Hell Divers III_Deliverance Read online

  The differences in subtle details reminded Michael that this wasn’t home and never would be. Deliverance was simply a vehicle that he would use to find Xavier Rodriguez before returning to the Hive.

  He couldn’t quite believe that X was still alive down there, but he also had trouble believing they had escaped the Hilltop Bastion in a brand-new ship. Well, most of them had escaped. Not everyone had been so lucky.

  Commander Weaver and Pipe had lost their lives. And for what? To be used as pawns in Captain Jordan’s private agenda? Their blood was on Jordan’s hands, and Michael was going to make sure the son of a bitch paid for their deaths.

  But first, he needed to figure out how they were going to survive.

  He focused on the screens, taking in as much information as possible, but his expertise was with the systems of the Hive. Deliverance was much more sophisticated, a newer model than the ancient airship he had grown up on. And after a few hours of cleaning dust off the bridge, she shone as she must have coming off the assembly line two centuries ago.

  He tapped the holographic screen in front of him and pulled up the flight data. Unlike the Hive, Deliverance relied heavily on turbofans and thrusters. It also had a single nuclear engine, and no helium gas bladders at all, which explained the smaller size. Deliverance also came equipped with the first artificial intelligence that Michael had ever met. Timothy Pepper, manager of the Hilltop Bastion, had transferred his consciousness to the sentient program upon his death. That program was now running the airship.

  According to Timothy, this was Deliverance’s maiden journey. That didn’t inspire confidence. Michael, Layla, Magnolia, and Rodger had spent the past two days working on a host of problems ranging from mechanical to electrical issues. Every time they fixed something, another alarm would beep, indicating a new crisis. Currently, they all were off working in different compartments.

  “Timothy, can you give me a sitrep on our operating systems?” Michael asked.

  “One moment, Commander Everhart,” Timothy replied over the PA system.

  Michael continued scanning the data while he waited, unable to relax his tired muscles in the firm leather seat. For the first time in his life, he was actually sitting in something “new.”

  “The nuclear engine is operating at eighty-five percent, and the energy grid is at seventy-five percent,” Timothy said. “But several secondary systems are not functioning properly. Life-support systems are currently at fifty-one percent and dropping. Only three of six thrusters are working, and the turbofans are—”

  The oval hatches to the bridge whisked open, and footsteps clattered across the metal platform, stopping Timothy in midsentence. Michael twisted in his seat to see who it was. Layla, his lover and best friend, stood silhouetted in front of the open hatch. By her posture, he could tell something else was wrong.

  “There you are,” she said.

  The overhead lights flicked on, spreading a blanket of bright white over the room. Layla’s freckled face was covered in grease, and her braided blond hair was draped over one shoulder. Pulling her hands from the pockets of the baggy blue sweatshirt that hid her athletic body, she caught his gaze.

  He hurried over to meet her. “Hi,” he said. “What’s up?”

  She smiled warmly. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah.” He raised one brow. “You?”

  Her deep-brown eyes flitted to the metal platform as some thought or memory passed through her mind, casting a cloud over her normally sunny features. She met his gaze again and sighed. “I’m hanging in there.”

  Before he could reply, she wrapped her arms around him in a tight embrace. “I guess I just missed you.”

  “I’ve missed you, too,” he whispered back. Since leaving the Hilltop Bastion, neither of them had found much time to talk. When they weren’t working, they were sleeping, too exhausted to make love during the scant time they had alone together.

  “Timothy was just giving me a report on the secondary systems,” Michael said. “It’s not good.”

  They pulled apart as the AI’s translucent form solidified over the platform beside them. The computer-generated version of Timothy mimicked the real man, from the old-fashioned suit to the neatly trimmed hair and beard.

  “Would you like me to continue that report, sir?” the AI asked.

  “Not right now. How far are we from Commander Rodriguez’s coordinates? And how long will it take us to get there?”

  “I require additional parameters. At what speed do you intend to fly?”

  Michael rubbed the bridge of his nose. Timothy looked and sounded like a person, but he was still a machine. “Obviously, I want to get there as fast as possible,” he said, frustration bleeding into his voice.

  “Until the secondary systems are functioning properly and at least one more thruster is working, I do not recommend flying at full speed,” Timothy said.

  “At our current trajectory, then. How long until we get to X?”

  “It depends on weather conditions, Commander. The ship’s meteorological systems are not functioning at optimal levels, either, which—”

  “Just give me a number,” Michael said.

  “Sixty-two hours, fifteen minutes, and thirty-two seconds,” Timothy replied.

  Layla reached out and a put a hand on his back to rub his aching muscles. “We have time,” she said. “X has survived this long. A few days extra isn’t going to matter.”

  “But what if it does?” Michael asked, pulling away. He wasn’t trying to sound rude, but she simply didn’t understand. “We left him down there ten years ago. Can you imagine what that’s been like for him? He’s been all by himself the whole time.”

  Michael had thought of little else since learning that X was still alive. Days of wondering what he would be like now—or whether he would be able to forgive them.

