Captives

TWELVE

Magnolia sat with the other wives in the gardens. The platform jutted from the capitol tower, providing a view of the ocean, and plenty of sun.

She folded her arms across her see-through blouse. Never in her life had she dressed in anything so seductive and downright silly. A floppy straw hat shielded her fair skin from the baking afternoon sun, and she made sure she was directly under the canopy of a tamarind tree. The other women lounged about, some of them dipping their legs in the limpid pool.

Flowers bloomed around the edges of the sparkling water. In the grove of fruit trees just beyond, servants picked oranges into wicker baskets.

For several minutes, she watched them work, wondering what their lives were like here on the Metal Islands. Every morning, the workers would come from other oil rigs like those she had seen on her ride to the main tower, from which el Pulpo ruled his domain.

One thing was certain: the servants did not live like his wives. The wives lived like royalty, lying on folded chairs on the deck, drinking goblets full of the berry drinks they called wine.

Another servant brought pieces of sweet candy and plates of berries. He made his way over to Magnolia, offering her some, but she grabbed a glass of water instead and thanked him with a smile.

But for the soldiers standing guard, one might think this was an old-world resort where tourists came to vacation, and the man was just a worker.

But he wasn’t a worker; he was a slave.

The man gave Magnolia a toothless smile and moved over to Inge, who greedily snatched a handful of candy without a single word or gesture of thanks. Sofia kindly accepted a glass of wine. She also took a hand towel and dabbed her forehead. Then she lifted her sun hat and looked at Magnolia.

“You will get used to the brightness,” she said. “I was born in a bunker and didn’t see the sun until I was brought here.”

She grabbed a bottle off the table and tossed it to Magnolia.

“Put this on. It will help protect you from the sun.”

The other women were already slathered with the ointment or whatever it was. Magnolia declined the bottle and stayed in the shade.

It felt like a betrayal. Why should she be enjoying the sunshine and a cold drink while X was out there fighting and Rodger and Miles were in chains?

She was in this position merely because she was beautiful in the eyes of the Cazador king. Her looks had never gotten her anywhere on the Hive except into trouble. But in this society, a woman’s looks seemed to be prized above all else.

She took a sip of water and got up from the chair. Sitting around promoted boredom, and boredom made her want to do things she might later regret.

Pulling her sun hat down, she walked toward the rail overlooking the ocean. One of the women sat up and glared at her, baring her sharp teeth like a wild animal as Magnolia passed by. She was Alicia, the oldest of el Pulpo’s wives, the woman who had taunted her at the banquet several nights ago.

Magnolia returned the smile and kept walking toward the railing. Gray clouds crossed the horizon, their bellies full of rain. For the first time since she arrived at the Metal Islands, she hoped one of them would block out the sun for a while.

She gripped the steel pipe balustrade and looked down at the docks below. A group of men in jackets and matching trousers were there, overseeing a shipment of crates being unloaded from several boats. She still didn’t know exactly what they did, but they seemed to be some sort of clerks, helping run a complex barter economy based on currency of tobacco and wine.

Magnolia leaned back against the parapet railing and looked up. Colorful paintings covered the exterior walls that had been built onto the ancient oil rig. They were far more beautiful and sophisticated than those on the Hive.

“They didn’t make those, you know,” said a voice.

Sofia stepped up to the rail, taking a drink of her wine and then offering it to Magnolia, who decided to accept it out of courtesy. After a decorous sip, she handed the goblet back.

“What do you mean?” Magnolia asked.

“The only one el Pulpo has ever ordered is that one.” Sofia turned and looked at the metal octopus sculpture bolted over the empty throne.

Magnolia thought of Captain Jordan. It seemed that human monsters had a way of rising to power, even in a paradise like this.

“Those paintings were made by people before us,” Sofia added, looking out at the sparkling sea.

“Before us?” Magnolia asked.

“Things weren’t always like this,” Sofia whispered. “They weren’t ever peaceful, but they weren’t this bad until el Pulpo came to power. After being captured at birth, he rose through the ranks to become the most ruthless and feared warrior of the Cazador army.”

“And?”

“To get to where he is now, he went on a rampage, killing the general of the army and all the loyal lieutenants, until no one was left who dared to challenge him.”

This, too, reminded Magnolia of Captain Jordan.

Sofia glanced over her shoulder again, as if fearful of eavesdroppers. Satisfied the guards couldn’t hear her, she said, “Once he had control, he started a campaign to find remaining bunkers and survivors on the surface, to help fill the ranks of his armies and build this empire.”

