Wolves

TWENTY-ONE

Les stood at the helm of the USS Zion, watching a magnificent storm. Lightning cleaved the horizon, streaking through the black like a giant fiery octopus. The residual blue glow remained for several seconds, and the rumble of thunder sounded both distant and close.

This was the same view his eyes were accustomed to seeing for as long as he could remember. Most of the time, he ignored the sights and sounds of the storms, as someone might have done two and a half centuries ago when strolling through a park or down a city sidewalk.

The storms were part of life. He had never thought he would know any surroundings other than black sky or blasted surface. Certainly, he had never thought he would see the sun. But in a single month, all that had changed.

He climbed the ladder to what Captain DaVita had called the “island,” where she stood watching Jaideep and Trey work. They were outside on a mezzanine, using tackle and slings to bring the remains of a sailor down.

“Still nothing from the Hive or Deliverance,” he reported.

“Keep trying,” the captain said.

Everyone was on edge, and having something to do was a good thing. He returned to the bridge and sat back down on the leather chair, which creaked under the weight of his body and armor. Picking up the handset, he scanned to the channel used for communicating with the Hive, and tried to reach Samson.

Nothing.

Next, he tried Deliverance.

Still nothing.

Finally, he tried the Sea Wolf. Most of the crew didn’t trust the AI, but Timothy was the nearest thing they had to a connection with Magnolia, X, and Miles.

Static from the radio station filled the bridge with the hollow sound of loneliness.

Les shook his head, muttering. “Come on…”

He went through the channels a second and a third time. After an hour of trying to make radio contact, he returned to the ladder, where Trey and Jaideep were carrying the skeletal remains of the dead sailor onto the landing.

“Careful,” Katrina said behind them.

They brought what was left of the body down to the bridge and set it on a cleared table.

“What on earth would he be doing up there?” Jaideep asked.

“Hiding from something,” Katrina said.

She looked over to Les, and he answered the question that she need not even ask.

“Still no contact with the airships or the Sea Wolf, Captain.”

She sighed and put her hands in her vest pocket, looking down at the remains.

“He’s been dead a very long time,” Trey said.

Les walked over for a better look. It was easy to wonder about the long-ago life of each body he saw from the Old World. Who was this man? How had he lived his life? And the most compelling question of all: How did he die?

Bones darkened by a lightning strike lay on the table in front of the divers. The elements hadn’t left much to examine. The uniform and suit were almost entirely gone—only a few brittle swatches hanging off a twisted duty belt.

Katrina gently took off the helmet to reveal a mummified face of shrunken skin stretched over cheekbones. The eyes looked like raisins, and the lips were just as shriveled.

She walked away from the table with the helmet and held it under a light.

“Les, you think you can get this helmet cam to work?” she asked.

He joined her under the light and took the helmet, turning it over. A camera was mounted on the top, right above the faded flag of the United States of America.

“I’m not sure,” he said, “but I’ll give it a go.”

The radio suddenly crackled behind them, drawing everyone’s attention away from the helmet and remains.

“Captain DaVita…” A flurry of white noise followed, then, “Captain DaVita, this is Chief Engineer Samson. Do you…”

Katrina and Les rushed over to the radio equipment. She took a seat in the chair and grabbed the receiver.

“Copy, Samson, this is Katrina.”

“Where the hell you been, Cap?” he replied.

Katrina closed her eyes and let out a sigh of relief. “We’ve been busy. Very busy. It’s a long story, but as you may already know, Red Sphere was an ambush. We escaped in a navy ship called the USS Zion and are sailing for the Virgin Islands to render aid to the Sea Wolf.” She paused before adding, “They found the Metal Islands, Samson. They are real.”

“Are you freaking kidding me?” Samson replied, his voice breaking up from the bad connection. “You shouldn’t play jokes on an old man, Cap.”

“This is real,” Katrina replied. “Contact Ensign White aboard Deliverance and tell him to meet us at the following coordinates. I’m sending some of the divers back up to the ship. They are then to dock with the Hive, where Lieutenant Les Mitchells will recruit an army.”

“An army?” Samson asked. “Whatever the hell for?”

“To help X and Magnolia if they are still alive, and to take the Metal Islands from the Cazadores.”

Les swallowed at the implications. All this was new to him, and he exchanged a look with his son, who seemed shaken by the assertion that they were going to war.

Hell, Les was terrified of the idea, but was now the time to argue? He decided it was. “Captain, all due respect, but most of the people aboard the Hive are in no shape to fight.”

“And your job is to find the people who can fight,” Katrina said. “I don’t need a huge army because I have something the Cazadores don’t have.” She paused again. “We have weapons of war aboard Deliverance and the USS Zion.”

