Hell divers x fallout, p.3
Hell Divers X: Fallout, page 3
No matter how much X thought about what had happened, he still couldn’t quite wrap his head around it. These were sky people they had rescued from the machines. What could lead someone to such an evil act against the very people who had saved his life?
The answer was simple, though. Atrocities throughout history had the same cause: greed and fear.
The sky people from Tanzania had survived unfathomable horrors at the machine camp. They were rescued and brought to a paradise they would do anything to keep. And that meant Michael and everyone else back at the islands were in danger too.
But this wasn’t over. Rolo hadn’t won.
Not with breath still in the king’s lungs, and blood pumping through his body. X would return to the islands and make Rolo, Charmer, and anyone else who had supported them pay with their lives.
He blinked the sleep from his eyes and went to General Forge, talking in Spanish with Captain Two Skulls across the room.
“Give me some good news,” X said.
Captain Two Skulls and General Forge exchanged a look.
“What?” X asked. “You can’t fix the ship?”
Forge looked uncertain. “Sir, we have a list of parts, and we think we can fix the ship, but . . .”
“But what?”
X looked to Two Skulls.
“What the fuck aren’t you telling me?” asked the king.
“Sir, we don’t have the fuel to get back to the Vanguard Islands,” Forge said.
“You’re just telling me this now?”
“There was a leak. We lost more on the way here.”
“So we find more, or we find a new ship,” X said. “Shit, I’ll swim if I have to.”
Forge and Two Skulls both looked at him but said nothing.
He knew how crazy he sounded.
These two men had just lost most of their troops, but neither of them was acting like a damned child. Hell, X wouldn’t be surprised if they were both silently questioning his leadership. After all, it was his actions that had given Rolo the opportunity to nearly destroy them.
“I’m sorry,” X said. “Let’s get an advance team together to start looking for the parts. We’ll find the fuel.”
“I volunteer to lead the salvage mission.”
X turned toward the voice of Magnolia.
She was dressed in her Hell Diver suit and armor, with her helmet tucked under one arm. Her electric eyes seemed to flash as she looked at X.
He could say no, but perhaps getting her off the ship was a good thing.
Or perhaps the wastes will take her, too . . .
“Captain Two Skulls, keep me updated on the status of the ship,” X said. “General Forge, send out your best scouts to see what’s out there and what kind of parts we can find. Mags, you come with me.”
He left the CIC and headed belowdecks, straight to the sickbay.
It wasn’t a complete shock to see Lieutenant Slayer up from his bed and talking with Sergeant Blackburn. The two remaining Barracudas were still on the mend from their near-death battle a week ago with the beast living on the submarine, but the color had finally returned to their faces.
Blackburn had his blond hair slicked back, and Slayer had a freshly shaved head.
“Attention,” someone said.
The medical staff and both Barracudas saluted X.
“As you were,” X said. “You should be resting, gentlemen.”
Slayer heaved a sigh. “After what happened, hard to rest, sir.”
“I understand. That’s why I’m here. I need you and Sergeant Blackburn to make sure you’re doing everything you can to get better.”
X glanced at Magnolia, then back to the soldiers.
“We’re going to need every able body for what comes next,” he said.
“We’ll be ready to fight,” Slayer said.
Blackburn gave a stern nod.
“Good, but for now keep resting,” X said. “That’s an order.”
He pressed on with Magnolia into the medical bay until they located Corporal Valeria. She had a clipboard like the one the Cazador scribe Imulah used, and was reading a chart.
“Corporal,” X said.
She turned and smiled. “Ah, King Xavier, you come for Miles, yes?” she said in her heavily accented voice.
She put the clipboard back on a slot on the bulkhead and walked over to a secure hatch. It opened to a small room with a prison cell on one side, occupied by Jo-Jo. The monkey lay curled up on the deck, her injured arm wrapped in a bandage.
Miles slept in a cage facing the barred-off cell, or so X thought. The dog lifted his nose and sniffed the air. He tried to get up, struggled.
X went over and bent down in front of the cage. “It’s okay, boy.”
“His ACL need time for recovery. Otherwise, he berry good,” said Valeria.
“And Jo-Jo?” X asked.
“She makes a remarkable recovery so far, King Xavier.” Valeria walked over to the cell. “She ready when you need her.”
“How about now?”
Valeria turned to X. “Now?”
“We need her for a mission.”
Jo-Jo stirred in the cell, and the oval black eyes looked up. She let out a grunt, then got up with her front knuckles.
Miles wagged his tail and licked at the metal gate of his cage.
“Can I let him out?” X asked.
“Sí, sí,” Valeria said.
X unlocked the gate, and Miles nudged up against him. After a quick hug, the husky went over to Jo-Jo, who reached out her paw.
Magnolia cleared her throat. “Sir, can I ask you why I’m here . . .”
“Meet me in the cargo hold and gather the other Hell Divers,” X said.
He kept his eyes on the animals as Magnolia left.
Jo-Jo was three times the size she had been when Ada found her in the wastes. The thought hurt his heart with a reminder of yet another person dear to him that he had lost over the years.
