Wolves

TWELVE

“Look, I don’t trust Pepper, either,” X said over the private comm channel. “Hell, I don’t trust any AI, but I do need his help, and he proved back on the island that he’s here to help us.”

Katrina stroked her jaw and looked over at Michael. It was just the two of them in her office, and she wanted to keep it that way for now.

“I shut him down on the Hive after receiving the intel Magnolia sent us, X. Have you seen the videos and listened to the audio clips?”

“No. Been kinda busy staying alive out here. The boat’s in bad shape, and we’re approaching another storm, so why don’t you give me the short version.”

Michael grinned. “That’s the old X I remember.”

“I was starting to like the new one that didn’t talk as much,” she whispered back. “The one that wasn’t an asshole.”

“I heard that,” X said. “And I can confirm, I am and will always be an asshole.”

Katrina and Michael both chuckled.

“Okay, back to the issue at hand,” she said.

“If Pepper tries anything down here, I’ll light up his holographic ass, but what you do on the Hive and Deliverance is your business. As you pointed out, you’re the captain.”

“I’ve put Samson in charge of the Hive for now, but I need to do more research on what happened in those final days leading up to the end of the world and in the Blackout before I authorize turning Timothy back on.”

“I agree,” Michael said. “There are too many things that don’t add up. Like why Timothy, from the Hilltop Bastion, would not know what happened with ITC and the computer virus that apparently caused this war.”

“Maybe because of the Blackout,” X replied. “You guys have to remember, this shit happened two hundred and sixty years ago. The world ended. By whose hand, or how, shouldn’t matter at this point.”

“It does matter,” Katrina said.

“Why’s that? I’ve been out there. I’ve seen more than anyone what’s left. I’ve seen the mass graves, the skeletons, the horror of what life has become…” His words trailed off.

Katrina had a feeling he was remembering something awful.

“In Florida, I found a mass grave of robots,” he said.

“You never told me that,” Michael said.

“Because it doesn’t matter!”

Katrina sighed.

“Maybe X is right,” Michael said. “Pepper may have hidden something from us, but that doesn’t make him a threat.”

“I won’t take that chance on the airships,” she said, standing. “X, I’ll let you talk to Michael since you both seem to agree. Good luck out there. I’ll talk to you soon.”

Michael dipped his head.

“Yeah, thanks,” X said. “Good luck with your dive, Kat.”

She stepped into the passage outside her small office and closed the hatch almost all the way, torn about whether to give them privacy. She opted for eavesdropping. After all, it was a captain’s prerogative.

“Tin, I just wanted…” X began to say. “I’m sorry. I mean Michael.”

He stuttered out several sentences, clearly not sure what to say. X had never been good with words, especially back when she fell in love with him, but this was even worse. He had a hard time connecting with people—even with those he loved in return.

“Michael, I don’t like this. I told you I didn’t want you guys coming after us, and there is absolutely no reason to go to Cuba right now.”

“I know what you said, X, but I trust Katrina. I always have. She suffered under Jordan for many years, and now she’s been given a second chance. I don’t think she would jeopardize our lives or the mission of saving humanity if it weren’t worth it.”

Katrina suddenly felt guilty for listening in. She decided to give them the privacy they deserved, and began to walk away. Then she heard something that made her pause.

“She doesn’t know what’s down there,” X said. “No one does. No one besides me and Magnolia has been out this way and lived to tell about it.”

“Red Sphere is nothing but a tomb—”

X cut Michael off. “I’m not worried about Red Sphere or what’s inside. I’m worried about what’s outside. The islands are a dangerous place. Giant octopuses, armored hogs, and man-size birds aren’t the only threats. This is Cazador territory, Michael. If there’s anything to learn about the end of the world, it’s that humans are the real monsters. Most days, I think it would have been better if whatever killed most of humankind had gone ahead and finished the job.”

Les stood in the launch bay of Deliverance with Erin, Layla, and Michael. All were suited up and ready to dive. This was the same place where they had launched the Sea Wolf into the ocean less than a week ago.

The new recruits were all standing outside the main entrance, a large steel hatch with two portholes. Trey had pushed up to the front of the group and homed in directly on Les.

“Oh, shit,” Les muttered. “I’ll be right back.”

Michael nodded, and Les ran over to the hatch. He opened it and pulled out the Giraffe Phyl had given him back on the Hive.

