Hell divers x fallout, p.10
Hell Divers X: Fallout, page 10
Magnolia had time for one move. Reaching down to her thigh, she drew her blaster. The creature clambered toward her in an awkward tripod gait with alarming speed.
She aimed the triple-barreled weapon at the creature’s tumorous mouth.
The beast lurched aside, but not enough in the half a second it had to avoid the spray of pellets that blew out the back of its throat.
The monster hit the ground and skidded into her, rolling up over her legs.
Pinned, she watched Gran Jefe fire at the other Tasmanian devil, which was now on the run. It jumped into a hole across the cargo hold, hitting the deck below with an audible thud.
Gran Jefe kept his rifle up and backtracked to Magnolia.
“You okay?” he asked.
“I’m stuck,” Magnolia replied.
He put his rifle down, and with much grunting and some colorful Spanish expletives, he managed to heave the dead corpse off Magnolia.
“Gracias,” she said.
“De nada,” Gran Jefe replied. “You okay?”
“I think so.”
He helped her to her feet. She holstered the blaster, switching back to her laser rifle. As the adrenaline began to dissipate, she felt pain in her right arm, shoulder, and neck.
She staggered back to the opening and was gratified to see that the team had left with the crate.
“You go,” Gran Jefe said.
Magnolia grabbed the rope, wincing as she rappelled down the hull. Looking up at Gran Jefe, she wondered, was this what Ada saw before the crab beast reached out from a tunnel to snatch her, snipping her rope?
Gran Jefe turned to head back into the ship.
A second later, he gave a loud war whoop. Gunfire cracked over his voice, and then he stumbled, arms windmilling. He fell past her, landing on his back on the beach two floors below.
Magnolia glanced up at the furry, tumor-ridden face of a devil. It grasped the rope with its paw, but she let go, dropping the last six feet to land beside Gran Jefe.
Before she could bring up her rifle, the beast leaped down after them. It swung an arm into her chest, smacking her to the sand. She landed hard on her side, looking at Gran Jefe.
Somehow, he was back on his feet, holding a cutlass. The tumorous abomination towered over him, dripping blood from one arm.
It slashed at Gran Jefe with enough force to take his head off if he hadn’t ducked. Magnolia fumbled in the sand for her laser rifle. She grabbed it and aimed as the monster lifted Gran Jefe off the ground.
“Shoot!” he grunted.
She sighted between the wide shoulders and fired into its furry, spiked back. The laser worked better than bullets, boring instantly through the flesh. The thing screeched in agony, spitting blood into the rain.
It dropped Gran Jefe and turned toward her, again lifting its arms. Magnolia took a step back and fell on her butt. Chest muscles flexed as the monster prepared to strike her with its remaining clawed paw.
Gran Jefe didn’t give it a chance. He swung his cutlass into the gory wounded wrist. The beast jerked away, letting out a frightful roar.
The big Cazador did not relent. He thrust and swung again, severing the arm above the elbow with a sickening crunch.
It clamped its other paw around the gushing wound and opened its black hole of a mouth rimmed with jagged teeth. Gran Jefe struck again.
As it began to let out a final roar, he thrust the sharp blade into that hole, through the palate, and up into the brain. That roar turned into an odd, alien shriek of pain and rage that died away in a hiss of escaping air.
The monster twitched several times, blinking vacant eyes at Gran Jefe. He withdrew the sword with a quick yank, and it collapsed facedown in the sand, dead.
Gran Jefe brought up his rifle and put a round through the head just to make sure, then walked over to Magnolia. She was still on her back, her helmet chirping away, her right arm pulsating with pain.
Movement caught her eye where the road almost touched the shore. The other Cazador teams flooded onto the beach, shouting catcalls at the other devil as it fled into the wastes.
“Gracias again,” Magnolia said as Gran Jefe helped her up.
He brushed sand off her armor.
“Gracias, you too,” he said. “We make buen equipo—good team.”
SEVEN
Layla kissed Bray on the head, prompting a smile that showed his two lower teeth and single wide upper. He reminded her of a hippo.
“Ma-ma will be back soon,” she said. Bray reached up to her from the floor, and she lifted him, rocking him for a few moments. Once he had relaxed on her chest, she put him into his crib. She tried not to look at the empty crib where Rhino Jr. had slept.
It was hard to imagine him somewhere out there with another caretaker. She missed the baby terribly. Even though he wasn’t hers, she had formed an emotional bond.
And now he was gone.
She watched as Bray finally went down, relaxing his chubby cheeks as he drifted off to sleep.
The boy needed her now more than ever, and if something should happen to her . . .
Nothing will happen to you.
She convinced herself that was true, but deep down she knew she was taking a massive risk going to see Imulah—especially the way she was doing it.
She watched Bray sleep for a few minutes before slowly shutting the door. She went to the bathroom and changed into her black fatigues and black raincoat. Then she went to the kitchen, where Victor waited at the window.
“You sure?” he asked.
“Yes. This may be my only chance to talk to Imulah.”
He propped open the shutters in the kitchen window, and they both looked out through the sprinkling rain. Storm clouds drifted across the moon, dimming its glow.