And that was why X could never give up. None of those deaths should be in vain.
“Get Jo-Jo ready to head outside, just in case,” X said to Valeria.
“And Miles?”
“He stays put.”
X bent down to scratch his dog behind the ears. He hated doing it, but Miles needed to heal, and right now X needed to lead without worrying about his best friend getting hurt while following him around the ship.
The king stood and made his way through the medical bay. He gave Slayer and Blackburn a wide berth so they didn’t need to salute. It didn’t matter—the men got up and came to attention.
“Rest,” X growled.
He didn’t stop until he got to the cargo hold where the Hell Divers had stored their gear from Brisbane. The APC was right where they had left it, decontaminated from radiation and the toxic jungle they had driven through.
A single technician worked on the vehicle. Hell Divers Edgar Cervantes, Jorge “Gran Jefe” Mata, and Sofia Walters were helping. Tia was here too, talking to Magnolia. This was all that remained of the Hell Divers now that they had lost Arlo and Kade.
X stood in the entry hatch for a minute, again feeling the overwhelming sense of loss. It struck him how many times he had stood in the launch bay of the airship Vanguard when it was the Hive, staring at the lockers once occupied by men and women he had known and loved.
“Gather round,” X called out.
The unsuspecting divers rushed over to stand stiffly in front of X. His gaze swept over them. Edgar seemed collected, and Sofia too, but Tia was a mess after losing Kade. Magnolia also seemed to be holding on by a thread after getting news about Rodger’s likely death.
But now was not the time to mourn or mope. He needed them functioning at 100 percent.
“I won’t lie to you,” X said. “Things are critical on this ship. Without parts, we are stranded.”
“Stranded?” Tia asked.
“For now, but I’m confident we will find the parts we need to be seaworthy.” He paced a few steps, then stopped. “We have suffered heavy losses and now face a new enemy back at home. An enemy who tried to kill us and who wants to take what is ours, purely out of personal greed.”
Gran Jefe hawked and spat on the deck. “I flay that bug-eyed captain myself, Your Majesty. Skin him, make him into a drum, then beat him every day.”
X couldn’t keep back a smile. “Gracias, Gran Jefe, but I’ll be doing the flaying when the time comes.”
The big Cazador bowed slightly.
X looked through the portholes across the hold, out over Kangaroo Island. Lots of monsters out there, from the cyclopes and dingoes to the bat-like human monsters, and Tasmanian devils the size of grizzly bears. Plenty of things eager to kill more people, but someone had to get those parts.
X looked to Magnolia.
“Commander Katib, once the Cazador scouts return, I am sending out three fire teams on a scavenging mission, and I want you to go with them, using this APC.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Jorge, you will go with her,” X said.
Gran Jefe walked over, tilting his head back and raising his pierced nostrils in pride.
“Things look very bad for us, King Xavier, but we will still win,” he said. “You know why?”
X tilted his head, curious.
“Porque el gordo Rolo think everybody dead now.” Gran Jefe grinned. “We are fantasmas, Your Majesty—ghosts—and they don’t see us until too late.”
* * * * *
Michael was led up the stairs of the capitol rig, where he had lived in relative harmony for the past two years.
Now he was a prisoner.
Two mask-wearing sky people from Tanzania stood with machine guns in the passage ahead. At one point, Michael had been their savior from the machines at the prison camp.
But these people were not returning the courtesy. They were not his saviors but his captors.
They said nothing as they marched Michael into a stairwell and up toward the top of the rig. The sheer ingratitude made him so mad he wanted to break out of the cuffs secured over his robotic hand and his flesh-and-blood hand. He could maybe do that and maybe kill both these men. But what then?
Charmer had his wife and son and the support of the Wave Runners. Their leader, Sergeant Jamal, had already killed Ton and possibly Lieutenant Wynn and the other militia soldiers. Michael still wasn’t sure. What he did know was that Charmer had been planning all this for quite some time, including framing Michael for the deaths of Oliver and his son, Nez.
The evidence was shoddy, with eyewitnesses claiming they saw someone with a robotic arm. They had established a motive for Michael to kill Oliver due to their multiple confrontations over time.
But this was the Vanguard Islands, where justice was once dispensed inside the Sky Arena. Michael knew he was lucky even to be getting a trial.
For now, the only thing he could do was wait for King Xavier to return, and hope that the violence would be swift and limited to Charmer and Rolo.
The two guards took Michael to the top of the stairs. One of them then opened a doorway to the sun-swept rooftop.
Michael squinted and brought up his bound hands to shield his eyes.
“Go,” one of the guards said.
Stepping out onto the rooftop, Michael heard shouting.
Not shouting . . .
Chants.
“¡Combate! ¡Combate! ¡Combate!”
As his eyes adjusted to the bright sun, Michael saw that the guards were leading him to the source of those chants: the Sky Arena, now packed with people.
Was he getting a trial by combat after all?
One of the guards shoved Michael, knocking him to the dirt. He quickly recovered, pushing himself up to face the soldier.
“Big man with a gun,” Michael said. “Pretty courageous of you to hit me.”
