Warriors

EIGHTEEN

The armored war boat bobbed in the water somewhere in the center of the Vanguard Islands. In the stern Michael threw on a chute and booster pack. They were old, pulled from storage in the armory, but it was all they had. Everything else was on Discovery, wherever that was…

They had lost contact with the airship after a rocket from the surface exploded against its hull. Details were still coming in, and Michael still wasn’t sure whether the militia had captured the skinwalker who fired the rocket.

At least a dozen vessels surrounded the war boat. Militia soldiers and Colonel Forge’s forces stood on the decks, their weapons angled at the water, searching for submarines.

The only people looking up were Hell Divers. Ted, Hector, Alberto, and Lena waited in a boat across from Michael. Arlo and Edgar were on another craft, in armor and ready for orders, despite their still healing injuries.

They weren’t the only ones hurt. Michael had a gash across his forehead and another on the back of his head. But the sting and trickle of blood was just a nuisance. All that mattered was that Layla had safely evacuated to the capitol tower, where she was now protected.

A runabout, commanded by Sergeant Wynn, chuffed closer to the war boat. A Hell Diver standing on the bow took off her helmet. It was Sofia.

“Did you find the skinwalkers who fired the missile?” X growled.

“Yes, sir, we have them in our custody,” Wynn replied. “We’re doing our best to search for any remaining hostiles with the resources we have left.”

Have left… The devastating ambush had killed far more people than he imagined. And with Discovery’s fate unknown, the future of the Vanguard Islands was never more uncertain.

“What about Discovery?” he asked.

“We still have no idea where she is,” Wynn said, “but we do know their radio was damaged in the attack. Good news is, we haven’t seen her come crashing down anywhere.”

X put his fingers in his mouth and whistled to the other vessels.

“Listen up, Hell Divers!” he shouted. “We’re sending you all up into the sky with your boosters to see if you can locate Discovery.”

Michael scanned the sky. Chances were good the ship was just above the cloud cover, and with the flares, he could get Captain Mitchells’s attention.

“Spread out and find her!” X yelled.

Motors fired, and the boats chugged away, fanning out to give Edgar, Arlo, Sofia, and several of the greenhorns the best chance of finding the airship.

Michael prepared to put on his helmet, but X stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

“I told you a war was coming,” X said quietly. “This is it, and we just lost the first battle.”

“We can still win this.”

X waited a second before nodding. “I fear there are more skinwalkers lurking on the rigs, so be careful once you get in the air. If your balloon is popped, you know what to do.”

“Yes, sir.”

X looked out over the water as the other boats pulled away.

“Once you find Discovery, make sure none of the green divers give away its position. If you manage to board, have Les put down under cover of darkness, at these coordinates.”

X handed Michael a torn piece of shirt with numbers scribbled on it. They meant nothing to him at first glance, but Timothy would be able to determine the location.

Michael slipped the sliver of torn shirt into his vest pocket. Then he secured his helmet. X pulled him close, pressing his head against Michael’s visor.

“Be careful, kid,” X said loudly enough for everyone to hear. “We don’t know if there are more threats out there.”

“I will.”

Michael made his way up to the bow, next to one of the mounted machine guns. On the other boats, Hell Divers had already punched their boosters and were ballooning skyward.

Reaching over his back, Michael fired his canister, and a balloon shot out, filling with helium that swung him up off the armored deck. He watched the sparkling water below, and the war boat bobbing on light chop.

X raised his left hand, and Michael waved back.

Then he turned his attention to the other rigs, scanning the devastation. Smoke rose off the Hive, but the fires appeared to be out. Many boats that had helped fight the flames were now on their way to the rig where the remaining oil tanker had exploded.

Thick plumes of smoke followed the Hell Divers. Michael steadied his breathing. The slow ascent made him and the other divers easy targets for any skinwalker waiting to strike.

Even with the militia, Colonel Forge’s troops, and the Barracudas holding security, it would take a single shot to deflate the balloon of a helpless diver. At a thousand feet, they would have little time to pull their chutes.

Michael looked up at the clouds, trying not to think about the threats that could still be on the surface. All around him, the other divers rose toward the ceiling of bulging cottony clouds.

The cover had likely saved Discovery from destruction. On a clear day, the skinwalkers would have had an easy target.

Arlo and Edgar were almost to the cloud cover. If someone was going to shoot them, they would have done so already, and chances were good they all were out of range by now.