“Hold on to this for me,” Les said.

Trey shook his shaved head. “Phyl gave that to you. It’ll bring you luck. You keep it.” He cupped his hand over Les’ and pushed it back.

“Seriously, Dad, you hold on to it,” Trey said.

“Okay.” Les stuck it back into his cargo pocket and secured the Velcro. “I love you. See you soon.”

“Love you, Dad. Be safe.”

“Good luck, man,” Vish said, raising a hand. The other recruits all looked at Les with sad gazes, as though they thought he wasn’t coming back.

He raised a hand toward his son a final time, then hurried back through the launch bay. Another wide door separated the four divers from the storm swirling outside.

There would be no launching from weapon tubes like those on the Hive. Today, they were jumping right out of the belly of Deliverance.

Michael, wearing his black suit, armor, and glowing red battery unit, stepped in front and turned to face his team. The Raptor logo, recently touched up with new paint, covered the top of his helmet.

A guttural groan creaked through the ship as Deliverance lowered through the skies. After twelve hours of resting, playing cards, and helping tend the farm, the divers were finally in position over their target.

“Twenty-five thousand feet and dropping,” Katrina said over the comm. “Ensign Connor has confirmed a forty-five-mile storm front in the east. We have to dive before it catches up with us.”

Not great news, but apparently, Katrina was continuing the mission despite the storm barreling in on their location. Les watched the seconds tick down on his mission clock. His senses were on full alert, every muscle in his body preparing for the extreme forces that were about to pummel him.

He could hear his heart hammering in his ears and felt the pulse in his carotid arteries. A breath of filtered air filled his lungs and seemed to mix with the flow of adrenaline already coursing through him.

Ten minutes to drop.

This was only his sixth dive, and one of them wasn’t even technically a dive, since he had done it in a metal pod. He tried to push statistics out of his mind. He wasn’t even close to fifteen—the average number of dives that marked a diver’s life span. Those were the old days of diving, back when they had to take more risks.

Today was risky enough, though. There was a storm over the DZ.

Les brought up his wrist monitor, checked that it was working, and moved on to his HUD. Three other dots blinked on the minimap.

The other divers were all performing their last-minute checks beside him. Layla flexed her hands, making fists and then shaking them out.

“You ready?” Michael asked her.

She nodded, and their helmets came together with a soft clack.

Les turned again to look at the portholes behind him, where Trey stood watching intently.

“That was me fifteen years ago,” Michael said, slapping Les on the back. “I watched my dad leave many, many times.”

“As long as we’re in the air, more children will watch their fathers and mothers jump into hell,” Les said.

Michael dipped his helmet and moved over to Erin. She had a shotgun slung over her shoulder, and an Uzi holstered where her blaster would otherwise be.

A nod confirmed she was ready to go.

Les checked the strap over his blaster, then the sling of the rifle over his back. Magazines protruded from his vest, and two nickel-plated M1911-style pistols were holstered on his long legs.

Michael did a final scan of his team. “Radio check.”

“Raptor Two, online,” Layla confirmed.

“Raptor Three, good to go,” Erin said.

“Raptor Four, ready,” said Les.

Michael raised his wrist monitor and touched the screen. “Systems check.”

Les confirmed that his battery was at 98 percent. His suit integrity was 100 percent. He bumped his chin pad to turn on his NVGs, then bumped them off.

“Lights check,” Michael said.

Reaching up, Les turned on his helmet-mounted beams.

“Raptor is good to go,” Michael said. He opened a line to Command. “All set to dive, Captain.”

“Roger that. We’re still moving into position,” she replied. “Starting mission clock in five.”

A moment later, the mission clock updated on their HUDs.

Two minutes to drop.

Deliverance dipped at a thirty-degree angle, just enough that Les had to plant his boots to keep from sliding. Lightning slashed the black outside the porthole windows, and a boom of thunder rattled a bar in the corner of the room.

“You thinking a suicide dive right out the gate?” Layla asked.

The Raptor symbol on Michael’s helmet dipped in confirmation. “The faster the better,” he said, “but don’t forget, this DZ’s a lot smaller than anything we’ve tried before. You overshoot it and you’ll be swimming to Red Sphere—attached to a giant octopus trying to wrap you up and pull you into the depths.”

