Hell Divers Series | Book 8 | King of the Wastes

by Smith, Nicholas Sansbury

  “Ada!” Magnolia shrieked over the comm.

  She fell, feet together, and executed a textbook parachute landing fall. Rolling up to her feet, Ada kept running after Jo-Jo, who was loping along on all fours.

  Magnolia crouched at the rail, heart pounding. The roar of the gigantic shelled beast surged across the canal, and she looked over the railing once more at the nightmare brood swarming the low hills.

  Magnolia pulled herself away, keeping low to search for Edgar. His beacon wasn’t far, but he still wasn’t answering on the comm.

  “Edgar!” she hissed.

  The turtle clambered across the ground.

  She kept working her way toward the bow, between containers and past barrels secured with a chain.

  “Edgar, do you copy?”

  Still nothing.

  Magnolia knew it now: something had happened to him. Perhaps there were baby turtles on this ship, too, or maybe a Siren.

  She followed the beacon on her minimap and stopped at a container. Darting around the side, she found her missing comrade, hanging upside down from a chain thrown over a beam. His arms hung lank, hands touching the deck.

  Magnolia didn’t see any blood.

  She got low and searched the deck for contacts, but nothing moved in the green field of her NVGs or an infrared scan.

  As she reached him, she heard a click.

  Magnolia turned just as a net whipped up around her, slamming her against a container. The lines tightened around her, pinning her against the rusted metal wall.

  Squirming, she tried to unsheathe the crescent blade at her back, when a figure moved out onto the deck, wearing an old-style sniper’s ghillie suit.

  But instead of a helmet, a birdlike face with a long beak stared at her with shiny black eyes.

  Magnolia bumped off her NVGs—lightning would give her a more accurate look.

  Green and black feathers spiked off the ghillie suit and rippled in the wind around the bird face. It raised a humanoid arm, and a hand that gripped a hammer with a head on one side and a spike on the other.

  Magnolia fought to free herself. “No,” she said. “No, please, stop!”

  The turtle in the distance stared at them with black eyes the size of truck tires.

  The bird creature turned the weapon from the spike side to the hammer, raising the other hand as if to silence her, but Magnolia kept squirming against the net.

  The clicking and screeching grew louder as the mother turtle skittered across the dirt and up the hill for a better look.

  Magnolia’s eyes flitted from the beast to the bizarre plumed creature ahead of her.

  “No!” she said, raising her voice.

  Before Magnolia could move, the beast smacked her in the helmet with the hammer.

  Eight

  “I just got a report of a fishing trawler taking on water,” said Wynn. “The rest of the fleet is getting beat up pretty bad.”

  “Son of a bitch,” X said as the lieutenant delivered his report.

  Wynn kept focused on the radio dashboard in the command center at the top of the capitol tower. They had put shutters over the reinforced glass, but X could still see out through a narrow gap.

  He stared at the lightning that flickered on the horizon, picturing Tin, Rodger, and Alfred. There was still no sign of them. Four hours had passed since he watched Blood Trawler explode with them on board.

  Two hours had passed since he was forced to discontinue the search. It was simply too dangerous, especially since Pedro, who was in the command center now, never saw Michael or the others get into a lifeboat. The last he saw them, they were in the command center, steering the ship away from the islands.

  But Pedro did have an idea how to find them. Using one of the weather drones, the computer engineer was searching for their beacon, which was traceable only within a certain range.

  X stepped up behind him.

  “Any luck yet?” he asked.

  Pedro pulled off his headset. “Not yet, sir.”

  A tear ran down X’s face, but he didn’t wipe it away. He didn’t care who saw him cry. Besides Ton, Victor, and Miles, only General Forge, Lieutenant Wynn, and Imulah were here, monitoring the situation with Pedro, and they were all too busy to notice an errant tear.

  The clink and clatter of hand tools announced someone new, and X turned as Steve walked into the room. He heaved a deep breath and unbuttoned his jacket, which was soaked.

