Wolves

EIGHTEEN

“Multiple contacts.”

Timothy’s words crackled from the speaker system in the staging room, forcing X’s eyes away from the most beautiful sight he had ever seen through the open hatch.

The sun could wait.

“Two vessels,” Timothy confirmed.

X should have known that it was a bit early to celebrate. A place like this would be heavily protected, and he had a feeling it was the Cazadores doing the protecting. The rapid beating of his heart was no longer caused by joy.

He wasn’t ready for this. They weren’t ready for this.

Magnolia’s wide eyes suggested she felt the same, but she knew what to do. She hurried over to the rack where she stored her gear, and began putting on her armor.

“Where, Pepper?” X asked.

“Due east, about three nautical miles out and moving at only about ten knots.”

X grabbed his rifle, opened the hatch, and slipped outside.

For the first time in his entire life, the sky wasn’t cloaked in darkness. To the east, planks of gold streamed through an opening in the electrical storm, like a portal to another world. As much as he wanted to stare, he moved in a hurry to the mainmast. Grabbing the rungs, he started up to the crow’s nest for a better view of whoever had spotted them, although he had a fair idea.

The wind whistled around his armor and bit into his suit. The sail blocked his view to the east—right where these mysterious contacts were coming from.

Halfway up, his boot slipped off the narrow, wet rung, and he lost his grip. Hanging from one arm, he watched a magazine fall from his vest and clatter onto the deck below.

He swung his hand back up and grabbed the rung.

Come on, old man.

The spear and attached line were just above him, and he swung right to get past. As he reached up for the crow’s-nest rail, his eyes went to his HUD.

It can’t be…

The temperature was seventy degrees Fahrenheit, and there was virtually no trace of radiation. This isolated spot of what many would call heaven wasn’t there for the taking, though.

In the distance, two boats powered toward them, leaving a trail of engine smoke behind them. X jumped into the crow’s nest and unslung his rifle. Another, smaller boat with a single rider led the two larger craft.

Three contacts.

X zoomed in on the small boat, which had handlebars and looked like a seagoing motorcycle. Goggles covered the rider’s face, and long black hair flew over his shoulders. Green and brown clothing rippled in the wind, and the barrel of a slung rifle rose over his back.

This didn’t look like one of the Cazadores he had seen in Florida.

X moved his optics to the larger of the two big boats: a rust bucket that looked worse than some of the wrecks in the Turks and Caicos. Canvas tarps covered the bow, and fishing poles hung from the afterdeck. A cracked glass window obscured the cabin and the two people piloting the vessel. It had an old-world engine, the kind that ran on gasoline and not fuel cells.

It was as if the Sea Wolf had gone through a time machine and entered the Old World.

He studied the men for a few more seconds. Several of them wore some sort of breathing apparatus, but none of them had on the massive suits of armor he remembered from Florida.

For a fleeting moment, he thought that maybe he had found other survivors—people that the passengers of the Hive and Deliverance might live in harmony with.

Then he saw the octopus logo on the helm of the second boat. Just like the one he’d seen tattooed on el Pulpo’s forehead and engraved in his chest armor. There would be no living in harmony with these bastards.

“What do you see?” Magnolia shouted from the deck below.

“Nothin’ pretty!” he yelled back.

He continued scanning the vessel. This one wasn’t a fishing boat. It looked more like what he had seen in Florida. Many years ago, people had called them yachts. They were built for the rich, but this one wasn’t in much better condition than the other boat.

The hull had been stripped of paint and then branded with an image of a purple octopus stretching its arms across the rusty surface. Two men, both wearing helmets, stood at the windowless helm. Slung weapons protruded over their backs, and bandoliers crisscrossed their armored chests.

X moved the scope to a crate resting on the back deck. Three more men stood at the gunwales, weapons cradled. They were coming for the Sea Wolf, with a small army and plenty of guns. And they were quickly closing the gap. The one-man craft suddenly shot ahead, thumping over whitecaps, the driver jolting up and down.

