Captives

FOURTEEN

The sun dipped below the horizon, leaving gashes of purple in the orange glow. Magnolia couldn’t see the edge of the barrier between blue sky and eternal darkness, but she could picture in her mind the endless stretch of storm clouds on the other side, and the airship she had always called home.

Another day had passed on the Metal Islands, and the Hive and Deliverance still hadn’t shown up to rain destruction down on el Pulpo and his people. She was starting to wonder whether Katrina was even coming.

But tonight, darker thoughts occupied her mind. Was it possible something had happened to the two airships? Had they been destroyed in the electrical storms, or taken down by sabotage within?

“You ready?” Sofia asked, holding up a palette of makeup.

Magnolia turned from the window and moved back to the wooden desk positioned in front of a long mirror. Inge pulled the chair out and motioned for her to sit.

She looked at her naked reflection. The bruises across her light skin continued to fade, and the deeper cuts had turned to scars. El Pulpo’s youngest wives, Inge and Sofia, used makeup to cover the worst of them. But it didn’t hide all her wounds accrued from years of diving.

“Where do you get this shit?” Magnolia asked.

“A woman on one of the rigs makes it,” Sofia said. “Don’t ask me how, though.”

She leaned in and powdered Magnolia’s nose while Inge worked on her neck.

“I heard Alicia will be given away to one of the warriors from the hunt,” Inge said. “You remember her from the banquet, yes?”

“No wonder she keeps clacking her teeth at me,” Magnolia said.

“I’d prefer to stay with el Pulpo at this point,” Sofia said. “Some of the younger warriors have been known to kill their wives for the slightest infraction.”

“Kill them?” Magnolia asked, twisting in her chair.

“Close your eyelids so we can finish,” Sofia said.

“You sure you don’t have anything in black? Magnolia said. “This isn’t really my style.”

“Style?” Inge asked.

Magnolia sighed. “Never mind.”

A knock came on the door and she opened one eye as Imulah’s bald head poked into the room.

“Hold on!” Magnolia said, covering her breasts with her arms.

“She’s not quite ready yet,” Inge said.

Imulah backed away but left the door ajar. “Hurry up. We don’t want to keep the king waiting.”

“We will be done shortly,” Sofia said. She walked over to the bed to examine the two dresses laid out on the mattress. A long strapless green dress and a short peach-colored one.

“I think this one will look the best,” Inge said of the second option. Sofia picked it up and handed it to Magnolia.

Slipping into the light, tight-fitting dress, she pulled the straps up and turned toward Inge, who held up a white shell necklace and earrings. Sofia tied delicate sandals to her feet while Inge helped her with the jewelry before stepping back to look her over.

Both wives smiled, admiring the product of their labors, but Magnolia didn’t even stop to look in the mirror. She didn’t care what she looked like; she just wanted to get this over with.

“Thank you,” Magnolia said on her way out. Imulah led her quickly through the halls, into the gardens, and over to the elevator cage, where two soldiers stood sentry. They opened the gate to allow her and the scribe inside. The cage then lowered, clanking toward the docks below.

The last glow of sunset faded in the distance. Imulah watched intently, as if searching for something.

“I always look for the green flash,” he said.

Magnolia studied his silhouette as the light inside the elevator flicked on. The tip of his gray beard moved in the breeze. Sweat trickled down his wrinkled forehead, toward his pale gray eyes. She couldn’t help but wonder what those eyes had seen over the years.

“What is this flash?” she asked after a pause.

He pointed toward the horizon. “I’m told that sometimes, when the sun goes down, there is a very brief green flash. It occurs in just a split second, hardly visible to the naked eye. I’ve always looked for it but have yet to see it.”

Magnolia followed his finger, but movement in one of the tower windows distracted her. A girl no older than eight, half hidden by a drape, watched the slow-moving cage as it passed.

“I’m not sure that it’s real,” Imulah said. “But if it is, someday I would like to see it.”

“I never thought I would ever see a sunset,” Magnolia said.

Imulah turned slightly and smiled. But the smile quickly faded and his features darkened.

“You must not fail tonight, Magnolia, or I fear your visit to the Metal Islands will be cut short in a most unpleasant way.”

The cage continued to lower, and she realized they weren’t heading to another level for this dinner. They were heading to the docks. Several soldiers and dockhands were preparing a long white speedboat below. No other boats were moored there.

A few minutes later, they were boarding the vessel. A single dockhand jumped in, followed by two Cazador warriors. Neither of these men wore armor, but they were armed with automatic rifles and machetes. Belts of bullets crossed over the chest of the man on the right, almost concealing a long scar from his naval to his pectoral muscles. Tattoos marked his arms, and his chin sported a beaded goatee. The other soldier was also covered in tattoos and had a red Mohawk.

