Hell Divers Series | Book 8 | King of the Wastes

by Smith, Nicholas Sansbury

  “Where are we?” Michael asked.

  “Saba, southeast of the Virgin Islands and in the northern part of the Leeward Islands.”

  Michael didn’t need to look at a map. Those island chains, all near the Vanguard Islands, had been picked over from years of Cazador raids.

  As Raven’s Claw sailed closer, Michael felt a chill at the sight of the supercarrier, tucked away in Cove Bay at Saba Island, where it had weathered the hurricane.

  X said to Forge, “General, soon I will suggest to the council to continue the mission to develop an outpost at the Panama Canal. It will get us access to the Pacific and down the western coast of South America. “I want you to start preparing your troops to thin out the mutant beasts that have nested there.”

  “Sí, King Xavier,” Forge replied at once.

  “We have the weapons, the vehicles, and a nuclear-powered ship to get us there,” X said. “The ITC Ranger brought the defectors to destroy us. Now they lie rusting on the sea bottom, and their ship will help save us.”

  “She needs some paint and a new name,” Rodger said.

  “You’re in charge of that, Rodger,” X said with a grin.

  He turned to Michael, the grin already gone. “Chief Engineer Everhart, I want you to get the supercarrier seaworthy as soon as possible. I also want Ocean Bull and Octopus ready to go with Raven’s Claw.”

  “Understood.”

  X looked to Steve next. “We need to make sure every Cazador soldier has a blade worthy of a fight in the wastes to back up his rifle.” He held up his stump. “And I need something for this.”

  “I think I can come up with something,” Steve replied.

  “Good, what’s important now is that we all come together, to face our future as one.”

  “People are already coming together like I’ve never seen,” Steve said. “Old enemies are new friends.”

  “Let’s hope it stays that way,” X said. He looked at everyone in turn, and then nodded. “Okay, let’s get to work.”

  Michael left the command center with Rodger, stopping in a barrack to put on a radiation suit and helmet. Then he headed to the bow, where Lieutenant Wynn had two squads of militia soldiers and Cazadores. Slayer was there with the Barracudas.

  The two squads had trained together for the past year and were assimilating better than Michael had hoped.

  He grinned. A shared threat had a way of doing that.

  He climbed into a boat with Rodger, Steve, and five technicians and engineers. The boat putted away from Raven’s Claw, into the mist.

  Twenty minutes later, they had a stern view of the mammoth supercarrier. The aft loading elevator was already lowered to the second deck, just above the waterline. The smaller Cazador boats pulled up, unloading soldiers onto the deck.

  “Stay close,” said Lieutenant Wynn.

  Michael followed the team off the boat and onto the deck. They crossed a cargo hold, toward an open hatch. Flashlight beams flicked on.

  There was an eerie calm inside—only the tap of boots and a clanking deep in the hull.

  Wynn, two militia soldiers, and a pair of Cazador soldiers stayed with them as they advanced, but Michael still felt uneasy.

  He kept a hand close to the revolver he carried on his duty belt.

  “This place creeps me out,” Rodger said.

  “It’s safe,” Lieutenant Wynn said. “We scoured these passages for days after we first boarded—cleared out the remaining cyborgs, disabled the weapons systems.”

  “What’s left?” Steve asked.

  “Some turrets, fifty-cal machine guns, but we stripped the ammo,” Wynn said. “The main weapons were the defectors and drones.”

  Michael had heard the clanging and still worried that something lurked deep in the ship. They took a ladder down to the third and fourth decks, stopping on each for life scans, which came back negative.

  Finally, they got to the lowest deck, the engine room, deep below the water line. The hatch at the bottom of the landing was closed. Wynn gave Bromista a nod.

  Wynn kept his laser rifle shouldered, looking as anxious as Michael felt. Even Steve, who was no man of war, gripped a six-pound sledgehammer like a battle-axe.

  Bromista opened the hatch, and they slipped into the vast engine compartment. It reminded Michael of the Hive. But this was many times larger and more advanced than any he had ever seen.