  “Our engineering crews are overwhelmed,” he said.

  “That’s why we need you here,” X said. “With Michael, Rodger, and Alfred MIA, you need to take charge.”

  “King Xavier, I’m more of a hands-on . . .”

  X’s look silenced him. “I need a leader, and you’re all I’ve got right now.”

  “You got it, sir,” Steve said. And taking a seat, he grabbed a radio.

  Wynn looked up from his monitor.

  “Another report coming in about a lightning strike at rig fifteen,” he said. “We’ve already got a crew putting out spot fires.”

  X paced back and forth behind the group of men trying to keep things together. The islands were holding on by a thread. So was X.

  General Forge spoke in Spanish to his soldiers, who were moving people to safety from compromised sections of other rigs.

  As the first major edge of the storm barreled into the Vanguard Islands, X began to see their weaknesses. The problem wasn’t lack of preparation—Michael had done everything he could to secure the rigs. The problem was that each rig was on its own, with no easy way to send additional help if the teams on those rigs had trouble.

  X had thought they were ready for the storm, that they had everything battened down, and that people would be safe. But now he saw the truth that el Pulpo had seen firsthand: humanity couldn’t live here forever.

  It was only by a series of miracles that they had survived this long.

  Another tear escaped. He blotted it with his shoulder.

  The divers would be at the Panama Canal by now, probably even on the ground. They were fighting, and X would, too.

  Reports continued to flood into the command channel.

  “Rig fifteen has taken some structural damage to the civilian quarters on decks four and five,” Wynn announced. “Rescue teams are relocating the residents to the center of the rig.”

  X stopped pacing. Standing here while his closest friends and family were out fighting for their lives and while the islands were being torn apart was worse than being stuck in a Siren pit.

  He slammed the glass with his fist, drawing the attention of everyone in the command center. Miles whined, got up, and trotted over to X.

  A child sobbed, and X turned to see Layla in the open doorway, holding a wailing Bray.

  X loved the kid, but that was the last thing he needed right now.

  “Damn it,” he grumbled.

  He went to Layla and forced his features into what he hoped was a kind expression.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t know you were there.”

  She didn’t respond or ask if there was an update on her husband. Instead, she leaned down to whisper to Bray.

  “Your dad is going to be okay,” she said quietly. “It’s okay, don’t you worry, my love.”

  X returned to the viewports as something whipped past in the wind.

  “The hell was that?” he asked.

  “Tree branch,” Steve said. “We’re going to lose a lot of them.”

  X swallowed hard. He could only imagine what the rooftop and gardens were going through.

  “The wind is now one hundred and five miles per hour,” Pedro said. “According to drones, worst of storm is about to be hitting us.”

  “General, can Raven’s Claw, Octopus, or Ocean Bull survive in these winds?” X asked.

 
“Maybe,” replied the general, “if they don’t run out of fuel and if you have someone who knows how to turn into the waves.”

  “I know, but we’re getting hammered out there,” X said.

  “Captain Two Skulls has experience sailing in storms like this, and is currently aboard Raven’s Claw,” Imulah said. “But we have to keep in mind that as of four hours ago, we lost over half our oil reserves.”

  “I’m well aware,” X said. “I’m also aware our fishing trawlers are getting beat to shit, and considering what’s happening to our crops, we can’t afford to lose any of them.”

  “I’m sorry, King Xavier, but my job is to—”

  “To give me guidance, not tell me what to do.”

  Imulah nodded.

  X instantly regretted being a dick. But standing here doing nothing while everyone else was risking their lives made him crazy.

  He felt like a coward. He felt helpless.

  But he wasn’t hopeless. There was something he could still do here at the capitol tower, which was by far the most secure of all the rigs.

  “Contact all the rescue crews here and have them meet inside the marina,” X said to Steve.

  The engineer nodded.

