Captives

TWENTY-FIVE

“Stay back until we can confirm there aren’t more cannons!” Katrina yelled over the comm channel.

Gunfire and explosions in the distance made it difficult to hear the reply from Deliverance.

“You aren’t going to last much longer if we don’t get in this fight,” Layla said.

There was no mistaking the frustration and panic in her voice. With the Hell Divers pinned down on the rooftop of the capitol tower, and the USS Zion on the run from the Cazador boats, they all had reason to panic.

“You stay back and let me take care of these assholes,” Katrina shouted over the din of battle. “We can’t afford to lose Deliverance.”

The channel closed, and she went back to the monitors flashing reports of fires and system failures all across the ship. Despite massive damage, the engines were still running, the guns still fired, and the cameras still gave a panoramic view of the fight.

They were still very much in this.

She tabbed a screen to pull up the display on the starboard side, where a dozen enemy vessels, from speedboats to fishing trawlers, attacked with everything from handguns to rocket-propelled grenades.

Another grenade detonated against the warship’s armored hull. Katrina braced herself against the monitor. Better the Zion than Deliverance.

“Captain, we can’t take much more of this!” Eevi shouted.

On the port side, ten more boats mounted an assault. Katrina was drawing them away from the capitol tower to give the Hell Divers a chance to find the prisoners, and to give Deliverance an opportunity to come in and take out the fleet.

She just had to lead them outside the perimeter of the Metal Islands; then Layla could rain fire on them without being seen. So far, the plan was working.

The twenty-odd remaining boats pursued the warship toward the black void surrounding the Metal Islands. If she could get the Cazadores out there, they would be blind and wouldn’t be able to track Deliverance through the cloud cover.

“Edgar, how are we on ammunition?” Katrina said over the comm.

“The fifty-cal on the stern is out, ma’am, the one on the bow is down to ten percent ammo, and our only MK-65 has five shells.”

Katrina cursed at the report. Even if she did manage to draw the boats out there, she didn’t have enough ammunition to destroy them. It would be on Deliverance to take them out.

“Full speed ahead,” she ordered.

Sandy nodded, and the USS Zion picked up speed. It was much faster than anything the Cazadores had except the WaveRunners and the speedboats.

She heard chatter over the comms but couldn’t make out much of it. And as soon as she passed into the electrical storms outside the border, the comms would receive only static.

What she could make out was something about Commander Everhart and the other Hell Divers being pinned down at the capitol tower, unable to advance.

And Vish was gone, dead before he even landed.

Katrina looked at his brother, hunkered on the floor at his station. He had heard the news, and it had dropped him to his knees. Since then, he had regained his composure, but she wasn’t sure she could count on him once things got even dicier.

“Captain, look at this,” Eevi said.

Katrina hurried over to her station.

They USS Zion passed an oil rig, and the images came online.

Lights flickered on each deck, providing a glow to the vertical slum these people called home. Metal shacks and flimsy partition walls separated one family from the next. Gardens grew out of trough planters, and drying fish and clothing hung from wires and ropes.

Hundreds of people watched from the safety of the oil rig, looking out over the battle.

They look just like us: scared and trying to survive.

Another voice crackled over the channel. It was Edgar.

“They’re trying to board us!”

Katrina looked at the display of the starboard side, where six WaveRunners, carrying two riders each, sped alongside. They fired grappling hooks up over the rail.

She put on her helmet, switched on the comms system, and grabbed her laser rifle.

“Eevi, you have the bridge. Just keep us moving! Edgar, keep the boats away from us. I’ll take care of these bastards.”

Sandy got up from her station, gun in hand. “I’ll help.”

Katrina gave a nod, and the two women moved out to the deck.

The Cazador soldiers were already shinnying up their scaling ropes.

Katrina flashed a hand signal to Sandy, who moved behind the forward gun turret for cover. The moon and stars had vanished, leaving the deck in shadow. They were now crossing the threshold of light and dark.

She switched to night vision and shouldered her rifle as more boats came up along the starboard side. They had switched a high beam onto the warship.

“Down! Down!” she shouted.

Sandy hit the deck as tracer fire flashed across the water and pinged off the bulkhead behind them. Another RPG exploded harmlessly against the hull.