Layla was a bit concerned about slick surfaces, but she had climbed and dived in far more dangerous conditions. She grabbed a gear bag that Michael had kept for her in case they ever needed to bug out.
She was surprised Charmer and Jamal had never confiscated the knife when they searched her apartment for weapons. She uncoiled the rope and tied a treble grappling hook to the end. Then she sheathed the knife on her belt. Now she had at least something to defend herself with.
She put up her hood and stepped to the window. Rain peppered her face and coat. She looked down again, still not seeing any boats.
Lightning forked over the horizon, illuminating a distant rig.
Glancing up, she checked balconies for posted guards, or people outside. But it seemed no one wanted to get wet, and that was exactly what she was hoping for.
“Watch over Bray,” she said. “If something happens to me, you know what to do.”
“Please be careful, Layla,” Victor said.
She climbed out the window and put her feet on the ledge just below. Then she unsheathed the knife and thrust the blade through the metal skin of the rig. She twisted it in, making sure it was secure. Now she had a handle. Once she felt safe, she checked the ocean again, then the balconies on the larger apartments above.
Still nothing.
Layla studied the exterior of the building. The balconies started two floors above her apartment. They were the fancier dwellings, once used by el Pulpo’s wives, wealthy merchants, and the few high-ranking soldiers who made it to old age. A handful of scribes, including Imulah, also had the nicer living spaces.
Another arc of lightning flashed on the horizon. In the glow, she located the scribe’s balcony, four floors above her and another four over to the right. She wasn’t even sure he would be there, but this could be her only chance to talk to him without Charmer and his henchmen finding out.
Of course, they could still find out if the scribe spoke of her visit, but she had a plan to keep him quiet.
Holding on to the knife with one hand, she swung the grappling hook on the end of the coiled rope. Thunder boomed as the storm grew stronger.
“Okay, let’s go,” she said.
Giving the rope a final hard swing, she flung the hook up to the balcony above. It caught the railing with a clank that made her wince. She flattened her body against the wall. If someone glanced outside, they wouldn’t see her.
Hearing nothing, she waited for another beat, looked up, and pulled the line taut. After pulling the knife free, she sheathed it once again and started climbing.
You got this.
With the rope running around her left leg and between her feet, she inchwormed her way up. Driven rain stung her face, but the wind bothered her more, pushing and tugging on her small frame.
It took a few minutes to reach the first balcony. She climbed over the railing, relieved to see blinds drawn over the glass window. She quickly unhooked the rope, this time waiting for thunder before she tossed it.
As the clap sounded, she swung the grapnel to the balcony above. Hook and thunderclap hit simultaneously, masking the clang of metal on metal.
She wasted no time climbing up to the next rail. This window had no blinds, and she saw directly into the apartment. The dwelling was dark, but she saw the occupant in a lightning flash.
A heavyset man was sleeping on a couch, turned in the opposite direction. There was no mistaking him, though. It was Captain Rolo.
She stared for a few seconds, hating this man who had been at odds with King Xavier since the beginning. But then again, Rolo had been right. The king had led his army to death—everyone, including Sofia and the other Hell Divers who had died to retrieve the seeds from Brisbane.
She looked away and tossed the rope up to the balcony on the right, swung over, and started up again. Candles burned inside the apartment, and she held on to the railing instead of hopping over. The blinds were pulled slightly along the right edge of the glass door. Through it, she could see a half-naked tattooed woman massaging a pale but muscular man on the floor. His eyes were closed, but his head was turned toward the glass doors to the balcony. Layla recognized him as another of Charmer’s henchmen.
The woman looked down as she massaged his back. If she glanced up from her work, Layla would be directly in her view.
Easing herself down, Layla hung under the balcony. She reached up and used the bottom of the bars to pull herself around, out of the woman’s line of sight. After moving under the balcony to the right side, she pulled herself up again, in front of the blinds.
Layla bent down, trying to keep out of view but keeping a line of sight into the apartment. The man was yelling at the woman about something. He suddenly slapped her, knocking her to the floor.
Thunder boomed, and Layla tossed the rope again. The hook connected to Imulah’s balcony. She pulled it snug, then started climbing.
Layla shinnied up the exterior to Imulah’s balcony. Once she was over the railing, she coiled the rope and set it down. There was no turning back now.
She stepped up to the glass. Inside the living room, a single candle burned. She tried the sliding door. To her surprise, it opened.
Soaking wet, she stepped onto a red rug.
“I’m surprised it took you this long.”
Her heart skipped at the deep tone, and she half expected to find Charmer sitting there in the corner.
But this wasn’t Charmer. It was the old scribe she had come to ask for advice.
“Please, just hear me out,” Layla said.
“Come in,” Imulah said. The glow of the candle illuminated his shaved head, graying beard, and dark eyes.
Tonight, those eyes were full of concern, perhaps even fear.
“You put us both at risk by coming here,” Imulah said.
“Forgive me, but I don’t know who else to turn to,” Layla said. “I’m here for your counsel.”
“I know why you are here. Please, have a seat.”
