Hell divers x fallout, p.29
Hell Divers X: Fallout, page 29
“Mags, give me a sitrep,” said King Xavier.
“No sign of Yejun yet,” she replied.
“The Frog is in the canal. We’re almost ready to go.”
“Copy that. We’ll come back soon.”
“Thirty minutes, Mags. Max. Got it?”
“Got it.”
Magnolia joined Edgar and Slayer at the bottom of a hill on the eastern border of the salvage yard. They trekked up the slope for a better view.
“We’ve searched this entire area,” Edgar said. “He must have kept going into the industrial zone, maybe even into the city.”
Magnolia looked out in that direction. Rusted shipyard equipment littered the area for a mile eastward. It would take hours to search the area safely.
“I’ll call out for him one more time,” she said.
“Yejun!” she shouted into the wind. “Yejun, it’s me, Magnolia!”
She scanned the skyline with her rifle scope but saw nothing. Edgar hissed and pointed, directing her to the winged body of a male Siren, flapping in their direction.
Two more, sitting perched like cathedral gargoyles, took wing over the ruined city.
“We should go before they see us,” Edgar said.
Slayer didn’t argue.
Magnolia swept the infrared scope across the terrain one last time for the teenager. A wave of dizziness came and went. Yejun, where are you?
“Come on, Commander, we gave it our best shot,” Edgar said. “The kid doesn’t want to be found.”
“Gotta go,” Slayer said.
Magnolia lowered her rifle as the men retreated down the hill. She stared into the darkness, fighting the dizziness. Yejun was out there somewhere, but in her heart, she knew that Rodger was gone. She finally turned away with Edgar and Slayer.
They crossed back through the salvage yard as a light rain began to fall.
The electronic discord of a Siren rose into a wail, and she turned to see three of the beasts circling nearby. That made her pause.
“Magnolia . . .” Edgar said.
She turned around for a better view as the dizziness grew worse.
“Commander,” Edgar said.
One of the Sirens dropped into a dive. It struck her then: the creatures had done what she’d failed to do.
“Shit! They found Yejun,” she said.
The realization gave her a sudden jolt of energy. Ignoring shouts to stop, Magnolia lit out running back through the salvage yard and up a low hill.
All three Sirens had dived out of sight. She finally saw one perched on a crane, its wings folded around its spiked back.
“Magnolia,” panted Edgar behind her, trudging up the hill with Slayer.
“They found Yejun,” she said, pointing to the crane. “He must be there somewhere. Maybe there are other survivors too.”
“Magnolia, you have to let g—”
Gunfire cut Edgar off. Slayer shouldered his rifle as the Siren slumped off the crane and fell to the yard below.
“It’s Yejun. We have to help him. Those things found him because of my yelling,” Magnolia said. She did a standing glissade down the scree slope.
Rifle up, she ran as more gunshots cracked in the distance.
A Siren gave an agonized howl and flapped back into the sky. Magnolia high-stepped over a fallen beam and ducked under the jib of a toppled crane.
She slipped and went down. Looking up, she saw one of the eyeless creatures about two hundred feet ahead. It was trying to pry the door off a truck that lay on its side, its bed half-buried under loose earth.
Yejun . . .
Eyes alert, ducking under warped beams and squirming between concrete slabs, she got closer to the truck.
The lights of Slayer and Edgar moved just behind her over the muddy terrain. She sighted up the muscular beast at the back of the truck door that it had pried open. A yell came from inside, then another gunshot.
The Siren pushed inside.
Magnolia held up her hand to hold fire.
Reaching over her shoulder, she pulled one of her curved blades.
“Cover me,” she said.
Edgar and Slayer searched the sky and ground while Magnolia stalked toward the beast at the truck. She was ten feet away when the eyeless face whipped around.
Magnolia walked toward it with her blades gripped tightly. The creature leaped down off the back of the truck, claws swiping at her helmet.
The sickle blade flicked out, severing a taloned hand.
Then she silenced its screams with a swift decapitating blow. She had a clear view into the back of the truck.
Yejun crouched inside, holding a rifle.
Walking over to him, Magnolia heard Slayer and Edgar approaching, but there was another sound: the whoosh of wind.
She looked up as a Siren streaked down from the sky. Another came skittering down the crane’s mast.
Laser bolts appeared—narrow, bright planks of sizzling blue light, flashing through the leathery wings and into the night for miles beyond. Magnolia had barely enough time to bring up her blade. Then there was darkness and a squeezing embrace. It took her a moment to realize that the beast was wrapped around her.
“Hold your fire!” Edgar shouted.
Magnolia blinked at the eyeless face of the creature hugging her inside its laser-tattered wings. She slammed her helmet against the jagged teeth snapping in her face. Then she sliced and sawed with the curved blade. The creature’s electronic wails hurt her ears. Finally, sensing the battle was lost, the beast released her and limped away with ragged, useless wings.
Magnolia collapsed onto her back as Edgar and Slayer bent down. It wasn’t just them.
Yejun came out of the truck and put down his rifle. He crouched in front of her while Slayer suddenly went to the back of the truck.
