Allegiance

FIFTEEN

Magnolia shivered in her bunk. The images of framed human-skin canvases were seared in her mind. Rodger sat in the bunk across from her, his knees pulled up to his chest under a blanket.

“I really want to know what the hell Lieutenant Alejo meant when he said ‘we’ did this,” she said.

“Maybe one of the guys living on the outpost got cabin fever and decided to turn his pals into upholstery,” he replied. “I’m sure a few divers thought about doing that to me back in the day.”

“Not funny, Rodge.”

“We’ll find out soon, I hope.”

“I’m guessing they’re still talking, since we haven’t lowered to drop them off on Star Grazer or climbed above the storm yet.”

She rested her head and tried to calm her beating heart. She should be sleeping but was still riding high on adrenaline from an eventful day.

Just when she thought she was going to get some answers in the briefing room, Les had kicked out all the divers except Michael. It left her and the others wondering what secrets the Cazadores had kept from them this time.

Even with a vault full of records, there was still much they didn’t know about these people and their past.

Rodger groaned. “First the snakes, then whatever bizarre, ghoulish stuff we saw in the tower, and we’re not even halfway to our target yet. Now I’m kind of wishing I hadn’t stowed away on the Sea Wolf, but I couldn’t let you come alone.”

“You were supposed to be guarding X.”

Rodger gave her a wry smile. “Mags, did you somehow miss seeing that six-foot-five badass that’s guarding him? I’m pretty sure he’s safe with Rhino. Guy is pure muscle.”

“Yeah, yeah, but he could still use more eyes with all the enemies he has back at the islands. For the record, you don’t have to come on this mission once we get to the target.”

“Mags, you can’t get rid of me,” he said with an extended grin. “I’d ride the back of a mutant whale if you were on it.”

Magnolia forced a smile back, but she wasn’t in the mood for romance, which was what Rodger had in mind, judging by his gaze.

She pulled the blanket up over her bra.

“You shouldn’t have come, Rodge. X needed your help, and I can take care of myself.”

Rodger seemed a bit taken aback by her response, and for that she was sorry. After all, he had helped save her on the surface. Who could say what might have happened if he hadn’t ridden the cable down to help.

“Look, it’s not that I don’t want you here,” she said. “I just worry about X.”

“I understand. With flawless hindsight, I see that I should have stayed behind. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

Rodger laid his head back on the pillow. “We’d better try and get some sleep,” he said.

“I wouldn’t count on that,” said a voice.

Michael’s head poked through the open hatch.

Wearing jumpsuit and armor, he looked ready to dive.

Rodger was wearing nothing but tight-fitting shorts similar to those he had worn in the sky arena. He hopped out of bed and stretched, his face distorting from trying to suppress a yawn.

“Man, what’s going on now?” he moaned.

Michael looked away from Rodger. “Rads and Sirens, man! Get some clothes on and meet me on the bridge.”

Magnolia laughed and threw off her blanket as soon as Michael had closed the hatch. She didn’t mind giving Rodger a quick peek. He deserved that much.

Rodger swallowed and pushed his glasses up.

“Your hands are shaking,” she said.

“What?” he said. Then he put his hands behind his back. “Oh, sorry.”

Magnolia walked over to him in her underwear, kissed him on the lips, and then left him standing there, quivering, while she changed.

They met Michael on the bridge a few minutes later. The other divers were there, too, but General Santiago and Lieutenant Alejo were gone.

Acid rain continued pounding against the portholes of the bridge.

“All right, listen up,” Les said. “We’ve got a massive storm front bearing down on us, so we’re going to stay below it and follow Star Grazer east and south, the rest of the way to Rio de Janeiro.”

Timothy nodded and said, “Ready to lower the Cazadores back to their ship, Captain.”

“Get it done.”

The airship began to descend toward the warship on the seas.

“So, what’s this situation?” Rodger said. “The storm?”

“No,” Les said. “The skinwalkers.”

“What?” Magnolia asked.

Les walked over to the portholes.

“Apparently, there are more Cazadores than we thought,” he said. “The defectors and mutant life-forms aren’t the only things we have to worry about out here.”

Timothy joined Les at the windows and whispered something that she couldn’t make out. The captain nodded at the AI.

“Lieutenant Brower, you have permission to fire on my mark,” Les said.

“Fire at what?” Magnolia asked.

Les kept his gaze out the porthole, his hands cupped behind his back. She crossed the room to join him with the other divers.

“Mark,” Les said.

