Hell Divers Series | Book 8 | King of the Wastes

by Smith, Nicholas Sansbury

  X boarded a boat and headed back to the capitol tower with his guards and Miles. He gripped the wheel, staring at the horizon, where the first glint of sunrise made a puddle of molten gold.

  As he putted into the marina below the rig, the Cazador war horn blared from the Sky Arena. Hell Divers weren’t the only ones training this morning.

  As the sun crested the horizon, the 260 warriors of the Vanguard army had gathered in the arena. A far cry from the two thousand soldiers who once made up the ranks when the Cazadores were at the height of their power, but it was still a sight to behold.

  X and Miles took the elevator to the top of the capitol tower and walked across the dirt and through the gardens to a railing overlooking the bowl-shaped Sky Arena.

  Down on the sand, General Forge, Lieutenant Wynn, and Sergeant Slayer were standing in front of the finest soldiers left on the islands, divided up into five companies of fifty.

  Sky people, Cazadores, and survivors from around the world stood in their ranks, ready to answer the call to save their home.

  It was easy to tell them apart. The sky people wore the blue-and-white fatigues from the ITC Ranger. On the breast of each was the V for the Vanguard Islands. The army of humankind.

  The Cazadores wore light armor, exposing muscular arms and legs tattooed with the creatures they worshipped.

  Miles watered a weed growing under the railing and then trotted over to X, lying down with a tired sigh. Ton and Victor stood behind him, their eyes in constant motion.

  Memories surfaced as X watched the soldiers drill. Here, before thousands of screaming Cazadores, he and Rodger had been chained together and pitted against the undefeated gladiator Hammerhead. And it was here that he had trained with Mac and Felipe, the two Cazador men killed by the skinwalkers in Aruba.

  He missed them both, and he missed Rhino, Wendig, and all the Cazadores who had given their lives for humanity, just as he missed all the fallen Hell Divers, too.

  Somehow, through all the fighting, X had lived when so many others died. But his gut told him his time was running out.

  But when his time came, so be it—he wasn’t going to shy away from what had to be done. He had to go to Panama and beyond, to find new supplies, fuel, munitions. Without them, the fragile peace would shatter over the lack of resources, and blood would again tinge the ocean red.

  X whistled for Miles to follow him, but the dog didn’t hurry after him.

  Concerned, he twisted to look for his best friend.

  Miles was lying in the dirt, head on his paws.

  “Can’t you hear me, boy?” X asked.

  He crouched down in front of Miles, who wagged his tail. The genetically modified dog was starting to lose his hearing, and cataracts had begun to cloud his eyes.

  Seeing him age broke X’s heart.

  He stood and patted his thigh.

  Miles got up, a little slower than usual, but then he trotted after X over to the private box where el Pulpo had once sat with his wives to watch the fights. From the booth, he took the stairs down to the tiered seating above the arena.

  Ton and Victor followed him to the stairs, but X told them with his eyes to spread out. The last thing he needed right now was to look like a man who needed bodyguards.

  Pulling the Marine Corps cap down tight against the stiff breeze, he took the stairs down to the arena. The tiered bowl seating was empty save for three scribes documenting the training.

  X didn’t plan on joining them today, or saying anything, either, but he found himself drawn to the field of combat. Miles jumped down with him.

  X took off his duty belt and set it next to his dog. Squatting down, he picked up the sand and let it sift through his fingers in his hand. He fell in and started jogging with the rest of the warriors. Running was never his strong suit. There was never much room on the Hive to train. His training had come mostly from fleeing Sirens or other beasts during dives.

  But X hadn’t fought anyone or anything for over a year now. He wasn’t overweight, but damn, he wasn’t in shape, either. Sweat quickly soaked his tattered T-shirt.

  After an hour of running, the horn blared for a two-minute break. X trotted over to Miles and took off his hat and shirt, setting them in the stands with the dog.