X had waited a long time for this. But despite the longing for revenge, he didn’t feel prepared. His plan had been to surprise these murdering scum, and now he would have to improvise.

He lowered his rifle, staring out over a horizon the color of a ripe apricot. In the distance, miles beyond the boats, he saw structures. Carmine-and-gray towers rose on stilts above the water, looking like giant spiders.

Of course—the Metal Islands…

He focused on the nearest of the towers. He had seen these in picture books.

The fabled Metal Islands weren’t actual islands. They were oil rigs.

Dozens of them lined the horizon, forming a colony in the sea.

“X, what do you—” Magnolia began to call out.

He cut her off with a gravelly shout. “Get to the command room, kid, and use the cameras instead of opening the hatch. I’m going to need you on the controls, but do not raise that hatch. We’re about to have company.”

“Cazadores?”

“About eight of the ugly fuckers. Three vessels. Grab your rifle and everything you can carry.”

Magnolia went back inside the cabin, and he used the time to think. They couldn’t outrun the boats using their sails. Hell, if they turned now they would be tacking into the wind. No, there was only one option.

They had to fight.

X aimed at the rider on the one-man craft and shot him in the chest. The strange little boat coasted several yards farther as the man splashed into the sea and vanished.

X pulled a grenade from his vest and loaded it with a click.

Magnolia stood in the open hatch below, holding her automatic rifle, apparently having forgotten his orders. A bandolier of shotgun shells hung around her neck, and she had a blaster holstered and her curved blade over her back.

“What the hell are you doing!” he shouted.

“I want to fight! Let Timothy command the boat.” She stood there looking up at him from below, a hand shielding her visor. Human eyes weren’t used to real sunlight.

“No!” X boomed. “Get to the control room!”

She hesitated, then went back inside.

X was already aiming at the yacht. It had powered past the fishing boat and the idle one-man craft, not stopping to check whether its rider was alive.

A wide-shouldered man behind the wheel of the boat came into focus. X wasn’t sure how far out they were, but they were close enough for him to see the octopus symbol on an armored plate covering the man’s chest. Goggles covered his face, but X had a feeling he knew this man.

“El Pulpo, we meet again,” X muttered, zooming in closer. This was the king of the Cazadores—the man who had killed Rodger and tried to kill X and Miles back in Florida.

“Hurry up, Mags,” X said. “And, Pepper, you make sure she doesn’t do anything stupid.”

“Sir, thank you for entrusting me with that decision.”

X had been prepared to shut the AI down, but the threat he posed was merely a potentiality. The Cazadores, on the other hand, were a clear-cut danger, and the small crew of the Sea Wolf needed all the help it could get.

Magnolia’s voice came over the channel. “Okay, X, I’m at the controls. Tell me what to do.”

“You see those boats on the monitor?” X asked. “Mags?”

“Holy wastes!” she replied. “I see the boats… and the Metal Islands.”

He swore quietly when he realized she had ignored his order to keep the hatch closed.

Looking out over the open water, X watched the two boats. They were only half a mile away now, and several men on the deck were raising weapons.

“Close the hatch!” he shouted at Magnolia. “And keep going straight!”

“Working on it!”

He shouldered his rifle, waiting for the opportunity. The yacht was making a run at them now.

X lined up his shot, then launched a grenade just ahead of the yacht. He pulled the trigger and watched the grenade zip through the air. A geyser shot up just shy of the bow. Water rained down, drenching the two men behind the helm.

Muzzle flashes came from the fishing boat, and rounds cut the sail below X. He moved the rifle muzzle to the fishing boat and fired directly in front of it.

This time, the grenade exploded against the bow. The fiery blast sent one of the Cazador soldiers flying into the ocean, his clothes burning. The vessel stalled in the water; smoke billowing away from the twisted metal.

X pivoted to fire on the yacht just as a flare lofted away from the boat. He watched as it arced through the air in what seemed like slow motion. His eyes followed it downward, beneath his boots.

The tip caught on the face of the wolf, the flames quickly consuming the emblem and spreading outward.