“We always looked for survivors but never found any,” Magnolia said. “I don’t understand—”

“There aren’t many left. That’s what el Pulpo realized when he set out in the ships and used the lighthouses to try and find survivors. Instead, his ships mostly came home loaded with the deformed beasts.”

Magnolia shuddered, thinking of the Sirens in Florida. She still couldn’t believe these people ate the monsters, but then, they had a lot of traditions that made little sense.

“That’s why el Pulpo turned to cannibalism,” Sofia said, sipping her wine. “It was the only way to feed his army. There wasn’t enough protein from what we grew, so he started feeding his men… other men.”

Magnolia didn’t want to believe what she was hearing, but it wasn’t all that great a shock. The potential for cannibalism had been a genuine concern on the Hive for many years.

She turned to look up at the tower wall—a welcome distraction from the grisly topic. The mural showed a large white ship with hundreds of windows and balconies. In the archived magazines of the Old World, such vessels were known as cruise ships. Had one of them survived the apocalypse and come here?

“Who was here before el Pulpo?” Magnolia asked.

“The people who worked on the oil rigs. Then came boats that fled the devastation of the war. I’m not really sure, honestly. Most of the history has been lost over the years.”

“And you? Where were you born?”

Sofia’s expression grew sad. “In an ITC bunker, in a place called Texas. There were thirty of us then, but only a few of us are still alive.”

“I’m sorry.”

She gave a shrug of resignation. “This life is hard, but it’s better than living underground. I don’t know what it was like in the sky, but I’m guessing it wasn’t as good as this.” She looked at the deck as if she didn’t want to finish the thought.

“I wasn’t a slave up there, and you weren’t one underground. And I’m guessing you weren’t beaten or raped there.”

“No, but we didn’t have this, either,” Sofia said. She raised the glass. “It helps numb the pain.”

With that, she took another drink and walked away, leaving Magnolia to contemplate the past and her future.

Katrina counted her blessings. The Cazadores hadn’t spotted their stealth ship. She had steered the USS Zion around the north side of the island and tucked it into a bay to hide.

Standing in the crow’s nest, she used her night-vision binoculars to watch the two vessels. One was a long container ship, the other a fishing boat with an octopus symbol painted on the side, leaving no doubt in her mind that it, too, was part of el Pulpo’s fleet.

She felt a shiver even though the air was warm. Never in her life had she beheld another human being who did not live on the airships. These were the first surface dwellers she had seen, but instead of wanting to embrace them and ask them questions, she could think of one thing only: killing them.

Moving the binos, she dialed in the fishing boat on the ship’s starboard flank. The sails were down, and they were using engines to plow through the sloppy seas. Several people moved on the deck, but none wore armor or carried weapons. These men appeared to be fishermen and nothing more, hauling in a net from the water. It was a reminder that the Cazadores weren’t all soldiers.

But they’re cannibals.

“What do you see?” Trey asked.

“Two Cazador vessels,” she replied, handing the binos back to him. Alexander stood to her left, squinting into the darkness.

“I don’t think they spotted us,” Katrina said. “At least, not yet. I’m going to pull us back farther around the island.”

“But this is our chance, ma’am,” Trey said.

Alexander brushed a curtain of wavy hair out of his face. “Chance for what?”

“To capture the ships and add them to our fleet,” Trey said excitedly. “Think about it, Captain. If we can take it over, we could dress in their gear and surprise the Cazadores completely when we get to the Metal Islands.”

“What if they have radios?” Katrina said. “None of us can speak in their tongue.”

Trey shrugged. “So we go dark and don’t respond to any transmissions.”

Katrina smiled at his enthusiasm. “You know what you sound like?”

Trey shook his head.

“You sound like a younger version of me.”

Trey grinned.

“We don’t know how many Cazadores are on board,” Alexander said. “They could outnumber us ten to one, or even more. And if we do capture them and they send an SOS, we’re screwed.”

Katrina took the binos from Alexander and focused them on the main ship. Several figures patrolled the deck, where containers were stacked three high.

She could only guess at their contents, but she had a feeling it was loot worth taking. Several armed and armored guards patrolled the deck.

“How have we never discovered these ships before?” she whispered.

The answer was simple. The Hive had never come this far before, and radio transmissions from the surface would likely have been blocked by the electrical storms anyway. It staggered her that people had been living down here all this time. She just wished they were a nicer sort of people.

Using the binoculars, she continued scanning the decks and counted ten soldiers. Another two stood in an operations tower with glass windows.

Her team was definitely outnumbered, but she had weapons to even the playing field if she decided to attack.