“Don’t talk to me about courage. You killed a man and a boy in their sleep, you piece of Siren scat.”
The man lifted his face shield to look in Michael’s eyes.
“I would never do that,” Michael said. “I would never kill—”
The man punched him in the gut, dropping him to his knees.
“John,” said the other guard.
Gasping for air, Michael glared up at John, who cocked his fist for another punch.
The other guard grabbed his wrist.
“You’re a liar,” John said.
Michael’s long hair blew in a gust of wind as John finally stepped back. The other guard, who had yet to lift his mask, bent down to help Michael up.
“Don’t touch me!” Michael snarled.
The guard backed away as Michael pushed himself up to his feet. Still catching his breath, he followed the two men into the Sky Arena. They entered a gate at the top level, with a view of the sunken amphitheater.
Hundreds of people filled the stands—Cazadores, sky people, refugees from bunkers like the one in Rio de Janeiro.
Michael scanned the crowds for people he recognized. He saw several men and women he had grown up with. But their eyes weren’t full of pity or sadness when they saw him with the guards.
They glared at him.
It struck Michael that if his own people thought he was guilty, he was as good as dead.
The soldiers guided Michael to a partially enclosed sky box, where Charmer stood with a white eye patch. A bright-white tunic covered his wiry frame.
“I should have known you’d be here, Carl,” Michael said.
“Ah, Michael,” Charmer said. “Glad you could join us. Make yourself comfortable . . . oh, and please refer to me as sir, or Charmer. Carl is my old name. I’m a different man now.”
He gestured toward a plush seat that Sofia and the other brides of el Pulpo had sat on during the gladiator battles below.
Michael looked at Charmer’s outstretched arm and fantasized about ripping it off and beating him to death with his own limb.
“Your wife and son are nearby,” Charmer said with a cheery smile. “If you cooperate, I’ll let you see them.”
Anger boiled up, but he suppressed it the best he could.
The guards stood on both sides of the sky box. Another guard pulled back purple velvet drapes while Charmer took a drink of wine from a glass.
Charmer grabbed a megaphone and stepped out in front of the metal rail fashioned with welded links of interconnected octopuses.
“Attention, friends of the Vanguard Islands!” Charmer boomed.
All the faces throughout the arena looked up at the booth.
“Today, we gather for two reasons, but I won’t keep you waiting,” Charmer said.
He motioned for Michael to join him in front of the rail.
“As you may have heard, Michael Everhart stands accused of a heinous crime,” Charmer said. “Many of you know Michael as a Hell Diver, chief engineer, and council member.”
Cries and shouts erupted around the arena.
“He’s innocent!” someone yelled.
“He saved you all!” screamed another.
Charmer held up a hand.
“You are right; he did save us,” he said, turning slightly to Michael before looking out over the crowd. “But Michael also lied to us. To all of us.”
The crowd went quiet.
“Michael lied about something very important: a secret food source.”
More shouts came from the crowd, and again Charmer silenced them.
“Yes, that’s right. Michael and a group of his comrades hid a source of food discovered by King Xavier on the supercarrier Immortal,” he continued. “We believe they meant to use it for their own—”
“He lies!” Michael shouted.
Charmer lowered the megaphone, his smile gone.
“You will have your time to speak,” he growled. “Now, step back.”
Michael remained where he was, his chest heaving. John tried to grab him, but Michael stepped out of his reach as a scribe entered the booth with a clipboard.
Not just any scribe. It was Imulah.
He looked at Michael but said nothing, then handed the clipboard to Charmer.
“Thank you, Imulah,” Charmer said. He raised the megaphone again. “Unlike Michael, I am going to be fully transparent with you all,” he said. “We have documented his arguments and fights with Oliver before his death, and have eyewitness accounts that include several people who saw a man with this . . .”
Charmer gestured toward Michael’s robotic arm.
“We know that Michael had a motive to kill Oliver, but we believe the death of his son was an accident,” he said. “We believe Nez woke up and was trying to protect his father and that is why he was killed.”
Michael felt his heart thump. “I would never do that!” he shouted.
Both guards grabbed him, pulling him back as he screamed. The entire stadium went silent during his outburst.
“I would never kill a kid!” he shouted. “I’ve been framed, set up!”
He stared out over the faces of Cazadores and sky people, realization setting in. This was just another one of Charmer’s tricks. Part of his plan. He wanted Michael to do this, to look crazy.
Another guard rushed inside and moved over to whisper something to Charmer. Charmer bent down, listened, then nodded. He raised the megaphone again.
“I apologize for this dramatic scene,” Charmer said. “But now I’m proud and excited to announce that the main event of today has arrived. Take a look!”
He pointed south. All eyes followed his finger into the sky.
Michael squirmed in the grip of the guards, trying to make out whatever Charmer was gesturing toward. Squinting, he made out a beetle-shaped hulk as, for a moment, it eclipsed the sun.
The airship Vanguard floated across a clear blue sky.
Michael felt his heart thump again, but this time not from fear. If the airship was here, then the Immortal wasn’t far. And neither was King Xavier.