“Son of a bitch,” X growled. He opened fire on the yacht, holding the trigger down. The pilot turned hard to starboard, sending up a spray of water.

X peppered the hull with bullets.

The Sea Wolf skimmed past the yacht, Magnolia holding the same bearing, the mizzen sail catching enough wind to keep them moving.

After weeks of cursing the rain, X would give about anything for some now.

“Turn, Mags!” he shouted.

“Turn where?”

“Port side, port side!”

The rudders moved, and X pivoted for a shot as the yacht tried to flank them. Thick smoke from the burning sail made him cough and obscured his vision.

He gave up trying to find a shot and climbed out of the crow’s nest. Rounds from the yacht punched through the metal, and one perforated the mast, just above his head. The snapping sound that followed sent a chill through him, but he had scant time to react.

It wasn’t a bullet that broke the line holding the mast in place—it was the fire. The mast snapped forward, catapulting X into the air.

He had a momentary view of the Metal Islands in the distance, but it quickly vanished as sparkling-clear water rose up to meet him. Bubbles exploded around him, and he lost his rifle on impact. He kicked for the surface—the rifle was as good as gone now.

“Mags,” X said between gasps.

He piked and then surface-dived, kicking for his life, just before the hull of the yacht passed overhead. The propellers churned the water where he had been two seconds before.

Filtered air filled his lungs. But the helmet was a double-edged sword—the armor was heavy, and it made swimming difficult.

He kicked away, staying well below the surface and searching for the shadow of the Sea Wolf. Although the water around him was clear, the depths were as dark as a stormy sky.

And he already knew what lurked below. These warm waters were home to more predators than just the Cazadores.

Magnolia’s voice broke over the channel. “X, X… Where are you?”

“Overboard. Just hang on.” But for what?

Though X could hear the yacht’s engines, he had no good idea where it was or how far he was from the Sea Wolf. He would have to break the surface to find out.

Kicking and breaststroking, he fought his way to the top. When he was just below the surface, he used his arms to slow his ascent, so that little more than the top of his helmet broke through the water.

The clouds had parted directly overhead, revealing the unobstructed sun. He squinted at the bright rays. Treading water, he turned in a slow circle.

Both boats were floating side by side some two hundred meters away. Several Cazadores were already boarding the Sea Wolf with rifles and spearguns. One man remained on the port side of the yacht, looking over the barbed wire and searching the water.

“Mags, you’re about to have company,” X said. “Don’t let them inside. Wait for me; I’m almost there.”

X slowly sank back under the waves and began swimming under the surface. He took in slow, measured breaths, careful not to use up the small oxygen reserve in his helmet.

He reached for the blaster on his hip, then changed his mind and pulled the serrated knife from the sheath on his duty belt.

Come on, come on…

A garbled message came over the channel.

“Should I send a Mayday with our location?” Magnolia asked, her voice shaky.

X was surprised to hear her ask. The guilt from her decision to send the Red Sphere coordinates had likely stuck with her, but this time it was different. Finding the Metal Islands was worth the risk.

“Do it,” X said. “Send an SOS to the Hive and Deliverance.”

He submerged deeper as he approached the Sea Wolf, going all the way under the hull. On the starboard side, he came up and grabbed the edge where the octopus had torn the barbed wire away. There was no one in sight on the deck.

He waited several seconds, then grabbed the starboard gunwale. The two Cazadores had already broken through the first hatch. Gunfire cracked, and Miles barked from inside the cabin.

“Hell no, you don’t,” X said. He reached up to the rail and was pulling himself aboard when a net suddenly fell over him. A soldier wearing goggles emerged overhead and kicked him in the helmet so hard, the glass cracked.

X flew backward, still draped in the net, and hit the water with a splash. Bullets hit the water, zipping past him in white streaks.

“Mags! Miles!” X yelled. He kicked and pulled, but the net had him enshrouded like a captured fish, and water was already coming in through his cracked visor.

During the lull in the gunfire, he could hear Magnolia’s shouts over the comm channel.