  “We have to get to him as quickly as possible, Timothy,” Michael said. “To hell with optimum efficiencies. Full speed ahead.”

  “Understood, Commander.”

  Layla reached for Michael’s hand. “Listen, I get how you feel …”

  “Do you?”

  She dropped his hand and shook her head. “I’m trying to help, but you’re not doing a very good job of letting me.”

  “I’m doing my best to keep this mission going, Layla.”

  She looked back at him, her eyes filled with equal parts frustration and love. “I know. With Weaver gone, you’re in charge. You hold rank. That means Mags, Rodger, and I are counting on you to make the right decisions for all of us.”

  “Meaning what, exactly?”

  She sighed. “Meaning that tearing the ship apart just to reach X a few hours earlier is selfish. I’m sorry, but it’s true.”

  Michael drew in a quick breath, intending to defend his position, but suddenly the passionate fire that heated his veins only moments before eased, cooled by her soft touch. She was right. He entwined his fingers with hers. “I’m sorry. I won’t put our lives in jeopardy. I need to be patient. It’s just …”

  “You blame yourself for X.”

  “Yeah.”

  She kissed him, a light brush of her lips across his. “Michael, X being left behind is not your fault. It’s Jordan’s, and he will pay. Come on. Let’s go find the others and get something to eat.”

  “Timothy, belay my previous orders,” Michael said. “Keep us at a safe speed.”

  “Copy that, sir.”

  Michael followed Layla out of the bridge, his thoughts troubled. They were getting so close to the man who had been a second father to him, the man everyone had given up for dead. A few days ago, X had been nothing but a ghost, but in just over sixty hours, Michael could be reunited with the most legendary Hell Diver ever. What would they say to each other after all this time? Would X even recognize the man Michael had become? And, more troublingly, would Michael
recognize X after his long ordeal on the surface?

  The oval hatch whispered shut behind them. Lights along the floor illuminated the black metal bulkheads. Absent were the bright paintings and graffiti that covered the Hive. Michael was already missing the scenes that he used to look at every morning on his way to work. It was odd to walk through a passage that hardly anyone had ever used before.

  “This place gives me the creeps,” he said.

  “Don’t be a ninny, Tin,” Layla said, chuckling.

  “Really? You’re still calling me that?”

  “‘Tin’ or ‘ninny’?”

  A warning sensor cut the teasing short. “What’s that?” Michael asked.

  Timothy’s smooth voice replied a moment later, “A minor fluctuation in the electrical grid. It is now at seventy percent.”

  They continued walking down the corridor. It was going to take a long time to search each of the quarters for supplies, but for now his focus was on getting the ship working properly. They passed the hatches of officers’ quarters, then the berthing areas for the rest of the crew.

  “This place is freaking massive,” Layla said, “but it doesn’t look like it was designed to hold as large a population as the Hive. There aren’t enough cabins.”

  Michael pulled his shoulder-length hair back and looped a tie around it as he moved. “Seems that way.”

  “I guess it looks a lot bigger with just us four.”

  Timothy cleared his holographic throat.

  “Us five aboard,” Layla corrected herself.

  “Thank you,” replied Timothy’s voice over the PA system.

  Layla smiled. “Glad to hear you have a sense of humor.” She whispered over to Michael, “Still don’t trust him, though.”

  If Timothy heard her, he didn’t reply.

  Michael slowed when they reached the largest hatch on the ship. A sign that read weapons compartment crested the bulkhead. After losing most of their weapons and ammunition back at the Hilltop Bastion, this was the top room on his list of places to investigate. Michael tried to spin the wheel handle, but it wouldn’t budge.

  “Won’t open?” Layla asked.

  He shook his head and looked up at the closest of the black balls that served as Timothy’s “eyes.”

  “Can you unlock this for me?”

  “One moment,” Timothy replied. A second later, he reported, “I am sorry, Commander, but the hatch is protected by an encrypted password.”

  Michael scratched the stubble on his chin and looked at Layla. She shrugged again.

  “Can’t you override it?” Michael asked.

  “I do not have the appropriate permission,” Timothy said. “These quarters were locked by General Stan Lorn on March 15, 2075. Overriding the system could trigger a self-destruct mechanism.”

  “What the hell is he talking about?” Layla asked. “The ship will blow up if we try to open that door?”

  “We’ll figure it out later. For now, let’s leave it.” Michael pointed with his head, and they continued to the engine-room hatch. Layla spun the wheel handle, and Michael helped her swing open the hatch. A dimly lit spiral staircase extended several floors down. Hot air blasted his face as he followed Layla into the bowels of the ship.

  Halfway down, he wiped the beads of sweat off his forehead. The temperature continued to rise the deeper they descended. Near the bottom, he heard voices. Loud voices. An argument, from the sounds of it.

  “I told you we don’t have enough!” Magnolia shouted.

  “We do have enough, but barely,” Rodger replied. “You need to trust me!”

  Layla stopped at the open hatch below Michael and flung a glance up at him. He motioned for her to keep walking and followed her out into the engine compartment. Catwalks stretched across the second level, overlooking the generators and engines.

