Hell divers x fallout, p.35
Hell Divers X: Fallout, page 35
Unable to sleep, he had stared at the bulkhead most of the night, remembering better days with Layla and Bray. He had given up the thought of breaking free or being saved. No one was coming to help him, and without his bionic arm, he wouldn’t be much in a fight.
He wasn’t the only one who couldn’t sleep. Steve was sitting up at the end of his bed, looking out through the bars.
“You awake?” Steve asked.
“Yeah.”
“I think something’s going on.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know, but the guards left.”
Swiping the hair from his eyes, Michael walked over to the cell door. Steve was right; no one was posted in the corridor.
“Shift change?” Michael asked.
“No, that would have happened a while ago.” Steve stroked his beard. “I think I heard yelling earlier. That’s when I woke up.”
“Yelling?”
“Shouts. I don’t know. You didn’t hear anything?”
“No.”
Michael listened but heard only the usual ship sounds. When he was a kid, the soft noises at night had made him imagine a sleeping giant that lived beneath the decks.
He sat back down on his bunk, recalling those days.
Steve’s head dropped in despair. Maybe he had thought someone was trying to save Michael.
“Promise me something,” Michael said.
Steve looked up.
“When you get out of here, don’t try and avenge me,” Michael said. “Look after my family, and tell them I wasn’t scared to die. Tell them we’ll see each other again someday.”
“Chief . . .”
“Promise me.”
“Promise.”
Michael lay back down on his bed, one hand under the back of his head. He recalled good times with Layla and Bray. Bray’s first smile. His first laugh. First word, first hand wave, then clapping.
He would give anything for more time with his wife and child, and he counted himself lucky to have even had this much time with them. Far more time than most people had. His parents and so many other families from the Hive had lived their entire lives never once seeing sunshine.
He sat up at the sound of panicked voices. Steve got up to stand in front of the bars; Michael too.
Distant voices called out in both English and Spanish.
“Where?” one of them said.
“¡Ataque!” yelled another. “¡Hay un ataque!”
The voices drew closer, and metal clattered somewhere in the brig. Two masked men rushed over, holding swords. These weren’t the militia soldiers who had brought Michael here. These were the Cazadores who had helped Charmer and Jamal murder Eevi.
One of them held two throwing knives in his hands.
He spoke in rapid, angry Spanish to his comrade and pointed a knife at Michael.
“What’s he saying?” Michael asked.
Steve hesitated. “He says there is fighting on the rooftop and he should kill you right now.”
The two guards continued their conversation outside the cell. The one with the knives seemed hell bent on executing Michael here and now, but the other guy didn’t seem to agree.
“He says Charmer will gut them if they kill you now,” Steve said. “And King Rolo will hang them both.”
The man with the knives pushed the other Cazador away from the cell door. He tripped and fell on his back. The knife wielder waved a blade in his face.
Steve yelled something in Spanish, and the guy turned and shook the knife at Steve, screaming back.
Michael understood bits and pieces—something about killing them both.
The guard who had fallen on the deck got back up, still yelling, while his comrade took out a key to unlock the gate.
“Stay back,” Steve said to Michael.
“This could be our chance,” Michael whispered back.
The Cazador unlocked the gate and kicked it open. “¡Fuera!” he yelled. “Out!”
Steve moved in front of Michael, shouting back.
Michael came around Steve to fight them, but the other guard had turned toward the entrance to the brig. Reinforcements arrived—two people in black rushing through the dimly lit passage.
The soldier with the knives slashed at Steve, who jumped back. But this warrior was fast. He thrust at Steve with his other knife, then elbowed him in the face, smashing his nose.
The older man went down hard on the deck.
Michael watched the soldier’s rage-filled eyes as the two blades sliced the air. With little room to maneuver and only one arm to parry the knife thrusts, Michael backed away as the blades carved ever-closer arcs.
He felt the cell bars against his back. The Cazador had him now and knew it. Laughing, he cocked a tattooed arm for the fatal thrust.
This was it, then—the last moment of Michael’s life. But it sure as hell beat hanging in front of everyone.
As the Cazador chuckled, toying with him, Michael did what the soldier probably least expected. He threw a forward elbow, unhinging his attacker’s jaw and knocking the man backward.
He heard a thunk, and warm blood flecked his cheek. The big soldier fell onto Michael, knocking him to the deck, on his back. He tried to heave the dead weight off and noticed a rod sticking out the side of the knife wielder’s head. Not a rod—an arrow.
Voices called out from the corridor. Indistinct shapes moving in the darkness. A tall, lean man in black holding a crossbow. And a shorter figure, also dressed in black.
Steve leaned down, holding his gushing nose, blocking Michael’s view. He hauled the dead Cazador off Michael and helped him up. By the time they were both standing, the two people in black were standing over the other guard.
“No, no!” begged the soldier. He had his hands up, and the smaller masked figure held a pistol to his head. The mask came up.
And there, in the brig with him, was the smile he had fallen in love with years ago.
“Layla,” he said.
