Hell Divers Series | Book 8 | King of the Wastes Read online

  He followed the Barracudas to an open hatch three decks down. Gran Jefe was the first inside, with the other Barracudas slipping into the darkness after him.

  X and Magnolia followed, raking their lights across a sprawling room as wide as it was long. There were no aircraft—only dozens of shipping containers with ITC logos.

  Ton seemed to hesitate at the sight of the long steel boxes, and X knew why. It was in a container like these that Katrina had found Ton and Victor along with their countrymen. She saved them from being eaten by el Pulpo’s cannibalistic warriors.

  X motioned for Ton to stand sentry. The rest of the team followed X through the maze of containers, the tactical beams on their rifles flashing across the sides.

  X stepped up and aimed his rifle while Magnolia pulled the bar up over the double doors. She opened the one on the right, and X shined his light inside.

  “Holy shit,” he said.

  “What?” Magnolia stepped up beside him. “Oh, damn, those are pretty!”

  Parked bumper to bumper were three armored vehicles with turrets and reinforced viewports.

  “These will come in handy if they work,” Magnolia said.

  A voice called out behind them, and X turned.

  “King Xavier, better check this out,” said Slayer.

  X ran over to another container. Stepping inside, he felt a chill of excitement. Three-by-two-foot crates, stacked six high, were already open.

  “Of all my years raiding, I’ve never found nothin’ like this,” Slayer said.

  X raised a hand for silence. He examined each crate of weapons and conventional ammunition in a wide range of calibers. There were also vacuum-sealed packages of fatigues, hats, and helmets.

  Reaching inside, he pulled out a hat with an eagle, a globe, and an anchor. The motto on the bill read “Semper Fidelis.”

  X didn’t know what it meant, but he recognized the old-world logo of the anchor and globe as belonging to the Marine Corps.

  “I believe this is what they used to call ‘hitting the jackpot,’ ” Magnolia said.

  “Check this out,” Slayer said.

  He took them to a third container.

  X had hoped it held a helicopter, even though he knew it would be crazy difficult learning to fly it. But a tank was even better! Two cannon barrels protruded from the turret, and armor covered the tracks, which looked brand-new.

  “Guess I gotta learn to drive this,” X said with a grin.

  As he moved around the radiation-proof godsend, he was having trouble keeping his self-imposed injunction against smiling in the wastes. This baby would make one hell of a safari vehicle against the mutant beasts out there.

  And the loot kept coming.

  They found two armored scout vehicles that appeared to be for nuclear/biological/chemical missions, three more APCs, four transport trucks, and crates containing six drones that looked like Cricket.

  Magnolia said, “I’m sure Tin can put those to use if . . .”

  “He’s alive,” X said. “I’m sure of it.”

  She nodded.

  General Forge’s voice hissed in his earpiece.

  “King Xavier, do you copy?”

  “Copy,” X replied.

  “The engineering teams confirm that four nuclear-powered engines are operational, but the life-support systems have all been cut.”

  “What about weapons systems?”

  “Disabled,” Forge said. “What’s left of them.”

  “Good.”

  “Should we try and bring the power back on?”

  X thought on it but feared that doing so could activate weapons systems that might target his people.

  “No, pull your teams out for now,” X said.

  “Copy that, King Xavier,” Forge replied.

  The treasure hunt lasted another half hour, with many more exciting finds in the containers. He was feeling great about their journey when a new message over the comms made his heart sink.

  “We’ve lost contact with Lieutenant Wynn,” Forge said.

  “That’s Wynn,” Magnolia said.

  X brought up his minimap. The team’s objective was to search the lower decks.

  “We’ll check it out,” Forge said.

  “I’m on my way,” X said.

  “King Xavier, perhaps you should—” Slayer started to say.

  “Not a chance.”

  X had known the militiamen and women with Lieutenant Wynn most of his life. He owed it to their families to find them.

  If it wasn’t already too late . . .