They didn’t look like the type to put up with any crap, and she wasn’t sure she could take them if the opportunity arose.

Imulah climbed into the boat and gestured for her to take one of the padded seats in the stern. The two soldiers sat in the bow, their weapons cradled.

The dockhand was an older man with a shorn head. He wore a white shirt, seashell necklace, and tan shorts. After firing up the boat, he turned to look at Imulah, who gave him a nod.

The vessel pulled away from the docks and headed out across the water. On the horizon, one by one, the other oil rigs lit up, but one remained dark.

To her surprise, the dark structure seemed to be their destination. She tensed as the boat banged over the wave tops, the engine groaning. Both soldiers kept their eyes on her during the ride. She flashed them a smirk, though she wasn’t feeling especially sassy tonight.

On the decks of the first oil rig they passed, hundreds of tarps and tents were strung up between shacks of metal and wood. On every level, families sat around kettles cooking over small open flames. Magnolia caught the scent of barbecue, which almost made her sick. She tried not to think about the sort of meat they were eating.

How could they? They had the resources to create makeup and seashell necklaces, so why did they need to eat human flesh? Because of some sick idea that it made them stronger, or because they really didn’t have a choice?

She felt nauseated at the thought, and the jolting of the boat didn’t help.

Folding her arms across her chest, she closed her eyes and tried to fill her mind with positive thoughts. What she needed right now was hope—hope that the airships would descend and save her or that X would come back and help her escape.

But with each passing hour, those scenarios seemed less and less likely.

When she opened her eyes again, she wasn’t sure how much time had passed. She turned to see how far they had traveled, and could hardly even spot the airship on the top level of the capitol tower.

“Almost there,” Imulah said. She didn’t remember ever seeing the big, dark structure before, and at a glance, it looked unoccupied.

There were no farms, slaughterhouses, or tent cities—just a few sparks, and lights set up on the metal platforms. On the top level was construction equipment, including a crane.

As they got closer, she could see that this place was inhabited after all. Hundreds of figures were working on the decks. Sparks from welders rained down, going out before they reached the water.

She took a longer look. Were those cages?

Two of the platforms looked as if they were being turned into a massive prison. She stood and turned as the boat curved away and headed toward a hodgepodge armada of vessels, bobbing in the chop with their running lights on. Long ropes tethered them to the pillars of the oil rig several hundred feet away.

She braced herself, holding on to the gunwale as the speedboat slowed and her sandals skidded on the slick deck. She was surprised to find the Sea Wolf among the boats. The mainmast was gone, and three large motors had been added to the back.

“We’re here,” Imulah said.

The speedboat pulled alongside her former vessel, and men on the deck threw over a rope. The driver turned off the engine and lashed the vessels together. Once they were secure, Imulah motioned for Magnolia to make her way over to the Sea Wolf.

She climbed aboard a very different boat from the one she had sailed with X and Miles. The Cazador mechanics hadn’t just fitted it with new engines; they had given it a fresh paint job. And they hadn’t stopped there. The image of the wolf was gone, replaced by a glistening image of an octopus.

Sitting in a wingback chair at a table amidships was el Pulpo. Miles sat on his haunches, the collar’s reversed spikes digging into his fur and skin. He let out a whine at Magnolia but did not get up to greet her.

El Pulpo did, though, spreading his muscular arms in welcome.

“¿Te gusta?” he asked.

She wanted to spit on the image painted on the deck but thought better of it. The king walked over and grabbed a lock of her short hair, leaning down to sniff it. Then he kissed her cheek and led her over to the table, where he pulled out a chair.

Imulah followed them over and stood with his hands cupped behind his back while the other two soldiers took up spots near the railing festooned in barbed wire, their rifles cradled across their tattooed chests.

Instead of sitting back down, el Pulpo turned to look at the oil rig. He wore the same open-faced red silk shirt and shell-whistle necklace from the banquet. Plates of armor covered his forearms and shins. A gold hoop hung between his nostrils, and the strip of hair on his head was spiked up over the octopus tattoo.

He said a few words in Spanish to Imulah and finally took his seat across from Magnolia.

“Our king knows how difficult this journey has been for you,” Imulah said. “He understands how much you love the sky gods. For that reason, he has decided to let them live here if they come. It is a great honor.”

Magnolia’s gut clenched at the words. An honor?

“Your friend Rodger has already accepted his fate. He has volunteered his skills as a woodsmith to help build new homes for your people on the tower the Immortal tried to destroy.”

“What?” Magnolia choked out. She abandoned her chair and stepped to the rail, to scan the construction crews on the oil rig. It took her only a moment to spot Rodger’s thin frame and bearded face among the muscular workers. He was looking out at the boat when a Cazador soldier flicked a whip against his back.