A thump sounded belowdecks, and a missile streaked away. The vapor trail curved away from the ship and over the ocean. It hit the central tower of the outpost a moment later, a bright explosion blooming in the darkness.

The fiery blast lit up the tower as it collapsed into a pile of debris. Hunks of glowing shrapnel rained down onto the coastline.

“Fire again, Lieutenant,” Les said.

Another missile roared away from the ship, this time going past the flames of the tower. Two more beats passed before it exploded.

“Is that the fuel station?” Magnolia whispered.

Layla looked at her screen. “Both targets destroyed, Captain.”

“Good,” Les said. He returned to his captain’s chair. “Now we can focus on the real mission.”

Magnolia stared out the windows, watching the distant orange glow. “What if we need to come back here for fuel?” she asked.

Les tabbed his screen, not looking up. “We won’t ever be coming back here. The location was compromised, and we can’t allow the precious fuel to fall into enemy hands.”

Magnolia recalled Santiago’s words about his people being responsible for what happened in the tower.

The skinwalkers weren’t a new group of humans on the surface. They were another faction of Cazadores that had split off and destroyed Bloodline.

“Timothy, set the course to Rio de Janeiro,” Les said. “Time to see what’s really waiting for us there.”

A day had passed since Discovery and Star Grazer departed, and Rhino was going crazy with worry about Sofia. In less than a week, she would arrive at the target and jump from the sky to look for survivors and possibly battle the metal gods.

Rhino would bet his monthly rations that no one was alive there. If the metal gods had intercepted the transmission, that put everyone at risk and could result in a Jamaica-style shit storm or worse.

He tried not to think about Sofia on the ride from the capitol tower to Elysium.

With the loss of the fuel outpost Bloodline and the decimation of their fleet in the battle for the islands, things weren’t looking good for their once powerful armada.

If his subordinates knew the truth about the Lion and her crew, he would have enough swords sticking out of his back to get mistaken for a bone beast. Worse, he still hadn’t recruited for the Cazador team X wanted.

The ride from the capitol tower to Elysium was long, giving him plenty of time to think about it. There were so many places he would rather be. In bed with Sofia, for instance, or at one of the ale shacks where he could soak his worries into submission—even the trading-post rig that he so despised.

The thought had given him an idea.

The only surviving member of the Barracudas lived there now. Mac had retired from service after multiple injuries all but killed him on a mission six years ago, long before Rhino took over the team. It had been a while since he last saw his old friend, but no matter. Mac was someone he could trust.

Rhino watched the capitol tower receding in the boat’s wake.

Moonlight illuminated the little tropical forest and the gun emplacements that the militia manned to protect their new home. X was inside his command center, still trying to raise Discovery on the encrypted channel.

Rhino had thought he needed some time away from the sky people, but that was before he gave much thought to the time he was about to spend with his own people.

But what were his people? He was not a Cazador. Nor was he a sky person. Hell, he didn’t even feel like part of the family he was born into back in the Texas bunker.

You’re a mutt. Nothing more.

He tried to relax on the back of the speedboat, letting the cool breeze wash over him. The pilot kept his eyes on the water, but his son, the boat hand, kept staring at him.

The kid was maybe ten years old, with long hair, eyes the color of the ocean, and a tattoo of a fish on his wrist. Even under a nearly full moon, Rhino couldn’t make out what kind of fish.

The boat thumped over the waves, faster now that they were past the no-wake zone around the capitol tower. Rhino tried to relax, but the rocky ride and the kid’s stare finally got to him.

“What?” he finally said to the boat hand.

In reply, the kid held up his arm in the moonlight, revealing the tattoo of a barracuda. He nodded proudly at Rhino.

This kid wanted to become a warrior on the legendary team that Rhino had once led into battle—a team that no longer existed.

“Sorry, kid, but if I were you, I’d stick to fishing with my dad,” Rhino said in Spanish.

Rhino thought of his old teammates. Whale, Fuego, Wendig. Having them by his side now would have made things easier—and safer. But now he was a general without any soldiers he could truly trust. He also held a secret that could lead to another war.

Picking up his spear, he stood and grabbed the rail as the boat slowed. A dozen smaller craft, including some merchant vessels and troop transports, were anchored alongside Elysium.

Rhino thanked the pilot and gave him a coin. Then he slapped the boy on the shoulder.

“Hunting fish beats hunting men and monsters,” Rhino said. “And it has a better future.”

He stepped up on the gunwale and onto the warship’s ladder.

Clanking blades and shouting from trainees and instructors greeted him on the deck. A drill sergeant stood at a chalkboard, keeping tally of the young warriors sparring in the moonlight.