One by one, the clouds absorbed the other divers. Michael was the last to enter the translucent haze. The higher he rose, the thicker it became, until he couldn’t see anything.

He kept his body relaxed in the harness connected to the helium balloon. The minutes ticked by with the altitude. The divers were safe from enemy bullets and rockets, but it was still an agonizingly slow climb. On the way back to the airship, it always was.

Normally, Michael used the downtime to calm his mind after an adrenaline-fueled dive and surface run. Today was no different.

The rush of adrenaline had slowed to a trickle, but he still didn’t know who had perished in the ambush—only that several important people were missing, including Lieutenant Sloan.

He had a bad feeling that she had died in the initial explosions and fallen into the ocean. If that were the case, they would never find her body.

And he still didn’t know whether Layla and Bray had been harmed when she fell. He wanted to be down there with them now, but duty called.

He cursed the gnawing guilt. Layla deserved so much more than this. She deserved a husband, and Bray deserved a good father.

Michael wanted more than anything to be both. But how could he do that when a war was coming? The war that X had warned him of before he even left for Rio de Janeiro.

He had promised Layla that he would back off after saving the people from the bunker there. But the attack by the skinwalkers, and unknown location of the defectors reminded him they would never be safe until both threats were destroyed.

Captain Mitchells was correct. Until the islands were safe, they couldn’t rest.

Fighting and diving were in his blood, right down to the marrow of his bones. Michael was a Hell Diver, and he wouldn’t stop jumping until his family could live in peace.

At eight thousand feet, the cloud cover began to lighten. When he finally broke through, the sun’s glare dazzled him.

Using his wrist computer, Michael brought up the sunshield on his visor. The tint eased the glare, but it took several moments for his eyes to adjust. Even then the green halo made it difficult to see.

He twisted in his harness for a view to the west. He spotted the balloon carrying Edgar, but no Discovery.

He turned to the south. Nothing there but Sofia and Hector.

Smoke drifted east of him—the same direction as the destroyed oil tanker and the rig the fire had consumed. But they were at almost fifteen thousand feet now. The smoke from a surface fire couldn’t be that thick, not even from a burning tanker. Then he saw the source of the smoke.

A horizontal trail curved to the northeast—a dark plume in Discovery’s wake. It reminded him of the dark, greasy exhaust from the motorcycle he had ridden in Florida.

Arlo was the closest diver. He fired a flare that burst into a dazzling display of red sparks. The airship moved slowly, using only turbofans, no thrusters.

Michael had a feeling the newly repaired thrusters had been destroyed, but he couldn’t see through the billowing smoke from the stern.

The balloon pulled him higher, and to avoid climbing too high, he let some of the helium escape. The other divers would be doing the same thing, waiting for Les to spot them and scoop them up.

The wait was even more agonizing than the climb, and Michael feared that Les had been injured or killed in the explosion.

It would take time for all the divers to get aboard. Judging from the sheer volume of smoke, he marveled that Discovery was still in the sky.

Arlo fired a second flare, and this time someone on the airship saw it.

A bank of thrusters fired, booming in the distance.

Relief washed over Michael. It lasted for a second or two—until he realized that it wasn’t the stern that had been hit.

The snaking trail of smoke dissipated as the airship maneuvered toward Arlo. The new angle provided a different view.

Michael saw then why no one on the bridge had seen them right away. An entire section of the bow was gone, exposing the bridge, or what remained of it. Michael pulled out the binoculars and hesitated an instant, afraid to look.

Smoke wafted from a gaping hole on the bow. Twisted metal and jagged Plexiglas were all that remained in the main impact area that had punched through the outer and inner hull.

White ash coated the aluminum framework, making it look like mangled bones. One light still shone on the bridge, spreading a white glow over the shambles.

The interior deck and several of the stations had survived the blast, but the captain’s chair was empty.

Michael zoomed in with the binos but didn’t see Les, Eevi, or any of the crew who had boarded. But then something moved with the white light.

It was Timothy. The AI walked in front of the vacant captain’s chair, hands clasped behind him, looking out through the new window in the hull. He stood there stoically, watching the divers as the ship lowered to pick them up.

Moonlight streamed through the open hatches of the council chamber. X sat on his throne, looking down at Miles, who had a fresh bandage on his back. Like his dog, X also had a new bandage, covering where a Siren had raked his chest.