“I’m of the same mind as Lieutenant Mitchells,” Samson said. “Most of our passengers have never held a weapon any deadlier than a potato rake. They’re not used to violence, nor have the heart for it. These Cazadores, from what I know, are brutes.”

Katrina seemed to ponder his words for a moment. It gave Les time to consider what lay ahead.

“You have your orders, Samson, and I expect you to follow them. I’ll have Les send you the coordinates shortly. I’ve found a break in the storm, about ten miles from here. Deliverance will hover over the clouds there, and we will send up our injured. I will continue with the USS Zion to the Metal Islands, where Deliverance will meet us when we’re ready to attack.”

“What about the Hive?” Samson asked.

“We will bring her, but keep her out of view,” Katrina replied.

Les expected the chief engineer to protest the plan, but to his surprise, Samson replied with, “I hope you know what you’re doing, Captain.”

Static drowned out his transmission, but his voice came back over the speakers a moment later. His tone had suddenly changed.

“I can’t wait to see them,” Samson said.

“See what?” Katrina asked.

“Those islands. Our new home. I just hope we don’t have to pay too dearly for this place.”

The salt breeze carried another scent—a citrus smell that reminded Magnolia of the farm on the Hive. But this was different, more potent than anything on the airship.

She crawled over to the bars to see the next oil rig that the pilot of the boat was heading for. It wasn’t just a rig like the other metal platforms rising from the sea. Unlike the shanties built on the other platforms, this structure was like an ancient castle, with turrets and towers of metal, and pointy tops reaching for the sky. Even more impressive, rooftop-mounted solar panels angled toward the bright sun on turrets. They had to be on some sort of tracking system to get the most out of the light.

After several hours of traveling slowly through the Cazador-controlled territory, she was finally here, at the end of the voyage.

She took in the view in awe, almost forgetting the fear and dread boiling up inside of her guts. The gray towers were decorated with paintings, but she was still too far out to see the designs and pictures. What she could see were horizontal wings stretching out from the levels near the top. About thirty floors up, a central platform, jutting outward from the rest of the structure, held a garden of actual green trees.

Someone was standing there, watching the boat approach, but they were too high up for her to make out any facial features.

A king overlooking his realm.

This was not just another oil rig. This was the capital of the Metal Islands city-state.

The Cazadores standing next to the cage suddenly pounded their chests and made the same clacking sound with their teeth that she had heard from the citizens. Some sort of homage to their king, she supposed.

The driver slowed the boat and directed it toward a dock at the bottom of the towers. A massive door under the structure opened, revealing other boats docked there.

Magnolia glanced over her shoulder at the dozens of other oil rigs they had left behind. How was X supposed to find her and Miles now? And how was X supposed to fight through so many of these barbarians?

She turned back to the tower looming overhead and noticed something she had missed earlier. A dome-shaped roof crested the very top, right below the clouds. There, illuminated in golden sunlight, were the smooth lines of an airship.

For a moment, she thought the Hive had descended from the clouds to land on the castle. But this ship hadn’t flown in ages; she could tell by the forest growing on the rooftop. Hundreds of trees and plants basked in the sunlight, their branches thick with leaves and fruit.

Now she knew the source of the citrus smell.

The intoxicating perfume of oranges, limes, and other, unknown fruits wafted on the salt breeze. She took in a deep breath, wondering whether this might be one of her last.

“¡Arriba!” one of the men shouted at her. “¡Arriba!”

The boat drifted toward a dock, where dozens more Cazadores stood waiting. Many of them were armed with guns or blades, but several, wearing brown robes, stood with their hands clasped behind their backs.

She stood and shielded Miles behind her back. Her swollen eyelids provided only a narrow view of the men who did not look like the others. Their shaved heads glistened in the sun. Like the Cazadores, some were as light-skinned as Magnolia, others darker.

Were these men some sort of servants?

There were also two middle-aged Cazadores in green suit jackets and pants to match. Unlike the filthy soldiers, these two had well-trimmed beards and wrinkle-free clothes that reminded her of Timothy Pepper. One of the guys pushed eyeglasses up on his nose and studied her, then looked down at a piece of paper clipped to a metal board. He used a pen to write something as he spoke to the other man.

The boat bumped the dock, and two dockhands in shorts threw out a mooring rope. Magnolia remained in the cage, Miles standing behind her and growling. Her tattered shirt blew in the wind as the soldiers opened the cage.

“It’s okay, boy,” she whispered, although she knew that it was anything but. This was it, the moment she had been dreading. Fear weighted her heart, and no matter how hard she tried to be strong, she was almost paralyzed by what she was about to face. Never in her life had she felt so alone and exposed. She covered her chest with her arm.