  Using Cricket, Michael located the control units for the carrier’s nuclear reactors. He sat at one of the operation terminals—a touchscreen with a keyboard. Ducking down, he found the interface, then connected a cord between the panel and Cricket. With a tap of the button, he was in.

  “Okay, showtime,” Michael said.

  The operation screen flickered, and Steve and Rodger hovered behind him, reading the data scrolling up the screen.

  “Looks like the main system is online, but the life-support systems are all offline,” Michael said. “Air filtration, water-distilling units, mess, barracks—all down.”

  “I guess the machines didn’t need them,” Rodger said.

  “Can you get them back on?” Lieutenant Wynn asked.

  “We’re about to find out,” Michael said.

  He walked the room, holding up Cricket to scan equipment that even he was unfamiliar with. He finally got to a dashboard with banks of monitors and gauges.

  “I think this is it,” Michael said. He spoke into the comm mike. “King Xavier, we’re in the control room, about to try and power up all systems.”

  “Copy that,” X said. “Watch your six.”

  Using Cricket, Michael activated the systems.

  All the monitors in the engineering bay glowed to life, spreading a greenish glow over the men. The Cazador soldiers looked around, uneasy. They were superstitious about this carrier and the “metal gods.”

  “We’re in,” Michael said.

  A male AI voice replied. “Greetings, user,” it said. “My name is Tyron.”

  “Why is that name familiar?” Rodger asked.

  Michael knew it, too, from somewhere.

  “Please enter your access code,” said the AI.

  “Well, shit,” Michael said. “We might need Timothy for this part.”

  “Please enter the access code,” Tyron entreated.

  Michael pushed the comm link back to his mouth.

  “King Xavier, we’ve got a problem. There’s a sentient AI named Tyron that requires an access code to turn on the rest of the power and the life-support systems,” he said.

  “Don’t do anything until I get there,” X said.

  By the time X arrived, Michael had brought up Timothy’s hologram through Cricket. The AI created a second glow in the room.

  X walked inside with Ton, Victor, and Sergeant Slayer. He stepped in front of them.

  “My name is Xavier Rodriguez, and this is Timothy Pepper,” he said. “Who are we communicating with?”

  “Tyron,” said the AI. “Tyron Red.”

  Timothy suddenly turned to X and then to Michael, his dark eyes widening. “Shut the power off, Chief Everhart,” he said.

  “Wait, please don’t—” Tyron started to say.

  Sensing something amiss, Michael powered down immediately.

  The monitors switched off, leaving only the blue glow of Timothy’s hologram.

  “What the hell,” X said.

  “Who’s Tyron Red?” Michael asked Timothy.

  “Yeah, why’s that sound familiar?” X asked.

  “Tyron Red was the founder of ITC and, depending on how you view history, the man who destroyed humanity,” said the AI.

  X and Michael exchanged a glance.

  “So let me get this straight,” X said. “His AI is in control of this ship?”

  “Yes, well . . . kind of.” Timothy paced a few steps, pu
tting a finger on his clean-shaven jawline. “Clearly, Tyron—however much of him is left—can’t do much, if anything.”

  “Can we purge this asshole from the hard drive or whatever the hell he’s living inside?” Steve asked.

  “Possibly. Let me check something.” Timothy’s image flickered several times before solidifying a few seconds later.

  “Interesting,” he said. “It seems the virus we uploaded in Tanzania wiped out a shell that makes up this AI.” Timothy raised a brow. “I believe he is like me, in a way—more like his original, human self but without memories—though it’s hard to be sure.”

  Michael stepped back from the consoles. “Maybe we should have destroyed the ship after all,” he whispered.

  “Yeah,” Rodger agreed.

  “If Tyron were dangerous, he would already have attacked us,” Timothy said. “However, there is the possibility that he has been waiting to do so.”