  Ton and Victor watched. And not just them. Everyone seemed interested in what the king was doing here. He had felt these gazes after dethroning el Pulpo, before he gained the Cazadores’ respect by killing Horn and leading them to a mostly peaceful transition.

  But today, their gazes seemed judgmental.

  Several of the younger Cazadores and even some of the sky people looked over at him as he struggled to do push-ups on one arm.

  By the time the next exercise routine was completed, he was breathing hard and felt a little ragged.

  Step it up, old man.

  After PT was over, the companies split into squads for hand-to-hand combat training. Racks of wooden swords, dulled axes, and headless spear shafts were wheeled out to the edge of the sand.

  X remembered the double-bitted battle-axe that Horn had tried to cut him into chum with back on Aruba. He picked a wooden training axe off the rack and hefted it, then twirled it in one hand before striding out into the dirt.

  All around him came the grunts and shouts of sparring men and women. They dripped sweat, and some were already wearing cuts and scrapes.

  Rarely did the fighting go too far, but X had seen more than one match escalate into something ugly.

  A new group wearing red jumpsuits entered, filing down a ramp across the arena. X grinned. It was the Hell Divers.

  Gran Jefe was first down to the sand. He ran out, pounding his chest. The Cazador soldiers pounded their chests back and clacked their teeth.

  The huge warrior was well liked and respected by all.

  “Gran Jefe,” X called out.

  The big man stopped and turned toward the king before starting over.

  “¿Cómo va, mi rey?” Gran Jefe said.

  “How goes it?” X asked. “We’ll see here in a bit.”

  The king held up the wooden axe blade to the big warrior.

  “I need to brush up on my skills,” X said.

  Gran Jefe looked uncertain at first, eyeing the wooden axe and then the king to see if he was serious. A grin crept across his broad, chubby face.

  “Con gusto . . . How you say . . . is my pleasure,” Gran Jefe said.

  As the other warriors understood what was happening, they gathered around.

  “Get back to work!” shouted Lieutenant Wynn. But even the sergeants were lingering.

  “It’s okay,” X said. “Let them watch.”

  As soon as he said it, he felt the creep of anxiety that preceded combat. He wasn’t anxious about being hurt, not physically.

  He was afraid of losing.

  Losing would be worse than not challenging anyone at all and just letting everyone think he was a weak old man.

  “King Xavier!” Magnolia called out.

  She stepped over to him, turning her back to the soldiers.

  “All due respect, sir, but what are you doing?” she said softly. “You don’t need to prove yourself, if that’s what this is.”

  “I’m not. I’m training. If I’m going to lead this mission, I need to be in top form.”

  Miles barked from the stands, tail wagging.

  “See? He says this is stupid, too,” Magnolia said.

  “No, he wants in on it,” X said.

  “He does look tasty,” Gran Jefe said.

  X narrowed his eyes at the massive Cazador.

  “I’m jokin’,” Gran Jefe said, holding up his hands. “Lo siento, mi rey.”

  “On second thought, beat his ass,” Magnolia murmured.

  “Yeah, or I will,” said a new voice.

  X didn’t nee
d to turn to see it was Arlo. “I can handle this,” he replied.

  The divers retreated into the stands while the soldiers formed a wide circle in the arena. Sergeant Slayer led his Barracuda team over to the area. The massive, muscular men were all quiet amid the stomping feet, pounding chests, clicking tongues, and clacking teeth of the other soldiers.

  Slayer nodded at X, as if to wish him luck.

  Gran Jefe took off his shirt, revealing an impressive belly. But X knew that the fat was only camouflage for the muscles beneath. This was a man who once killed an adult male Siren with nothing but his hands.

  Tattoos covered his skin: sea creatures, a bird, names of deceased relatives.

  A soldier tossed him a wooden cutlass.

  “X, you sure about this?” Arlo called out. “I’d be happy to take your place and knock el gordo in the dirt.”

  “You just mad because you got a little churro!” Gran Jefe said.

  Laughter erupted around them, and Arlo stepped out.