The pilot of the boat, a man with long hair, walked over and directed the other two soldiers to grab her. They both grinned as they ducked down to enter the cage.

Miles barked and growled, coming out in front of Magnolia. One of the men pointed a long weapon with a spear-like muzzle at the dog.

“No!” she shouted, trying to move in front of the weapon.

Blue flashed from the barrel, and Miles hit the cage floor, jerking and vibrating. His blue eyes, masked by fear, looked up to meet hers.

“No,” Magnolia sobbed, getting down on her knees beside Miles. She picked his limp body up, the fur and flesh warm to the touch. A tear fell from her eye onto his bloody forehead.

“You shit-head bastards!” she hissed, looking up at the two grinning men outside the cage. “You’re going to pay for this. X is going to make you all pay!”

Her snarled words wiped the smiles off their faces. They stood their ground, and one of them gestured for her to come out.

She got to her feet, still holding Miles in her arms. She felt his heartbeat and felt him take a breath. He was still alive, but there was only so much punishment even his genetically modified body could endure.

Magnolia took a deep breath and walked out of the cage. One of the men grabbed her by the arm, and the other pushed her toward the temporary dock between the pier and the boat.

She carried Miles across it and toward the Cazadores standing outside. The circular pier led to a double door ten feet high, with a faded wood trim and bronze accents that looked like octopuses. Two men in shiny metal suits stood guard with spears pointed skyward. Their almond-shaped eye covers stared ahead, neither of them looking in her direction.

They looked exactly like the soldiers from the boats back in Florida—the men who had killed Rodger and captured her.

Along the pier, several small one-man boats like the WaveRunner were tied to the dock. One bore the faded blue letters sea-doo on its side. An open door led to what appeared to be a garage for more vessels. Several bobbed up and down in the protected storage area under the huge structure.

“¡Muévanse!” the man holding her arm yelled.

The second soldier, the one who had shot Miles with the electric weapon, poked her in the back with the tip. The hot barrel stung her skin, and she stifled a whimper. She wouldn’t give them the satisfaction.

Magnolia kept moving across the dock until she reached the pier. The group of Cazadores all parted, and the five men in brown robes began to walk toward a tall cage suspended by a cable. There was something very different about them—they all appeared to be of different races, and none were carrying any weapons. Aside from their clothing, the only thing they had in common was the octopus pendant that each wore around his neck.

One by one, they stepped into the elevator left of the door where the two armored soldiers stood guard.

“¡Muévanse!” her captor yelled again when she hesitated.

They herded her toward the elevator. Once the robed men were inside, the two guards tapped their spear handles against the deck and began walking toward her.

Magnolia stopped right outside the open cage door, Miles still limp in her arms. The man holding her arm and the man with the electric weapon pushed her toward the opening.

She took a step inside.

The soldiers followed her and locked the gate behind them. One of them pushed a crank lever, and the cable clanked overhead, lifting them off the deck.

She hated to turn her back to these men, and shifted slightly to observe them. Both men towered over her by a foot. They formed an X with their spears. Her eyes gravitated to their secondary weapons, blades sheathed on leather belts around their armor. A thought crossed her mind, but she was still holding Miles and would have to drop him to make a play for one of the blades.

No, this wasn’t her opportunity.

Looking down, she saw the Cazadores on the piers, still staring up at her as if she were an alien creature from the stars. More people were watching behind windows with open shutters as the cage rose past them.

Almost all the people she saw behind the glass were women, and unlike those back at the oil rigs, they didn’t appear filthy. Many were attractive. Some even wore what looked like makeup. Jewelry made of shells and turquoise decorated their half-naked bodies. All of them seemed to look at her with dread and pity, as though they knew exactly what she was about to experience.

But it wasn’t the sad eyes that took her breath—it was the paintings on the metal walls of their homes—or prisons.

As the cage rose higher, she admired the murals and drawings on this castle on the sea. Like the bulkheads on the Hive, the walls had been covered with beautiful images from the Old World.

Animals.

People.

Vehicles.

And…

An airship like the one crowning the towers above her.

Cazadores and the robed men were painted on the metal around the airship, all of them on their knees as if worshipping it. Words had been scribbled above the drawing: los dioses del cielo.

The sky people? she wondered. Or did it mean something else?

The cage continued upward, and she glanced up through the open ceiling to the airship above them, with its forest and gardens growing toward the sky. She remembered the transmissions from Captain Marcus Bolter and the ITC Ashland in the downloads from the facility on the Turks and Caicos Islands.

Was that the Ashland above?