A scream cut through the general clamor, and a young man dropped to the deck, clutching a broken leg. Two corpsmen splinted the leg and slipped a stretcher under the kid and hauled him away. For the near future, his training was over.

Rhino walked over to the chalkboards. Felipe had already racked up several wins, and he was fighting now. With his staff, he swept his opponent’s legs. Then he pounced like a Siren.

The drill sergeant let Felipe get in a few punches before finally calling the match. Felipe jumped to his feet, arms raised in victory. Then he saw Rhino watching.

Rhino offered a nod of approval and beckoned him over.

Felipe ran over, panting. “Mi general,” he said politely.

The kid’s change in attitude caught Rhino by surprise. “¡Muy bien!” he said. “You look good out there, but next time maybe keep your staff ready before pouncing like a tiger, just in case he’s got a knife.”

“Right,” Felipe replied. “I will be more cautious next time.”

Rhino gave him a slap on the back. The young man turned back to his training, then hesitated.

“General,” he said, “my mom said my dad loved you and that he would be pissing on me from the afterlife if he saw how I behaved the other day.”

“Is that an apology?”

Felipe swallowed. “Sí. Lo siento.”

“Your dad was a good man, and you’ll be a fine man, too. Now, go kick some more ass.”

Rhino stuck around for a few more fights. These youngsters were the future of the crumbling Cazador army and, perhaps, the human race. Soon they would be sent off to the proving grounds to test their mettle against the mutant beasts that prowled the surface. But maybe they should be training to fight the metal gods instead.

He finally left the young warriors and climbed the ladder to the command center for a meeting he was dreading.

Several Praetorian Guards patrolled the deck with rifles. Seeing Rhino, they came to attention, and he gave them all nods. He could have his own detachment of warriors following him around, but he wasn’t Colonel Vargas.

On the bridge, several officers worked the graveyard shift in the open space. They looked up at him from the glow of their workstations and exchanged nods with Rhino as he continued to the briefing room.

Carmela was the first person he saw inside, with that ridiculous bird perched on her shoulder. Flanking her were Colonels Forge and Vargas.

“Ah, General, so nice of you to join us tonight!” Carmela said. “Did King Xavier grant you a bathroom break?”

Normally, such disrespect would have cost a lower-ranked officer’s head, but Carmela knew she could get away with it because the king had shown mercy.

“I’m here to deliver an update on General Santiago’s mission with Star Grazer,” he growled. “But you may want to tidy up first, Colonel.”

The smirk evaporated from Carmela’s weathered features as she looked down at the small white and gray blob on her armored shoulder.

Rhino walked over to the wide metal table with maps draped across its surface. He stood at the head while the three colonels took their seats.

He looked at their faces in turn. Colonel Forge locked his iron jaw, revealing no emotion. Forge had once been a good friend, a man Rhino respected on the battlefield just as much as at the table of Black Order of the Octopus Lords.

But it was obvious in Forge’s smoldering gaze that he resented being passed over for a promotion. Perhaps he was yet another Cazador who thought Rhino had betrayed his people by serving X in such a manner.

Of the two men, it was Vargas who really hated Rhino. With his beakish nose, protruding eyes, and Mohawk hair, he looked a lot like the bird on Carmela’s shoulder. He kept his gaze on Rhino, trying to show strength.

It didn’t work.

Vargas was known and feared for his viciousness on and off the battlefield, but Rhino had seen him fight, and he lacked skill, making up for it with brute force. It was one of the main reasons el Pulpo had liked him—both men were psychotic.

Rhino would have executed Vargas after the battle that killed el Pulpo, but X had decided to let him serve after he swore allegiance. In his view, killing Vargas would cause more problems than it would solve.

That had been a mistake.

Carmela finished cleaning off her shoulder. “We can dispense with the big-dicking,” she said, seeing the men staring. “Tell us about the mission, General.”

The officers took a seat while Rhino went to the maps and put his finger on the fuel outpost. “Bloodline has been destroyed.”

“What!” Carmela jerked in her seat, causing the bird to flap its wings. “How?”

“We don’t know yet,” Rhino said. “I only know that when General Santiago arrived, the station was destroyed, and they had to airlift tankers inland to fuel up. They were attacked by the oil serpents that live in the pipeline.”

“They came that far inland?”

“They did.”

Carmela stared down at the map. “How bad is it?”

“We lost a tanker and ten soldiers.”

“Then we’re down to three warships, not counting Elysium, and just under a thousand soldiers,” Forge said.

Kotchee squawked.