  “General, deploy Raven’s Claw,” X said.

  “Deploy it where, sir?” asked General Forge.

  “Here,” X said. “We’re going to board it with all the help we can get, and then go where we are needed. Send the most at-risk fishing trawlers to take their place at the hangar. Get them hoisted above the wave action. We gotta save the fishing fleet.”

  He turned away from the windows and went to the hatch.

  “Where are you going?” Imulah asked.

  “For some fresh fucking air,” X said.

  He left the command center after motioning for Miles to sit. The dog whined but stayed behind, sitting on his haunches.

  X took the three stairs to the top of the roof. The wind on the other side of the hatch howled like a thousand Cazador warriors screaming from the Sky Arena.

  He took off his hat and his shirt and laid them on the landing. Then he went to the top landing and opened the hatch.

  The wind tugged at him. Except for the blown debris battering his body, it felt like diving through a pocket of turbulence. He forced the hatch shut and staggered out onto the rooftop.

  The trees whipped and swayed violently back and forth, held in place by posts and guylines. Every fruit tree was already bare, the limbs picked clean, ripe or not.

  Staring at the storm clouds as the rain and wind beat against him, X raised both fists—one metal, the other flesh and bone.

  “Fuck you!” he shrieked.

  He wasn’t even sure who he was cursing. He didn’t believe in a deity, but there was something out there, some sort of energy that bonded him with other organisms and with the universe. Whatever it was, it continued to punish humanity.

  He often wondered if humanity deserved this. Maybe they should just throw in the towel and roll over and die. But X was the perfect example of the human spirit, relentless and unwavering.

  A gust slammed him to the ground. He pushed himself back up and wiped his muddy hands on his chest and down his front. Rain pelted his scarred hide, each wind-driven drop a needle.

  The pain helped him focus and remember the most important thing. He couldn’t fight back, but he could still help those who needed it.

  X fought the wind back to the hatch, stopping to unlatch his prosthetic arm. It came loose and sailed away in the wind.

  Putting his head down against the howling gusts, he tried to hurry back to the hatch. It occurred to him that more than just the wind was howling.

  X opened the hatch and yelled at a madly barking Miles to get back. The dog moved out and grabbed him by his pant leg, pulling.

  “Miles!” X shouted.

  Ton and Victor were there, too, staring wide-eyed.

  “King Xavier, what are you doing!” Victor said. “That wind is throwing things—big things.”

  Ton made a clicking sound, probably trying to tell X he was an idiot.

  Miles tugged on his pant leg, and X moved back into the passage before the fabric ripped. Victor shut the hatch, sealing out the wind.

  Soaked, cold, chest heaving, X started back down the stairs without saying a word. The moment in the storm had given him the adrenaline to focus.

  When they got back to the command center, Layla and Bray were gone. Pedro, Steve, General Forge, and Lieutenant Wynn stared at the mud and the red welts on X’s hand and face, but they didn’t say anything, either.

  X wiped his face clean and threw his shirt back on. He put his hat on a table.

  “Steve, I’m going to take you up on your offer,” X said. “When this is over, build me something I can use.”

  “You got it, King,” Steve said with a grin.

  Wynn stood in front of the viewport.

  “Here she comes,” he said.

  X stepped up. Through the glass, he could see lights on the horizon. Raven’s Claw plowed through the waves, with Captain Two Skulls at the helm.

  “Okay, Wynn, you have the command center,” X said. “General Forge, Steve, meet me in the marina in ten minutes.”

  X threw on a life jacket and took a radio. Then he left with his guards and his dog and hurried down the stairs to the residential wing. Sky people hung out in the hallway, trying to talk over the noise of the storm.

  He found Layla and Bray in their quarters. Rhino Jr. was here, too, in a crib, with the Cazador nanny Sofia had hired to look after the child.

  “I’m heading out there,” X said. “Once things let up, I’ll start the search back up for Michael and the others, but in the meantime, please look after Miles.”