  X took a ladder deeper into the supercarrier. He tried to reach Wynn on the comms, but only static answered.

  The grin was long gone now. Maybe coming here was a mistake. Maybe . . .

  A scratching noise stopped X in midstride. He held up his prosthetic arm, and the group behind him halted.

  X strained to hear what sounded like nails being pulled from very hard wood. The long, deep screeches seemed to be coming from the other side of the bulkhead.

  He put his helmet against it, feeling a slight vibration. Magnolia stepped up beside him, and he gave her a nod.

  They started toward the closed hatch that Wynn’s team had taken to the lowest deck of the ship.

  Slayer and the Barracudas formed a line, hand on the next warrior’s shoulder plate, ready to move. The scratching suddenly ceased.

  With a dip of his helmet, X gave the order to enter the room.

  The hatch swung open to an elevated platform stretching around the sides of a vast chamber. Soldiers followed X out, sweeping their beams over the piles of bones below. Mounds and mounds of bones, all of them human.

  X started down the platform, his boots clicking on the metal as he searched for Wynn and his team. Magnolia pointed her beam at some barred-off cells across the chamber.

  X crossed over to a pile of corpses still dressed in tattered clothes over leathery, mummified skin. Wispy hair hung off dried, eyeless skulls.

  The scratching came again, this time accompanied by a pounding noise.

  X turned toward the sound. It seemed to come from two hatches across the chamber.

  He hurried past the dead and motioned for Magnolia and Ton. Slayer joined them as they scanned the interior of what appeared to be prison cells.

  More bodies were inside.

  Magnolia waved frantically to X. He hurried over and stared.

  Inside, a corpse lay slumped against a wall, still in gear. A Hell Diver.

  “One of ours?” she whispered.

  X pushed the gate, making a low metallic screech.

  As if in answer to the noise, the scratching from earlier intensified, followed by more pounding.

  It was closer—on the other side of the bulkhead. X left the remains of the unidentified Hell Diver and backed out of the cell.

  Slayer motioned for them outside an open hatch that led to a dark passageway.

  “I think it’s coming from in there,” he said.

  Bromista was mumbling something in Spanish.

  X led the way, keeping his rifle and beam on the darkness ahead. The noise grew louder and was joined by a muffled, almost human-sounding voice.

  The pounding started again, softly at first, then like someone using a rifle butt.

  X opened the hatch, and a body slumped out into the passageway, wearing militia armor.

  “Wynn,” Magnolia said. “What happened?”

  X moved past her into a pitch-black chamber. His beam cut through the darkness, hitting cryo pods secured to an egg-shaped central device.

  “What the hell . . .” X muttered.

  Slayer entered with Bromista right behind.

  “Wynn, where’s the rest of your team?” Magnolia whispered.

  “Tunn . . .” he stuttered.
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  “Get him out of here and call in reinforcements,” X said. “Everyone else, on me.”

  Ton, Slayer, Magnolia, and the Barracudas followed X into the chamber, their light beams spearing the darkness. The cryo pods were all open, the lids popped.

  Bromista and Slayer fanned out with the other warriors. Gran Jefe lumbered into the center of the room, his heavy footsteps as loud as a Bone Beast.

  An electronic wail answered, reverberating from one of the passages.

  X aimed his rifle at the arched opening he thought it came from, but it was impossible to tell. He stepped forward, halting suddenly at a new noise, this one human. The scream escalated into an animal cry of agony. The crunching and tearing that followed told X all he needed to know.

  There wasn’t a defector inside these passageways—there were beasts.

  He looked back at the cryo chambers, realization setting in.

  Slayer signaled for the Barracudas to spread out toward the walkways. There were ten on each wall—plenty of places to hide.

  Another scream issued from the bowels of the ship, ending in the sounds of ripping flesh.

  “Stay here,” X said to Magnolia.

  “But . . .”

  “Do it.”

  Magnolia nodded, and X pushed into the first passageway with Ton, who slung his rifle and drew his cutlass from its canvas sheath.