The nanotech gel had helped his arm heal, and pain medicine was keeping him functioning, but he was starting to feel the effects of fatigue and his injuries.

Ton and Victor stood at the bottom of the stairs, spears in hand. They, too, had bandages over fresh wounds, but that didn’t hinder them from standing straight and guarding their king.

Rhino would have done the same thing. X missed the big man now more than ever. Seeing the boat with the burning corpse had probably fueled him in the fight against the Sirens. They had won the day, but it sure didn’t feel like a victory.

Guilt gnawed at his stomach while he sat waiting to learn whether the Vanguard Islands were secure. For now, it seemed the battle was over, but he wanted confirmation. It was too dangerous to send messages over the radio, but according to his scouts, Discovery had landed at the secret location—a place that no skinwalker would think to go.

The scouts had also confirmed that the Hell Divers would be on their way back in boats, but X still didn’t know about the airship’s condition or whether anyone had been injured on board.

X had waited anxiously to meet the bastard who nearly destroyed the airship, but that wasn’t going to happen now. The doors at the end of the chamber finally opened, and the man who had killed the escaping skinwalker entered the room.

Wet hair hung to Sergeant Wynn’s armored shoulders. He shambled forward woodenly, his face bruised and bloody. The soldiers with him looked equally beat up and exhausted.

X stood to greet them. He knew each face and name, knew their painful pasts, and their fears for the future. And tonight, he felt responsible for everything they had endured.

No, this was not a victory by any stretch of the imagination. He should have seen the trap, should have guarded the islands better. He had failed his people.

So much for the fucking prophecy.

“How bad is it?” X asked.

“Very bad, King Xavier,” Wynn said.

“Have you found Lieutenant Sloan?”

Wynn shook his head. “All we know is, she was last seen in a boat with two other militia soldiers, pursuing a submarine.”

X closed his eyes for a second. The news could mean only one thing. Sloan was fish food.

The pounding of boots on the tile floor pulled him from the gruesome image. Michael, Rodger, Edgar, Sofia, and Arlo entered, still in their suits. The rookie Hell Divers followed.

Missing from the group was Magnolia, who, the last X heard, was being treated for burns. He was glad she was actually resting—probably only because they had sedated her.

“Close the doors,” X said.

“Wait,” said Michael.

The team of divers parted as one more person walked into the great hall. The tall man wore a jumpsuit that looked as if it had been washed with ash. The doors clanked shut behind Captain Les Mitchells.

The Hell Divers and militia soldiers followed him on the short walk down the empty rows, to stand in front of Ton and Victor.

As X watched, it struck him that every person in the room had been injured in the attack or was still recovering from the mission to Rio de Janeiro. They had been through so much, and Les looked like hell.

X gestured for everyone to sit but remained standing.

“I’m not going to lie to you,” he said. “Everything is going to get worse before it gets better, but you’re all prepared for that.”

He waited a moment to let that sink in and then said, “I’m sorry. Sorry for letting you all down. I should have done more—”

Michael spoke up before X could finish. “Sir, we all knew an attack was possible, but you couldn’t know that the skinwalkers had submarines.”

“Now that we do, we’re locking down the borders,” Wynn said. “Our troops are working with Colonel Forge to patrol for the skinwalkers, but we have a major problem.”

“Fuel,” X said.

“Precisely, sir.”

“How about the rest of the Cazador forces?”

“From what I’ve heard, almost all of Colonel Moreto’s forces have joined Colonel Forge,” Wynn replied. “Those who haven’t are in the brig.”

“The Barracudas have joined our ranks,” said another militia soldier.

X hesitated, not wanting to ask his next question. But he had to know. “And the total body count?”

Wynn seemed as hesitant to reply as X had been to ask. The sergeant said, “King Xavier, we lost sixteen militia men and women, and another twenty are injured. With Sloan and five other soldiers missing, we’re down almost a third of our forces.”

X cursed under his breath. “What about civilians?” he asked.

“Twenty-one people were killed on the Hive,” Wynn said gravely. “Twenty more on the capitol tower, from the Sirens.”

X tensed at the numbers. Still, it could have been much worse.

“And Discovery, Captain Mitchells?” X asked.

“The damage is severe,” Les replied. “And even with all hands working on it, the ship isn’t going to be airworthy for some time.”

“How long is ‘some time’?”