“We can take them, Captain,” Trey said.

She turned to look at the youth. Did he know the sort of violence he was suggesting?

“You’ve never killed a man, Trey,” she said. “It’s not as easy as you think, even when you have hate burning in your soul.”

“All due respect, Captain, but it’s us or them, and I’m ready to make sure it’s them.”

Alexander massaged the stubble on his chin. “I was an enforcer in the militia for the past two decades, and the most dangerous times were when I didn’t know what I was up against.” He pointed to the ships. “We have no idea what’s below those decks.”

“He’s right,” Katrina said. “There could be a hundred soldiers down there. We can’t just board and try to take them out.”

Trey backed off the idea, then brightened. “Why not just sink the damn thing, then, and salvage whatever doesn’t sink? The fewer Cazadores, the better.”

Before Katrina had a chance to respond, Eevi called out from the bridge.

“Captain, there are two smaller vessels moving around the south side of the island, coming this way. Just picked them up on radar.”

“Get on those weapons,” Katrina said to Alexander. “Trey, follow me. Everyone else, stay off the comms.”

They scurried down the ladder to the bridge, where Sandy and Edgar stood at separate stations, monitoring screens of data.

“Are those really Cazadores?” Sandy asked.

There was no fear in her voice, but something else that Katrina knew well: anger.

“Yes, get battle ready just in case they spot us,” Katrina said. “I want everyone in armor and carrying a rifle.”

She grabbed her helmet from the captain’s chair and strapped it on, then took the laser rifle from her pack and followed Eevi out onto the weather deck.

The rain had stopped, but lightning flashed across the horizon. As her optics came online, she detected movement to the south. Two smaller vessels, carrying mounted riders, sped over the water. She had seen these little open boats in an old-world magazine. Called WaveRunners, they were fast and agile.

Katrina ran along the rail toward the ship’s bow. The enclosed MK-65 turret and two of the .50-caliber machine guns were already trained on the oncoming boats.

She brought the binos back up to her visor and centered them on the enemy. The riders hugged the WaveRunners as they curved around the peninsula. In a few moments, they would be able to see the dark bulk of the USS Zion in the bay, if they hadn’t already.

Her binoculars showed the small craft and the riders in detail now. Both men were fully armored and wore large backpacks. They had weapons and other gear strapped to their boats.

Katrina caught herself holding her breath as the scouts navigated a shallow area where jagged rocks stuck up like teeth through the waves. The riders appeared to be experts, weaving in and around the minefield.

Instead of taking a right into the bay, they kept their heading, speeding away from the peninsula and out into open water. Neither man took a backward glance. If they weren’t wearing night-vision goggles, it was quite possible they hadn’t seen the stealth warship sitting in the bay.

She lowered the binos and relaxed a degree.

The comms crackled, and she flinched at the break in radio silence.

“Captain, we have two more contacts to the north,” Eevi said.

Katrina ran to the starboard side of the ship and looked out over the bay. Two more WaveRunners had flanked the USS Zion, and these riders had definitely spotted it. They sat on their vessels, bobbing in the water, binoculars pushed up to their goggles.

The .50-caliber machine gun mounted to her right swung toward the two WaveRunners.

“Alexander, hold your fire,” she said over the comms.

The riders began to turn their vessels. She shouldered her laser rifle, lining up the iron sights. Before the WaveRunners could pick up speed, she pulled the trigger. A bolt flashed over the water and hit the back of the first vessel.

The explosion blasted the rider straight up, his body flaming. The second WaveRunner skimmed away over the waves at full throttle.

The blast had likely given away their location, so Katrina decided not to waste another precious bolt from the laser rifle.

“Take him out, Alexander,” she ordered over the comm.

She stepped back as the .50-caliber rattled to life, raining brass on the deck. The WaveRunner jolted over the surface, picking up speed as the rider tried to escape. He swerved left, then jerked to the right before the little craft exploded in flames.

“Nice shooting,” she said.

Smoke trailed away from the destroyed boats. Katrina brought the binos back up to check the first two WaveRunners. They had changed course and were already two-thirds of the way back to the container ship, which continued to sail away, leaving a long wake. The fishing boat didn’t seem to be slowing down, either.

Maybe they hadn’t heard the gunshots.

Katrina moved back to the bridge, where most of her crew remained at their stations. She checked the radar for any sign of other boats leaving the container ship. It appeared they had lucked out for now. But the cannibal warriors would likely turn around when they realized they were missing two WaveRunners. And when that happened, the Hell Divers would be ready for them.