“Edgar,” Katrina said, “port side, three hundred meters out, use the fifty on the twin-hull boat. They have an RPG, and if they get a lucky hit on the bridge, we’ll have major problems.”

She kept down and got the first Cazador soldier in her sights. Climbing over the starboard rail, long hair pulled back, glistening wet.

Closing one eye, she pulled the trigger.

The bolt flashed through him, and he peeled off the rail. Two more Cazadores took his place, one of them managing to get off a shot before Sandy caught them with short bursts from her assault rifle.

They both vanished over the other side.

Slinging the laser rifle, Katrina ran toward the grappling hooks, drawing her sword as she moved. Another soldier emerged over the rail, head poking out and eyes scanning for a target.

Her blade was there to greet him. A swift stroke opened his neck. He reached up to grab the spurting wound, then fell backward.

Not wasting any time, she leaned over the edge and saw several more men climbing knotted ropes. The closest looked up at her as she cut through the rope. He let out a yelp, his arms flailing air until he bounced off the motorboat he had just climbed out of.

Katrina sheathed the sword and unslung the laser rifle as the comm channel in her helmet crackled.

“Captain, half the boats are ending their pursuit!” Eevi shouted.

Katrina could see multiple lights heading away. Maybe they had caught on to the trap she was laying. Or perhaps they were returning to the capitol tower to deal with Team Raptor.

“Layla, now’s your chance,” she said over the comm. “Take out those boats. Eevi, bring us about. We’re going back in.”

“Aye, aye, ma’am,” Eevi replied.

There was no response from Layla.

“Layla,” Katrina said. “Do you copy?”

The electrical storms were messing with the signal.

Katrina felt the ship begin banking to the left and heard the crunch of the hull obliterating a Cazador vessel. Ten boats were still out here, firing small arms at the warship.

The .50-cal on the bow blazed, riddling another twin-hull craft that was still trying to keep up with the Zion. Then the machine gun fell silent as the last spent casings rained onto the deck.

“That’s all the fifty ammo we got,” Edgar reported. “Three shells on the MK-65 remaining.”

Katrina opened a channel to Layla again.

Please, kid, I need you.

Again her hails went unanswered.

She started back to the bridge with Sandy, keeping low and out of view of any hostile vessels. They were halfway across the deck when gunfire cracked behind them.

Sandy screamed and went sprawling.

Heart thumping, Katrina aimed the laser rifle at a team of four Cazador soldiers moving fast toward them. Before she could take them down, they opened fire, forcing her behind a bulkhead.

Sandy crawled toward Katrina, trailing a streak of blood.

“Captain,” she said. “Captain, help…”

“Be still,” Katrina said.

Gunfire ricocheted off the deck by Sandy, and Katrina moved her laser rifle around the corner to lay down suppressing bolts. Then, breaking cover, she dragged Sandy to safety.

As soon as Sandy was around the bulkhead, Katrina grabbed her laser rifle. She was about to fire again when something punched through the metal wall and slammed into her midsection.

The impact took the air from her lungs, and pain so overwhelmed her that she almost lost consciousness. There was no question the bullet had penetrated her flesh, even with the bulkhead and body armor to slow it down.

Gunfire pounded the deck to her left as she fell.

“Help,” Katrina mumbled over the comm. “We need…”

She looked over at Sandy, who lay to her right. The bulkhead only barely covered both of them. Holes crowned outward as more gunfire ripped through. Someone was shooting armor-piercing rounds.

Katrina tried to speak, but all that came out was a croak. She gritted her teeth and reached out to Sandy. They laced their fingers together just as a round lanced through Sandy’s helmet. Her fingers went limp.

“No…” Katrina choked. She crawled over to the hatch, leaning against it to sit up. Then she drew the sword and waited for the men.

When the first soldier rounded the bulkhead, she jabbed him through the groin and pushed upward. The pain from her abdominal wound was almost too much, but it didn’t stop her. The man had killed her friend, and she wanted him to suffer.

Boots hit the deck, followed by shouts from the other Cazador soldiers. She prepared to meet her end, when the hatch behind her opened.

She fell backward and felt hands under her armpits. Jaideep looked down at her.

“Are you o—” His words cut off at the sight of Sandy’s corpse.