Three blinks on the HUD display confirmed that the team understood.

“Okay, Team Raptor, let’s get this done,” Michael said, walking toward the doors. A red light swirled around the long space, spreading a glow across the suited and armored divers. The hydraulics that operated the bay door clicked and parted in the middle, letting a horizontal line of blue from a lightning flash into the room. It vanished a beat later, leaving the divers in the red glow of the warning light.

“Almost there,” Katrina said, her calm voice betraying no emotion. “Currently at twenty-two thousand feet.”

Les cinched down the magazines on his vest with another strap as the ship lowered.

The red transitioned into a cool blue, and Les took in a long breath. The bay doors were completely open now. Another bolt of lightning lit the clouds outside.

“Thirty seconds,” Katrina said, starting the countdown.

This was it. They were about to jump back into the abyss. Les looked over his shoulder one last time at the ten-second mark. The other divers were already moving toward the open door, their boots clicking on the aluminum deck.

Three… two… one…

“We dive so humanity survives!” Michael yelled. He was first off the platform, launching his body into the air and then angling down like a swimmer diving into water. Layla and Erin jumped just after him.

Les hesitated when his boots hit the liftgate. He turned and raised a hand to Trey as a terrifying possibility entered his mind.

What if this is the last time you see your boy?

Les blinked and then leaped into the darkness. For the first few seconds of free fall, he felt weightless, his body shattering the invisible clouds. But a beat later, the rush of wind took him.

He brought his hands close to his body, forming a human arrow, trying to outfall his worries and focus on getting through this alive.

The storm appeared worse to the east, but the DZ didn’t look too scary—just a few random forks of lightning. It was the pockets of turbulence that had him worried. A single blast could send him way off course—maybe into the sea.

He kept his eye on the glow from two blue battery packs and one red. The other divers were already a good five hundred feet below him. Had he really hesitated that long before jumping?

It wouldn’t matter as long as he stayed on course.

“Raptor One…” Michael’s voice came through a flurry of static noise. “Looks like we might have a surprise between ten and fifteen thousand feet. I’m getting a lot of disturbance. Gonna spear right—”

White noise cut his voice off, the connection already severed.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Les cursed. The words echoed in his helmet. He bit down on his mouth guard, trying to keep his heart rate and breathing under control.

Another transmission came over the link from Command, but Les made out only two words.

“Possible hidden…”

Dazzling swirls of lightning flashed below, foreshadowing what lay beneath the dark clouds. The weather sensors on Deliverance were more advanced than those on the Hive, but apparently, even they hadn’t been able to detect what was down there. Ensign Connor was also one of the best meteorologists in the history of the Hive, but these storms were unpredictable.

Les shifted his gaze back to his HUD. He was already down to sixteen thousand feet, and at his current speed, he would be on the ground in four to seven minutes, depending on when he pulled his chute.

Very long minutes.

And he was still picking up speed. The wind rushed over his suit and armor, whistling, screaming like a wild animal.

Les straightened his long body the best he could, his muscles tense and his spine straight. The rifle strapped over his back made it difficult, but he managed to hold his head-down vertical position all the way down to twelve thousand feet.

His eyes went from his HUD, which now began to crackle, to the divers below. The red of Michael’s battery pack, at around ten thousand feet, looked like a flame in the darkness.

An arc of lightning streaked between the two blue units, but according to his HUD, both Layla and Erin made it through. Their beacons beeped for several more seconds until the minimap fizzled out. He was deaf and blind now, with only his instincts and brain to keep him alive.

The floor suddenly lit up like a strobe light. Dozens of lightning flashes created the illusion of an electric ocean.

My God, it’s beautiful, he thought. And deadly, he reminded himself.

Les was close to terminal velocity, somewhere around 170 miles per hour. Even though his last HUD reading showed an ambient temperature of forty-one degrees Fahrenheit, he was sweating. The synthetic layers under his suit were warm, and he had an extra layer of clothes on under those.

His muscles tensed as he hit a pocket of turbulence. For a fleeting moment, he thought he might be able to hold the suicide dive, but the wind took him, cartwheeling his body as if it were the giraffe doll his daughter had given him.

The mouth guard popped out and lay against the inside of his face shield. He flexed his arms back into a hard arch, doing what he was trained to do—fighting his way into a stable free-fall position first, then working his way back into a nosedive.