“No,” she whispered. “No, this can’t be real…”

Imulah joined her at the rail. “Be happy that el Pulpo has decided to let your people live if they come here,” he said. “You can ensure they don’t die, by marrying him. I think this is a very generous offer, considering what your people have already done to offend the Octopus Lord. Letting them live out their lives here is a gift.”

He jerked his goatee at the oil rig.

“In chains?” she said with a snort. “I give myself to him, and my people get to live in a prison?”

“It’s better than death. Trust me. I know this.”

She turned toward the old scribe, her lip curled in a snarl. She was sick of his fake empathy, sick of his words. He was just as bad as his bosses.

A tear ran down her face, but she wiped it away. Then she looked at the dinner table, where two covered plates were set out. She wasn’t interested in the food; she was looking for a knife, a fork, or even a spoon to pluck out el Pulpo’s other eye.

He followed her gaze, smiled, and gestured for her to sit.

“Choose wisely,” Imulah murmured.

She considered her options. Die right now, right here, or marry the octopus king and give her body to him while Rodger and the other slaves built a prison for her people to live out their lives.

Her heart sank at the prospect of what she had never thought she would wish for: that the airships would stay away and her friends would continue living in the skies.

Just as Katrina had suspected, the Cazador container ship slowed, and the fishing vessel turned around to look for the missing WaveRunner scouts. She had watched them from the crow’s nest of the USS Zion while coming up with a plan to ambush the two vessels—a plan that required getting very close. Fortunately, the enemy ship’s long, slow turning radius gave her some time.

She loaded an EMP grenade into the launcher mounted on the bottom of her rifle. Shutting down the enemy’s electronics so they couldn’t transmit any messages to the Metal Islands was her first objective. But to do it, she must get within hailing distance, which meant leaving the relative safety of the USS Zion.

So far, Eevi hadn’t detected anything over the radio channels. They weren’t even sure the Cazadores used radio, but Katrina wasn’t taking any chances.

“Won’t that thing fry our systems, too?” Trey asked as they prepared to board the Zodiac.

“The USS Zion is EMP resistant,” she said, “but the Zodiac isn’t. That’s why we have those.”

Trey looked down at the three paddles in the bottom of the boat, grinned, and put his helmet on. Then he palmed a magazine into his rifle and slung it over his back. Alexander dropped the rope ladder down to the Zodiac.

A few minutes later, the fire team boarded the inflatable craft and sped away from the stealth warship, leaving it in the hands of Eevi, Sandy, Edgar, and the Abhaya brothers.

The plan was simple: lure the Cazador ship and fishing boat into the bay, where the USS Zion waited. Katrina would take the Zodiac to flank the enemy vessels and then use the EMP grenades to fry their electronics.

Alexander twisted the throttle, and the Zodiac surged forward. Pushing around the north side of the island, they took the waves at an angle off the port bow, rocking sideways over them instead of meeting them head-on. The Cazador ship was coming in from the south.

Katrina kept her rifle at the ready as they started around the northern shore. A bright river of lava cascaded into the ocean ahead, raising a cloud of steam off the water.

“Give it a wide berth,” Katrina said.

Alexander turned the boat, arcing around the glow. As soon as they cleared the lava flow, he gunned the engine and steered them closer to the eastern shoreline of black volcanic rock.

Katrina pulled out her night-vision binoculars. The Cazador ship had almost completed its 180-degree turn, and it and the trawler stopped about a half mile from the southern peninsula.

“Slow down,” she said.

Alexander eased off the throttle, and they coasted, rocking side to side while she scanned the ship and the trawler. There could be only one reason to stop: because they had spotted the USS Zion.

Just as Katrina planned, the container ship’s davits were lowering dozens of smaller boats and WaveRunners over the side, and at least fifty Cazador soldiers were waiting to climb down ladders and board the rides.

“Oh, shit,” Katrina whispered when she saw several soldiers carrying shoulder-fired rocket launchers. The USS Zion had thick armor, but it wasn’t invincible. She wasn’t sure how many direct hits the ship could take.

No matter, they won’t get the chance…

She didn’t open the channel to Eevi, because Eevi was seeing the same thing they were, which meant the machine guns on the Zion’s deck were lining up on the enemy boats.

“Let’s go,” she said to Alexander. He hesitated, and she raised her voice. “Punch it!”

The Zodiac surged forward across the rough waters, hugging the shore for concealment. She brought the EMP-loaded rifle up to her shoulder. She would get only three shots at this.

Cazador soldiers climbed down the ladders to their vessels, and a few WaveRunners zipped away. If any of the riders were wearing night vision, it wouldn’t be long before they spotted the Zodiac moving against the dark backdrop of the island. Or an inopportune lightning flash could give them away.