“Where are they?” he asked, anger in his voice.

Katrina lifted her chin in the direction of the approaching enemies.

“Can you walk?”

With his help, she sat up gripping her gut, almost blacking out from the pain.

“I… maybe.”

Jaideep helped her to her feet.

“Let’s get you back inside,” he said.

Katrina looked down at Sandy’s body one more time and then left Jaideep.

“Take the laser rifle,” she said, knowing that these were likely the last words she would ever speak to the courageous young Hell Diver.

Jaideep nodded. “Go, Cap,” he said. “I’ve got this.”

There was no trace of fear in his voice, only anger and confidence. With his brother dead, he had little to lose. The young diver had finally lived up to the family name.

Jaideep Abhaya raised the rifle, truly fearless.

Gunfire cracked behind her as Katrina shut the hatch.

“Come on, you animals!” she heard him yell. “I got a little somethin’ for ya!”

Katrina limped through the passages back to the bridge and locked the hatch behind her. Eevi was standing at her station.

“Captain, you’re…”

“I’m fine,” Katrina lied.

Eevi hesitated as if too shocked to speak.

That makes two of us, Katrina thought.

“Stay with me, Eevi,” she said. “I need a sitrep.”

“We’re almost back to the Metal Islands, and we still have four boats pursuing us, but they’re quite a ways back.”

Katrina brought up the comm line to the command center. “Edgar, fire the remaining MK-65 rounds at those boats. Make ’em count; then help Jaideep, to starboard. We’ve been boarded by at least four hostiles.”

“Copy,” he replied.

She slouched into the captain’s chair and looked down at the blood leaking from around her gloves. Red encroached on both sides of her narrowing vision. She blinked and tried to manage her breathing. She just needed to stay conscious a little longer…

Gunfire cracked outside the bridge, snapping her alert.

An explosion rang off the port side, then the starboard side.

“Two boats down, two left,” Edgar said. “I’ll deal with them in a minute.”

Katrina kept pressure on her wound, but the combination of bruised rib and gunshot wound made breathing a painful chore. Stars broke before her vision, and fear gripped her in that moment.

She had minutes before she lost consciousness.

Stay with it. Your people need you.

Katrina blinked and filled her lungs.

More gunfire cracked outside, followed by shouts.

Edgar returned to the bridge a moment later, assault rifle cradled across his chest. But Katrina wasn’t deceived. She could see blood leaking down the armor over his upper chest.

“Jaideep?” she asked.

Edgar shook his dreadlocks.

“Just us three now,” Katrina said. “Edgar, are you with me?”

He nodded. “Till the end, ma’am.”

“Good. Keep them off the bridge. I just need a few minutes.” She looked over at Eevi. “Go to the cargo hold and take the last Zodiac.”

“Ma’am, no,” Eevi said.

“That’s an order. Your husband is still alive out there. Go find him.”

Eevi stood up from her station, her face flushed. She hesitated, then threw up a salute.

“I won’t forget this, ma’am. No one will,” Eevi said. She stopped to give Edgar a hug before leaving the command center.

Katrina took another deep breath and stared at the metal hatches covering the broken port windows. She pushed a button, dropping them to give her a view of what lay ahead. They had crossed the barrier into darkness. The lights on the oil rigs blazed in the distance. Spotlight beams from the boats that had retreated earlier hit the USS Zion, making the weather deck bright as day.

There were still so many boats, and even more were coming from the oil rigs. Rowboats and fishing vessels filled with civilians. Everyone seemed to be rallying behind the octopus banner.

These people were ready to die for their home, just as her people were ready to die to take it from them.

She felt that familiar lump of dread in the pit of her stomach, but her heart knew that this was the right decision. El Pulpo was a cancer that had to be removed from the Metal Islands, just as Leon Jordan had been excised from the Hive. She would complete her mission even if it meant that some of her people, including her, had to die.

She heard pounding on the hatch to the deck. The enemy was outside, trying to get in. Edgar leveled his rifle and took several steps back until he was beside Katrina.

She tabbed the monitor on her right, smearing blood on the screen as she set a course straight for the enemy fleet.

Magnolia had been right. There were too many to fight.