  Trails of blood snaked down the deck, stopping at the mutilated body of a militia soldier.

  X froze as his light found the predator.

  An eyeless leathery face rose up, blood dripping off its wide grin of a mouth. The Siren sniffed the air as X hit it with his light.

  This wasn’t a normal Siren. A metal chest rig was secured around its midsection. It turned on all fours, exposing a spinal column of gray metal that connected to a port in the back of its skull.

  Before X could fire off a shot, it leaped to the ceiling and scurried away.

  “We got some sort of modified Sirens—”

  Another scream cut him off, echoing through the passages. There was no telling how far these went, or how many of these cyborg Sirens were down here.

  Gunfire rang out, the reports amplified by the enclosed passageways. Voices called out in Spanish, and the clank of metal came in the respite.

  In seconds, more gunfire erupted and edged weapons clanged, as the Barracudas engaged hostiles in the other spaces.

  “Back up,” X said. “Everyone out. Now.”

  Hearing a yelp right behind him, X whirled with his rifle, the light hitting Ton as leathery hands yanked the sentry upward.

  X let his rifle hang from the sling as he reached up to grab Ton’s leg. Ton squirmed, grunting.

  Looking up, X saw that Ton’s assailant wasn’t a Siren. It had a deformed human face with a metal cap. Saliva drooled from a crooked mouth as bulging eyes stared down at X.

  Ton pulled a knife from his belt and thrust it up under the cyborg human’s chin. Blood ran down onto X, but still the creature held Ton fast.

  X pulled harder until he finally freed Ton, bringing the beast down with them.

  Bringing up his rifle, X aimed at the half-naked cyborg scuttling away. He fired a shot at the back of the metal head. In the narrow chamber, it sounded like a lightning strike.

  The bullet went low, missing the skull but hitting the spiked metal column that connected to the head. Blood spurted out, and the creature jerked spastically.

  Ton pushed himself up, his eyes wide in the glow of the lights. He finished off the cyborg with a cutlass thrust to the center of its hairy composite chest.

  Magnolia rushed inside and turned to squeeze off a burst of covering fire.

  “Come on!” she said.

  They retreated to the main chamber. General Forge entered with a squad of heavily armored Cazadores, including one with a flamethrower.

  “What the hell are those things?” Magnolia huffed.

  “Experiments,” X said. “The machines must have modified Sirens, humans, and God knows what else.”

  “So the virus didn’t work on them?”

  “Apparently not,” X said.

  The Cazador teams set up a perimeter outside the passageway entrances and awaited orders as the Barracudas joined them.

  Slayer, Bromista, and Gran Jefe were covered in blood and gore, though it didn’t appear to be their own.

  “General, I want you to burn these creatures out,” X said. “Tell your men to watch carefully for any survivors from Team Jupiter.”

  X doubted there were any at this point. He felt the despair that always flooded him after he gave orders that got people killed. The supplies and weapons hardly seemed worth it now. They certainly wouldn’t to the families.

  “And the ship?” Forge asked. “Do we scuttle it?”

  X looked to Magnolia, unsure.

  “Your call, but this ship is cursed, King Xavier,” she said.

  Another team arrived with flamethrowers. X didn’t want to lose anyone else, but this floating city was vital to the future of the islands.

  “We clear the corridors and locate any survivors,” X said. “Then we move it to a new location until the day comes we need it.”

  General Forge nodded, and Slayer pounded his chest armor. The Barracudas brought up their weapons, and X raised his rifle, knowing that the day might be closer than anyone thought.

  One

  One year later . . .

  A year after returning to the Vanguard Islands and helping stop the machines, Ada Winslow was serving as a Hell Diver, though not by choice.

  King Xavier had conscripted her into service. She wasn’t thrilled to be back in the wastes, but she was still trying to atone for her crime after the peace with the Cazadores—a peace that she almost broke with her actions at sea.

