Hell Divers Series | Book 8 | King of the Wastes

by Smith, Nicholas Sansbury

  Magnolia followed the beast through a door hanging on one hinge. Only a few overturned tables and chairs remained inside the room. She cleared it with her rifle and moved to the stairwell, stepping over vines that snaked across the dusty floor.

  “Edgar, on me. Arlo, you and Ada stay here with Jo-Jo.”

  She and Edgar took the stairs to the second level, cleared it, and moved to the third.

  Stopping before a blown-out window, Magnolia pulled out her binos to scan the canal.

  “I saw a ship on the drop,” she said. “I wonder if it’s the Sea Sprite.”

  Edgar stepped up next to her, cradling his weapon. “Where?”

  “About a mile from us. I can’t see it from here.”

  She moved the binos slowly back and forth, switching to infrared.

  “Negative on life scans,” she said. “Come on.”

  They went back down to the first level.

  “See anything?” Arlo asked.

  “No, but I want to check out a vessel I saw on the way in,” Magnolia said. “Come on.”

  They moved back out into the industrial zone, marveling at the destruction surrounding them. All that remained of huge skyscrapers was the concrete foundation and a few steel girders.

  “Looks like a tsunami rolled through here after the initial blast over in Panama City,” Edgar said dryly. “Bet it was an entire dead zone.”

  “Yeah,” said Ada. “Nothing could have survived here after the war.”

  “I’m not worried about humans,” Magnolia said. She halted halfway out into the field as a tremor shook the ground under her boots.

  Jo-Jo froze.

  “You feel that?” Magnolia asked.

  “Earthquake?” Edgar wondered.

  “I don’t think so,” Magnolia said. “It feels like something’s right under us.”

  * * * * *

  X steered the One-Armed Bandit through the storms, navigating the towering waves the best he could with a broken heart.

  An hour had passed since Blood Trawler exploded before his eyes. And for that hour, he had searched the water for Michael, Rodger, Alfred, and any crew who had made it off. So far, there was no sign of any survivors, and the storm continued to worsen, along with the odds of finding anyone alive.

  Steering the boat up the next wave, he felt the hope drain from his tired old bones.

  “Have they picked up an SOS?” Layla asked.

  X knew she had to know the answer. If they didn’t get to a lifeboat, there would be no beacon, and so far, he had no indication that anyone had even made it off the ship at all.

  “No, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t out there somewhere,” X replied after a pause. “The storm could be interfering with a beacon.”

  He didn’t know if that was true, but the storm was definitely interfering with the radio. The dashboard transceiver crackled with a message from Lieutenant Wynn.

  “King Xavier, the storm is picking up,” he said. “Timothy highly encourages you to return to the capitol tower. You can start the search back up after the storm.”

  Layla, still standing at the viewports, shook her head.

  “We can’t turn back,” she said. “They could still be out here.”

  “I know, but that storm is . . .”

  X had a choice to make: give up on Tin, or use precious resources to search for him even though he was probably dead.

  “A little longer,” X said. He picked up the handset. “Tell Pepper to focus on updates about the storm, not dispensing advice. Got it?”

  “Copy,” Wynn replied.

  Water splashed against the starboard side and slapped the glass. Layla stumbled but kept steady at the viewport.

  “At least take a seat, okay?” X said.

  He wasn’t the only one not listening to advice.

  “Layla, please,” he said.

  Finally, she took a seat while X kept the boat pointed into the waves. He scanned the water for a lifeboat or life jacket but saw nothing in the bright glow of the beams. So he turned the vessel with the waves, heading back for another pass over the area they had already searched.

  Two other boats came into view, riding up and down waves that dwarfed them. They weren’t much bigger than his, and they seemed to be struggling.

  He lost sight of the flashing red lights a moment later.

  For the next hour, X stared at the water, searching. The pain inside him mimicked the pain of the cancer that once metastasized through his body.

  But he knew the difference between the pain of loss and the real thing.

  Layla broke the silence in a voice just above a whisper.

  “I thought he would be safe,” she said. She glanced over at X. “I thought, when Michael gave up diving for us, that he would get to grow old, to see Bray grow up.”

  “He will,” X said.

  Layla shook her head, sobbing, unable to hold herself together.

  “Layla, come on,” X said. “Michael is out there, and we’re going to find him and Rodger.”

  She wiped the tears away and took a deep breath.

  “Then we don’t give up,” she said. “We don’t turn back.”

  X exchanged a look with Ton and Victor. Both seemed to understand what she was saying. They gave him a nod of support, but they would have done that no matter what the situation.

  Their loyalty was like Miles’s: unwavering.

  X’s eyes flitted over the waves, back and forth, searching. Of course they would have bailed if the boat was going to blow . . . unless they didn’t know it was going to blow.

  He checked the radar for the other vessels to make sure they weren’t too close, when he noticed one of the dots had gone offline.

  “Shit,” he muttered.

  “What?” Layla asked.

  “I think we lost a rescue craft.”

  He turned the wheel slightly and jerked his chin.

  “I need you on the radio,” X said. “See if you can reach the Falcon.”