Katrina pushed the binos up to her failing eyes. Two larger ships like the container ship she had destroyed were out in front—a floating wall of rusty metal.

She swept the glasses back and forth until she found the shiny boat with two stacks, and…

“No,” Katrina whispered. “That can’t be.”

Were her eyes playing tricks on her? Or was that really Magnolia?

Katrina coughed up blood and spat but kept the binos on the long boat. The woman tied to the windshield post looked just like her friend.

“I’m sorry I failed you, Mags,” she said aloud, “but I won’t fail our people.”

Katrina tapped the screen again, plotting a course directly for the two big ships blocking the way to the capitol tower. Dozens of sailors were on deck, pointing their guns at the USS Zion.

She steered right at them.

“I’m so sorry, Magnolia,” Katrina whispered. She opened a channel to Michael. “Raptor One, this is Captain DaVita, transmitting one final time. It’s up to you and Deliverance now. I love you all, and I was proud to serve as your captain.”

She closed the channel before anyone could respond.

Her body felt numb, the pain gone now. A bad sign. She was running out of time.

Please, just let me finish this…

Banging continued on the hatch, and a window shattered. Shouting came from inside the ship.

“They’re inside,” Edgar said.

“Hold ’em—” A loud whirring cut Katrina off. She unbuckled her harness to watch a massive object consume a swath of stars. Deliverance came in low over the water, and Katrina stood to watch.

Flashes of gunfire sparkled from the boats as the USS Zion plowed toward them. Bullets pounded the bridge. One punched through her armor, then another, her body jerking from the impacts.

Edgar dropped to the deck and reached up to pull Katrina down to safety, but she remained standing even as more bullets riddled her body. She took her final breath with a smile on her face, watching as Deliverance fired a salvo of missiles into the enemy armada.

Team Raptor had made it down to the thirtieth floor of the capitol tower. The central platform was lush with gardens, fruit trees, and a sparkling pool, but violence had torn the beauty asunder. Bushes still burned, tree limbs were broken, and fruit lay splattered on the ground.

“Coming in for another run in a few minutes,” Layla said over the comms. “Got another package for el Pulpo. How you doing down there, Commander Everhart?”

Now you use my formal name, he thought.

“Holding strong,” he replied. A white lie since the team was pinned down and running low on ammo. He looked through his binos at the field of burning debris on the water.

A massive wake rippled away from the zone of destruction. The USS Zion had plowed into two thin-skinned container ships, and both were sinking, one bow and one stern tilted upward and sliding under the dark water.

Reinforcements were coming from the other oil rigs as bells chimed, recruiting anyone who could fight. Not all the Cazadores were warriors, though. Breaking their way into the top floor of the tower, the team had even found some who spoke English, and this was where the man in the nice suit told him el Pulpo was keeping the “sky people.”

But when Team Raptor arrived, they found empty cages under a statue of an octopus, and a dozen soldiers waiting for them. The team took cover behind a rock wall.

Michael looked at the cages. Where the hell were X, Mags, and Miles?

Katrina’s message replayed in his mind, and now he knew that it was final. He had seen the USS Zion plow into burning ships as rockets streaked into its command center. Her last act as captain had been the most heroic he ever witnessed, providing a distraction so Deliverance could come in and take out most of the Cazador boats. The airship had retreated into the dark skies.

The sight of the USS Zion dead in the water, with Cazadores boarding it, filled him with rage.

If his friends weren’t dead, they would be soon.

He wiped away a tear. This was not the time to grieve—it was the time to avenge the brave souls on the warship.

Screaming, he popped up over the stone wall and fired a bolt through a Cazador running toward them. The man splashed into the pool, sending up a puff of steam from the cool water.

Another soldier lay facedown, turning the pool pink with his blood. The brazen man had run right into their fire, screaming wildly, just as Michael was doing right now.

All the warriors seemed to enjoy fighting, and many, like this guy, were downright suicidal.

He checked his team. Les had survived a shot to his helmet that knocked him out cold, but he was back on his feet.

Alexander had taken a round to the fleshy part of his thigh. Trey had been shot in the ankle, and still hadn’t stopped fighting. The father-son team continued to lay down a field of fire at the Cazador soldiers trying to storm their position.