“Not much time!” she said.
He stumbled out of the cell and around the living guard. That was when he heard a voice he had given up all hope of ever hearing again.
“Da-da.”
Michael leaned over and kissed the small boy cradled against Victor’s chest. “Bray,” he repeated. “Oh my God, I can’t believe it’s you.”
“We have to move!” Layla insisted.
She already had the surviving guard hog-tied and gagged. Steve dragged him to the cell and locked him in with the dead Cazador.
Layla handed Michael a suppressed pistol. She pulled another pistol out of Victor’s vest. A crackling radio echoed from the cell.
“Grab that walkie-talkie,” Layla said.
Steve reopened the gate and fished inside the pockets of the dead guard until he pulled out a bloodstained radio.
“See if you can pick up any enemy chatter on that,” Layla said. “I’ll be right back.”
She went to the exit with her pistol as Victor bent down to reload his crossbow. Bray reached from the carrier, and Michael held one of the tiny hands, still not quite believing this was real.
A furious voice surged from the radio. Michael didn’t recognize it at first, because he had never heard Charmer lose his cool composure.
Layla came back during the transmission.
“. . . One hostile in custody,” Charmer said. “We believe he was going for the airship to rescue Michael. Guards have searched Layla’s apartment, which is empty. All teams, be on the lookout for Layla, her son, and Victor.”
“Who’s the hostile?” Michael asked.
“It’s Pedro,” Layla said. “He was captured trying to get to the airship.”
Michael swallowed hard at the thought of his friend dying for him.
“He wanted to free you,” Victor said. “For what you did for his people.”
Layla sighed, then motioned for them to follow. “The corridors are clear for now, but we have to hurry.”
“What’s the plan?” Michael asked.
“Head to the bridge,” Layla said.
“Wait—what? We’re not . . .”
“We’re leaving,” Layla said.
“Leaving . . . the islands?”
“I’ll explain on the way. Come on.”
“Wait,” Steve said. He bent down and put his hand on the deck. “Do you feel that?”
“Feel what?” Michael asked.
“The airship . . . Shit, it’s moving. They must be trying to land.”
“Let’s go,” Layla said. She led the way out of the brig, clearing the corridor first. Victor went behind her with Bray on his back, still reaching out to Michael.
Michael couldn’t hold back a smile, but he kept the pistol aimed down the hallway as they advanced.
“We can’t let the ship put down on the rooftop,” she said. “Pedro was our only defense down there.”
“It’s just you three?” Michael asked.
“Bold move,” Steve said.
“We’ve been lucky,” Layla said. “Most of us.”
Michael thought again of Pedro, who had likely given his life for Layla, Bray, and Victor to get here. They couldn’t let his sacrifice mean nothing.
“Hurry,” Michael said.
He went ahead of Layla and the others. No one else was dying for him today.
He ran down the empty corridor. They were almost to the bridge, but they had only minutes before the ship put down.
Approaching the next intersection, he slowed to listen for footsteps. Layla was right behind him. They stopped and went to hand signals, just like old times during dives. Then they moved around the corner, clearing both sides.
Michael turned back to Victor and Steve. “Stay there,” he said. “Layla, with me.”
She followed him to the closed hatches and tried the keypad. The doors to the bridge hissed open, unlocked.
Michael aimed his pistol and went inside the white space. At the bottom of the two-level bridge, he saw Ensign Dmitri Vasilev and Lieutenant Olga Novak at the main controls.
“Down!” Layla shouted.
Michael dropped as an arrow whistled past his head. He lined up the sights on a militia soldier who had been waiting for them behind a desk. A bullet to the helmet ended the threat.
Layla fired two shots, taking out the other militia soldier who had been waiting to ambush them. They were the same two guards who had escorted Michael to the brig—both sky people.
“Raise the ship right now!” Layla shouted.
Pistol up, she made her way down the stairs dividing the bridge. Michael followed her while Victor entered the room with Bray, Steve right behind them.
He shut the door and locked it from the inside.
As Michael made his way down to the lower level, he saw the mirrored feeds from cameras on the monitors. The airship was hovering right above the rooftop, and the gate was lowering toward a dozen armed soldiers.
“Get this ship into the sky now!” Michael shouted.
Layla put her gun muzzle against Olga’s head. “Do it.”
When Olga didn’t move, Layla murmured, “Nothing would delight me more than to blow your feeble brain all over that monitor. So please, try me.”
“Okay, okay! Relax!” Olga slowly reached down.
The airship jolted.
Michael looked at the monitor relaying the view from the bottom troop hold. It was maybe ten feet above the soldiers, who were armed to the teeth with spears, swords, and rifles.
“Pull up!” Michael shouted.
“Last chance to keep your brains inside your skull,” Layla said through clenched teeth.
Olga throttled up on the turbofans, blasting the soldiers as the ship finally began to rise.
Michael was watching on the monitors with the live camera feed when a loud grunt came from behind him.