Had he come here two hundred and sixty years ago?

The cage jolted to a stop at the thirtieth floor and the men in robes opened the second door. They had reached the platform she had seen earlier, the deck jutting high over the blue-green sea. A forest of trees grew out of the soil, their branches laden with oranges, and other fruits.

Magnolia followed the bald, robed men out of the cage, and the two guards with spears stepped out. They walked slowly after her, their spear tips pointing at the sky.

A central pool stood amid the trees—and not just any pool. This one had colorful fish swimming lazily beneath the surface.

The robed men walked down a dirt path lined with bushes and flowers. This was the first nonmutant garden she had seen anywhere but aboard the Hive or Deliverance. None of the plants seemed to be carnivorous, toxic, or noxious in any way, and the petals had more hues than she had ever seen. She had never seeing anything so beautiful. And now, having seen it, she must die a slave to a murdering cannibal.

No, I will not be a slave.

She would die first. Something at her core hardened. She would use her last moments to kill the man who had killed Rodger—to accomplish what she had set out on this journey to do.

The path bent away from the pool and the trees and merged into a cobblestone walkway. This trail curved toward a windowless section of the castle. She saw only one door to the right… with no one guarding it.

The path continued toward a short stairway that climbed to a platform with a single seat made of bones. She wasn’t surprised to find sitting there a man in a full suit of armor, with Siren-skull epaulets on both shoulders.

El Pulpo.

Here was the man she had traveled across the ocean to kill.

Her eyes went to two cages that flanked the throne. Skeletal remains were strewn on the floor of the left cage, and a human figure was curled up in the cage on the right. She couldn’t see a face and wasn’t even sure the person was alive.

Behind the throne rose a sculpture of an octopus, its long snaky sucker-covered arms splayed in all directions. The metallic arms glimmered in the sunshine.

Miles began to stir as she walked. She held him steady, her muscles burning under his weight. Part of her wished the dog would remain unconscious. He would be better off that way if they were going to kill and eat him. She didn’t want him to suffer anymore.

Magnolia considered running for the railing and diving over the side with Miles in her arms. Then neither of them would have to suffer.

It would be a painless death, and for a moment she would be free to stare out over this beautiful, mysterious world. But the desire for revenge, and the will to survive, were ingrained into her soul. She could never take her own life, especially when she still had fight left in her.

The robed men left the shade of the trees and walked along the stone path toward their king. They all stopped on the first step to the throne and looked up to face el Pulpo.

Magnolia stopped with Miles about ten feet back from the bottom step.

She could feel the presence of the two men behind her and knew that if she tried anything, they would plunge their spears into her flesh. So she remained standing, trying to be strong, praying that Deliverance would descend from the sky to drop bombs on el Pulpo’s ugly face, or that X would show up, guns blazing.

But neither scenario was likely.

She was going to be raped, tortured, and eaten.

Miles stirred awake in her arms, eyelids flickering and finally opening. She gently set the dog down and told him to sit.

Disoriented but alert, Miles did as ordered, resting on his haunches and taking a quick scan of his surroundings.

“It’s okay… It’s all going to be okay,” she said.

Only, of course, it wasn’t.

El Pulpo reached up and took off his helmet.

“You sick son of a bitch!” Magnolia shouted.

Armor clanked behind her, and one of the soldiers yelled, “¡Silencio!”

She slowly turned to see both spears pointed at her heart.

“¡Bajen sus armas!” shouted a gruff voice.

Turning back toward the platform, she watched el Pulpo, king of the Cazadores, walk down the steps, past his priests or servants or whatever the hell they were.

He had grown some hair since she last saw him. A short-cropped strip ran from his widow’s peak over the top of his caramel-hued scalp. The eye that X had destroyed with a needle years ago was nothing but a hollow socket now. His remaining eye studied Magnolia, and his thick brown lips opened to reveal jaws rimmed with sharpened yellow teeth.

He was a massive man, with wide shoulders and tree-trunk calves and arms. When he was a few feet away, he was already towering over Magnolia. His rancid breath hit her face. Apparently, el Pulpo did not recognize her from the Cazador ship back in Florida, and for that at least, she was grateful.

“Tienes miedo,” el Pulpo said to her. “You afray.” Then he said something in Spanish to the soldiers, who laughed.

Miles came up off his haunches, growling low.

The Cazador king looked down at the dog, grinned, and then barked, spreading out his arms, the Siren skull crests on his shoulder pads rising up like skeletal wings.

Magnolia held her ground, but Miles backed away.

“I’m not afraid,” she said. “I came here to kill you.”

