Hell Divers Series | Book 8 | King of the Wastes

by Smith, Nicholas Sansbury

  If so, where was everyone?

  The glow of the torch provided part of the answer.

  In the rust-stained container below, she saw the source of the stench. Skeletal remains filled the tank. Broken orange and yellow shells were discarded with fish skeletons as well as what looked like human bones. The sewage ejectors had been turned into an offal bin.

  Magnolia looked back up to the youth, wondering. Had he killed the other passengers? He looked innocent at first glance—the freckles, the eyes incapable of murder. But if he had survived out here, he had to be very capable of killing.

  She also knew that he was probably hungry and now had a chance to eat something other than the local mutant wildlife.

  “Please, let me go,” she said. “I can help you.”

  The kid tilted his head, long brown hair falling over the right side. He brushed it back with a gloved hand.

  “I can help you,” she repeated.

  He didn’t seem to understand English.

  “I come from the sky . . .” She jerked her head toward the overhead. “We have an airship. We can take you to a place where the sun shines, and . . .”

  The young man’s eyes widened as a long, ethereal shriek sounded outside the ship.

  He stood and put his helmet back on.

  “No, wait,” she said. “Please!”

  He pulled a machete from a sheath on his belt and held it up.

  “no!” Magnolia screamed.

  She closed her eyes. But instead of a blade hacking into her flesh, she felt his hand push her body to the side.

  A clicking sounded above her, and the chain holding her dropped her to the deck. She lay there stunned as the hatch clicked shut.

  Slowly, she worked her way up into a sitting position and clamped her palm around the wounded arm. The cut wasn’t deep, but blood was flowing freely. She wondered whether he was trying to hurt her, or just keep her quiet.

  Looking back, it seemed like the latter.

  Although he could still come back and barbecue her.

  She sat there for a moment, trying to get her bearings by mentally recalling what she had seen in the space with the torch. Then she started crawling over toward the hatch.

  She found the handle. It was locked.

  Magnolia rested her back against the cold hull, trying to keep calm. She was alive for now, but she wasn’t going to be after a few weeks of radiation poisoning.

  But maybe the radiation didn’t penetrate this far, she thought.

  The kid had taken his helmet off, and he had lived out here for years.

  She decided not to worry about radiation, since she couldn’t do anything about it anyway. Instead, she focused on escaping.

  Standing, she ran her hand along the hull until she got to the other side of the room, where she tried to search for her armor.

  After a few minutes searching by touch, she had discovered nothing.

  The quakes continued, but the sounds from the monster seemed to be getting farther away.

  Magnolia froze at a new chirping sound.

  She felt her way back to the hatch and put her ear to the metal. Footsteps echoed on the other side.

  An orange glow spread under the hatch, and she stepped back with her fists up. The handle twisted but then clicked back into locked position. The young man on the other side of the hatch turned, the glow moving away now.

  He suddenly darted away, footsteps pounding the deck.

  Magnolia lowered her fists and stepped back up to the door. For several more minutes, small tremors vibrated through the hull of the ship.

  A long, deep whistle sounded, almost like a whale calling out. The sound was different from the earlier shrieks and clicks that the chitinous abomination had made. This cry seemed . . . lonely.

  The alien noise echoed and faded away, leaving only silence.

  She backed away from the hatch and rested her back against the hull. The darkness enveloped her, prompting a wave of panic.

  Snap out of it, Mags. You don’t have time for this.

  Pushing herself up, she pressed her fingers to the overhead, feeling for a way out. Maybe there was a passage or some ductwork . . .

  But she wasn’t finding it.

  The only other opening in the room was the tank full of human and animal remains.

  She felt the despair returning and raised her wrist to cover her mouth.

  A voice suddenly called out in a language she didn’t recognize.

  Magnolia returned to the hatch.

  Thumps, grunts, and another shout in the foreign tongue echoed somewhere outside the room.

  It all stopped a minute later, quiet once again filling the dark void.

  A light slipped under the door—not a torch, but an actual electric beam.

  She stepped back as the handle clicked and the metal screeched open.

  Magnolia squinted in the bright glow.

  “You okay?”

  With an involuntary cry of relief, she practically charged Edgar, embracing him in a hug.

  “Easy,” he said, wincing.

  She looked past him to a body sprawled in the passage. The teenager in the ghillie suit and bird helmet lay in a fetal position, bleeding but alive.

  Edgar went to stab him, but Magnolia stopped him by pulling on his arm.

  “Don’t!” she hissed.

  “What? Why?”

  “I don’t think he was going to kill us. I think he was just scared and—”

  “Pretty sure he was going to eat us.” Edgar gestured to the exit. “Come on, then, we got to find our armor and get out of here.”

  They walked over to the young man, who was moaning in pain. Edgar had taken his weapons and tied his hands.

  Magnolia flicked on her flashlight and followed Edgar through the bowels of the ship.

  A few minutes later, they followed the glow of a lit candle into the former captain’s quarters, where they discovered their armor.

