protect us out there?” Banks asked. He wore a hazard outfit and a space helmet.

  Alfred looked over his shoulder. “Yeah, you’ll be fine as long as you don’t tear the suit.”

  Everyone in the room turned to look at the next two men through the hatch. The two surviving Cazador soldiers entered, in full armor and carrying spears and swords.

  “All right, listen up,” Michael said.

  The bulkheads hummed as the airship lowered through the sky. He raised his voice above the noise of wind and turbines.

  “Our target LZ is an old-world airport on an island called Barbados,” he said. “We’ll set down there and then haul ass outside to start fixing the thrusters. Timothy said it’ll take only two hours max if all goes to plan.”

  Michael gestured to the militia soldiers. “Banks, you and your men will patrol the runway around the airship once we set down. Mags, you and Rodge are with me. Our job is to protect the techs and engineers.”

  “Are you expecting hostiles?” Alfred asked.

  “On the surface, we always expect hostiles, and unfortunately, we’ve lost the sensors that will help us detect any.”

  “Well that’s just sweet as Siren shit,” said one of the engineers. He scratched at his bald head. “Not exactly what I signed up for.”

  “Even with your protection, without weapons we’re still sitting ducks,” said one of the techs.

  “You’re not sitting ducks,” Magnolia replied.

  “Says the lady with a laser rifle,” another engineer chimed in.

  Michael raised his robotic hand. “Cricket is going to be out there with us, too, and if we see anything remotely hostile, we’ll pull everyone back inside. If you want to bring a blaster or a gun, that’s fine, long as you know how to fire them.”