Hell Divers Series | Book 8 | King of the Wastes

by Smith, Nicholas Sansbury

  He felt a sudden slack on the line and fell a body length down the wall before it caught and he was jerked upward, just out of the reach of the nightmarish claws.

  Looking up, he saw Gran Jefe, pulling his rope up with no pulleys, using only a pair of jumars. No one else in the Vanguard Islands possessed such strength. Sofia stood at the rim of the tunnel, aiming her laser rifle and picking off the beasts skittering over the walls.

  Several lost their footing and fell, to splat against their mother’s hard shell. The beast let out a roar so loud that Kade’s ears rang.

  Above him, Sofia vanished, then returned a moment later with Gran Jefe’s rifle.

  She aimed it at Kade.

  “What are you doing?” he shouted, bringing a hand up to shield his face.

  A projectile thumped past him, and something exploded below his boots. He looked down as two more grenades thumped out of the rifle and slammed into the massive shell. Orange and green fluid spattered his boots.

  The creature shrieked louder still and sank back to the ground, dragging itself into a dark tunnel.

  He tried to calm his breath as Gran Jefe kept working the jumars, hoisting him to the top. Near the top, Kade hooked his heel over the rim and pulled himself over, rolling onto his back in the dirt.

  Chest heaving, he lay there, partially in shock.

  “Where’s Jo-Jo?” Sofia asked.

  “Ah, bugger me!” Kade said, shooting up to his feet.

  He had forgotten about the monkey.

  The three divers looked over the edge at the shaft, its dirt wall alive with the scuttling turtle beasts.

  They had awakened a nest, and Jo-Jo was trapped inside it.

  * * * * *

  Raven’s Claw plowed through the violent seas, water splashing over its bow and surging across the weather deck.

  X searched the waters from the island, trying to keep it together. There was still no word about Michael and the others who were missing.

  His heart held on to the thread of hope that they were still alive out there, but with these swells, it seemed impossible.

  You can’t give up, X.

  He rubbed his scruffy beard as the warship approached the last known location of the fishing trawler Mako. It was four in the morning, and the storm winds were gusting up to sixty-five miles per hour.

  Rain slid down the windows, making it almost impossible to see even with the mounted spotlights raking over the water.

  “I don’t see it,” he said.

  Captain Two Skulls gripped the wheel’s spokes in his weathered hands. “King Xavier, I believe we’re too late,” he said.

  “What the fuck were they doing out here?” X asked. “I thought we ordered all trawlers into the hangar.”

  “They were summoning the octopus gods,” said Steve. “I consider myself a Cazador now, but even I don’t believe in the power of the octopus.”

  “I wish it were true,” X said. “We could use a little juju right about now.”

  “Over here!” yelled a spotter with binoculars.

  X ran over to the viewport.

  The spotlights flitted across the waves, over floating storm debris: a wooden door, a barrel, a buoy, and what looked like . . .

  “Get a rescue team out now!” X bellowed.

  An alarm sounded on the warship, and crew members in life jackets fought through the winds to get rescue ropes into the water. Secured by lines of their own, the men and women worked carefully.

  X would be down there with them, but this was something he couldn’t do with only one arm. He used the downtime to gather his thoughts.

  Everything seemed to be coming down around him in a single night. The crops were being damaged and destroyed, they had lost half their oil, and now they had lost another of their precious fishing boats.

  The losses made the Hell Divers’ mission to Panama all the more important. If they brought back promising recon from the canal, then he would take it to the council and launch Octopus, Ocean Bull, and Raven’s Claw on the expansion mission as soon as possible.

  He stepped up closer to the window, watching the rescue.

  Twenty minutes after arriving, the crews had pulled up only two fishers.

  “We got to keep moving,” said Captain Two Skulls. “If there were more, we would have found them.”

  “How many were on that vessel?” X asked.

  “She had a crew of thirty, sir,” Steve said.

  X bowed his head.

  Radio reports flooded in on damage to rigs, and a few minutes later, he gave the order to move on from the rescue.

  Raven’s Claw pushed on through the storm to their next destination: the trading post rig. He could see it easily in the distance because its roof was burning.

  “Those must be propane tanks,” Steve said. “They’ll burn themselves out soon.”

  X studied the flames through a pair of binoculars. The fires raged despite the pouring rain, and the fire crew assigned to the rig wasn’t answering the radio.

  He put on his jacket and secured the goggles over his eyes.

  “King Xavier, perhaps you should let the rescuers take care of this one,” said General Forge.

  X looked at him.

  “Very well, sir,” Forge said.

  They boarded the rig a few minutes later, following a team wearing breathers to protect them from the smoke. Slayer and his Barracudas were with them.

  Bromista cracked a joke in Spanish on the long slog up the internal stairwell. Something about getting his nuts burned for the second time in his life, prompting a muffled laugh from the squad. X didn’t join in the laughter.

  Flashlight beams speared through the dark passages. On the sixth deck, Slayer stopped on point. X could smell smoke now.

  The men with breathers wore heavy fire jackets and moved ahead of the others.