  “So you’re going to be the one to tell Commander Everhart?” Magnolia asked. “Because I sure as hell don’t want to break the news.”

  Magnolia and Rodger were standing near a wall of lockers, and she held what appeared to be a parachute. The hum of machinery filled the lull in their conversation.

  “What’s going on here?” Michael asked.

  Magnolia whirled to face him. She brushed a strand of blue hair over her ear and snorted, pointing at Rodger. He wiped his forehead, then looked in Michael’s direction. The tape holding the rims of his glasses together had come undone, and one of frames sagged over his eye. He pushed it back up, then used his sleeve to wipe the grease off his forehead. When he didn’t reply, Magnolia spoke for him.

  “We only have enough material to make two parachutes, but Rodger thinks we can extend it to three, maybe even four, which I say is dangerous as hell.”

  Confused, Michael looked back to Layla. “Why do we need parachutes?” he asked.

  She sank her hands in the pockets of her baggy sweatshirt and looked away. Michael turned back to Rodger, knowing he would get a straight answer out of the man—Rodger couldn’t lie to save his life.

  “Tell me why we need parachutes,” Michael asked again.

  Timothy’s hologram suddenly flickered in the space between Michael and Rodger. Everyone looked at the AI.

  “Commander Everhart, I do apologize for not telling you earlier, but it is not safe to land Deliverance at the coordinates Mr. Xavier transmitted, due to a massive electrical storm.”

  “And you didn’t tell me this because …?” Michael said.

  “I would have earlier, but you cut me off.”

  “I thought you said the weather sensors aren’t working properly.”

  There was a pause. “Is that a question?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then that is correct, Commander,” Timothy said. “The meteorological sensors are not working properly, but radar has picked up a storm covering one hundred square miles over the source of the last distress signal. In order to reach Mr. Xavier’s location, you will need to dive through the storm or proceed on foot for approximately fifty miles over radioactive territory.”

  THREE

  Four years earlier

  Xavier Rodriguez watched the storm from the safety of an ancient vehicle stranded at the edge of a cliff. Thunder rumbled—a constant din that shook the metal bulkheads around him. For hundreds of years, the armored truck had sat on the crest of a hill once covered in thick forest. The former occupants, a pair of soldiers, were now buried beside the deflated tires. X had decided to honor the old way of putting humans to rest by digging holes in the earth and covering them with dirt.

  He was safely back inside the rusty armored truck now, sitting behind the steering wheel, in a cracked leather seat, with Miles curled up next to him. The interior was surprisingly well preserved, considering its age. It had also provided one of the best finds ever: maps showing military bunkers across the United States. These weren’t ITC facilities, and he hoped they would have power cells, food, weapons, and perhaps even other people.

  Leaning forward, he examined the lettering on the bulkhead. It was some sort of model number. What little he knew about the Old World was from experiences like this. The vehicle was called a Stryker and had served as a mobile command center for troops during war. While the electrical and mechanical systems had stopped working long ago, one of the scopes still functioned, and he was confident he could get the radio back online.

  Through the thick glass window, he watched the bowl of the storm swirling over the flattened city. Yellow light churned deep inside the guts of the clouds.

  A scratching noise made him jump, and Miles looked up as a spider with purple legs skittered over the glass. It pecked at the bulletproof glass with its beaklike jaws and then looked at X with a dozen bulbous eyes.

  “It’s okay, boy,” X said. “Just a bug.”

  The creature pecked at the window again, then moved to the upper right
corner, where it attached itself to the glass with limbs tipped by suction cups.

  “Looks like we have a new friend,” X whispered.

  He didn’t mind, as long as it stayed outside. Suddenly, a vision of a bite wound filled his mind. Venom from the wound melted the man’s skin, slowly consuming the entire leg. The scene was from twenty years ago, when X had been forced to watch a fellow diver succumb to a bite from a spider like the one outside. The mutated arachnid could kill a grown man in seconds with a single bite.

  The storm belched webs of electricity over the city below, lashing the decaying structures over and over. From this vantage point, X could see a huge crater on the other side of the city. The bomb had leveled almost everything, leaving behind nothing but twisted metal and concrete foundations. The hill the vehicle sat on was burned bald, with not even a tree stump left behind. Rocks and boulders peppered the steep slope, their surfaces glazed and sooted even now, centuries after the nuclear explosion.

  It was only a guess, but perhaps these soldiers had driven to the top of the hill to assess the damage after the blast. For some reason, they never left the vehicle again, dying inside the mobile command center. Perhaps it had been from radiation poisoning or some other illness. The bodies had been too badly decomposed to tell.

  At least the monsters didn’t get them.

  In the strobe flash from several lightning strikes, a flitter of motion caught his eye. He followed the movement to a sinkhole in one of the streets. The silhouetted form slithered into the opening and vanished. The openings in the streets led to vast sewer and rail systems under the city, and he avoided them at all costs. A human and his dog had no place setting foot down there.

  Still, he would need to find a way across the debris field sooner or later. They couldn’t wait here much longer. He was low on food again and down to two blaster shells and one magazine for his rifle.