“Holy shit!” said the Cazador. “Take a look at that!”
Magnolia reached up to Yejun.
“Yejun,” she said. “You have to come back with us. You can’t stay.”
Edgar helped Magnolia up before she could finish the words. Pain riddled her muscles. Everything seemed to hurt.
She tried to fight her blurry vision as she stood on wobbly legs. Yejun walked over to her side, and Magnolia saw what had Slayer so excited. The truck was packed with crates of food and jugs of water.
It wasn’t Captain Rolo who’d raided the Osprey. Yejun had. Bringing the items from his old home all the way out here.
The comm channel crackled.
“King Xavier,” Slayer said. “We found Yejun. He’s not alone.”
“You found more survivors?” X answered.
“No. We found the food stash from the Osprey.” Slayer backed away from the opening. “This is the sound of me chewing. Tell everyone to get ready for a feast.”
TWENTY-TWO
Layla waited in a cell on the prison rig, sick with worry. She sat on the concrete slab that served as a bed, waiting to learn the fate of her husband.
The Cazador guards had brought her here hours ago. She wasn’t sure what time it was, but it had to be morning soon. There would be no indication of that here. This rig was outside the light, cloaked in storms and perpetual darkness.
As time crawled by, she tried not to worry about Bray, trusting that Victor would take care of the child.
Footsteps approached. She went to the bars. But the man approaching wasn’t a guard.
It was Charmer.
“It’s time,” he said. “The jurors have been deliberating for the past few hours and have now made their individual decisions.”
Layla felt her heart skip. “What . . . what did they decide?”
“I don’t know, but I am allowing you to be there when they announce it—as long as you promise to behave yourself.”
Layla glared at Charmer, who was talking to her as if to a toddler.
“Can you do that?” he asked.
She managed a nod.
“Excellent.”
He motioned, and a guard came and unlocked the gate. She followed them up a stairwell to the top of the rig.
The makeshift courtroom was dark when they arrived. The lights were turned back on, and the only person inside was her husband. He sat in a chair, looking more exhausted than she had seen him in a long time. Seeing her, he perked up and stood as best he could in his shackles.
Layla felt the guard’s hands on her shoulders.
“Stay put, Michael,” Charmer said. “The jury has reached a verdict. Before we hear it, I wanted to bring your wife to you. No matter what the decision, it would benefit you both to remember that justice will be served.”
“If he is set free,” Layla said.
“Perhaps, or if he is found guilty.” Charmer raised a brow. “You promised to behave, but I see I need to be clearer. If the latter happens, you and any allies will refrain from violence and accept this outcome, or you put yourselves at risk.”
“If you kill my husband—”
“Then you will accept it, Layla, as hard as it may be, for the sake of our son and our friends,” Michael said.
Layla gaped at her husband.
“You must accept whatever happens,” he repeated. “For Bray.”
“Shall we bring in the jurors?” Charmer asked.
Layla felt her stomach churning as if she was going to be sick. This was it. After over a week of waiting, they were about to announce his fate.
Martino waddled into the room. Next came Salamander and the scribe Ensio. Finally, Donovan and Bailey entered.
Bailey’s averted eyes told her everything she needed to know. The former resident of the Hive was going to vote guilty. She had no reason to suppose the others would vote differently.
“Thank you again for your time,” Charmer said. “In a moment, you will each announce your decision of guilt or innocence. It will take a majority to convict or free Michael.”
Layla looked to her husband. He nodded slightly, as if to say it would be okay.
“We will start with Martino,” Charmer said. “Please stand.”
With an effort, the well-fed Cazador businessman rose up, using a cane to steady himself.
“How do you find the defendant?” Charmer asked.
“I find Michael not guilty,” Martino said.
Layla let out a breath of relief.
“Salamander,” Charmer said next.
“Guilty, guilty,” said the retired soldier before he even got to his feet.
“Okay,” Charmer said. “Ensio, what’s your decision?”
The scribe stood, looked at Michael, and even looked at Layla before announcing his decision. “Not guilty,” he said.
Salamander threw up a hand and cursed.
“Silencio, por favor,” Charmer said. He nodded to Bailey next.
When the man avoided her gaze, Layla knew better than to hope.
“Guilty,” Bailey said after a short pause.
Tied, two against two. Michael’s fate was down to Donovan, a man he personally had rescued from the machines at Mount Kilimanjaro.
Please, please . . . please, Layla thought.
“Donovan, your decision?” Charmer said.
The sky person looked at Charmer, then at Michael.
“You saved me, and my family,” Donovan said.
“The decision only,” Charmer said. “Guilty, or not guilty?”
“I’m sorry, Michael, Layla,” Donovan said.
Layla clutched her chest.
“Guilty,” Donovan said.
Charmer nodded and faced Michael. “You have been found guilty of murdering Oliver and Nez. Thus, King Rolo sentences you to death. You will be executed at a time and place of his choosing.”
The announcement sent a hot flash through Layla. She felt a quivering in her knees and an urge to scream out.
Michael looked over at her, eyes wide with concern.