She went to one of two chairs, taking a long look around as she walked over. She admired the shelf packed with hardbound books and the clay figurines of an octopus and a dolphin. A painting of an ancient Mayan city hung on a wall. In the corner, next to the chair, was a desk with a single framed picture on it: a male teenager, standing with his arm around a girl and a boy a few years younger.
It took her a moment, but she realized this was Imulah long ago.
“Your husband has been charged with the murder of Oliver and his son,” Imulah said. “The evidence against him right now is mostly just from eyewitnesses, but there is motive.”
“I know all this,” Layla said. She considered her words carefully, then just blurted out, “I’ve come to see if we can rally people to our aid and free him.”
She leaned forward and locked eyes with Imulah.
“You know Charmer is a murdering tyrant,” she said. “He framed Michael, and with Xavier dead he plans to take the crown. You also know how the islands operate. You know everyone. You and only you can help me stop them. The Cazadores must come to our aid.”
Imulah let out an uncharacteristic sigh. He turned toward the picture on his desk. “My brother and sister,” he said. “We were kidnapped on a Cazador raid not long after that picture was taken. They both died on the journey here—killed by radiation poisoning.”
“I’m sorry. That’s awful.”
He gave another little sigh, clearly anxious. “I never speak of it. It took me many years to put that picture out. I felt guilty working for the regime that caused their deaths. My heart has always been broken. Children are the light of our world. When they are taken before their time, it makes our dark world that much darker.”
“That is very true.”
Imulah folded his hands on his lap. “I tell you this for a reason, Layla. I tell you because of Bray. The Cazadores will never rally to your side and help your family.”
“How do you know?
“Because they know that Ada sank a shipping container filled with their people, and they know that X allowed her to live. They also know he exiled her instead of executing her and then allowed her to return. The leader of the Wave Runners had a cousin on that container she dropped in the ocean.”
Layla hated hearing it, but Imulah was right. The Cazadores would never help her.
“Do you know where Lieutenant Wynn is?” she asked. “Maybe he can rally the last of the militia soldiers from the airship.”
“You can’t count on him,” Imulah said.
Layla swallowed hard.
“They have compromised his family, and Wynn has already sworn allegiance to Charmer. You know better than most what you would do for family.”
Layla let go of her anger and nodded. It wasn’t Wynn’s fault.
“Charmer now has much of your militia,” Imulah said. “And even more importantly, he has Jamal, the highest-ranked soldier left in the Cazador army back at the islands. With the rest of the military destroyed and King Xavier dead, the only way to save your husband is to prove his innocence—something you will need help doing.”
Layla snorted. “How can I do that? I can’t even leave my home without being followed. I had to climb here in the storm, for—”
“There is a woman,” Imulah interrupted. “My spies have seen Charmer with her on many occasions. He has kept their relationship a secret, but I am told he is infatuated with her, that he tells her everything. She could be the key.”
“Who is she, a Cazador?”
“No, she is one of your people, a woman named Jacquelyn.”
Layla knew her right away. She was in her twenties—dark hair, dark eyes, silent and beautiful. She had been a lower-decker on the Hive. Now she worked as a horticulturist.
“What makes you think she will help me?” Layla asked.
“Because she does not love Charmer. I see her much as I saw Sofia with el Pulpo: a good soul trapped in a relationship she did not ask for.” He shrugged one shoulder as if to suggest he had known many such relationships over his years. “She might know the truth, and if you can get her to talk, perhaps Michael can call her as a witness at the trial.”
He walked over to his desk.
“If you can’t prove it, and you can’t fight, there is only one option to save your family,” Imulah said. “You must find a way to free Michael, then flee the islands into the wastes. But I fear that out there, no matter how well prepared you are, you will meet the same fate as my brother and sister.”
He picked up the picture of his family.
“You will need help freeing Michael if that is the route you choose, but anyone who helps you will pay a heavy price if they are caught. I respect your people, and I see Charmer for what he is. That is why I’m going to share something my spies have told me.”
With bated breath, Layla drew closer.
“Pedro and his people believe in your husband,” he said. “They know he did not commit these murders, and believe that Charmer has framed him.”
“You think he might help me free Michael?”
“Perhaps.”
“I have to get to him, then.”
Imulah walked over to the window, hands clasped behind his back. “It will be a half moon tomorrow night,” he said. “I will arrange a meeting, on a boat that will be a mile east of the capitol tower. I trust you will find a way to get there?”
Layla looked out over the water. She could never swim that far. But maybe she wouldn’t have to.
“Yes.” She smiled for the first time in a week. “I’ve got just the way.”
* * * * *
King Xavier walked into the engineering room to check on progress. Crews of technicians, engineers, and even soldiers were working on the damaged tech. Some of the salvaged parts looked like junk to him, but the Cazador sailors knew how to make the best of everything, just as the sky people did on the airship.
Damaged plates were welded back together, stripped threads retapped, conduits bent for new wire runs. Slowly, one jerry-rig at a time, they were putting the ship back together.
But before they could sail again, they needed the air-cooling system that would keep the power plant from overheating once they reached the open water. Magnolia and her team were on their way back with it now.