“The bird says we’re fucked,” Vargas said. “I think it’s right.” He let out a cackling laugh that made Kotchee move to Carmela’s other shoulder, away from the demented man.

“You’re failing us, Small Dog,” Vargas said. “King Xavier was wrong to make you general.”

Rhino stepped around to Vargas’s side of the table.

“The only thing he got wrong was not slitting your neck from ear to ear,” Rhino said. “You want to take my place, feel free to challenge me. I’ll take your face and swap it for Warthog’s.”

Vargas stood up to meet Rhino’s gaze. “Your time is coming, you half-blood fish-fucker,” he snarled.

The insults didn’t bother Rhino as much as they probably should.

“You already used your rights under the Black Order to try and take me out,” Rhino said. He glanced at Carmela. “Look how that turned out. Guess you’ll have to stab me in the back instead.”

“Let’s all just ease up,” Colonel Forge said. He eyed the other officers in turn, stopping on Vargas last.

“You may not like it, but General Rhino isn’t the only one who signed a peace treaty with King Xavier,” Forge said. “General Santiago also shook on the deal.”

Carmela gave a resigned nod, but Vargas didn’t seem to care.

“General Santiago is a Cazador, but Rhino here is worse than a half-blood,” he said. “You are in bed with the sky vermin, Perrito.”

Forge’s nostrils flared in anger. Even he knew that Vargas had gone too far.

The tension in the air was palpable, and Rhino thought of flicking out his knife and jamming it through one of those crazed eyes. But if he did, Carmela—and probably Forge too—would jump in. He didn’t want to risk fighting all three officers here, especially without the blessing of the king, who had the final say on executions. But the time would soon come when Vargas and Carmela again tried to kill Rhino—if not through the Black Order, then while he slept or shat. God, what he would give to have Whale, Fuego, and especially Wendig at his side right now.

Before Vargas could react, Rhino had a hand wrapped around his veiny neck. Leaving his knife hand free, he lifted the colonel off the deck.

Carmela and Forge both moved closer, but neither went for a weapon.

“I should break your windpipe and toss you to the Octopus Lords,” Rhino snarled, his spittle flecking Vargas’s face. The smaller man’s feet kicked uselessly in the air, and he gripped the massive forearm with both hands as it clamped down tighter around his neck.

The eyes bulged even more.

“Put him down, General,” Forge said. “This is not the way to victory.”

“Fuck that,” Rhino replied as Vargas’s face went red. “Showing disrespect to a superior officer is punishable by death. You should keep that in mind too, Colonel Moreto.”

Vargas gagged, struggling to take in air.

“We need him,” Carmela said. “We’ve already lost too many of the Black Order.”

Vargas’s eyes rolled upward. Rhino wanted to break his windpipe and drop him like a sack of crabs on the deck. But he was just trying to scare the man into submission.

Mercy might make you look weak now.

“Let him go,” Carmela said.

Vargas’s hands fell away from Rhino’s forearm, and his feet gave one last feeble kick.

“Lump of whale shit,” Rhino said.

He let go of Vargas as if dropping a bag of refuse. Now was not the time to kill him. He stepped away as the man lay gasping on the deck.

“Test me again, and I’ll have those goggle eyes staring out your ass,” Rhino said.

He returned to the maps as if nothing had happened. Carmela and Forge joined him while Vargas gulped air on the deck. Rhino kept him in his field of vision, just in case Vargas got stupid again.

“General Santiago managed to fill one tanker with the help of the Hell Divers,” Rhino said. “I hope it’s enough to get to the target and back, but in the meantime, we should send out an expedition to check on the Iron Reef, in Belize. We can’t afford to lose both, and our reserves are dwindling back here.”

“Agreed,” Forge said.

“This must get the okay from X first, but I will recommend sending Mercury to escort a tanker to the Iron Reef,” Rhino said.

“I’ll help,” Carmela said.

Rhino shook his head. “I want you in charge of getting Renegade and Shadow back into the fleet. Whatever destroyed the outpost could be coming this way.”

Carmela nodded. “I’ll see that Elysium is ready, too.”

“Let us hope that General Santiago returns victorious soon, so we can focus on rebuilding our army and armada,” Forge said. “The Octopus Lords will forsake us if we do not.”

Vargas pushed against the deck, coughing and laughing at the same time.

“You all forget what happened with the last ship that sailed to Rio de Janeiro,” he said. Staggering to his feet, he massaged his neck. The sharpened black teeth grinned.

“No Cazador warrior has ever returned from that place,” he said. “And when General Santiago doesn’t come back, the blame will fall on you, Perrito.”