“I… I’m not sure, sir. Samson and every mechanic and technician we can spare are already at the ship or on their way, but the main issue is going to be finding parts. Most of the bow is destroyed, but the good news is, the nuclear engines weren’t damaged, and almost all the thrusters and turbofans are operational.”

“You’re lucky to be alive,” Michael said.

“I have Timothy to thank for that,” Les said. “He didn’t just save the ship; he saved Eevi and me. He acted fast to turn on the sprinklers after the explosion.”

X wanted to hear the story, but not now. He crouched beside Miles, scratching his chest while he thought about how to move forward. They needed Discovery more than anything. It was their best weapon.

The airship was at the coordinates he had given Michael—safe, but for how long?

“Rodger, how about the Hive?” X asked. “How bad is it?”

Rodger wiped his eye and stepped up beside Les and Michael. He had lost both his parents in the attack, but he had still reported to the airship rig to survey the damage.

“I hope getting her back into the air isn’t your Plan B,” Rodger said. “Chances of the Hive sailing again are pretty much zippo.” He wiped his nose. “Sir, if you’re done with me, I’d like to go see Magnolia.”

X nodded. “Tell her to keep resting.”

“I will, sir.”

X stood, his old bones creaking like a wind-blasted tree in the wastes. He was dizzy, but this time not from being hungover. The alcohol was out of his system, and for the first time in weeks, he didn’t even want a drink. What he wanted was to fight.

“Has Cricket found anything beyond the barrier?” X asked.

“Not yet,” Michael said. “I’m monitoring his progress.”

“We have people on the grounded airship ready with speedboats to relay messages if Timothy receives intel on their location,” Les said.

“Can’t we use some sort of code over the radio?” X asked.

Les shook his head. “The airship’s radio is damaged, and handhelds won’t reach that far.”

X cursed again at the bleak situation. It would take a speedboat a half hour at top speed to get a message back and forth—plenty of time for Raven’s Claw to destroy the drone and then move.

“If anyone has any bright ideas on how we find Moreto and her bastard, I’m all ears,” he said. “But with both airships grounded and limited fuel for our boats, I’m low on ideas.”

Les and Michael exchanged a glance, but neither spoke. Several moments passed before a voice broke the silence.

“What about hang gliders?”

Someone at the back of the group limped through to the front. It was Arlo, and he looked serious.

“Hang gliders?” X asked.

“Yes, sir. Since we don’t have an airship right now, why not paint some hang gliders and send out a bunch of Hell Divers wearing camouflage to search for Raven’s Claw and subs? It will be dangerous in the storms, and we can’t go very far past the boundary, because that’s where the thermals end, but if we find the warship or their subs, it’s over for those mutant freaks that stuck me like a pig in Rio.”

Arlo rubbed the back of his neck. “Oh, and I’m pretty sure we could design a submarine-detection system by using those underwater sensors the trawlers use to find schools of fish.”

Everyone stared at Arlo for a moment—especially X, who didn’t know how to respond. The kid with an attitude had grown up a lot since Rio de Janeiro, and he had some damn good ideas.

“Hang gliders,” X said, deciding to start there. “How do you know we even have any?”

Arlo grinned, showing off two newly missing teeth. “Let’s just say I got acquainted with a Cazador lady the night before my first dive, and she told me a few secrets. She said her ex-husband died using one in the proving grounds.”

X remembered Rhino telling him about the island that was basically a boot camp, complete with monsters, for Cazador trainees. But he didn’t recall anything about hang gliders.

“So where are they?” he asked.

“Colonel Forge should know,” Arlo said. “And that Tomás guy, the merchant that was on the council—I’m sure he’ll be happy to hand over some sensors.”

“See if this is all true, Sergeant Wynn,” X ordered.

“Sir, all due respect, but how are we going to get them into the air?” Wynn asked. “It’s a ways from the capitol tower to the barrier, and those electrical storms are going to be hairy.

X knew that sending hang gliders out into the storms was risky, but they would be hard to detect if he could get them into the sky.

“We can use the boosters to get us in the sky again,” Michael suggested. “We just need boats to ferry us out to the barrier.”

X scratched the stubble on his chin. “It’ll be good training for the greenhorn divers,” he said, looking at Lena, Hector, Alberto, and Ted. Then he shrugged. “Hell, I might take one out for a spin myself if I can figure out how to fly it with just one arm.”