  X seemed to think on this a while. After a minute of silence, he said, “Bring up Raven’s Claw and aim everything we have at the supercarrier. We’ll try and purge the AI first, but if we fail, we put this supercarrier on the bottom. Forever.”

  Michael knew that this vessel could determine the life or death of the islands, but he was conflicted.

  “I want everyone off this ship now except Timothy and a security team under Lieutenant Wynn,” X said. “Pepper, I’m counting on you to purge Tyron.”

  Timothy drew a deep breath, much as a human would.

  “I will do my best, sir,” he said. “However, if I fail or sense a threat, do not hesitate to eliminate me as well.”

  Michael handed Cricket to Wynn.

  “You’ll need this,” he said. “Good luck, Lieutenant.”

  * * * * *

  Ada couldn’t see, but she could hear voices. They sounded right there with her, but distant at the same time.

  And she heard the noise of monsters. Hard little feet scuttled over her, and the clicking of mandibles filled her ears.

  Nothing worked when she tried to move. Not even her lips. She couldn’t even make a sound.

  But she was breathing. She sucked in the filtered air—the plastic-like scent told her she was still wearing a helmet.

  A blue glow flashed overhead, giving a fleeting glimpse of her surroundings—an underground lair with walls of rock and soil. An open roof gave her a view of a vertical shaft carved out of the dirt.

  Red vines cascaded down like a frozen waterfall from the surface far above. Lightning flashed, illuminating the shaft and holes carved into the walls, as well as the creatures inside the tunnels. Dozens of red eyes stared down at her in the blue glow.

  Ada remembered everything then: the fire creature, the chitinous monsters, the bunker, being captured.

  It all came crashing back over her in a wave of panic.

  Able to move only her eyes, she flitted them back and forth. She was trapped inside a place similar to the first graveyard, with remains of several species in varying stages of decay.

  In the sporadic glow of the lightning, she saw something different about these remains. To her right, a Siren lay in a fetal position, the hairless flesh shriveled but mostly intact. Only a few gashes marred its muscular torso.

  But for the twisted mouth, it might have looked innocent as a baby. But the horrifying wormy lips were stretched into a crooked grin. A rotting tongue hung between the jagged teeth lining its jawless mouth.

  She stared for a moment, thinking that she saw the tongue move.

  In the next flash of lightning, she saw that the tongue was moving. Only this wasn’t a tongue.

  The thin lips opened, and out climbed a baby crab on black legs. The lips peeled back farther as more claws ripped through the flesh. Two miniature crabs popped out of the ears, and another split open a nostril.

  Ada stared in horror as dozens of the shelled creatures broke out of every visible orifice.

  They crawled over the skull for a few seconds, tearing off and scarfing down putrid flesh before moving down the body.

  Within minutes, they had consumed most of the carcass.

  Distant voices called out again. This time, it sounded as if they were calling for her. She could swear she heard someone saying, “Ada? Ada, are you there?”

  I’m here! I’m here, come help me!

  A brilliant flash of lightning turned the chamber to daylight, and she could see something covering her armor.

  The glow faded, and again she lay in darkness.

  In the next lightning flash, she saw gooey yellow lumps on her chest, arms, and legs.

  No, no, please God no.

  She was covered in the eggs, and soon they would hatch, just as they had inside the baby Siren.

  Ada willed her body to move, but it no longer answered to her. She was paralyzed, poisoned, or perhaps both.

  As she tried to squirm and twist, every nerve in her body ignited with pain so intense that darkness encroached and she lost consciousness.

  When she awoke, she could sense her body moving, but she couldn’t see anything. The darkness was impenetrable, and there was no lightning to provide sporadic clues about her surroundings.

  Perhaps that was a good thing. She remembered the crabs. Watching herself be consumed by the little monsters would be a bad way to go.

  Terror gripped her again as she bumped over rocks. She tried to look up at whoever had her in their grip.

  Was it a Hell Diver? Some unknown mutant beast?

  She didn’t hear the voices, but she did hear a familiar sound: the shuffling of paws, and the heavy panting that came from exertion.