  Magnolia grabbed him by the neck and pulled him back.

  “Hey!” Arlo cried.

  X stepped forward and waited for Gran Jefe to tie his long hair back. Then the Cazador giant let out a war cry that could have frightened a bone beast, and charged toward X with the wooden cutlass in his left hand.

  “Wait!”

  The voice stopped Gran Jefe in midstride. A man came running across the dirt.

  It was Steve. He stopped, panting.

  “Let’s make this a fair fight, shall we?” he said, setting a crate down just outside the sand.

  Leaning down, he propped the green sunglasses up on his bare head and lifted out a prosthetic arm.

  But this wasn’t the same plastic kind X had used before, nor was it the contraption that once terminated in Rhino’s spearhead. This was light, strong metal, more like Michael’s robotic arm.

  “Here,” Steve said.

  He helped X fit it over his stump and fastened the leather straps.

  X held up the arm to examine it. The hand had fingers, but there were also contraptions attached on the hand as well as the metal wrist and arm.

  “You got multiple tools for when you’re out in the wastes,” Steve explained with a toothy grin. He pointed out a knife, screwdriver, and even arrows that could be fired. “These may be small, but they pack a punch.”

  X turned the arm over and saw the three metal arrows secured to the back.

  “¿Qué? We fight now?” Gran Jefe asked.

  Steve glanced over at him and then whispered to X, “Now’s a great time to try it out on this asshole . . . well, maybe not the arrows. Good luck, King Xavier.”

  “Thanks,” X said.

  They parted, and X rotated the arm a few times. It was lightweight and fit his stump comfortably. He picked up the training axe in his natural hand and motioned for Gran Jefe, who bolted toward him like a bull out of a pen.

  X smacked the blade against the oak cutlass with a clank. Gran Jefe grabbed him around the neck with his free hand and picked him up, bellowing with laughter.

  “Should have listened to pene pequeño!” he shouted.

  “Bite me, gnat nuts!” Arlo yelled back.

  Vision blurring, X kicked and squirmed in the powerful grip of the Cazador warrior turned Hell Diver. He finally managed to knee Gran Jefe in the gut, but that didn’t do much. It felt like kneeing a brick wall.

  He tried a bit lower, finally doing the trick.

  X fell like a sack of potatoes to the ground, gasping for air as Gran Jefe fell on his backside, groaning and holding his privates.

  The warriors around them went wild with laughter and excitement. There was barking, too, and as his breath returned, X saw Magnolia restraining Miles.

  He pushed himself up on his new arm.

  Gran Jefe got up about the same time, staggering, his face red with pain and rage.

  They both scrambled for their dropped weapons at the same moment, but X was faster. He struck at Gran Jefe’s ribs, narrowly missing.

  The big man pulled back fast.

  “You’re faster than you look,” X said.

  “And you’re slower than I thought!”

  Gran Jefe thrust the wooden point at the center of X’s chest, but X jumped back, avoiding a painful bruise.

  They circled for a minute, both of them catching their breath while the warriors shouted, encouraging them to crack open each other’s skulls and spill a little blood on the sand. The Sky Arena reverted once again to the primal place that turned men into animals.

  Again X moved first, slashing with the axe and catching Gran Jefe on the upper arm. He laughed at the thunk of wood on flesh, at the same time cocking his fist back and punching X in the face before he could move.

  The blow landed with a crack, the impact making him stagger back a few feet. Stars burst across his vision, and he felt warm blood drip down his face.

  X swiped with the hatchet again to keep Gran Jefe from rushing, which was exactly what X would have done and exactly what the big Cazador did.

  He ducked the wooden blade and shouldered X in the chest, knocking him to the dirt. X rolled to his right to avoid an elbow that Gran Jefe brought down with his full weight behind it.

  The giant man hit the dirt, and X rolled back with his hatchet, hitting Gran Jefe in the skull with a loud crack.

  Screams of excitement rang out.