  During her exile for that heinous crime, she had seen the real world—a place of wastelands and monsters. From human-size leeches and birds with beaks that could snap a man in half, to trees with vines that could crush and eat a human.

  But never in her journey had she seen anything quite like Aruba.

  She sat in the bow of an inflatable boat racing toward the shoreline.

  The lush tropical terrain was now a desolate, hostile landscape, home to poisonous flora and fauna. None of the plants or animals out here seemed to be strict herbivores. They would eat whatever they could. Much as the skinwalkers had when they lived here, Ada thought.

  It was still hard to believe that this island was the site of the Outrider Colony. Most humans wouldn’t have lasted a week here. But the skinwalkers weren’t normal humans.

  A year after King Xavier and General Forge had wiped the skinwalkers out, the Vanguard Army and Hell Divers kept coming back to the outpost for supplies and to siphon off the stabilized fuel stored in tanks there.

  Today, Ada and her animal companion, Jo-Jo, were on a mission with two teams to explore the ruins of a former gold-mining operation, now centuries old.

  The warship Ocean Bull and the former research vessel ITC Octopus were anchored on the horizon. General Forge had discovered both ships on a mission to the Port of Colón at the northern end of the Panama Canal.

  While another team of Vanguard forces went about extracting the last of the oil from the Outrider reserves into the tanker Blood Trawler, Ada and Jo-Jo were on a small team tasked with searching the last known location the skinwalkers had used—discovered on a map they had left behind at the main outpost facility.

  Ten miles away from the main outpost, they beached their boats. The group of Hell Divers that included Ada, Commander Magnolia Katib, Edgar Cervantes, Arlo Wand, and the new chief engineer of the Vanguard Islands, Michael Everhart, all jumped out into the surf.

  The divers had been grounded for the past few months due to the risks of sending the airship Vanguard into the sky, and Mic
hael, who no longer served as a diver, was here as the structural engineer.

  Pedro Gonçalvez, the leader of the Rio de Janeiro survivors, was here providing tech support in case they found any computers or other technology in the tunnels. He carried a pack with secured electronic tablets over his suit and a tactical bow.

  They weren’t alone on this trek. A second boat pulled up alongside, and a Barracuda squad hopped out. Their leader, Sergeant Slayer, flashed hand signals to his team.

  The soldiers moved up the beach with spears, flame throwers, and a .50-caliber machine gun that Gran Jefe had propped up on his shoulder plate.

  Bromista, the jokester, was all business today, sweeping the terrain with his crossbow.

  They were expert monster hunters, though none were as effective as Jo-Jo. Over the past year, Ada had trained the monkey to sniff out danger, and in that time, she had watched the animal grow from 100 pounds to almost 150. Tusklike canine teeth protruded below her lips, and her hands bore claws as long as Ada’s fingers, but she was still a gentle giant.

  The monkey moved quickly and nimbly on all fours.

  Her black nostrils sniffed the air—no hostile scents so far. Ada knew because the animal’s black hair lay flat against her muscular body.

  As they made their way up the beach, warm rain sluiced off them, turning the dirt and sand to thin soup in minutes.

  Jo-Jo stopped ahead, a dozen paces from a ledge of rocks exposed by the receding tide. It took Ada all of a second to see that these weren’t just rocks.

  Dark, purplish bivalve shells the size of oil drums protruded from the outcropping, their exterior ribs giving away their identity.

  Ada had seen such mutant mollusks on her journey into the wastes and knew that they were still alive despite being out of the water. She also knew what the closed asymmetrical shells contained.

  “Everyone stay clear of those,” she said.

  The team gave the shells a wide berth by moving up the slope and around the ledge, but Arlo trod a little too close to one on the path up the ridge.

  Cracking down the center, the huge shell opened to expose a rim of teeth and a gooey interior that was the flesh of the mussel. Out slopped the remains of its last catch: a giant leech of the kind that had attacked Ada and Jo-Jo during her sojourn into the wastes.