  “Stay back here until we give the all clear,” Slayer said.

  X remained behind with a group of rescuers, Steve, and General Forge.

  Their radios went silent for the first time in hours, leaving them in a strangely peaceful silence.

  X’s thoughts kept returning to Michael. “I hope you’re right about miracles, General,” he said.

  “Miracles are—”

  Before Forge could finish his sentence, a loud boom echoed through the rig. Dust and bits of acoustic insulation drifted down from the overhead, and the shaking kept up for several seconds.

  “The hell was that?” X said.

  The radio on his vest crackled to life. It was Slayer, with a panicked edge to his voice.

  “We need help on level seven! Bring up more breathers and bottled air!”

  X spoke to the men behind him. Two took off back the way they had come, returning to Raven’s Claw for more supplies.

  “Come on,” X said to the others.

  Forge led the way down the passage. Minutes later, their flashlights found Slayer and his team.

  The group huddled around several bodies on the deck outside a closed hatch.

  X could smell the burned flesh as he approached. These were the firefighters who had called for support. But this was still two levels below the trading post.

  “Son of a bitch,” Steve said. “This wasn’t just propane tanks. A gas line must have ruptured.”

  “Why weren’t they shut off?” X asked.

  Steve hesitated as a wail of agony echoed in the passage.

  “Steve, why weren’t they—”

  “Someone must have forgot. I don’t know, King Xavier.”

  Someone fucked up bad, X thought.

  But what mattered right now was getting the line shut off and helping the injured.

  X shined his flashlight at the firefighters, checking for signs of life. The four here were all dead.

  “Medic!�
�

  X sprang to his feet at the distant cry for help. It was Slayer, and he sounded close.

  They followed his voice three passages over and found Slayer with his men, leaning down next to six injured workers. Two were still moving, writhing in agony from burns across their flesh. The others were already gone.

  “Out of the way! Move, move!” yelled a medic.“¡Vámonos!”

  A group of three rushed into the passage. X got out of the way to let them pass.

  “We’re going to get you out of here, Manny,” Slayer said, lifting one of the injured firefighters by his gear. Bromista was also bending down over the guy.

  “You have to shut off the gas lines,” Manny said to them. “If you don’t, this rig is . . .”

  He gave a deep, racking cough.

  “We’ll get them shut down, don’t worry,” Slayer said.

  A medic unfolded a stretcher and set it beside Manny as Bromista got out of the way.

  “He’s right, King Xavier,” Steve said. “We don’t shut off those lines, and this rig is toast.”

  X wasn’t sure how that was possible, until he thought about where they were—in the center of the rig. The fire wouldn’t consume just the inside; it threatened to blow the entire midsection out, which could destroy the integrity of the entire station.

  “What the hell are we waiting for?” X asked. He slung an air tank over his shoulder and put the mask over his face.

  Steve, Slayer, and General Forge all knew by now not to argue. They had brought their own tanks, and with a team of three others, they pushed onward.

  “Take care of my brother,” Slayer called out.

  Manny raised a defiant fist as the medics lifted him onto a stretcher.

  “The gas lines all have their own shutoff valves,” Steve said. “Should be this way, but we have to pass through some dangerous areas.”

  “Lead the way,” X said.

  Steve opened a hatch ahead. On the other side, more bodies littered the deck. These were burned to charcoal and still simmered audibly.

  X took in a deep breath of the compressed air. He knew he was risking his hide now, but it beat sitting back at the command center in the capitol tower, listening to all the pleas for help.

  He ran after the others until they got to the mechanical room.

  “There,” Steve said. “We can shut off the main lines here. There should be shutoff valves in each compartment.”

  “Let’s split up,” X said.

  The teams separated, Steve and General Forge following X. Smoke choked the passages on the way to the mechanical room, making it almost impossible to see even with the lights.

  X found the door and checked the handle with his glove. It was warm to the touch, but that was normal.

  He cracked the door and, when no fire billowed out, opened it and stepped inside. So far, the mechanical room was clear of fire. Steve rushed over to a valve, pulled a wrench from his belt, and began twisting it.

  “Got it,” he huffed.

  “Okay, let’s keep moving,” X said. Back in the passage, his radio crackled.

  “All the lines are off,” Slayer confirmed. “Now we can start putting out fires.”

  They left the mechanical room and set off back into the hallway.

  As Forge turned the corner, the passage vibrated. A split second later, a deep explosion thumped through the center of the rig.

  “What was that?” he cried.

  “Must have been a room that filled with gas and somebody made a spark,” Steve said.

  Screams in the distance told X what had happened. One of the other crews had been in the blast radius.

  X ran down the passage, his light bobbing in the thin smoke. They got to the next hatch, opened it, and were hit by a draft of superheated air.

  Down the hallway, flames burned and bodies lay sprawled, some still on fire.

  X went toward them. A hand yanked him back. When Forge pulled him into the passage, he saw why.

  A propane tank hissed, sending flames dancing across the overhead and passage walls. Several armored figures broke through the cloud of smoke. One of them was Bromista, his arm around Slayer, who was limping.