A voice broke over the speakers, the system flaring back to life suddenly.

“Raptor Two, Three, Four, report…”

It was Michael, but Les couldn’t make out the rest of the transmission.

The battery units of the other divers were about to enter the heart of the storm below. One by one, they vanished into the cloud.

Les was next. His altimeter put him between six thousand and seven thousand feet, which meant the cloud cover would break soon and they would have to pull their chutes.

As he entered the nucleus of the storm, lightning flashed in all directions. The hair on his neck prickled, and he felt hot and cold at the same time.

Five thousand feet. Or was he past that already?

The next few seconds felt as if he were falling through some interdimensional wormhole surrounded by blue. The clouds around him seemed to swirl like a tornadic vortex.

And in a blink, it was all over.

He blasted through the final cloud of the storm, untouched by the lightning. The hair on his neck and arms relaxed, and he blinked as his HUD flickered back on.

Now he knew why Deliverance hadn’t picked up the electromagnetic disturbance. It was just a small rogue pocket, nearly undetectable by their weather sensors.

Voices boomed over the channel.

“We’re off course.”

It was Michael, and then Layla shouted, “Pull west! Pull west!”

Les spotted their battery units, but he still couldn’t see the ground—only a flat black surface.

Wait… Is that…?

The subtly shifting clouds below weren’t clouds at all—they were waves. And to the west—his left—rose a domed building set in the middle of a disk-shaped platform the color of rust. Docks extended from the circular edge, giving it the appearance of a spiked virus shell.

Could this be the Metal Islands?

The ITC military base was unlike anything he had ever seen. Now that he was clear of the storm, he gradually brought his arms out at right angles and spread his legs until he was in stable falling position. Then, turning and extending his legs a bit, he began to work his way toward the other three divers.

Erin was to the far right of Michael and Layla, about two thousand feet away from Les. She must have caught some serious turbulence.

“Raptor Three,” Les said.

She didn’t respond.

“Raptor Three,” he repeated.

After another pause, he yelled, “Erin!”

She continued falling headfirst in a suicide dive.

Les saw then that it wasn’t precisely a suicide dive. Her arms were not tucked against her sides as they should have been.

“Oh, no,” Les mumbled. It wasn’t turbulence that had hit her. She must have been zapped by lightning in the rogue storm pocket.

“Raptor Three, do you copy?” Michael said.

“She’s been hit!” Les said. “I think she’s been hit!”

Michael wasted no time dropping into a nosedive.

“Tin, what are you doing!” Layla yelled.

Les knew exactly what the commander was doing, and it was a long shot. He had little to no chance of catching her and getting his canopy over them before hitting the water.

And chances were that Erin was already dead, although her beacon was still beating.

“Pull your chutes!” Michael yelled at Layla and Les.

Layla ignored the order. Les checked his HUD before grabbing the ripcord.

Michael continued in his suicide dive.

He was really going to try to save her.

“You got fifteen seconds, Raptor One!” Les shouted. He checked the numbers again: four thousand feet and falling at 120 miles an hour. Fifteen seconds was pushing it.

Les reached up and wiped his visor clean of precipitation. Whitecaps extended across his field of vision. But there seemed to be a border to the east. Yes, a big landmass curving across the wide horizon.

Cuba…

Three seconds after Michael had given the order, Les pulled his chute. Layla followed his lead. Their canopies bloomed outward, yanking them back up toward the storm, or so it seemed.

Steering with his toggles, he flew his canopy toward Layla as they neared the DZ. The domed structure rose up at them, and as it came into view, he could see why Katrina had risked the dive despite the storm hazard above.

Several boats were docked at the concrete piers jutting from the sphere.

Cazadores…

Or was this just an old fleet that had never left the island? Perhaps, the defectors mentioned in the video had landed here and killed Dr. Julio Diaz and his team.

They would find out soon enough.

“Michael!” Layla yelled.

Les found the red and blue battery units nearing the surface of the water. Seven seconds into his nosedive, Michael had caught up with her. Extending his arms, he grabbed her, wrapped his legs and arms around her, and then pulled his chute.

The canopy jerked the divers upward.

Les held his breath.

It was a ballsy move, and Michael managed to keep his grip on Erin in the process, but they had only five seconds left for the canopy to slow their speed before they hit the water.