  Layla unbuckled and went over.

  “This is the One-Armed Bandit calling the Falcon, do you copy?” Layla said.

  White noise crackled from the comms.

  She repeated the message as X piloted them toward the Falcon’s last known location.

  On the third pass, he knew that the vessel was gone—another victim of the storm. He didn’t need to check the manifest to know that meant at least four dead sailors and another lost boat.

  The One-Armed Bandit arrived at their last known a few minutes later.

  “Ton, Victor, get ready,” X said.

  Both men were standing at the back hatch, life vests on. Again it occurred to X that they couldn’t swim.

  “I see something!” Layla shouted.

  “Victor, take the wheel,” X said.

  X joined her at the viewport.

  The beams from their boat illuminated three Cazador sailors wearing orange life jackets, bobbing in the water. Then X noticed a fourth, with no vest, treading water as it rode up and down the mountainous seas.

  These Cazadores had lived on the sea since birth and could all swim, but that didn’t matter in storm waves.

  “Get us close to them!” X yelled.

  He rushed out of the command center and onto the deck with Victor. They went straight for the port rail, where rescue lines lay coiled with life buoys tied to the ends.

  Ton flung a buoy into the sea. X threw another.

  Rain hit them horizontally so hard, it felt like blown sand. X thought of storms like this as living beings—live enraged beasts bent on vengeance.

  Ton began hauling the line back, with two frail Cazador men clinging to the life ring. The next wave lifted men and boat alike, and reaching over the edge, he grabbed one of them by his life jacket and dragged him over the gun
wale.

  The second Cazador man, wearing only tattered cutoff dungarees, grabbed the rail, and X helped him aboard while looking for the last two, who had drifted farther out.

  Seeing nothing, he turned to the command center behind him and waved to Victor through the viewports. “Come about!” he shouted. “Hurry!”

  Timing his move between swells, Victor brought the boat around. Even with his skills, navigation in such heavy seas was harrowing. A wave broke over the gunwale, hitting Ton and the two sailors they had just rescued with a wall of water that knocked them to the deck.

  X landed hard on his backside and winced.

  Pushing himself up, he launched into a stream of profanity that lasted several seconds, then went back to the railing with Ton while the two sailors headed for the safety of the cabin.

  X searched the water for the other two, but the man without a life jacket was gone, swallowed by the sea.

  The spotlights finally captured the other sailor.

  Ton picked up a rope and flung the life ring at the orange dot bobbing on the waves. X picked up the other rope. He was going to get only one shot at saving the man.

  In the bright glow of the lights, he saw that it wasn’t a man but a boy of thirteen or fourteen years. Hardly old enough to join as a deckhand in the navy, and not nearly old enough for the military.

  X wound up, then threw the buoy—precisely as the boat yawed violently, knocking him into the railing and over the side.

  Where he stopped short. His boot had caught in a coil of rescue rope, which his weight drew taut, to leave him staring down at the raging sea.

  He flailed about for something to hold on to, but the yacht’s tapering hull left him dangling free, nowhere near anything. All he could see was the newly painted words “One-Armed Bandit” on the hull and the churning water below.

  The boat yawed, and he closed his eyes and held his breath just before being submerged up to his waist. Water went up his nostrils.

  Powerless to help himself, X could only pray that the loop of rope biting into his calf would hold him.

  The boat righted itself, and he opened his eyes. Spitting and coughing, eyes stinging, he again watched the water rise up to meet him. Then hands were on him, grabbing his life jacket and hauling him back over the gunwale.

  He collapsed to the deck to find Ton and Layla hovering over him.

  “You okay?” she shouted.

  Nodding, he got up with her help.

  “Come on!” Layla shouted.

  He hesitated at the railing, looking back over the water where he had last seen the kid. The life ring was out there, but no sign of the boy.

  X searched for another moment before following Layla and Ton back into the command center. The two rescued sailors were inside, panting and coughing.

  “I’ll take over,” X said.

  He took the wheel from Victor and turned the boat to look for the two lost sailors. The lights danced over the water.

  But the young sailor and the other man were gone, lost forever to the sea.

  X blinked his burning eyes. His heart ached as he spoke.

  “We have to call off the search,” he announced. “We can’t let anyone else die.”

  “I know, Tin wouldn’t want that.” Layla stepped up beside X, a hand on his shoulder. “But we can stay and search, right?”

  X closed his eyes for a second, picturing Michael as a child with his foil hat on in the medical bay after a storm had injured dozens of passengers. He was an empathetic, kind boy, always looking out for others.

  And now X had to abandon him. He couldn’t make Bray an orphan by risking Layla’s life, too.

  “Tin would want you to go back, too,” X said. “I’m so sorry, Layla.”

  She bowed her head and nodded, her face hidden behind the cascade of hair.

  “King Xavier,” Victor said. “King Xavier, I see something.”

  X stared out through the rain sluicing down the viewports. Layla joined him there, both of them searching the turbulent waters in the glow of the beams.

  One of the sailors rose to his feet, shivering, saying something about a “bote salvavidas.”

  “Do you understand what’s he saying?” X asked Layla.