  Hardcover books lined the shelves. The small bed was neatly made with thick blankets, and the desk was laden with maps. A second desk was covered with bullet casings and knives, all apparently custom-made.

  “You think it’s just the kid here?” Magnolia asked.

  “I don’t know, so stay alert,” Edgar said. He found his armor stacked neatly in the corner of the quarters.

  As Magnolia dressed, she couldn’t help but think the young man was more of an asset than a threat.

  A quick search of the room turned up her laser rifle, which the kid had stowed in a locker. Edgar grabbed his, too, and they hurried out to a ladder. The top hatch was sealed by what looked like a weld.

  “Someone went to great lengths to keep people in this ship,” Edgar said.

  “Or to keep monsters out,” Magnolia said.

  She hesitated as Edgar started down the passage, looking for an alternative route off the ship.

  “What are you waiting for?” he asked.

  She turned back the way they had come.

  “We can’t leave him here,” she said.

  “Yes, yes we can. He could have killed us, and he still might try.”

  “But he didn’t.”

  “We don’t know anything about him, Commander.”

  “No, we don’t, just like we don’t know anything about this place.” Magnolia gestured for Edgar to follow her, but he stood his ground.

  “Don’t you see, Edgar?” she said. “We came here for recon. And no one knows this place better than that kid.”

  * * * * *

  X tried to keep his mind off Michael, Rodger, and Alfred and stay focused on saving those he could right now.

  He had boarded Raven’s Claw with a crew of soldiers, rescuers, and volunteers. They were closing in on a rig housing the five hundred-plus survivors from T
anzania after it sent a distress transmission.

  From where he stood on the island of the warship, X could see most of the rig. The ship’s spotlights raked across the decks, giving them a view of the damage.

  The platforms at the very top, occupied by fields of vegetables and cisterns of fresh water, were intact except for one, which had fallen, the legs buckling and the platform smashing through the deck.

  Rain cascaded through the opening, flooding compartments below. The center of the rig had turned out to be a trap for some of the people sheltering there.

  As Raven’s Claw drew closer, a sheet of corrugated metal streaked through the air.

  Seeing the shacks and homes stripped away so easily filled X with dread. These people had been through much, living in camps for years and doing manual drudgery for the machines. Starving, sick, and suffering under extreme conditions.

  This place was supposed to be their refuge, but now they were being punished again, by something X couldn’t fight: Mother Nature.

  As with the machines, there was no reasoning with the storm. There was only mitigating the damage and saving as many lives as possible.

  “Keep us as steady as you can,” X said to Captain Two Skulls. “It’s as close as we dare go in these waves.”

  The captain nodded, and X rushed down into the lower decks, holding on to railings as the ship pitched and yawed. On the third deck below, eighty-five people waited. Most of them were rescue workers, assigned to the capitol tower but no longer needed there now that it was secure.

  Firefighters, medics, technicians, soldiers, and volunteers stood ready. They all wore helmets, goggles, life jackets, and bright vests. A group of engineers huddled around Steve, who was supervising the distribution of tools ranging from axes to riveters and welding rigs.

  A hundred soldiers and sailors had also gathered. General Forge had taken command, splitting them up into rescue groups to help locate the trapped people on the rig.

  The Barracudas were here, too, with Sergeant Slayer and his second in command, Bromista.

  “Anyone got a schematic of this rig?” X asked.

  Sergeant Slayer held up a blueprint that was already marked with the damaged interior shelters. A glance confirmed they were all near the top level, right below the platform that had collapsed.

  “This compartment was damaged as well,” Slayer said, pointing.

  “Split up the crews,” X said. “General Forge will take one group, and I’ll head to the main chamber.

  “Slayer, you’re with me,” X said to the Barracuda warrior.

  “It’s an honor, sir,” Slayer replied.

  “You, too, Steve.”

  Steve zipped up his fire jacket and picked up a fire axe.

  “We’re secure,” said the captain over the radio.

  “Let’s go!” X yelled.

  His bodyguards, Ton and Victor, both in the fire gear, stepped to his side. Minutes later, they were on an outboard launch, closing the distance to the rig. As they neared the rig’s exterior dock, three cables snaked down from the boat derrick above. Slayer and Steve managed to get them hooked into the thick eyebolts at the prow and stern. The winch engaged, and in no time the boat was hoisted above the reach of the waves. From the derrick platform, they took an enclosed stairwell up a twisting ladder for two hundred feet.

  Outside the rig walls, the wind roared like a sea monster.

  Steve and Slayer took point at the top landing and opened an interior hatch. The power was off, and the team turned on their tactical lights in the dark passage.

  Water trickled from the ceiling onto the deck.

  “This way,” Slayer said.

  They ran toward the center of the rig. Some of the shelters were repurposed storage tanks. Others were offices or dormitories built centuries ago for the workers on these rigs.

  Candles burned in the distance, and a single flashlight beam speared through the darkness.

  “Help us!” a voice called out.

  Slayer ran toward it, and X got his first look at the civilians. There were only ten.

  Two were limping; another was holding her hand to a scalp wound. A few were slumped on the deck, unconscious.