Katrina suddenly felt completely exposed as they rounded the peninsula and shot out into open water.

Trey moved up to the bow with her, holding the laser rifle.

“We can’t let them get close to Zion,” he said.

“They’ll have to paddle or swim,” Katrina said. She pulled the trigger, and the first EMP grenade thumped away, sailing over the container ship and hitting the water on the far side. Muttering a curse, she loaded another grenade.

Half the boats had already taken off and were headed toward the bay, where the USS Zion sat waiting.

“Pick your targets carefully,” Katrina said to Alexander and Trey.

The flotilla of WaveRunners and small boats fanned out. Nearly all of them were now away from the mother ship. They had definitely spotted the Zion. In a few minutes, they would be within firing range.

Katrina needed just one lucky shot. She raised the rifle again and waited for her opportunity as the Zodiac bobbed in the chop.

The cargo ship was no more than three thousand feet away. She could hear shouting on deck. She was close enough that the EMP blast would also knock out the Zodiac’s motor.

Now she could see the source of the shouting. A Cazador stood on the deck, pointing in the Zodiac’s direction and yelling at the top of his lungs.

Drawing in a breath, she imagined the EMP grenade smacking into the deck of the container ship. Then she pulled the trigger and watched it shoot away. It landed on the weather deck and rolled behind an old-world vehicle that had tracks instead of tires.

Alexander turned the boat parallel to the container ship to get a better firing position. The armada of small craft racing toward the bay suddenly stopped dead in the water. But the invisible EMP blast didn’t stop the Cazadores’ guns.

A flash burst from one of the WaveRunners as a missile streaked away.

“Open fire!” Katrina yelled to her team.

She gritted her teeth as the missile vanished behind a wall of rock that blocked her view of the bay. She waited, dreading the sound of the explosion to follow. Instead, she heard the beautiful crack of the .50-cals. Green tracer rounds lanced across the ocean, riddling the disabled Cazador boats.

Soldiers jumped off their boats to avoid the hail of lead, but for most, it was too late. Explosions boomed all across the rough waters, throwing flames and body parts into the air.

Return fire from the container ship hit the water around the Zodiac, snapping Katrina’s attention away from the slaughter. She aimed her rifle at the muzzle flashes on the container ship. There were five different shooters, maybe more.

“Take down the hostiles on the deck!” she yelled.

Alexander and Trey both went to work, firing laser bolts and bullets at the men shooting at the Zodiac. Bullets punched through the rubberized canvas compartments, and air hissed out.

“Engine’s fried!” Alexander shouted.

Katrina bumped her chin pad to open a line to Eevi. “Don’t hit the fishing boat, and come pick us up. You have our beacon locations.”

In less than the time it took to blink, Katrina saw a red streak coming right toward her. There was no time to move or return fire. The bullet hit her upper chest, knocking her backward onto the boat’s soft floor.

The air broke from her lungs, and tiny stars burst across her vision. More rounds punched into the Zodiac, and water poured in over a deflating section of pontoon.

“Abandon…” she choked. Reaching up, she took Trey’s hand. As he helped her sit up, an explosion rocked the deck of the container ship, obliterating the hostiles.

Two entire stacks of containers burst apart, raining a loud clatter of steel chunks onto the deck. A container slid over the side into the water in a massive splash.

Alexander bent down and helped Trey keep Katrina up as the boat floor sank beneath them. She blinked away the stars and saw one of the most beautiful sights of her life. It wasn’t the sun or a sandy beach with palm trees—it was the USS Zion, barreling out of the bay at full speed, .50-cals firing at anything that moved on the container ship, and the MK-65 pounding the deck with explosive rounds.

Trey and Alexander got a life vest under Katrina’s head and torso. She sucked in air, but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t get enough. Beneath her armor, she could feel wet warmth moving down her ribs, confirming her fear that the bullet had penetrated.

Through blurry eyes, she watched people jumping from the deck of the container ship, some of them on fire, others trying to avoid the flames. They didn’t all look like soldiers, and she knew they were probably engineers, electricians, cooks, and servants.

As she maneuvered to keep the life vest under her, she recalled what Trey had said about attacking the ship. The fewer Cazadores, the better.

But what about the innocent men and women who weren’t soldiers? How were they any different from the men and women on the airships?

In war, there are no innocents. Everyone is the enemy.

Those words had come from a history book, probably the same one Trey had read in school. Still, as the weapons on the USS Zion slaughtered the Cazadores, she couldn’t help but feel a rising dread.

It’s us against them, she thought. Your job as captain is to ensure the survival of your people.

She hadn’t started this war, but if she survived this wound, she would damn well finish it.