El Pulpo licked his thick lips. Then he gestured for one of the men behind him. A bald, gray-bearded servant in a brown robe scurried forward, hands clasped.

The king spoke to him, and the man faced Magnolia. In near-perfect English, he said, “My name is Imulah. I am a scribe serving King Pulpo in all his glory. Our lord speaks only a bit of English, so I will assist in translation. To start, he wants to know your name and where you came from.”

Her eyes met the servant’s. There was empathy there, and a subtle nod as if to say, Do as you’re told, and it will go better for you. His eyes dropped to the floor, and he lowered his shiny pate in obeisance.

“My name is Magnolia,” she said, standing as tall as she could despite her injuries. “I am from the sky, and I’m here to kill your king.”

The servant glanced up and slowly shook his head, as if he didn’t want to relay her words.

“Go ahead, tell him,” Magnolia said.

The man swallowed and looked to el Pulpo, who was scrutinizing him with a deep gaze from his single eye. They exchanged several words, and el Pulpo reared his head back, laughing uproariously. His deep voice echoed off the metal castle walls.

The other servants all stared at the floor, but the two guards behind her chuckled.

Magnolia remained stone-faced. She crossed her arms over her torn shirt.

El Pulpo laughed for another few moments and then ran a hand over the strip of hair on his head.

Walking forward, he came within inches of her face and then clamped his teeth together. She turned her head slightly, holding the air in her lungs to keep his rotten breath at bay.

He leaned in, his eye roving back and forth as he studied her face, neck, chest, and body. She closed her eyes, shivering when his cold tongue ran up and down her cheek.

“Tu eres guapa, he said. “You muy beautiful.” Then he pulled back and gave the small robed man another order.

“He wants me to tell you that he needs a new queen.” The man paused, then added. “He said his other ten wives will be jealous at first, but he will protect you. Your dog, however…”

Magnolia looked down at Miles, then back to the man. “You tell your king that if he hurts Miles, I will bite his tiny pecker off and throw it to the fish. I’ll fit right in with you sick cannibal pricks.”

The servant’s eyes widened, and he quickly shook his head.

“Tell him.”

Again el Pulpo laughed at her words. This time he put a hand on his chest armor, directly on the engraving of the octopus.

“Me gusta,” he said, chuckling. “Me gusta mucho.”

His grin remained, showing off a wedge of pink stuck between his two front teeth. It looked a lot like flesh.

Was that the smell on his breath? Was she breathing the scent of roasted human flesh?

Her stomach churned at the thought. She suddenly didn’t feel so strong anymore. Her shoulders sagged, and her knees started to buckle.

Imulah looked at her with the saddest gaze she had ever seen—the gaze of a man who had lost everything, including his soul. She wondered about his life, where he was from, how he had come to live here with these people.

She pictured herself standing in his place.

No, she thought. I will not become a slave. I will never give myself to this maniac.

Magnolia exhaled and straightened her back. Then she did what she had been wanting to do for a while. She spat in el Pulpo’s face.

He reared back, the spit dripping from his chin. To her amazement, his smile remained.

At the distant crack of gunfire, he looked over her shoulder to the water beyond. He directed one of his soldiers toward the railing and then turned back to Imulah.

Apparently, gunfire wasn’t all that big a deal on the Metal Islands.

Miles nudged her leg, his muscles shivering.

“El Pulpo wants to know how you found us,” the servant said.

Magnolia remained silent.

“You’re only hurting yourself if you don’t talk,” he said.

El Pulpo wiped the rest of the spittle off his face and tasted it with his long tongue. Magnolia’s stomach churned again.

As he licked his finger clean, the gunfire returned, this time followed by a raucous explosion.

She turned back to the view of the ocean and the oil rigs.

Flames licked the horizon, where one of the platforms had exploded. A massive blast suddenly flared, and the entire structure seemed to go up in a small mushroom cloud. El Pulpo shoved her out of the way and ran after his two guards for a better view.

“I’m not the only one who came to kill you!” Magnolia shouted after him. “The man who took your eye is here, and this time he will finish the job.”

El Pulpo halted and looked back to Imulah, who quickly translated her words. The smile on the king’s face was gone now. He snorted at her like one of the armored hogs on the Turks and Caicos Islands.

“That’s right, you lump of Siren shit. The devil’s coming, and he won’t show you any mercy. Xavier Rodriguez is the king of the surface—not you,” she said, wagging a purple-painted fingernail.

El Pulpo raised one pierced brow while the robed servant explained her words. The next thing happened with such speed, she had no chance to react.

He smacked her in the head with the crown of his head, blocking out the sunlight in a sudden blow. She collapsed to the floor, feeling the wet fur of the dog beneath her crumpled body.