Bullets zipped over the rock wall and broke through branches of the trees just beyond the barrier. One bullet hit an orange hanging from a branch just above Michael’s head. Citrus exploded all over his visor. He crouched down and checked on Les.

“We have to get out of here,” he said.

Les nodded.

Michael waited for a respite in the gunfire chipping into the rock wall and popped up to knock down another soldier running at them. Trey did the same thing, dropping his man with a single round to the neck.

“Push ’em back!” Michael yelled.

Trey and Les continued to pick off any warriors who dared cross the stretch between the trees and the open door leading back into the tower. Alexander, with a bullet hole in his thigh, remained sitting with his back to the rock wall, helping reload weapons.

There were only three ways off this platform: over the railing to splatter on the dock below, down in the elevator cage, or through the very door where the Cazadores were coming out of the tower’s interior.

He looked through his binos at the wakes of boats on their way to the capitol tower. Three long, narrow craft led the group, outpacing the others. He couldn’t see the sailors clearly, but he could see the octopus on the shiny side of one of the boats.

“El Pulpo, you sack of shark shit,” he muttered. Zooming in as far as he could, he saw two figures tied to the windshield posts.

That couldn’t be X and Mags… could it?

He stuffed the binos back into his vest.

“Team Raptor, we have to move!” he said. “Can’t stay here any longer. I’ll lay down suppressing fire with whatever laser bolts I have left.”

Michael checked the battery by pushing a button under the barrel, ejecting the unit. It had 21 percent remaining. Maybe fifty or sixty shots. He popped the battery back into the gun and glanced over the wall. Bullets chewed into bark and chipped the stonework.

In that split-second glance, he identified four shooters lying in the dirt between the trees and the entrance back into the tower. They were crawling in the weak moonlight. More were behind them, and even more were inside the open door leading into the tower.

“Behind us!” Les shouted.

Grappling hooks fired over the railing, where reclining chairs were spread out on the platform. Les hunched down and moved toward the hooks but was forced back as rounds peppered the deck.

“Dad!” Trey yelled.

Michael grabbed Les and pulled him back. “You two lay down covering fire. I’ll dislodge those grapnels. Alexander, shoot anything that comes over the rail.”

Michael waited a beat, then sprinted for the railing. Halfway there, a head popped up, and he fired a laser bolt on the run, burning an apple-size hole where the man’s nose and eyes had been. Alexander took down the next climber with his pistol.

Gunfire cracked behind them as Trey and his father picked out targets.

Michael knew he had to do something drastic to get them out of here. But what? They would soon be taking fire on all sides.

There seemed only one option: use the ropes the Cazadores had shot up over the railing, and climb or rappel to a lower floor.

Just as he reached the grappling irons, another head popped up. With his robotic fist, he punched the soldier so hard that his face caved in. He fell away, dead before he hit the docks.

Looking down, Michael saw boats docked, and soldiers streaming out of a cargo ship. Fifty men, maybe more.

There was no escaping that way.

He took the grappling hook in his robotic fingers and yanked it loose. The men using ascenders to climb the rope screamed the entire thirty floors down.

As Michael grabbed the next hook, the highest climber looked up at him in terror. This man was no older than he. His mechanical fingers paused, resting on the hook.

“¡No, por Dios!” the man yelled.

Bullets slammed into the deck around him, and Michael ducked, seeing more Cazador soldiers rappelling down from the tower’s airship rooftop. Some had already hit the deck and were running for the cover of the gardens.

Alexander popped up, but heavy fire forced him back down, one round nicking his shoulder armor.

“Alexand—” A powerful wind almost knocked Michael down. Above him, Deliverance lowered toward the dead airship mounted atop the capitol tower. A bright flash dazzled his eyes as a missile streaked away from Deliverance and into the water.

An explosion sounded, and Michael crawled over to the railing. A billowing fireball enveloped the dock thirty floors beneath the platform. The climbers on the rope fell away, some of them ablaze.

Michael retreated to the momentary safety of the rock wall.

Ropes dropped in the space between him and the other Hell Divers, and he hunkered down as militia soldiers and civilians in armor rappelled from the cargo hold of Deliverance.