  Jo-Jo! The monkey had come to her rescue.

  Hope flooded Ada. She tried to speak, but she still couldn’t form a single word.

  The next thing Ada knew, judging by the clank of her armor, she was being lugged into something metallic.

  A train car, she realized.

  She could hear Jo-Jo panting, squeaking in a low tone, trying to wake her.

  I can’t move, Jo-Jo!

  Ada wanted to scream, to pull the monkey close, but she couldn’t do anything. Frustration brought anger and more pain.

  The burning sensation passed from her neck to her face. Her body was trying to fight off some toxin or pathogen.

  She lay there in the dark, praying that it would pass and she would be able to get up and flee this place with Jo-Jo. To escape back to the surface, where the other Hell Divers were.

  It occurred to her then that her HUD was offline. She tried to look at her visor, but all was black.

  She wasn’t sure how much time passed before she saw the first light.

  Was it her comrades?

  The orange glow illuminated the train tunnel, and her heart sank. The divers used white beams. This was a fiery light.

  Jo-Jo whimpered and leaned down, her liquid black eyes reflecting the flickering glow. She grew frantic, trying to pull on Ada.

  Ada finally managed to form a word that Jo-Jo knew. “Run,” Ada croaked.

  But even with the fire approaching, the monkey stayed by her side.

  Voices called out—the same ones from before.

  “Ada, can you hear me?”

  The voice was familiar, stern . . . Could it really be?

  A bright white light replaced the orange glow. It dazzled her eyes. She woke again, but she wasn’t in the train. She was in a room under a bright overhead light.

  She tried to squint against the glare.

  “Ada, can you hear me?”

  This was a different voice, not familiar at first.

  “Yes,” she stammered. “Where . . . where am I?”

  “You’re safe,” said the stern voice from earlier.

  “King Xavier?”

  “Yes, I’m here with you, and you’re going to be okay.” />
  Ada sucked in a deep breath of relief as she realized she had awoken from the nightmare of her captivity.

  The dreams had seemed so real, though.

  “Where am I now?” she asked.

  “You’re at the Vanguard Islands,” X said. “You were in a coma but just woke up.”

  “Ada,” said the other male voice, “this is Dr. Stamos.”

  She blinked, her vision clearing to see a man in a biosuit. He leaned down and held a cold metal instrument against her chest.

  X was wearing one, too.

  “Why are you in those?” Ada asked.

  “Precaution,” said Dr. Stamos. “You were infected with an unknown contagion, but the toxicity levels have all dropped, and at this rate, I believe they’ll be gone by tomorrow.”

  “In other words, a full recovery,” X said.

  Panic struck again when she recalled the Siren’s head disgorging the tiny monsters and then being devoured by them.

  Ada squirmed in bed, trying to get a look at her body.

  “But the crabs, they . . .” she started to say.

  “What crabs?” X asked.

  She tried to sit up.

  “Easy,” X said. “You’ll have plenty of time to tell us what happened.”

  “I’m okay. I remember everything. I saw a creature I can’t explain . . . It was glowing like it was radioactive . . .”

  X and the doc exchanged a glance.

  “The eye sockets—oh, God, those burning eyes . . .” Ada mumbled.

  “She needs to rest,” Dr. Stamos whispered as if she weren’t here.

  X put a hand on her shoulder. “Get some sleep. I’ll come back soon.”

  “Wait,” Ada said.

  She looked around the room. “When can I see Jo-Jo?”

  Again X and Stamos exchanged a glance.

  Sitting up straighter, Ada said, “Where’s Jo-Jo?”

  X put his hand back on her shoulder. “Kid, Jo-Jo’s still in Panama. The divers had to leave without her after barely saving you.”

  Ada squirmed out of his grip and swung her legs off the bed.

  “Hey!” Dr. Stamos cried.

  He reached out, but Ada hopped off the bed, only to collapse the moment her feet touched the floor. She hit the cold tiles hard, banging her head painfully.