  Layla bent down in front of the dog with Bray in her arms.

  “It’s going to be okay,” X said. “I promise.”

  He left with Ton and Victor and didn’t stop until he got to the enclosed port below. Before he even opened the hatch, he heard voices.

  Opening it, he saw the source.

  A hundred men and women, in bright clothing and wearing life jackets, were crowded inside the marina. Water sloshed over the docks and splashed the boats that hung from their lifts as the people awaited orders.

  X walked toward them, and the group parted to let him through. He scrutinized each face, seeing sky people, Cazadores, and survivors from around the world.

  They all had gathered together for one thing: to help each other.

  Both Steve and General Forge were among them, ready to hear their mission.

  A radio crackled on X’s vest, and he pulled it out.

  “King Xavier, Raven’s Claw is docking now,” Wynn said. “There’s been a major incident at the rig with the people from Kilimanjaro.”

  “What kind of incident?”

  “We got a message about a platform collapsing and trapping some of the people sheltering there.”

  There was a pause.

  “Sir,” Wynn stammered over the radio, “the platform has trapped fifty people, and their shelter is filling with water.”

  “We’re on our way,” X said. He turned to the rescuers and then waved them onward. “Follow me!”

  He opened the hatch, running out into the gusting wind and needles of rain. Raven’s Claw was docked outside, cushioned from the rig’s massive columns with five-hundred-pound earthmover tires, scavenged for just that purpose. An open hangar, with ramps extended, allowed the teams to board.

  By the time X got to the CIC, everyone was on board and the warship was carving through the storm waves. At the helm, gleaming under the overhead lights, the death’s-head tattoo leered back at him from the bald pate of Captain Two Skulls.

  The ancient Cazador sailor gripped the wheel with cracked and weathered hands, staring through the re
inforced glass as they plowed into the storm.

  “¿Adónde vamos?” he asked. “Where we go?”

  General Forge responded in Spanish, but X understood exactly what he said.

  To save the sky people.

  * * * * *

  “Magnolia, Edgar, do you copy? Over,” Ada whispered.

  Terror wrapped around her like a straitjacket as static crackled over the channel. Crouched behind a thornbush, she watched the turtle from hell clamber up onto the canal wall in the distance, while hundreds of its brood combed the area for Ada and the other divers.

  She checked the beacons on her HUD. Arlo had made it back to the Vanguard, but Edgar and Magnolia were somewhere on the ship in the canal, not far from each other. She zoomed in with her binos.

  The monster clambered over the pitted concrete wall and perched there, rotating its head in search of prey. It seemed to know that the humans were there.

  “Magnolia, Edgar, answer me with a hiss if you can hear me,” Ada whispered. “Anything to let me know you’re okay.”

  Static.

  Ada kept her rifle aimed at the deck. Maybe there was interference from the ship’s hull, or maybe they were . . . She stopped herself. No need to dwell on the maybes.

  And she had to find Jo-Jo. During the attack, her companion animal had taken off into the jungle—not a huge surprise. The monkey had lived in a habitat much like this before Ada found her on that beach.

  Stashing the binos, she turned and headed deeper into the mutant jungle.

  The tracking beacon she had implanted beneath Jo-Jo’s skin showed that she wasn’t far. She scanned the canopy above her for the animal, who would spend most of her time in the trees, given the choice.

  Seeing nothing, Ada walked on under purple banana leaves.

  An ant the size of a guinea pig crawled over her boot and around the base of a tree. She kicked it away with a crunch. The creature made a clicking noise with its mandibles and darted into a hollow rotting log. As if on cue, the log came alive with huge, angry ants.

  Moments after kicking the creature, she was racing through the jungle, being pursued by dozens of its irate brethren.

  Clicking and low whistles followed her as she ran harder, leaping over roots and sidestepping the thorny bushes that could kill her with a scratch.