Les and Layla continued to slow their descent, creating more of a gap between themselves and Michael and Erin. Even with the NVG, it was hard to see them.

“Tin!” Layla yelled even louder.

A small splash went up where the two divers hit the water. Les continued steering himself toward a pier extending from the dock but twisted slightly for a better look at the spot where they splashed down.

He spotted flailing arms a moment later, but he had to focus on his landing. Pulling on his toggles to slow his descent, he did the two-stage flare.

It would have worked just fine if the concrete platform weren’t slick with rain. He ran out the momentum for several steps before slipping and falling on his back. He hit hard enough that he felt a little woozy.

Get up, numb-nuts. Get up!

Fighting his way out of his parachute, he unclipped one riser and anchored the chute so it wouldn’t blow away. He glimpsed the ancient ship on his right, and the hull speckled with rust and barnacles.

It could be a Cazador ship for all he knew, or it could just be another artifact from the Old World. He did a quick scan for contacts and, seeing none, hurried over to Layla.

She had landed behind him, closer to the edge of the pier. She was already nearing the water’s edge and screaming for Michael and Erin.

When Les got there, he looked out over the waves but saw only whitecaps.

“Where are they?” Layla asked, frantic.

A hundred meters out, movement caught his eye.

Panting broke over the comm channel, then a voice.

“Help… help me with her,” Michael gasped.

Les unslung his rifle, took off the vest laden with flares and magazines, and kicked off his boots. Then he dived into the water. Layla jumped in after him. They swam side by side, kicking away from the platform and into the rough sea.

Les hated dark water almost as much as he hated the dark skies, but at least the skies didn’t hide fish that could swallow you in a bite, or giant octopuses like the one X and Magnolia had reported. He tried to shut out thoughts of whatever might be sharing the same water with him.

Fear fueled his movements, and a minute later he was nearing the two chutes spread out like flattened mushrooms in soup. He put an arm under Erin and helped Michael pull her back toward the dock.

Layla swam alongside, freeing their chutes from their harnesses. They wouldn’t be able to salvage those, but it beat the alternative of drowning with them still attached.

“Is she breathing?” Layla asked.

Michael nodded. “She’s alive.” He let out a painful grunt that told Les it had been a rough landing. As the divers made their way back to the docks, waves rolled in, blocking their view each time one slapped against them.

Layla was first to the pier. She climbed up, then turned to help Les and Michael get Erin out of the water.

Les was so anxious to get out, he nearly jumped onto the concrete.

“We have to take off her helmet,” Michael said.

Les checked the radiation reading on his wrist monitor. This area was a green zone—odd, considering the storm that raged above them.

Something was definitely off about this place.

Michael eased Erin’s helmet off her head. Her eyelids were closed, and blood trickled from her nose.

Layla pulled out a medical kit and fished through the contents.

“Open her mouth, Michael,” she said.

He did as ordered, and Layla slipped a pill under her tongue.

“If this doesn’t wake her up…” Layla didn’t finish her sentence.

Les had used the adrenaline pills before. They acted fast, entering the bloodstream through the gums and veins in the mouth.

Michael looked over his shoulder as they waited, and Les followed his gaze down the dock. Two ships were anchored here, but with no sign that anyone had been aboard in the past hundred years.

“Cazadores?” Michael asked.

“I don’t think so,” Les replied.

“Those are ITC ships,” Layla said. “See the markings?” She gestured at the nearer of the two, whose hull read Transport Cyber… with the rest of the letters too faded to read.

A sudden gasp made Les whirl around as Erin, eyes wide, shot up to a sitting position.

“Easy,” Layla said, putting a hand on Erin’s shoulder. “Just breathe.”

“It’s okay,” Michael added reassuringly. He put a hand on her other shoulder.

She looked at them in turn as she took in deep breaths. “Wha… What happened?”

“You were grazed by lightning,” Michael said. “But you’re going to be okay.”

“Where am I?” she asked.

“Red Sphere,” Michael said.

“Can you walk?” Layla asked.

Erin pushed at the ground, her body quivering. “I… I don’t know. Everything tingles.”

A metallic clanking sounded in the distance, and the divers all looked toward the domed building set in the center of the round artificial island.

“Did you hear something?” Layla asked.

Michael nodded. “Come on,” he said, “help me get Erin up. We need to get out of the open.”