He whirled about to find Victor hunched over with an arrow sticking out of his belly. To his left stood the militia soldier Michael had shot in the head. Bizarrely, the bullet had penetrated the top of the guard’s helmet, missed his skull, and exited through the back.
The man was on his feet and trying to load another bolt into his crossbow—so engrossed in the task that he didn’t notice Steve until it was too late. He came up behind the man with a knife and traced it across his throat.
The guard slumped to the deck, holding the spurting wound. Victor was down on one knee, grimacing in pain. Bray reached out from the carrier, bawling.
“Layla, go!” Michael cried.
She bolted up the stairs while Michael moved the gun from Dmitri’s face to Olga’s.
“How many more people on this ship?” he asked.
“Only a few engineers and maintenance people,” Olga said.
“How many?”
“I don’t know, five, six . . .”
“And guards?”
Olga hesitated.
“Answer me!” Michael shouted.
“Four total.”
“They left only four? I don’t believe that.” He turned to Steve. “Make sure that door is secure!”
“It is, Chief.”
Layla got to Victor and unstrapped Bray from the carrier.
“Is he okay? Is he okay?” Victor kept asking.
She held Bray up, looking him over, then clutched him to her chest.
“Victor turned to take the arrow and protect your child,” Steve said.
“Don’t try to pull it out,” Layla told Victor. “Just breathe. You’re going to be okay.”
Michael said, “Olga, open a comms channel to everyone on this ship.”
She activated the PA system with a tap to a monitor. “Okay, go ahead,” she said.
“To the guards and anyone else still on this ship, this is your one opportunity,” Michael said. “Lay down your weapons and head to the cargo hold. We will let you off so you can return to the islands, but only if you go there now.”
Michael backed slowly up the stairs, his nerves on fire. At the top, he took his eyes, but not his gun, off the officers to check on the others. Victor was gasping in pain and Layla was still comforting the child, who seemed unharmed.
“Hold the wound,” Layla said to Victor. “We have to stop the bleeding.”
“I got you, brother,” Steve said, easing him into a more comfortable position.
The comms suddenly crackled with Charmer’s enraged voice.
“Dmitri! Olga! What the hell are you doing? You were ordered to put the ship down on the rooftop!”
“Don’t answer that!” Layla yelled to the officers.
The speakers in the room blared again. “Olga, Dmitri, do you copy?” Charmer said.
“The ship is no longer under their control,” Michael said into the radio. “I will release the officers in exchange for Pedro.”
There was a slight pause. Then a response crackled from the handheld.
“Michael—that’s you, isn’t it?” Charmer asked.
Michael had much that he wanted to say, but there was no time. “You have five minutes to get Pedro to the rooftop,” he said. “We will lower a rope; you will secure him and send him up.”
“Pedro isn’t going anywhere, and if you try to escape, we will shoot you down.”
Holding Bray, Layla went back down the stairs to Olga and Dmitri. “Keep pulling up,” she said.
Michael could see the rooftop on the monitors. The soldiers there had their weapons aimed at the ship but held their fire.
“I will shoot you the fuck down! Don’t test me!” Charmer screamed over the comms.
“And I will turn you into shark chum, and the capitol tower into an artificial reef,” Layla said into a different radio. “Try me, you one-eyed fucking shit-weasel. I don’t need an excuse to cleanse the earth of your sorry carcass.”
There was no response.
Victor groaned as Steve put a cup of water to his lips.
“Is there someone in the med bay?” Michael asked the officers below.
Olga shook her head.
“Hang in there, Victor,” Michael said. “Soon as we get out of here, we’ll get you into the medical bay.”
“What do we do about Pedro?” Layla asked Michael.
He took a moment to consider their options while she rocked their skittish child. On the monitors below, he saw an army waiting to kill them. But how could he just leave Pedro?
“Michael,” Layla entreated.
An idea came to him. “Olga,” Michael said. “Bring Timothy back online.”
“I can’t do that,” she said.
“Try,” Michael said.
“I don’t know how.”
“Okay, maybe Dmitri can and you are just worthless to us,” Layla said. She aimed the gun at Olga’s head.
“Okay, okay.” The officer sat at a terminal and tapped the screen. After a few moments, she pressed a key and glanced up.
A familiar, polite voice surged from unseen speakers.
“Hello, my name is Timothy Pepper. How may I assist you?”
“Timothy, I need you to arm the missiles,” Michael said.
“Ah, Chief Michael Everhart—”
“Pepper, do it fast, and target the capitol tower.”
“Sir, may I ask why you are targeting—”
“Do it, now, Timothy!”
“Stand by, sir.”
“Tell Charmer what you’re doing,” Michael said. “Tell him if he doesn’t send Pedro up, we’ll take out the tower.”
Layla held the radio up, but before she could get off the transmission, the airship jolted hard, shaking the entire room.
Michael stared down at the monitors, which showed flashes of light sparking across the rooftop. The room jolted violently, nearly knocking Layla to the deck with Bray in her arms.
“Missiles are armed and pointed at the rooftop,” Timothy announced.
The radio sparked to life with another message from Charmer.