Dark smoke drifted from the last shreds of the burning mainsail. More gunfire shot through the water. X waited for the soldier to empty his magazine, then kicked his way to the surface, trying to get free of the net.

It was the big-shouldered man with the octopus tattooed on his chest glaring over the side. He pulled up his goggles for a better view of X, revealing a beakish nose.

It wasn’t el Pulpo after all.

The man gave X a sharp-toothed grin, then let out a laugh.

X fell back beneath the water. He tried to cut through the net with his blade, but his arm was constricted, making it almost impossible.

He sank deeper this time, as water rushed through the crack and filled his mouth. Spitting, he tried to keep from swallowing.

Magnolia’s voice crackled through his speakers. “X! X, where are you?”

He thrashed harder, but he couldn’t get free.

The hull of the Sea Wolf blurred as he sank deeper and deeper.

No. You have to keep…

He heard Miles barking. Or was it his imagination?

X squirmed harder, finally freeing the knife. It slid out of his grip, and he grabbed it with his other hand, then slashed through the netting.

His lungs burned, and he fought the urge to suck in seawater, all the while sawing away at the netting.

He finally got free and kicked back under the boat, toward the port side. Pausing to tread water in the space between the Sea Wolf and the Cazador boat, he caught his breath and blinked away the blur. His vision finally cleared, and he prepared to flank the enemy soldier.

Another scrambled transmission flared over the channel, but this one he couldn’t make out.

He continued swimming in the space between the two boats, when the yacht’s engines revved, churning the water behind him and launching the boat away.

Though caught in the wake, he managed to grab on to something hanging off the gunwale of the Sea Wolf as the props thrust him away.

The moving water pulled him, and the strand of barbed wire that he had unwittingly grabbed cinched tight around his gloved hand, cutting into the flesh. The wire uncoiled from the rail as the yacht’s wake pushed him backward.

He fought the prop wash, treading and watching as the yacht sped away. Working the wire with both hands, he finally managed to get free, but the damage was already done. Blood leaked from several cuts.

He kicked back to the port side and looked over the rail. The Cazador who had netted him was still peering over the starboard gunwale, searching the water with his rifle.

X slowly pulled himself up, wincing from the pain in his hand. As soon as his boots hit the deck, he was running. Halfway across the deck, he slipped and fell.

The Cazador whirled with his rifle aimed at X, laughing.

“Ahora mueres,” the man said.

X rolled left as the man pulled the trigger. Bullets slammed into the deck.

A snapping sound came from across the boat, followed by a guttural “Oomph!”

He braced for the bullets, but they never came. X pushed himself off the deck and walked over to the Cazador, who was now pinned by a spear to the cabin wall. The soldier held on to the shaft that had impaled his chest, right through the octopus logo.

“Are you okay, Commander?” said a voice over the comms.

Realization set in as X approached the man. Timothy had saved his hide by firing one of the mounted spearguns.

Blood trickled out of the soldier’s mouth as he tried to say something to X.

“I’m fine, Pepper. Where are Miles and Mags?”

“They took them. I’m sorry, sir. I couldn’t…”

X walked back to the man and used his knife to trace a line across his throat. He wiped the blade on the Cazador’s chest before resheathing it.

“There is something called a WaveRunner not far from here,” Timothy said. “You can take that to go after Magnolia and Miles. I’m also going to replay the audio from their capture, translated into English, to help you.”

X watched with grim satisfaction as the Cazador took his last gurgling breaths. The guy was a strong bastard, and he kicked several times before his eyes finally rolled up in his head.

“Listen to this, Commander,” Timothy said.

The translated message crackled in his helmet.

The translation ceased, and X looked out over the water. He could see the WaveRunner. It would take him a while to swim there. He hurried over to start gathering the weapons and supplies he would need to save Miles and Mags.

“I’ll keep transmitting as long as I can, but I have a feeling this might be the last time we speak,” Timothy said.

“Thanks, Pepper,” X said. “For the record, I’m glad I didn’t shut you down.”