  “I think he’s talking about a lifeboat they saw when they were taking on water, before they went under.”

  X held back a grin.

  Layla perked up, too, her eyes frantically searching the water.

  “There!” she shouted.

  X followed her pointing finger to a wave on the horizon, with a patch of orange rising up the side. As they watched, the orange splotch resolved itself into a boat hull.

  “Everyone, hold on,” X said. He gripped the dashboard and braced himself as a wall of water crashed against the bow and washed over the deck.

  The yacht’s beams hit the lifeboat. They were closing in. X checked Layla’s life jacket, knowing she would never stay inside the command center.

  “Victor, take over,” X said.

  X left the cabin with Layla and Ton.

  Victor piloted the boat expertly through the waves, bringing them right up to the bobbing craft. A hatch on the top popped open, and a figure wearing a life jacket emerged, waving its arms. Grabbing a boat hook, X reached over the railing and snagged the lifeboat’s grab line.

  Water dripped from wet dreadlocks. It was Pedro, the computer technician from Rio de Janeiro.

  Ton threw him a ring and Pedro caught it. He helped another man out, then a third, but X didn’t see Michael, Rodger, or Alfred among them.

  One by one, the three men clambered aboard the One-Armed Bandit. X stared at the lifeboat hatch, his heart thumping with anticipation as each new face emerged.

  When the final man had climbed out, Layla shouted, “Where’s Michael!”

  Pedro shook his head and yelled back, “Not with us!”

  X finally tore his eyes away from the lifeboat and helped the rescued men into the command center. Victor closed the hatch behind them, sealing out the howling wind.

  “Did you see Michael, Rodger, or Alfred on Blood Trawler before it exploded?” X asked.

  Pedro nodded. “Yes.”

  “Did they make it off the ship?”

  “I don’t know,” Pedro said. “I seen them before the boat blew up, heading to weather deck, but nothing after.”

  Layla looked destroyed. But then she turned to him and said, “There’s hope. See, X? We found this lifeboat. Tin and the others could have made it off in another.”

  X wanted to nod and feel the same sense of hope, but his gut told him this was a miracle and that there wouldn’t be a second.

  Seven

  Two hours earlier

  Michael lugged Rodger away from Blood Trawler’s engine room.

  “Come on,” he grunted.

  Rodger was alive, but the smoke was getting to him. He leaned on Michael as they moved through the dark passage.

  “Alfred, how you doin’ up there?” Michael said into his headset.

  “Steering us away from the rig, Chief,” Alfred replied. “This ship’s a beast. What’s your status?”

  “I’ve got Rodger. We’re on our way to you.”

  “Copy that.”

  Rodger slumped against Michael, nearly collapsing them both to the deck. With an assist from his robotic prosthetic, Michael kept him on his feet.

  “You have to stay alert,” he said. “Do you understand?”

  Rodger nodded. “I’m sorry, I . . .” He coughed violently.

  Michael reached down and pulled Rodger up by one arm. But this time, Rodger kept coughing so hard, his shaggy brown hair fell over his goggles.

  “I’ve got you,” Michael said.

  Bending over, he hoisted Rodger over his shoulders. Then he trekked back toward the ladder as fas
t as he could, with Rodger still coughing and retching on his back.

  “Hang on, buddy. I’m going to get you out of here.”

  Near the stairwell, the heat increased. He could feel it even with his suit on. Sweat stung his eyes.

  Entering through the open hatch, Michael started up the stairs, hauling Rodger up, taking the landings one by one.

  “Almost there,” Michael said. “Hang on!”

  At the top passage, he set Rodger down to open the hatch. A wave of heat rolled out, singeing the hair on Michael’s bare flesh. He leaned down to Rodger, but this time Rodger shook him off.

  “I can make it,” he said.

  Rodger staggered a few feet and collapsed, breaking into another coughing fit.

  Again Michael picked him up and lumbered down the passage. At the exit hatch, Rodger was still coughing, and Michael knew that his friend was going to have major respiratory damage if they didn’t get him somewhere safe now.

  Summoning his last reserves of strength, Michael managed to run all the way to the hatch and out onto the deck. The smoke followed them into the rain.

  Michael gently set his burden down. Rodger lay gasping for air, blinking at the sky.

  Flames still poured from the bow as that compartment of oil burned off. Rain sheeted down, slowing the inferno’s spread. But the ship could blow at any point if any of the lower decks should be compromised.

  “You okay?” he asked Rodger.

  Rodger was sprawled on his back, coughing at the sky.

  “I . . . think so,” he said.

  “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

  After waiting a moment to monitor Rodger, Michael started across the deck. He looked around him for any oil rig to give him an idea of where they were. Lightning speared the horizon, but he saw no silhouettes of rigs in the burst of light.

  The farther away they could get from the islands, the better.

  A wave crest broke over the railings, sloshing across the deck. Alfred kept the ship heading into the storm.

  Michael opened a hatch and flew up a ladder to the command room. Alfred was at the wheel, looking out through the viewports.

  “Where are we?” Michael said as he made his way over.

  “We’re about ten miles west of the boundary,” Alfred replied.