Charmer gestured for the guards. “Take him away,” he said.
Layla started over to Michael, but a soldier grabbed her.
“Tell Bray I love him!” Michael shouted.
Everything happened so fast, she lost complete control. Layla spun out of the guard’s grip. He flailed for her as two others grabbed Michael to escort him out.
Layla smacked the man’s arm away and rushed toward her husband. The room seemed to slow around her. She could see Charmer saying something, but it came out in a low, slow, robotic tone.
Another guard rushed into the room as Michael bucked the first two off, knocking them into the chairs.
Someone grabbed Layla and pulled her to the floor.
She watched Michael’s fist slam into a guard’s jaw. Teeth flew in a spray of spit and blood.
“I will kill you all!” he screamed.
She heard a loud metallic snap, and the cuff around his robotic arm snapped off. He swung his freed prosthetic arm, clotheslining a guard who had just gotten up. The guard bounced off the wall and didn’t get up.
Two more guards burst through the open door.
“Michael!” Layla shouted.
He turned just as one of the men swiped at him with a knife. Robotic fingers caught the guy by the throat and flung him away like a rag doll.
The fourth soldier thrust a cutlass at Michael, who deflected the blow with his bionic arm. He then threw an uppercut under the soldier’s chin, lifting him off the floor and sending him to slumberland.
Layla felt the cold steel of a gun against her temple.
“Stop, or your wife dies!” Charmer yelled.
Michael whirled toward them.
“Do you want your boy to be an orphan?” Charmer called out.
“Let her go!” Michael shouted.
“Then stop resisting!”
Layla scanned the room, searching for a way out of this. She could maybe duck under the gun and surprise Charmer. She had mere seconds to make a decision.
Shouts and the pounding of boots outside echoed into the room. One of the guards Michael had injured was starting to get up, knife in hand.
“Michael,” she mouthed.
He stood there, fists clenched. Courageous and strong—the man she had known since he was just a boy in a tinfoil hat.
“I’m sorry, Layla,” he said.
She watched as all the fight left him. His hands fell to his sides. The circling soldiers waited as Jamal motioned them back. He strode up behind Michael with a hatchet in his hand.
“No!” Layla shouted.
Jamal raised the weapon and slammed the flat of the blade against Michael’s head. He fell unconscious to the floor.
Charmer grabbed Layla, keeping the gun to her head.
“Relax,” he said. “It will all be over soon.”
And then Michael was gone, dragged out of the room by his ankle shackles. The hatch shut with a loud clank.
Layla sank to her knees in front of Charmer. He put the Uzi back in his tunic and let out a long sigh.
“He made the right decision,” he said. “You will be spared, and so will your son. I’m a man of my word.”
She glanced up at the jury, crowded behind the chairs at the other end of the room. They all looked shocked except for the grinning Salamander.
“Take her home,” Charmer said.
Moments after Michael was taken away, a guard who had stayed behind hauled Layla up to her feet.
She walked down the stairs to the docks. With each step, her breaking heart thumped harder. And with each step, she felt the dread leaking out of her. Replacing it and filling the void was anger.
This wasn’t over. Now was the time to plan—and, soon, to fight. When she got home, she would find a way to get a message to Pedro. Then they would come here and break Michael out, and they would leave the islands with their son. There were plenty of places they could go to survive. Places like the bunker in Rio de Janeiro, where Pedro and his people once survived for over two centuries.
Living in darkness was better than death, as long as they were a family.
The guard loaded Layla back onto the runabout that had brought her. She slumped against the stern while the guard fired up the engine.
As the boat pulled away into the rain, she looked at the tower where Michael was being held. Lightning split the sky, illuminating the top of the rig.
Layla peered at the beetle shape above the tower. The airship Vanguard hovered below the clouds. Michael wasn’t being held in the tower after all—he was being held on the airship. Good to know.
Layla felt the hint of a smile forming on her face. They assumed no one could get to him there. Bad assumption.
It was Charmer’s first mistake, and he would never recover from it.
* * * * *
The Frog pushed through the canal, heading north. X stood in the CIC, marveling at the feat of engineering it had taken to carve out and widen this artery connecting the two oceans. Humans had once been great creators. But damned if they weren’t even better destroyers!
Maybe X had that in his DNA, because he had inflicted more than his fair share of destruction during wars to save his people. And he would do it again if it meant keeping his loved ones alive. He would hunt men like Rolo to the farthest corners of the wastes until his last breath.
He looked out over the rubble lining the waterway and the distant ruined city. Miles sat by his side, chewing on a stick of jerky they had recovered, oblivious to anything else.
The dog was happy, and X was too. Finally, they had a win, thanks to Yejun.
X planned to talk to him soon—not just about what had happened but also to thank him. If not for the lad, the crew would be in dire shape.
The teenager was waiting inside the war room, but X was waiting for Magnolia before going to visit him. She was one of the very few people Yejun seemed to trust.
She arrived a few minutes later. Her thinning hair with its cobalt-blue forelock was still wet from the decon shower, a bright strand hanging across one cheek. With bloodshot eyes, she searched the room.