  “It’s going to blow!” Slayer yelled. “Close the hatch!”

  More Barracudas followed, some of them carrying the injured.

  When most of them were through, General Forge closed the hatch.

  “What are you doing!” X screamed. “We have to save them!”

  “No.” Forge shook his head. “King Xavier, unless you want to end up like my comrades, we need to go now. This is no longer a rescue mission.”

  A scream came from the other side of the hatch, and someone pounded on it.

  “help!” they shouted.

  “We have to open it!” X yelled.

  General Forge stepped in front of him, his goggles inches away from X.

  “We need you, King Xavier,” he said gravely. “We need you alive. You open that hatch, and we’re dead—all of us. We have to suffocate those flames.”

  The smoke swirled around them as the Barracudas carried the injured away, but X stood his ground with Steve and the general.

  “This is what Rhino would have done, too,” Forge said. “He died saving you, and I will, too, if that’s what it takes. You want me to go in there, I will, but you get out of here now!”

  “I’ll help them,” Steve said. “Give me your fire jackets.”

  The general and X both looked at the weaponsmith.

  “Do it now!” Steve shouted.

  X and Forge shucked off their fire jackets and handed them to Steve, who tied them around himself.

  “Now, get back!” he yelled.

  Steve turned and waved at them. “go now!”

  They turned the corner, losing sight of him, but the screams grew louder when he opened the hatch.

  X stopped halfway down the next passage, sweat dripping off his body. He took in a breath from his mask and stared back into the smoke haze.

  Shouting, then cries of pain, then footsteps.

  A moment later, a figure broke through the smoke. It was Steve, carrying an injured man. X and Forge ran over as the two collapsed on the deck.

  Steve pulled off the two extra fire jackets, both badly singed, and handed them back to X and Forge.

  “Put them back on,” he said. “You might need them yet.”

  The seventy-year-old got to his feet, grunting, and nodded at X.

  “Come on, gentlemen,” he said. “We still have fires to put out.”

  Thirteen

  The distant explosions had brought a smile to Magnolia’s face when she first heard them. Sofia’s voice over the comms made that smile wider yet.

  The other divers had come to the rescue.

  Magnolia and Edgar were on their way to meet them. In tow was the teenager, bound with the same chains he had used on the Hell Divers. The tables had turned. He was now their prisoner, and he was not happy about it.

  The chains clanked as they led him away from the canal, toward the field of craters. He kept trying to pull away, but Edgar had a good grip on the chains.

  “Stop,” he said. “Or I’ll knock you out and carry you.”

  The kid didn’t seem to understand a word of it, and he yanked on the chains again.

  Edgar yanked back and raised a fist.

  This the kid seemed to understand, and the beaked helmet looked down in an attitude of submission.

  A crackling sounded over the comms, followed by the smooth voice of a man who had saved her life once already.

  “Commander Katib, where the hell are you?” Kade asked.

  “We’re about ten minutes out,” Magnolia said. “If you’re attacked, get in the air. Don’t wait for us.”

  “Copy that, but we got . . . is miss
ing . . . and . . . not conscious . . .”

  Loud static blotted out the rest.

  “Kade,” Magnolia said, stopping. “Kade, come again.”

  This time, she heard the message loud and clear. Jo-Jo was missing, and Ada was unconscious and paralyzed.

  “I’ll explain when you get here,” Kade said.

  Magnolia fell into a run, and Edgar pulled on the youngster, who tripped, regained his balance, and ran after them.

  The trio worked their way through a maze of containers. A light rain fell, turning the ground into a mixture of mud and grit.

  As they advanced, Magnolia checked the radiation numbers. They were about the same as before, maybe a bit higher. The readings reminded her that she likely had been exposed to a dose significant enough to make her sick, or perhaps worse.

  She would deal with that when the time came, but right now she had to get Ada to a doctor and find Jo-Jo.

  An electronic shriek pierced the darkness as they neared the crater.

  The kid jerked hard on the chains, nearly pulling Edgar to the ground.

  “Son of a bitch,” Edgar said. He yanked back, knocking the kid off his feet and on his back with a thud.

  Magnolia bent down and helped him up. She wasn’t sure why, but she had empathy for the kid, and hurting him wasn’t going to help anything.

  She turned to the skyline, where electronic wails resonated through the skeletal buildings. Zooming in with her rifle scope, she glassed the ruins. Leathery, hairless flesh flapped past the sights. She was looking at the frayed wings of a male Siren.

  “Shit. We’re about to have more problems,” she muttered.

  The kid spoke rapidly in an unknown language. He probably couldn’t see the beasts, but like Magnolia, he knew that electronic-sounding oscillation of their voices and had learned to associate it with terror.

  “Move it,” Magnolia said.

  She stayed next to the kid and ran after Edgar. They were out in the open now, away from the shipping containers, and nearing a flat stretch that they had to cross to get to the other divers.

  Magnolia eyed the sky as she ran. The abominations of nature had changed course and were now flapping toward the canal.

  “They know we’re here,” she said.