One of them descended too fast and hit the deck hard, yowling in pain. Gusting wind slammed into Michael as the turbofans whipped vortices of wind across the platform, swaying the tree branches wildly. He vaulted the wall and checked on Alexander.

“I’m good!” he shouted over the noise.

Many boots hit the deck behind them. Sergeant Sloan led the militia soldiers, and Cole Mintel led the civilians.

A score of Cazadores ran toward them, brandishing spears, swords, and guns.

“For Rodger!” Cole yelled.

The two forces clashed, filling the garden with screams of pain and the clang of steel. Michael tried to pick targets, but he couldn’t risk firing into the scrum. So he slung his rifle and ran into the skirmish. It was time to put his robotic arm to use.

A Cazador in full armor raised a sword over Michael’s head. Titanium-alloy knuckles shot out and punched him in the throat, breaking his windpipe. The soldier let out a gagging noise and dropped to the dirt. Another took his place, jabbing with a spear.

Michael moved to the side and wrested the shaft from the warrior’s grip. Then he broke it in half in his robotic hand and plunged the blade through the man’s eye and into the tree behind him, pinning him there.

A female warrior swung a cutlass at his chest. She clicked her teeth together, taunting him. He had never hit a woman before, and in his hesitation, she swung low, glancing the blade off his shin armor.

Then she tilted forward, and he saw exposed brain tissue where hair had been.

He backed away as Sergeant Sloan lowered her blaster.

“Mustn’t hesitate, Commander—” She screamed out in pain as a sword bit into her side armor. Michael pulled his handgun and shot the Cazador soldier twice in the chest, knocking him off his feet.

An explosion sounded behind them as he helped Sloan stand.

Deliverance had pulled away and was moving east over the water, firing more missiles at remaining boats. It didn’t get far before taking return fire. Two explosions bloomed across the hull, and a third under the stern.

Michael raced back toward the railing, yelling into the comm.

“Layla!”

The airship fought for altitude, trailing smoke.

“We’re going down,” Layla said over the open channel. “Brace for impact.”

The fear in her voice made his breath catch.

“Michael, I can’t…”

Her voice cut off, replaced by white noise on the comm channel. He grabbed the railing, clenching it so hard, the metal bent like taffy in his robotic hand.

The airship crashed into the water, pushing out a high, rippling wave in all directions. The speedboats turned, arcing toward the downed airship. The rocket launcher that had brought the airship down rotated on the gleaming black boat with the octopus logo.

El Pulpo’s boat.

Michael felt the fear and heartbreak turn into bubbling-hot anger.

He looked over the side, where the last grapnel rope hung. People with buckets of seawater had mostly put out the burning dock, and he spotted several WaveRunners bobbing in the water.

He turned back to the battle raging in the forest.

Cazador warriors with spears and cutlasses slashed through Hive militia and civilians. Dom, the owner of the noodle shop, went down with a spear through the chest. Cole Mintel and Sergeant Sloan were both injured but still in the fight. Trey and Les were side by side, firing single shots. A Cazador jumped on Trey and bit off some of his ear before Les shot the warrior in the head.

Two of the freed prisoners Katrina had conscripted were holding their own, but no one from the Hive was used to this type of hand-to-hand fighting. The Cazadores were winning the day, and with the airship down, Michael doubted his people could win the fight.

He drew his laser rifle again and began firing bolt after bolt, cutting down the Cazadores. Three of them went down in a row, and two more hit the deck before the barrel overheated.

More militia soldiers fell beside the dead Cazadores, their blood mixing and seeping into the fertile soil.

Les looked back at Michael. “Go, Commander!” he yelled. “Go help Layla, we’ll be right behind you!”

Michael was waiting for his gun to cool when a strange light hit the platform. He turned to the horizon, which had turned pale apricot.

The first sunrise he had ever seen spread its weak glow over Deliverance as self-inflating rafts exploded out of the side, keeping the airship afloat.

He had to get down there before it was too late. He had to save Layla.

Michael swung his legs over the side of the railing, clipped the rope through his two carabiners, and looked at his friends for what could be the last time. Les and Trey, though wounded, were holding steady.

Good luck, Michael thought as he kicked off from the platform and started rappelling. His mind kept coming back to X. Where the hell was he?

I could really use your help right now, old man.