  “Bring the medics up here,” X said.

  Slayer called it in over the radio.

  “Help’s on the way,” X said as he passed the people.

  Now that they were deep inside the center of the rig, the wind was hardly audible at all. But he could hear other noises: cries of agony, more calls for help.

  The rescue crews fanned out through the rig. The farther in they got, the darker and hotter the passages became. Smells of sewage and body odor drifted on the sultry air.

  They passed more civilians in the hallways, standing outside their designated shelters and talking quietly. Some asked if they could help, but Slayer shook them away.

  “How much farther?” X asked.

  “Not far, King Xavier.”

  The team advanced two more levels, just below the rooftop. Water poured from gaps in the overhead and ran an inch deep in the passage. Slapping through standing muck that had mixed with sewage, they finally reached the central chamber.

  Clanking and banging echoed off the hulls.

  “Right up there,” Slayer said.

  “This is an old holding chamber,” Steve said.

  X stepped up to the hull and put his ear to it.

  “Help!” someone inside yelled.

  The voice was faint, but it wasn’t alone. Some of them sounded like kids. He could hear what sounded like splashing, too.

  “Shit,” X said. “How the hell do you get in?”

  “Over here!” Steve called out.

  They ran to the next passage and found the source of the banging. A group of people were at a hatch, pounding it with hammers and axes.

  A man with an eye patch and fancy tunic turned toward them and said, “Thank the gods you’re here.”

  It was Charmer, the former chief engineer for the ITC Victory and, from what X had heard, a huge pain in the ass.

  “Get back!” X yelled.

  Most of the people stepped away, but a skinny bearded man in a life jacket kept hitting the door with an axe. Chest heaving, sweat dripping down his face, he kept doggedly at it.

  “My brother’s in there!” he shouted.

  “Let them through, Tilly,” Charmer said.

  Bromista grabbed the man when he did not relent, but Tilly wrenched free and hit the door one last time before Bromista finally wrestled him back. The other Barracudas stepped up.

  Tilly struggled some more, but Charmer grabbed him. “Don’t be a wanker,” he said. “They’re here to help.”

  “How many people inside?” X asked.

  “Fifteen,” Charmer said. “Maybe more.”

  “How long has it been flooding?”

  “I don’t know, maybe an hour.”

  “It’s a huge chamber, and if it’s been flooding that long . . .” Steve shook his head. “We better be prepared to swim once we crack her open.”

  “You heard him!” X yelled. “Get back!”

  The other civilians moved farther away.

  Slayer moved to the front of the hatch and fired up the metal-cutting chainsaw. The tool choked, rumbled, and fell silent.

  “Come on, you pile of Siren shit.” He pulled the cord over and over, to no avail.

  “Give me that,” X said to Tilly.

  He took the axe, and pointing the blade at the hull a few feet away from the hatch, he said, “We’re going to make our own door.”

  The six Barracuda warriors started hacking away, their axe bits crunching into the thick metal.

  “Almost through!” Slayer yelled.

  X swung hard, and the blade broke through the panel. Water jetted out in his face. The other warrior
s fell to, their axes opening up gashes that spurted more water.

  Slayer and two of his men worked together to cut a door into the bulkhead. When they had cut a crude outline, Steve stepped up.

  “Everyone, get back!” X shouted.

  Steve swung the hammer, slamming the metal bulkhead multiple times until it finally gave way. He went down in the wall of water that followed the panel into the corridor.

  Slayer and another soldier grabbed Steve and pulled him to safety. The rush of water continued for several seconds, spilling out several of the fifteen people trapped inside.

  X could see that some of them were already gone, their bodies limp and lips blue.

  “Medics,” X yelled. “Get the medics up here!”

  A team standing by rushed over to pitch in.

  X ducked inside the doorway and shined his light through the cylindrical metal structure. There were more people inside. At the other end, a boy clung to a woman.

  Rushing over to them, X bent down. It was Alton, the kid born in captivity at the machines’ labor camp.

  “Please, help my mum,” Alton said. “She’s sick.”

  Feeling her neck, X confirmed a pulse. She was breathing, too, but each breath was as shallow as her heartbeat.

  “She’s going to be okay,” X said. He motioned for a medic and then looked to Alton. “Be strong, kid. Your mum needs you.”

  Only then did X see that the kid was shivering and his legs were shaking.

  “You treaded water in there, didn’t you?” X asked.

  “Yes.”

  “You saved your mum, kid.”

  Alton smiled and leaned back down to hold his mother as a medic finally got to them.

  Charmer ducked through the opening.

  “Thank you, King Xavier,” he said, blinking his single eye. “It seems your people are the real-life version of angels for us.”

  “Don’t mention it,” X grunted. “You’d do the same for us.”

  The radio on his vest crackled and he left the chamber.

  “King Xavier, this rig is listo—secure,” said Captain Two Skulls. “We gotta get back out there.”

  X’s breath caught. Had they found Michael, Rodger, and Alfred?

  “One of our fishing trawlers had some trouble,” said Two Skulls.