  X felt the heady tonic of imminent victory as he got up, only to have a hand grip his foot and pull him to the ground.

  Gran Jefe climbed on top of him, pinning him down under his weight and then rising and punching him in the side of the head.

  X brought up his armored arm to deflect the onslaught of blows, but Gran Jefe landed several, including one that made the world spin. In a desperate move, X thrust his palm up, hitting Gran Jefe right under the chin.

  The giant Cazador’s head snapped back, and X seized his chance, pushing himself up but then falling back down on the sand. Gran Jefe got to his feet the same moment and wound up to throw a punch. X brought up his new arm and threw a metal fist at the same time Gran Jefe let his loose.

  The impacts landed simultaneously, and both men fell back to the ground. X hit the dirt hard on his back, banging his head.

  Fighting to stay conscious, he heard Miles barking, then some shouting. Shapes hovered over X. He lay there a moment, stunned, numb, and dazed. A hand gripped his shoulder.

  “King Xavier,” someone said. “King Xavier, are you with me?”

  “Yeah,” X mumbled. “Be right with you . . .”

  The words came out in a slur. He tried to get up but fell back down. Fur brushed up against him, and a wet tongue licked his face.

  X pushed at the ground and sat up with the help of someone who proved to be Magnolia.

  “I told you not to do this,” Magnolia said quietly. “Come on, I’ll help you up.”

  “No,” X growled.

  Wiping away the blood and sweat from his face, he saw hundreds of people staring at him and Gran Jefe, who was still on his back, trying to get up.

  X got on his knees and then used the prosthetic to get on his feet. He walked over to Gran Jefe, doing his best not to pass out, and reached down.

  The beast of a man glared up at him. The bloodlust in his eyes faded, and a grin crossed his face.

  Gran Jefe took his hand and X helped him up.

  “You fight good, King,” he said.

  “It’s a draw,” said General Forge. “No victor today.”

  The sound of fists pounding chests filled the arena as the warriors showed their respect.

  Gran Jefe seemed to accept the results, and to X’s surprise, the Cazador held X’s hand up in the air and yelled, “¡Inmortal!”

  X’s Spanish nickname filled the arena until a horn blared over the noise. Not the
training bugle—this was the naval bugle.

  X spat out blood and wiped his face again.

  Gran Jefe walked off, favoring his right leg.

  With an entourage of divers and his guards, X left the arena and climbed the stairs up the tower. Sailing toward the islands was a sight that brought every citizen out to gawk.

  The war fleet had arrived, and leading them was their new flagship, the supercarrier Immortal.

  “King Xavier, I forged something else for you,” said a gruff voice.

  He turned to Steve, who held out a hatchet.

  “The blade is our best Damascus steel, and the handle is made from tiger maple—very strong, Your Majesty.”

  X took the axe, turning it from side to side and noticing the gold “X” engraved on the head.

  “Thank you,” X replied. “It’s truly beautiful.”

  “And deadly. It will help you slay monsters where you are going.”

  “I will put it to good use.”

  “I have no doubt of that, King Xavier.”

  Steve left X to look over the fleet.

  Tomorrow, they were sailing back to the wastes, but tonight they would celebrate life.

  Twenty-One

  Magnolia tossed her head, flinging one green pigtail over her shoulder as she rowed the dinghy toward the dry docks under the trading post rig—far and away the busiest rig of the Vanguard Islands.

  Almost a week since the storm had ravaged this place, it was already starting to look the way it used to. Construction crews working around the clock to restore the market that served as the nucleus for the entire community.

  Tonight, there was also live mariachi music from the upper decks. It grew louder as they rowed closer to the marina below the rig.

  “You look beautiful,” Rodger said.

  “Thank you,” Magnolia replied. “You look pretty nice yourself.”

  He wore a white T-shirt that matched her dress. A seashell necklace hung from her neck, just above the cleavage that she so rarely displayed. But it was hot tonight, almost ninety degrees even with the sun down.